At the end of November, I participated in the monthly meeting of the IAEJ’s university activist group, attended by five or six Ethiopian-Israeli student activists, along with IAEJ’s Executive Director, Danny, and IAEJ’s Lilach, D’vora, and Roberta, the evening’s host and IAEJ Board member. The discussion focused on the current face of the Ethiopian-Israeli community, specifically the youth, and how to express their difficulties and their successes in the public eye. While the group was throwing around ideas about creating a documentary film, or a written compilation of stories and works by members of the community, I couldn’t help but think about the very unique situation of each of the people sitting around the table. Here was a group of Israeli students in their twenties, but whether they were born in Ethiopia and made Aliyah with their families, or whether they were born in Israel, they will always be regarded as Ethiopian-Israelis.
A few days following this meeting, I was at yet another beautiful Jerusalem home for a truly moving fundraising event for friends and donors of the IAEJ. Shula Mola, IAEJ chairperson, opened the evening with a personal anecdote about her life back in Ethiopia in which her mother made her promise never to ask for financial help, nor to tell others that she is in a position of need. This really set the mood for the evening, as it became clear that nobody at the IAEJ is comfortable asking for money, but the difficult financial situation has given them no other choice. While the organization is in a really bad place financially, they continue working and fighting for the causes they believe in, fully conscious of the sacrifices they have to make, but not letting it bring down their morale. The IAEJ staff continues on not only because they’re passionate about what they do, but because they're doing such vital work to improve the community, and if they didn’t do it, who would?
Probably the most inspirational part of the evening was when Danny spoke, saying that the responsibility lies not in the hands of the Ethiopians, but in the hands of all of Israeli society. A change in acceptance and integration has to come from within; it cannot be forced through a change in policy. The IAEJ is the only organization working on a national level to make sure these changes are taking place, that the government’s promises are not empty, that absorption centers are given the appropriate resources to successfully implement their goals, that employers and schools are accepting students and hiring employees without bias of race or ethnicity.
One of the videos I took at the event:
Founding director Micha Odenheimer explains the importance of the IAEJ in Israeli society
Avi, Shula, and Danny outside the Supreme Court
Two years ago, the IAEJ successfully lobbied for the Five Year Plan to be implemented by the Israeli Government. This plan promised a hefty budget allowance for improving integration within education, employment, and the ability of Ethiopian-Israelis to get mortgages. Now, more than two years later, the government has failed to deliver. With a 700 million shekel 2010 budget earmarked but NOT disbursed, the IAEJ has taken matters into its own hands, appealing to the Supreme Court last week for a re-evaluation of the Five Year Plan. Thanks to my valuable position as volunteer for the IAEJ, I was lucky enough to attend the hearing. Although I didn’t understand most of the legal banter (because it was in Hebrew…but I’m not sure I would have understood it in English either), it was fascinating to be there. In the end, the court ruled on the side of the IAEJ, giving the State 60 days to prove it is actually doing something productive with the money in accordance with the Five Year Plan. I was incredibly impressed by the IAEJ’s courage to bring the State to court; only later I found out that they are the only non-profit working for Ethiopian-Israeli integration that doesn’t accept government funding, which is why they have nothing to lose in criticizing the government. This freedom allows them to speak out where other organizations stay quiet, which reaffirms the IAEJ’s place as an invaluable spokesman for the Ethiopian-Israeli community.
A law student and IAEJ's volunteer lawyer after the hearing
Volunteering at the IAEJ, I am consistently inspired by those around me. A few weeks ago I drove to Ashkelon to photograph a conference organized for Ethiopian-Israeli parents on the importance of taking responsibility for their kids in an effort to steer them away from the stigmatized label ‘youth-at-risk.’ The conference, which was organized by IAEJ’s community affairs coordinator, Ziva, brought together a range of resources from within the community, to inform parents of what is available to them as Israeli citizens. The conference was almost entirely in Amharic, but just to be there to witness the great number of participants in the conference was enough. The room was packed full with parents who care about the well-being of their children and are working to rise above the stereotypes.
Parents of Ashkelon
After the conference, I had a brief encounter with Ziva, who was sharing a desk with me while I was organizing some papers. She had just gotten off the phone with her youngest son’s school and she mentioned that he has started taking horseback riding lessons. I told her I had been riding once through a trail in Wisconsin, and she told me she had never sat on a horse in her life. She then told me that on her journey through the desert to Israel, she had refused to ride a horse, instead insisting that her mother and younger brother ride while she walked. She was eight years old. At this point, Ziva took a breath, and said, “I don’t know how I did it.” One of her daughters is now eight years old, and she joked that there’s no way her kids could make that journey today. I suggested it was a different kind of strength that comes from wanting something so badly – a kind of strength I probably will never know. This little chat changed the way I see the IAEJ. It reminded me that the people I am working alongside have unbelievable stories to tell – whether they are prompted to talk about their past, or choose to keep it to themselves, their stories and their parents’ stories are still very much present. They are driven to change Israeli society because they believe in it with all of their beings – they are not working nine to five, they’re working for all those parents in Ashkelon, and for everyone who couldn’t get a mortgage at their bank, and for the youth who have too much potential to be labeled ‘youth-at-risk’ – they’re making very impressive steps toward what will ultimately be a better world.
Ziva at the conference
