Learn something new everyday

With all the excitement of the past month at the IAEJ, between the December Newsletter, the Ethiopian-Israeli Film Festival, fundraising events, a conference in Ashkelon, and a visit to the Supreme Court, I unfortunately haven’t had the time to write a new entry. Lucky for me, I have had the privilege of attending or being involved in all these events, and have been taking some notes along the way...

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.

Perhaps the vast differences within the Ethiopian-Israeli community are what make it such a complex struggle to integrate into Israeli society. There is not one Ethiopian-Israeli, there are thousands – the second-generation students like the ones around that table, the toddlers at absorption centers around the country, the middle-aged security guards never given the opportunity to reach their full potential, the totally modernized teenagers more interested in the latest fashion trends than reconnecting to their roots, the grandparents who gather regularly and speak only Amharic to one another, and those who arrived within the last few years and are still learning to adjust to a new climate/culture/family structure/education system/language – all at the same time. These people cannot and should not be grouped into one category, as they are consistently moving in various directions out of the box so often drawn around them.


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

A Reason to Celebrate

One of the greatest parts of this opportunity to intern for the IAEJ has been getting to learn about Ethiopian Jewish culture through various first-hand experiences. Beyond the absorption centers, the politics, and the cultural obstacles which so many focus on in today's society, the Ethiopian community has also brought with it a tremendously rich heritage to Israel. There is almost no better example of the celebration of this heritage than the Sig'd holiday. Coming in fifty days after Yom Kippur, similar to the 49-day period between Passover and Shavuot, Sig'd is a festival which marks the renewal of the covenant between God and the people of Israel, and the longing of Ethiopian Jews to end their exile and return to Jerusalem.

For the first time in thirty years, instead of a one-day celebration, the Sig’d festivities began two weeks in advance with a well-attended celebration at the Beit Hanassi (President’s Residence) in Jerusalem, with several moving speeches, followed by a panel discussion led by President Shimon Peres himself. This was especially remarkable as it was the first year celebrating the holiday on such an official level, as it was only legislated a national holiday in the Knesset in 2008 (thanks to the lobbying efforts of the IAEJ). When Peres approached the dais, I expected a lengthy speech, but instead he briefly touched on the achievements of the Ethiopian community in Israel, proceeded to introduce to the audience five Ethiopian-Israeli leaders, sat in a chair among them, and asked them questions.

The questions ranged from giving advice to Ethiopian-Israeli youth, to telling a story of the first time each of them was proud to be part of the Israeli community. The panelists spoke beautifully and at the same time candidly about their experiences, and advice was given to be optimistic about the future, but to never forget the past. The event concluded with Hatikva, Israel’s national anthem, which I found truly touching, as the President of Israel stood among the Ethiopian spiritual leaders (Kessim) before a crowd full of activists, leaders, and media representatives, singing this very symbolic song of hope.

The idea that the Sig’d holiday stems from a longing to return to Jerusalem lends great poignancy to the holiday, as it is now celebrated in Jerusalem. Ethiopian-Israelis made the pilgrimage from all over Israel to join in the celebrations, most notably at the service on the Armon Hanatziv Promenade overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem.

Though I don't speak a word of Amharic, and the service was led by the Kessim almost entirely in the native Ethiopian language, the overall experience was immensely powerful. Not only was it powerful in the numbers of Ethiopian-Israelis who joined in celebration (an estimated 15,000 people) in this magnificent setting, but also in the intense religious fervor felt at the promenade that morning and the blending together of all generations of Ethiopian Jews.

While most of the young people seemed more excited to mingle with friends and relatives than participate in the religious ceremony, the community’s elders gathered close together, softly murmuring along with the Kessim on stage.

Although this religious ceremony was entirely foreign to me, I did have some connection to it, as I knew that even as much as I stood out from the crowd as a white American, we are all Jews. They say that when a Jew travels to a foreign land, he will always find comfort in the land’s synagogue, hearing the words of the Shema recited. Perhaps I didn’t hear the familiar Hebrew phrase at this particular religious service, but standing in the middle of Jerusalem, surrounded by Ethiopian Jews who were so grateful to be praying where they were, and so incredibly happy to be together, I could feel the magnitude of their appreciation, and I knew that our prayers were one in the same.

That same night concluded the Sig’d holiday with a beautiful portrayal of Ethiopian-Israeli talent at a high-powered presentation at the Israel Convention Center. Several Ethiopian community leaders and members of the Knesset spoke, in addition to many performances by Ethiopian singers, dancers, and actors. Walking into an auditorium filled with the Ethiopians young and old, both newly arrived and those who are third-generation Israeli, was really remarkable.

A young Ethiopian-Israeli singing Livkot Lecha in prayer for the return of Gilad Shalit

The last time I was at the Convention Center was for a concert of the Idan Raichel Project – a musical project that incorporates not only Ethiopian singers and musicians, but also many Amharic lyrics – and even then, I couldn't stop thinking about how great the presence of Ethiopian Jews is in Israeli society and Israeli history.

One of the members of the Idan Raichel Project, October 25

Idan Raichel performance, October 25

Three weeks later, to be in that same auditorium at final event in honor of the Sig’d, to see the impact of Ethiopian-Israelis in all spheres of Israeli society was another level of achievement. What I expected to be night in celebration of Ethiopian culture and heritage was actually a night in celebration of Israeli culture and heritage and the role of Ethiopian-Israelis within it, and it turns out that role is pretty impressive.

An Israeli soldier speaking about his experience being injured in the latest war in Lebanon

Welcoming the newest Oleh from Ethiopia, who arrived just two days previous to the event, and presenting him with his Israeli citizenship

The Kite Runners

A few weeks after my adventure up north with the Israel Association for Ethiopian Jews staff, I had the opportunity to do some more field work with yet another Ethiopian absorption center, this time in Beer Sheva. My program coordinated a day of volunteering with the Jewish Agency on Sukkot, a festival which Israel celebrates by spending time outdoors, relishing all that Israel has to offer. So, I headed to southern Israel, ready for the heat, but not really knowing what to expect otherwise (a feeling I have come to embrace in several different situations since my arrival in Israel).

We arrived at the Kalisher Absorption Center, similar in function to the isolated ones I had been to in the north, except this one was right in the middle of an impoverished, dismal residential neighborhood of Beer Sheva.

Our first speaker was a very articulate Israeli representative of the center who assured us that 90% of the residents of the absorption center were employed, and that they are currently working to help the newly arrived immigrants to acclimate to Israeli society (likely thanks to their central location within one of Israel's largest cities).

The piece that stuck with me the most was when she explained that the average Ethiopian man, who had just arrived from Ethiopia within the past two years, was used to being the primary breadwinner, to coming home to a doting wife and kids who washed his feet. And now, in the progressive atmosphere of Israel, this same man comes home from a long day of work, and is asked to take out the trash. This simple example can explain much about the fundamental differences between Ethiopian culture and the very modern, fast-paced life in Israel, which can be frustrating and indeed inhibiting to a people who so wanted to step foot in the Promised Land.

After this not-so-brief introduction to the difficulties of adjusting to Israeli society (and therefore the necessity for absorption centers around the country), the representative introduced an Ethiopian student who made aliyah just two years ago with her family, who now speaks near-fluent Hebrew and is one of the top students of science in the nation. This girl, no doubt the poster child for the absorption center, is a testament to the potential of Ethiopian immigrants if given the tools to succeed.

Placing Ethiopian immigrants in jobs requiring mindless labor or in impoverished neighborhoods ridden with youths-at-risk is only asking them to fail. Granted, no group of people should be subject to generalizations, for better or for worse, but these people must be given a chance to succeed. Those who were airlifted to Israel during Operation Solomon 17 years ago, and Operation Moses seven years before that, have integrated into Israeli society, and many have incredible stories of success to tell. Is it possible that the Israel of today is so different from that of 17 years ago? I find that hard to believe.

After hearing from a few different speakers, our group was led to small classrooms at the center where we would be teaching Ethiopian kids to make kites. The fact that none of us actually knew how to make a kite seemed irrelevant, as we were handed little kits and paired up with the kids - who seemed just as confused as we were. However, after a few introductions in simple Hebrew, everyone was busy gluing on colorful strips of paper to make the tail and tying the strings in all the right places. Next thing I knew, my partner was already running the street, kite flying high behind him.

I was actually really impressed at how much excitement could be felt over something so basic as flying a kite - but the kids were SO thrilled to run around on the neighboring lot and get their strings all tangled up. The overall experience, similar to the one I had at the absorption center in Beit Alpha, was really confusing. We weren't reeeeally doing anything to help their situation, we weren't speeding up the time it would take for their parents to find independent housing or jobs suited to their skills, but those kids could not have been more excited that we were there. The process of absorption might take time and patience, but there is no way that any of those children will let their family's journey be in vain. These kids are so bright, and bring so much optimism to even the most desolate Beer Sheva neighborhood.

A whole new world

This mural was painted on a few different walls of the absorption centers at Ayelet Haschachar; it reads "Go forth from your land, from the place in which you were born, from your father's home, to the land that I will show you" in Hebrew, the quote of God telling Abraham to go to the Promised Land, extremely relevant to those who left everything behind in Ethiopia to travel to an unknown land with nothing but their faith in God - how appropriate!!!

When I made the decision to study Hebrew and volunteer for a year in Israel, I had no idea I'd be needing translations from Amharic on a regular basis. Having just graduated college, studying American Studies with minors in Art History and Latin American Studies at Brandies University, I, like many of my peers, decided to take a "gap year" before plunging into today's dreaded job market, and spend some time in Israel. My program of choice was the Peace and Social Justice track of WUJS-Hadassah, located in Jerusalem, which promised me a fully furnished apartment, ulpan, and an internship placement at the non-profit organization of my choice.

Jumping forward three weeks after my arrival in Israel, I found myself on a bus to Afula with Ziva and Tal, two of the six staff members at the Israel Association for Ethiopian Jews - the organization with which I had chosen to volunteer. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't entirely sure what our mission entailed in heading north from Jerusalem early that Wednesday morning, but I did know I was embarking on what was sure to be an eye-opening experience as we would be visiting various Absorption centers in the north of Israel.

Ziva, Tal and I met up with Danny Admasu, the organization's Executive Director, and Avi, spokesperson for the aguda, with whom, after paying a visit to the city's famed dried fruit and nut store, we drove off further north to Ayelet Haschachar and Beit Alpha.

Ziva, Avi, and Tal at Beit Alpha

From what I could understand (through my slowly-progressing knowledge of Hebrew, not to mention my non-existent knowledge of Amharic) Ayelet Haschachar is a kibbutz which is also home to two absorption centers for Ethiopian Jews. The first, which hadn't received new immigrants in over a year, housed mostly single people or young couples, the majority of which
were at work for the day by the time we arrived – an extremely positive indication of their success in the community. Beit Alpha is a much larger absorption center, pretty isolated with its own schools and parks, and therefore much less opportunity for employment.

Ziva, Tal, Avi, and Danny met with the staff at the absorption centers, and I sat in on the meetings taking "notes" (writing down words I didn't know with every intention to ask someone later on) and trying to keep up with the conversation. Though I could tell the tone was serious, many of the details were lost in translation. The best example of this being the third absorption center where I entertained the myriads of Ethiopian children by teaching them random words in English and capturing their favorite poses with my camera, only to find out later that the adults at this particular absorption center are unemployed and seriously frustrated with nothing to do and no feasible vision for their future. The children who were so playful and so bright were obviously getting a decent education, but their parents, with little to no experience in speaking Hebrew, are being left behind.

The specific circumstance of the Ethiopian community living in absorption centers is truly difficult to comprehend. These parents went through tremendous efforts to make Aliyah, to trek through Ethiopia to Sudan, often leaving loved ones behind, just to stand upon the holy land of Israel, and yet upon thier arrival, they are clustered into 'absorption' centers, which often are wholly removed from Israeli society. Some are offered mindless janitorial work or other physical labor that doesn't require language skills, but many sit idly by with hopes that their children will succeed, as their children are able to grasp the Hebrew language and adapt to the modern Israeli culture that is so vastly different from their country of origin.

Danny Admassu (right) listening intently to the residents of Beit Alpha about their frustrations with their situation.

It is incredible to see these people, living with so many frustrations, knowing they have to trust in the next generation to ease into Israeli society. Israel, on the whole, is perhaps not as welcoming and trusting of all Jewish people as those of us in the United States or the western world might assume. One would think that a culture so built on immigration and welcoming in the Jewish victim might open its arms to all those in need, but this particular community of people who differ so vastly in culture, custom, and yes, race, has been living stagnantly in absorption centers around the country for years.

The situation is both surprising and upsetting, but there is so much hope and so much excitement in the eyes of the Ethiopian youth that there can be no doubt the community will flourish and succeed with enough patience and cooperation from both sides.

There's nothing more exciting than meeting a bright-eyed little Ethiopian boy named Yaakov wearing tzitzit and a kippa.