Mission Trip to Ethiopia and Israel - Greg Maurer

 “You don’t know me and I don’t know you

but we are the Jewish People”

-The Jews, by Yehuda Amichai

I have just recently returned from Ethiopia and Israel. I went on this mission to hear another part of the global Jewish story, to weave another thread into the fabric of my Jewish life. The modern-day story of this exodus, told by my Ethiopian brothers and sisters as they stood on the loose ground of those difficult times, was enlightening and deeply impactful. I am grateful to have traveled to Ethiopia with my wife and 10-year-old daughter, along with Ethiopian Israelis David, Demas, Belaynesh, Atitegeb and Orly as they retraced their steps. These are their stories, and ours.



Ethiopia is a fascinating country, rich in geography, topography, language and culture. Woven into Ethiopia’s rich tapestry of diversity is the story of Beta Israel, the Ethiopian Jews. The origins of Beta Israel in Ethiopia are not known with certainty, perhaps from the Tribe of Dan or perhaps descendants of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. They lived and practiced Judaism for thousands of years before connecting with the rest of World Jewry in the mid-19th century. By 1976, the Jewish identity of Beta Israel was accepted by the Israeli rabbinate and approximately 250 Ethiopian Jews were living in Israel.

While today Ethiopia is relatively stable, this was not always the case. The Derg, a Marxist military dictatorship, was an anti-religious, violent regime. Jews and Ethiopians of all backgrounds began to flee the famine, oppression and wars, heading to neighboring Sudan. Word of the worsening conditions of the Beta Israel got to Israel’s prime minister, Menachem Begin, who famously said: “Bring me the Ethiopian Jews.” It is hard to appreciate the magnitude of the task of covertly and illegally getting Jews from remote villages to the Ethiopian city of Gondar to Sudan and, finally, to Israel.

“AND IT SHALL COME TO PASS
in that day, that the Lord will set His hand again the second time, to recover the remnant of His People…from the four corners of the Earth.”  Isaiah 11.11-12

Lech Lecha – go forth from your land to the land that I will show you. This happened thousands of years ago when the Torah tells us Abraham left Haran. It happened again in our time. Ethiopian Jews left all that they had ever known and trekked into the abyss, seeking safe haven in their ancestral homeland and fulfilling a millennia-old dream of returning to Eretz Yisrael. Israel began clandestine, trickle operations in late 1979, followed by the famous Operations Moses, Joshua and, finally, Solomon, when 14,325 Jews were transported to Israel in 36 hours. The world record for a single-flight passenger load was set during Operation Solomon on May 24, 1991, when an El Al 747 carried 1,122 passengers to Israel. That record still stands, memorialized in the Guinness Book of World Records. 

JOURNEYS OF PERIL

We heard the heart-wrenching stories of our friends who endured this exodus. Orly, now a successful filmmaker, started walking to Sudan when she was three. Along the way, her mother gave birth, resting for only three hours. After three years in a Sudanese refugee camp and the birth of another baby, they were loaded onto a truck with 200 other Jews. It was packed so tightly that nobody could sit, and Orly’s mother had to hold her newborn baby high in the air to avoid getting crushed. The truck drove through the day and night. Inside the cab, the Jews suffered from intense heat, surrounded by vomit and defecation. Once at the port, they were shuttled by small boat to a large Israeli ship, and the seasickness began. Two days later, they were in Eilat. 

David, now a professional focused on social work for Ethiopian Israelis, left in 1984 as part of Operation Moses when he was in the middle of 12th grade. His father told him that they had waited 2000 years to return to Jerusalem, and it was now his time. He departed on foot, leaving his parents and family behind. During the final 24 hours in the Sudanese desert, they were out of water and had only dried food. Their parched throats would not allow them to eat this paltry nourishment without choking, adding hunger to drought. They finally arrived in Sudan and drank from the river. David was interred in a horrid refugee camp, witnessing a daily procession of corpses passed on stretchers along the dirty passageways. He finally made it to Israel, but it was another five years before his parents made aliyah, during which time neither child nor parent knew of the other’s fate.

Aliyah to Israel is not the end of a journey, but rather the beginning. Nothing illustrates this more than the story of Demas. I first met Demas at a posh Israeli hotel over sushi and Golani wine. He wore a lone soldier jacket and a smile that belied the burden that he shouldered. Together, we journeyed to his homeland of Ethiopia, hanging out, drinking local beer, eating spicy food and dancing (poorly) to traditional music. It wasn’t until we went to the place where his family’s mud hut once stood in the village of Gojjam that I comprehended the travails that almost robbed him of his joyful zest for life.  Like Demas’ childhood, his hut had been swept away. His smile dissolved as he explained the deep sadness he still held from his harrowing, tragic journey.  He began with, “Although I am only 23 years old I’m carrying on my back the weight of many tragedies…”

After his father died, in 2007 Demas came to Israel at age 13 with his mother and siblings. Absorption into Israeli society was challenging: Demas was on the path to integration, having just moved to the family’s first apartment, when his mother died of cancer. He was adrift in a new country, an orphaned head of household with six children. He suffered from thoughts of suicide, with only his responsibility to his siblings and the memory of his parents left to drive him forward. There was no family to take care of him, nobody to lean on. A profound and enveloping sense of hopelessness shrouded Demas’ and his siblings’ lives. The future looked bleak, and depression, delinquency and poverty seemed certain.

​Israeli NGO Selah, which addresses the devastating absence of resources dedicated to olim (new immigrants) that arrive in intense crisis and organized our expedition, rescued Demas and his family.  Selah is the only organization focused on this concentrated, specialized work.  The effort of the Selah staff served as the linchpin that enabled Demas and his family to deal with their tragedy and dire circumstances – and to have hope.  Selah was there, attending his mother’s shiva, advocating at school, delivering access to essential resources and providing love and support when Demas was the victim of a devastating incident of police brutality. Without Selah, Demas and his family simply don’t make it.

Today, Demas serves as a lieutenant in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). He was one of eight outstanding students nationwide to win a leadership award, presented at the Israeli parliament.  One sibling is an officer in the IDF, another a businessman and another married with a baby on the way. Selah remains his extended family, there in times of both need and simcha.

WHAT’S NEXT


​The Ethiopian Israelis have unique circumstances that often require particularly intensive assistance.  By many measures, government programs have proven insufficient to allow this group to achieve social, educational, economic and professional parity with their fellow citizens. Without deep and sustained intervention, Demas and his family would have continued to languish, like so many others who were less fortunate. Their faith and strength of spirit are inspiring, but many Ethiopian Israelis need more help. Thankfully, there are capable and committed organizations, many supported by the American Federations, focused on addressing this gap. Those organizations need our help. The consequences of our failure to act are dire; without our help, Demas’s story will be the exception and Ethiopian Israelis will remain at risk of becoming a permanent underclass.

To learn more about this experience, email Greg at greg@heroncap.com.

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