Personal stories

Moshe’s story:

When I was a little child I use to imagine what would happened if I would live in Israel. My older brother had made Aliya years before, we wrote to each other and I use to imagine that he will come and take me to Israel.

I went to a Christian school and I was one of the only Jews there. The cursing and the hatred toward the Jews made me feel weak and I started thinking about going to Israel more and more often.

My parents did not allow me to go they were afraid of what might happen to me on the way; they knew what could happen I was only a little boy… but I decided to go with my other brother.

I needed money for the journey but I could not ask my parents knowing that they would not allow me to go, I told my bother: ’’we’ve got what we have and G-d will help us’’.

On that day my mother took me to Gundar (where my school was) and when we got to the town I went to the school and my mother went the other way. I didn’t tell her I was going to the land of Israel because I was afraid she will cry and I won’t be able to leave. I know now that on this day she waited for me for hours in the town centre and I did not come back.

From Gunder by brother and I walked for 3 days to my grandmother’s house there we waited for a month until there would be enough people in the group so the guides could take us.

In the meantime the Ethiopian army reached this area and it started to become dangerous to stay there. So we ran into the woods. In Ethiopia you are not allowed to move from one place to the other without permission and a pass and we didn’t have one and for Jews it was almost impossible. In Ethiopia if you are caught this way there are no questions asked and anyone who Jews gets then property as a reward, because of that, time every Moslem or Christian was looking for Jews.

We stayed  in the forest for three weeks, at night we would sneak outside to get food. This is how we spent our time – It wasn’t fun but there was no other way.

After a while the army left the area and we went on our way. We were 7 Jews plus a man from the area that our families knew and arranged with him to take us. At the beginning this man did not want to take me because I was too young and he said that I won’t be able to make the journey with no food or water for a day or so. I insisted and we were on our way.

We walked very fast and in three weeks we reached the Sudan.

I would never forget the first day of our walk. The next morning I couldn’t move my hands or my legs and I did not come back into being myself till nearly the end of the journey.

We walked at night because of the sun and because of the fear of being caught. We only had dry food. The person who took us knew where there is water so we didn’t have any problems with water most of the way but usually it took us a long time to get to water spot. Because of the fear of being caught we could not go to the water the easy way. We had to come from sort of different directions so no one would know who we are.

I think if my brother and I were by ourselves then we wouldn’t have made it but the man that took us really knew the way and he lead us.

When we reached the Sudan I thought that I would have to wait maybe a day or two and then be going to Israel. I didn’t think it could take more then that, I didn’t think that I would be waiting for more then a year.

When I was waiting in the Sudan I felt very bad, I didn’t study and I felt like I was just wasting my time. A lot of bad things happened to people there. A lot of people got sick, the food was different and the old people and the children did not last very long.

My problem was that most of my closest friends did not last long and most of them died. It was very hard to keep kosher

In order not to be recognised as Jews (so they won’t hurt us) we had to go to non-kosher shops and buy things, we bought non kosher meat, even if we had to throw it away for the dogs, so the local people would not know that we are Jewish (because you can recognise Jewish people by the meat that they eat).

We had to learn how to cheat and lie in order to survive.

At the end of it, after a long wait I reached Israel. When I look back I realise that I learnt how to overcome problems that I would never have to deal with again in my life. I’ve grown up very fast. I know that the problems I have now in my life are not serious compared to what I had before and if I succeeded there, I’ll have no problem in settling in Israel.

I still think a lot about Ethiopia. My parents are still there and I’m still hoping that my family will be united one day in Israel.

My Journey to Israel

Solomon Ezra-The first Ethiopian in the Israeli Air force

Whilst working on Operation Solomon I was responsible for putting people on planes for the final leg of their journey home. I had previously moved to Israel and was no longer used to these familiar scenes. There were hundreds of desperate, hungry, tired people waiting to board the planes.

When I had time to observe the situation I could see that the 747 could only hold 550 people but there were thousands of people, so I arranged for the seats to be removed to increase the capacity to 700.

The people clambered like sardines into the plane and I felt I had achieved a major miracle. However the pilot for the plane was a Holocaust Survivor, when I informed him that the plane was full he said “No, put more people in”. I was astonished and as I turned to him, he said to me “My parents died because we did not have Jewish aeroplanes, nor did we have a Jewish state to which they could be taken, so I wont let my Jewish people die because there is no space, fill the plane as much as you can and in 3hrs 15 minutes we will be in Israel. G-d is with us, we will clean up all this mess.”

I called more people forward and when I managed to get 900 people in the plane I felt certain that it was absolutely full so I called the pilot and told him it was time to take off.

“No!! More!! More!!” he shouted.

That day I packed 1087 People on to the plane and 3hrs and 15 minutes later, I received a phone call that they had landed safely on Israeli soil.

The story of a well educated Israeli Soccer Player

Prior to Operation Solomon, many Ethiopian Jews experienced greater hardship. Aid workers were powerless in many situations in helping to alleviate suffering. Since Ethiopia had no diplomatic relationship with Israel, immigration to Israel was also not possible.

Alimu was a disabled ten year old son of a single mother with two other children. He was only able to walk on his hands and knees and was a great burden to his mother as his father had left the village for Gondar. Those working with the Jewish community tried many avenues to get medical support but to no avail. Eventually all the aid workers from Israel, America and Cuba worked amongst themselves to raise the $10,000 from their own resources.

The money raised was then used to support a bid to get permission to take the child to Germany for medical treatment. Alimu was then taken from his village on an arduous journey to Gondar and then to Addis Ababa. Once in Addis the government then refused to allow his mother to travel with him. After many weeks permission was then given to allow his 12 year old sister to accompany him. After 6 months in Addis they were flown to Germany and immediately on to Hadassah Hospital in Israel. He was later moved to Rambam in Haifa where he received a twelve hour operation on his legs.  With the expertise here they then realised that his bones could be fixed to allow him to walk. Alimu underwent a further 7 hour operation and 3 years later he was able to walk and go to school.

Alimu went on to become a very skilled soccer player and he also graduated from university.  He is currently working on his PhD in Physiology. His mother came to Israel in Operation Solomon.

Enenit Shula Mula
Student, Hebrew University of Jerusalem

I was born in a small village in the Wogera region of Ethiopia. Though surrounded by dozens of villages, ours differed in one unmistakable way: On Friday, as the Shabbat approached, the people of our village would go to the river, immerse themselves in its waters, and return to dress in the special garments worn only on Sabbaths and Holy days. All week long, we ate skimpy meals, but on Shabbat our table was filled with the bounty of our region. My extended family -- aunts, uncles, and cousins -- would gather at the home of my grandfather, where we would eat and retell Bible stories.
When news first reached us that many Ethiopian Jews had made the trek across the Sudan and eventually reached Israel, I wanted to quit elementary school then and there and begin walking to Jerusalem. I remember saying to myself: Why study now? We're going to Jerusalem anyway, and nothing exists there but the service of God.
In Ethiopia, gentiles referred to Jews as falashas, "strangers" or "aliens." As such we were restricted to certain vocations considered degrading in Ethiopia and were not permitted to own land. Two thousand years in Ethiopia did not bring acceptance! Only the hope and faith that we would return to Zion enabled us to survive centuries of discrimination.
Finally, in 1984, my mother, two younger brothers, and I left our village for the perilous journey. Traveling mostly at night to avoid the authorities, we were attacked by bandits and arrived at the border of Sudan penniless. After eleven days of waiting, we crossed the border and, two months later, weakened from malnourishment, we were finally home.
In Israel we met Jews from all over the world, many of whom, like my family, had fled their homelands seeking refuge and dignity. With them, we Ethiopian Jews have shared both the pain of exile and the joy of homecoming.
Whereas in Ethiopia I was not encouraged to question traditional beliefs or practices, in Israel I am free to think and develop my own understanding of being Jewish. I believe that God wants us to be honest, ethical, and compassionate, and to be responsible for each other. Our goal is a society based upon Jewish ideals of justice and caring for the needs of all its citizens. And I believe that God wants us to reach beyond ourselves to a concern for humanity.
Just like the early pioneers of Zionism, we Ethiopian Jews have returned to Zion "to build and to be built by it." The people of Israel welcomed us home and, in a relatively few years, we have moved forward on the road to integration. Yet, much remains to be done to remove every barrier to our full acceptance into israel society.
At the same time, we must dedicate ourselves to the ongoing challenge of tikkun olam, the repair of our deeply flawed, yet ever so promising world.
 
The Jews of Qara

Hundreds of Jews from the remote region of Qara were unable to join Operation Solomon due to the rebel advance.

When permission was finally granted it still proved impossible to bring the Jews of Qara directly to Addis.

Large groups of Ethiopian Jews therefore travelled on foot to collection points, from where trucks brought them to Addis - from Addis they too returned home to Israel.

Over the course of 9 months beginning on September 15, 1991, four thousand five hundred Ethiopian Jews followed this route.
The Falasha Mura

Following Operation Solomon, small waves of Ethiopian immigrants called "Falasha Mura" continued to immigrate to Israel. According to the Ethiopian Jewish tradition, roughly 100 years ago, Christian missionaries began attempting to convert Ethiopian Jews. The majority spurned Christian advances and maintained their Jewish faith. Others did convert, whether from belief or from social and economic pressure. These last are the Falasha Mura.

Over the years, large groups of Falasha Mura came from the villages to compounds in Addis Ababa. Many of them had family already living in Israel who have been applying steady pressure upon the Israeli government to allow them to immigrate. In the mid-1990's, the Ministry of Absorption agreed to bring over those Falasha Mura with immediate family members in Israel. This was not under the "Law of Return" however, but under the "Law of Family Reunification." In 1997, the Netanyahu administration decided to stop immigration of Falasha Mura after a final group of 4,000 immigrants arrived.

Between 18,000 and 26,000 Falasha Mura remain in Ethiopia today.

 

The Ethiopians Jews in Israel

The story of the Ethiopian Jews is a heroic one.

Today ten years after Operation Solomon and almost twenty years after Operation Moses, a lot of the Ethiopian Olim are absorbed in to the Israeli society, but for some of them there is still a long way to go.

From the beginning:

Most of the Olim had a cultural shock when they came to Israel. Some of them met electricity and running water for the first time in their life. (Especially those who came from the small villages. Not the people who came from the big cities).

Another big shock was the first meeting with the Israelis.  This was the first time they met white Jews who lived totally differently from the place they came from.

The land of Israel, which they dreamt about for many generations, wasn’t exactly the ‘’land of milk and honey’’ that they imagined. A lot of secular Jews, cars driving on Shabbat in Jerusalem for example.

One of their biggest problems was racism. In Ethiopia they were discriminated against because they were Jewish. In Israel they are discriminated against because they are Ethiopians and black.

A lot of the youth were taken from their families and placed in religious boarding schools in order to help the families to adjust. Others left Ethiopia before their families and came to Israel by themselves.

The long separation between the family and the young people, unlike in the previous Aliyot, caused a split in the families. The authority of the old generation was lost. The young people adjusted faster to the Israeli life style and the family structure was lost. The elders, who were the heads of the community in Ethiopia, lost their position.

The Jews in Israel and the Ethiopians Jews

 The Jews in Israel did not always know how to help the new Olim who were so much different to themselves. They did not want to understand the newcomers way of living, They wanted to make them ‘’Israelis’’ as soon as possible disregarding the Ethiopian Jews feeling and way of life. Even though the intentions of the Israelis was good the difference in mentality, the impulsive behaviour of the Israelis, disturbed the Ethiopians and they thought of it is very rude.

The Ethiopians Jews and the religious establishment in Israel

One of the most difficult problems of the newcomers was with the orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel. The rabbinic and the Ethiopians Jews had between them a time difference of 2,000 years.

In these 2,000 years Helachic Judaism had undergone many changes.

The Ethiopians Jews preformed a lot of mitzvot from the Torah like keeping the Shabbat and holidays, kosher and others, but they did not know the oral Torah and therefore did not hear about a lot of changes that appeared in Judaism and on the other hand they celebrated ancient holidays that did not appear in Judaism any more and maybe never had, like the Sidg.

The encounter between the rabbinic and the Ethiopians created a lot of difficulties of the Ethiopians, because of the different mentality and because of a lot of misunderstanding.

The Ethiopians were very offended by the orthodox rabbinic establishment. At some point the orthodox establishment claimed that most of them were not Jewish and would need to have conversion.

In the last few years some of these problems were solved but there is still a feeling of frustration and insult among the Ethiopian Jews.

As a part of a national survey on the living conditions in Israel, there was concern about the integrating of the Ethiopian Jews in Israel. According to these statistics:

There are 85,000 Ethiopians living in Israel, 23,000 of them were born in Israel, still there are a lot of gaps between them and the rest of the population in Israel:

·        Only 30% of the pupils in school reach the average grades according to the educational department.

·        40% of the children between the ages 7-15 don’t know how to read.

·        11% of the Ethiopian youth drop out of school between the ages 14-17 compared to only 4% in the rest of the population.

·        Only 32% of the Ethiopians in Israel get the Bagrut diploma compared to 50% in the rest of the population.

·        72% of the Ethiopian children live beneath the poverty line.

·        47% of the Ethiopians between the age of 25-54 are unemployed compared to only 24% in the rest of the Jewish population.

·        In 62% of the households there is no provider.

·        The average number of Ethiopian students at university in the last few years is only 850.

·        Only 58% of the Ethiopian children are coming to school with all the essential equipment comparing to 79% in the rest of the population.

·        32% of the Ethiopian children between the ages 8-11 are having difficulty in reading and writing.

·        70% of the Ethiopian children live in poverty.

·        60% of the parents are unemployed.

·        Between the years 1996-2002, 603 criminal cases were open against Ethiopian youth. 3.8% of the criminal acts in Israel is made by Ethiopian youth although they are only 1.5% of the Israeli population.

The heart rending cry

 How is it possible to mourn something that happened 2000 years ago?

by Keren Gottleib

Every year when Tisha B'Av came around, I would have a certain dilemma. This is supposed to be a day on which we mourn the destruction of our Temple. It is a day when we do not eat, drink or wear leather shoes and follow varied and unique mourning customs.                                                                                                                     Every year I would arrive at the synagogue to hear the Book of Lamentations, which bemoans the destruction of Jerusalem. However, every year I would end up daydreaming about totally unrelated things. As the cantor would be reading about the Temple, I would completely disconnect, planning my summer vacation, celebrating the end of my exams, or just hoping that the fast will go well this year.                                                                    It's difficult to be truly mournful over something that took place 2000 years ago -- something that we've never seen and don't really feel lacking in our daily life. But all that was about to change.

The Turning Point                                                                                                               As part of my army service in the Israeli army I was placed, to my delight, in a teachers' unit. I served at the Bat Hatzor caravan site located near Gedera. The site held 700 caravans, which housed thousands of new Ethiopian immigrants. In the mornings I taught immigrants at the Yad Shabtai School in Ashdod. In the afternoon and evening hours I served as a counsellor on the site.                                                                    This was shortly after Operation Solomon in 1993, during which roughly 14,500 Jews from Ethiopia were airlifted to Israel. It was a special and moving operation, and the entire Israeli population was surprised to see that suddenly there were Jews walking around here who had, in fact, been severed from our nation many generations ago.

They observed Shabbat, were familiar with most of the holidays and kept Jewish tradition in a devout and traditional manner. But it was clear that they didn't know everything; the separation they had undergone throughout all those years had influenced their system of traditions.                                                                                                   They had never heard of Independence Day or Yom Yerushalayim, or even about Purim or Chanukah -- none of the latter historical events that took place subsequent to their break-off from the Jewish nation.                                                                                    I realized that unless I concentrated on filling these gaps of knowledge, their adjustment in Israel would never be complete. I decided to allot a considerable amount of time each day to teach them about Judaism.

Passover and Ascending to the Temple                                                                         The month of Nissan had arrived and I started teaching about the holiday of Passover. My class consisted of 20 students, 3rd - 6th grade. (They were placed according to their reading level rather than chronological age). These children had come to Israel only a few months beforehand and more than anything else, they loved to hear stories, mainly because they didn't have to read or write in Hebrew which was still quite a difficult task for some of them.                                                                                       My plan was to first connect Passover to the other holidays by very briefly reviewing the three major festivals during the year when the Jewish nation would ascend to Jerusalem.                                                                                                                 "Today is the first day of Nissan and Passover is celebrated on this month," I began. "Passover is one of the three festivals when the entire Jewish people used to go to Jerusalem to the Temple."                                                                                                          At this point, a student jumped up, cutting me off in mid-sentence. "Teacher, have you ever been to the Temple?"                                                                                                I smiled at him, realizing that he was somewhat confused. "No, of course not. That was a very long time ago!"                                                                                                             My student was insistent, and a few more pairs of eyes joined him. "Fine, it was a long time ago. But were you there? Were you at the Temple a long time ago?"                                I smiled again, this time slightly confused myself. "Doesn't he understand? Perhaps my Hebrew is too difficult for him, " I thought.                                                                         "No, of course not. That was a very long time ago!"                                                                     Now the rest of the students joined him in an uproar. "You've never been there?" "Teacher, what's it like being in the Temple?" "What does the Temple look like?" 

"Quiet!" I tried calming everyone down. "Listen everyone -- there is no Temple! There used to be a Temple many years ago but today we don't have a Temple. It was destroyed, burned down. I have never been to it, my father's never been to it, and my grandfather has never been to it! We haven't had a Temple for 2000 years!"                  I said these words over and over, having a very hard time believing that this wasso strange for them to hear. What's the big deal? This is the reality with which we've all grown up. Why are they so bothered by it?                                                                      The tumult in the class was steadily increasing. They began talking amongst themselves in Amaric, arguing, translating, explaining, shouting, as I lost total control over the class. When the bell rang, they collected their things and ran home. I left the school exhausted and utterly confused.

Next Day's Surprise                                                                                                    The next morning I was hardly bothered by the previous day's events. In fact, I had nearly forgotten all about the incident. That day I had planned to just teach maths, geometry and other secular subjects.                                                                                 I got off the bus and leisurely made my way toward the school. As I neared the gate the guard approached me, seeming a bit alarmed. "Tell me," he said, "do you have any idea what's going on here today?"                                                                                                    I tried recalling a special activity that was supposed to be going on, or some ceremony that I had forgotten about, but nothing exceptional came to mind.

"Why do you ask?" I asked him. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. He only pointed towards the entrance to the school.

I raised my head and saw a sizeable gathering of Ethiopian adult immigrants -- apparently, my students' parents. What are they doing here? And what are they yelling about?

I went over to them, attempting to understand what was the matter from the little Amaric that I knew.

As I came closer, everyone quietened down. One of the adults who's Hebrew was on a higher level, asked me, "Are you our children's teacher?"

"Yes," I answered. "What is the matter, sir?’’                                                              "Our children came home yesterday and told us that their teacher taught them that the Temple in Jerusalem no longer exists. Who would tell them such a thing?" He looked at me in anger.                                                                                                                     

"I told them that. We were discussing the Temple and I felt that they were a bit confused. So I explained to them that the Temple had been burned down thousands of years ago and that today, we no longer have a Temple. That's all. What's all the fuss about?"                                                                                                                           He was incredulous. "What? What are you talking about?"

I was more confused than ever. "I don't understand. What are you all so angry about? I simply reminded them of the fact that the Temple was destroyed and that it no longer exists today."                                                                                                                Another uproar -- this one even louder than before.

The representative quietened the others down, and again turned to me. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure that the Temple was destroyed? Of course I'm sure!" I couldn't hide my smile. What a strange scene.

The man turned to his friends and in a dramatic tone translated what I had told him. At this point, things seemed to be finally sinking in.                                                              Now, however, a different scene commenced: one woman fell to the ground, a second broke down in tears. A man standing by them just stared at me in disbelief. A group of men began quietly talking amongst themselves, very fast, in confusion and disbelief. The children stood on the side, looking on in great puzzlement. Another woman suddenly broke into a heart-rending cry. Her husband came over to her to hug her.                       I stood there in utter shock.                                                                                               I felt as if I had just brought them the worst news possible. It was as if I had just told them about the death of a loved one. I stood there across from a group of Jews who were genuinely mourning the destruction of the Temple.

Tisha B'Av                                                                                                                          A few months later it was Tisha B'Av. I had already been discharged from the army, on my way to college, and my military service seemed as if it had been such a very long time ago.                                                                                                                                       As I did every year, I went to synagogue. Everyone was already seated on the floor (as is customary for mourners), and I was waiting to hear the Book of Lamentations. I had expected, as in previous years, for this to be a time for some daydreaming and hoped I wouldn't get too hungry.                                                                                                       The megila reading began (in Tisha B’Av we read a megila that it name is Megillat Eicha), and I started reading the first two verses.                                 "Alas, she sits in solitude...like a widow...She weeps bitterly in the night and her tear is on her cheek. She has no comforter from all her paramours; all her friends have betrayed her, they have become her enemies."                                                                    Suddenly that first day of Nissan began replaying in my mind. The angry looks of those children. The parents' screams. The mothers' crying. The men's pitiful silence. The shock they were overcome with as they received the terrible news as if I had just told them about the death of a loved one.                                                                                              At that moment, I understood. I understood that this was exactly how we are supposed to mourn the Temple on Tisha B'Av. We are supposed to cry over the loss of the unity and peace throughout the entire world. We are supposed to lament the disappearance of the Divine Presence and holiness from our lives in Israel. We are supposed to be pained by the destruction of our spiritual centre, which served to unify the entire Jewish nation.                                                                                                                              We're supposed to feel as if something very precious has been taken away from us forever. We are meant to cry, to be shocked and angry, to break down. We are supposed to mourn over the destruction of the Temple, to cry over a magnificent era that has been uprooted from the face of the earth. The incredible closeness that we had with God -- that feeling that He is truly within us -- has evaporated and disappeared into thin air.                                             

 Now when Tisha B'Av rolls around, I go back to that incident with my students and their parents and try to reconnect to the meaningful lesson that they taught me -- what it truly means to mourn for the loss of our holy Temple.

Kobbi Zana’s story

My name is Akawa (Kobbi) Zana. I was born in the village of Shay-Wanz in Ethiopia. When I was ten years old I made Aliya to Israel.

When I was six the leader of my village decided to make a 2,500 years dream come true and to make Aliya to Israel. He had decided about it because he got information about the opening of the roads to Israel.

Getting ready took us a few months; we had to sell our cattle in order to have money for horses and donkeys.

We were afraid the Christians would discover our intention to leave so we had to do everything very quietly.

Before setting out my father and my uncle hired two road guides even though they were enemies. When the two guides heard about each other they did not agree to work together.

My father decided to set out with one of them; he was known to be ruthless and unreliable.

We left the village in the middle of the night and started walking in the mountains. After two hours walking we reached the guide’s village.

We started realising that the guide planned on leaving us in the middle of the way so robbers could attack us and kill us. We had no choice; we had to stay in the guide’s village to protect ourselves.

For four terrible years we lived in his village. During the time we were waiting in the village my younger sister died. My sister’s name was Taz-Alu (memories). My sister was only five when she died. She did not have a dangerous illness but because there weren’t any medications she died. Our biggest sorrow was that we had to bury her in a foreign village, not with the family graves. During our mourning time the guide got killed in a fight and we realised this is our chance to get away from this village, our chance to be free.

Again we started to get ready for the journey. We sold everything, bought some horses and food for the journey.

We walked only at night because we were afraid of robbers and soldiers. We feared that they would not let us get to Sudan.

We had hidden the money in the children’s clothing, hoping nobody will look for it there.

After a month of walking, we hired a shed somewhere along the road. My older brother went to look for the Jewish camps in Sudan. He told us not to open the door and not to get out of the shed.

One of the neighbours came and told us that my brother sent a truck to take us to the camp, so we climbed on the truck.

On the way in the truck we realised that it was taking us to a Sudanian prison.

The guards there believed that my parents are Christians and after paying a fine we were allowed to go.

We felt lost, with no one to lead us, we did not know where to go. Rumour reached us about a refugee camp of the Red Cross and we went there. In the camp we met my older brother. He tried to contact Israeli representatives. After a few months we made contact with them and they moved us to Graf camp in Sudan. Every thing had to be done secretly in order not to expose the Israelis identity. We were told not to leave the camp no matter what. When the hunger became terrible the men form the family decided to get out of the camp to get us some food and water. After a while the man became ill and we, the children decided that it is our job now to get food and water, so we used to get out of the camp to bring water. It was very dangerous but we did not have any other choice.

After 2 months in the camp every one became very sick and we realised that if we didn’t leave soon all of us will die in this camp.

My nephew died and we were not allowed to mourn because we were not allowed to cry in the camp. When we reached the cemetery and saw all the graves we realised the danger and that we all really can die here.

After nine months in the camp the Israelis told us that we are going to go to Israel.

We got organised very secretly so no one would know that we are leaving (out of danger).

We were told to walk to the valley, and to wait for the “monsters” that are coming to pick us from the sky. In the place we were waiting for the planes we started looking for members of the family and the reunion was very moving.

Then out of the sky came the “ monsters”, as they landed they made a lot of smoke and we were really frightened (we never saw a plane before).

The monsters opened their backs and we were instructed to get inside. My brother was sick and the doctors took care of him.

Then, after a few hours in the air we heard the pilot say: ”we are in Israeli skies” and everyone clapped their hands.

As we landed we went out of the planes and kissed the ground.

We waited 2,500 years to kiss this ground that we stood on. We were ecited.

 I have now lived in Israel for many years.  This year I finished my law degree. My way has not been easy. Life in Israel was really hard.

The Ethiopian community, because of being a different in colour and having a different culture became an outcast.

Nevertheless I have succeeded and made a life for myself.

In spite of everything I am the proof that it is possible for the Ethiopians in Israel to build good life for themselves.