ETHIOPIAN EXODUS
IT IS Friday night and I am sitting in synagogue in Gondar, Ethiopia. The walls and ceiling are made of corrugated iron sheets which don’t meet and the floor is beaten earth. During the prayers, chanted in a mixture of Hebrew and Amharic, I can hear the cows and roosters, from the communes scattered around the building. Sitting next to me is a thin young boy, tzitzit hanging out of his torn and grubby shirt, staring curiously at my pale face. He probably wonders if I can really be Jewish.
The evening begins with a delightful “shir-along”, followed by a service led by local chazanim and attended by 200 to 300 congregants, all praying and bowing passionately. I have never witnessed such joy at the welcoming of Shabbat. The men dance wildly in the aisles, while the women dance, clap and ululate on their side of the mechitzah.
The service on Saturday is equally fascinating. When the Torah scrolls are brought out of the ark and carried around the synagogue, the men embrace them wholeheartedly. At the end of the service, as part of the kiddush, hundreds of bread rolls are offered, perhaps as much to nourish hungry stomachs as for their symbolic purpose.
I have lived in South Woodford, east London for many years. When the charity Meketa came to our community a few years ago to talk about the plight of Ethiopian Jewry, my wife Sylvie and I were greatly moved and decided we wanted to help. Our chance came when I retired last year. We have spent the past few months living in Gondar, to help where we can, with the Jewish community and others.
In 1984 and 1991, Operation Moses and Solomon saw more than 20,000 Ethiopian Jews airlifted to Israel. Most of Gondar’s Jews had lived for many years as farmers in villages but, after the airlifts, they moved to Gondar town, close to where the Jewish Agency was based, in order — they thought — to have a better chance of being chosen to make aliyah. Although many have since left for Israel, thousands remain. Without land, they have lost their old agricultural livelihoods and most have been living in dire poverty for over 20 years, hoping all the while to get permission to go on aliyah. So far, Israel has not agreed to take them.
Meketa is a charity that operates outside politics and focuses purely on helping members of the Jewish community become self-sufficient. Core to its principles is the old maxim of giving someone a fishing rod and not fish. Some families cannot even afford to send their children to school. This is where Meketa steps in — it finds sponsors who enable the children to continue — or start — their education.
Sylvie teaches English, Hebrew and arts and crafts in the Jewish afterschool club. The children are dressed in little more than rags, but they are eager to learn. Some have discovered a real talent for art — and seeing their eyes light up on discovering colour theory and perspective has been immensely rewarding. The highlight of our week is the club’s Kabbalat Shabbat, which starts with Shabbat songs and traditional blessings, recited joyously by all the children, who are then given bread and bananas to munch on while the headteacher tells a bible story in Amharic.
My role has been to find profitable businesses, such as tailoring and ironing, which require little academic education and to train individuals who need to find a new way of making a living. Meketa provides each of them with a subsidised micro loan, which helps them commit to their new trade and remain motivated.
Setting up trades is fraught with difficulty, because of government regulations and the lack of western products such as ironing tables, which have to be sourced from the capital, Addis Ababa, 12 hours away on substandard roads. There is no Amazon or proper postal service here. The hotel where we have been staying does not even have an address. Yet working through the challenges has been amazing, because of the delightful local Meketa staff.
Life in Gondar has truly been an eyeopener. Most of the Jewish community live in tiny mud- and stick-walled houses or corrugated iron sheet houses, which are all smaller than an average British bathroom. Yet these tiny dwellings often house families of six, who mostly sleep on the floor and who cook and lead the rest of their lives outdoors. There are no wardrobes — if they are fortunate enough to have a change of clothes, which is rare, they will be hung in a plastic bag nailed to the wall. One charming family we met live next to a bar full of drunk, rowdy men; the mother is always anxious about the safety of her young daughters. Yet, despite all their hardships, the families have been incredibly generous in inviting us into their homes. The experience has been both heartwarming and heartbreaking.
We have been living in a hotel which does not have a regular supply of water, electricity or wi-fi. In our London life, these would have seemed like huge problems, but they have paled into insignificance when we compare our situation with the hardships we see all around us.
We have no cooking facilities, so rely on restaurants. Our diet is mostly vegan, so Wednesdays and Fridays are our feast days, when Ethiopians “fast” by eschewing meat and dairy products. The amazing pulse and vegetable dishes that are piled on injera flat bread — the beyenetu — has been our delight. The other days have proven more difficult, as most Ethiopians love meat.
Our three months of volunteering are almost up. We’re going to miss Gondar so much — the friends we’ve made, the warmth that emanates from everyone, the delicious coffee, the beautiful countryside and mountains. We will always be grateful to Meketa for providing us with this opportunity. Ethiopian Jewry desperately need support — at meketa.org.uk you can help to sponsor a child’s education, buy beautiful tallitot and kippot made by Gondar’s Jewish community, or even volunteer for a life-changing experience, as we have done.
After 20plus years, they are still waiting for aliyah’