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One of the most striking changes we faced in coming on aliyah was getting used to the diversity of the people. That is not to say that our American neighborhood was not filled with people from various ethnicities; it was. We were one part of the mosaic of the neighborhood. Yet, as Jews, we had an affinity for other Jews in the area, since we had a common sense of being different. We shared a common bond in that we were Jews, and different from the majority of the country.
In Israel this is not the case. Yes, there are non-Jews here. However, depending on where you live, you might not see a non-Jew for days or weeks at a time. So we are all the same, so to speak. Yet, in many ways our community is still divided by “ethnicity.” There are Anglos, charedim, Sephardim, chilonim, Russians, Ethiopians, and others. And that is just our little corner of Bet Shemesh.
We tend to daven in separate shuls (Sephardi, Ashkenazi, Ethiopian, charedi, etc.) and socialize within our individual group. That is not to say that you cannot find a mix of people, or that we do not socialize across “ethnic” lines. We do. It is just hard to do so. With so many cultural differences, it is often hard to relate to a neighbor who grew up in a radically different culture than the one you grew up in.
Our children will not feel the same sense of separation that we do. Not only will they have much less of a language barrier, but they will have grown up in the “cholent pot” known as their schools.
In our children’s classes, there are children from all sorts of backgrounds. They play and study together. They make friendships and bond, regardless of the color of their skin or the background of their parents. And we love it.
I remember what I thought of Ethiopians when I first came here. They were different, not like me. They might be nice people, but since we were different, I didn’t need to really concern myself with them other than as part of society. I wasn’t thinking of having any friends in their community; they were too different from me. I’ll admit it.
And they are different. They dress differently and behave differently. Yet, this is one of the best lessons I learned in Israel (Gabe Levi, this is for you): A Jew really is just a Jew. Pull back all the layers, and he is still my brother. For an intolerant guy like me, that is a big statement.
We paid lip service to this idea when we first came. It took time and exposure to our neighbors for us to really get it. Yet, once we became more comfortable with ourselves as Israelis and began to really communicate with other people, the sense of commonality was incredibly enhanced.
Unfortunately, economic conditions perpetuate our differences. The Ethiopian community, for instance, is by and large a poor community. They came to Israel with nothing, and others are extremely prejudiced against them. In Bet Shemesh, one of the poorer Ethiopian housing projects is right next door to an Anglo community, with private houses and seeming abundance wherever they turn. This creates a sense of distrust between neighbors and a jealousy that can even turn violent.
I don’t have the answer to these problems and how we can help raise their standard of living. Yet I have an example. I have a friend and neighbor who I absolutely love, who is the epitome of what can be good here in Israel. His name is Amir Avraham.
Amir came to Israel in the 1970s, with the first wave of Ethiopian immigrants. He went to school and excelled. He wanted to be a lawyer, but his father told him that there was plenty of time for law school; first he had to study Torah.
He learned in the Gush and eventually changed his goal. Today, Amir Avraham is a teacher of Torah to children in a yeshiva elementary school. He and his wife Tamar are really outstanding people. We have a few (very few) non-Anglo friends, and they are two of them.
Amir davens in our shul. His sons go to school with mine, and all the children play together outside shul while their parents are inside. My kids are so comfortable with his that the fact that their skin color is different is really immaterial. They just don’t care. What makes Amir so incredible is his background.
His father doesn’t read Hebrew. He couldn’t help him with his homework or study with him, and I am sure at some point it is hard for them to relate. Amir has become part of another world. Yet the respect and honor he clearly shows his father is amazing. He constantly credits his father for putting him on the correct path.
Amir gives of his time to teach within the Ethiopian community. He doesn’t just lead by example. He arranges activities and educational opportunities. His gentle manner and sincerity are a striking contrast to the stereotype against which he is cast.
His son Etiel, a recent bar mitzvah, made a siyum on erev Pesach on all of Mishnah. He did a significant amount of the learning, including many meforshim, on his own. Clearly, the apple did not fall far from the tree.
Goldie and I were privileged to attend Etiel’s bar mitzvah celebration last week. Aside from the standard speeches by the rabbi, the father of the bar mitzvah, and the bar mitzvah boy himself, there was one more speech. Amir introduced the person who first taught him Gemara. He spoke of him with reverence and clear gratitude. It was clear to me that Amir maintains a special place in his heart for the person who introduced him to a new world.
Of course, after the speeches came the dancing. This was something I had been looking forward to for weeks. After all, ethnic Ethiopian dancing!! The first dance surprised me. It was regular music and the standard dancing. I even went over to Amir and said, “I know how to do this; where is the Ethiopian culture for me to experience?” He looked at me and smiled, telling me to be patient.
Eventually, at the end of the dance, they played a single Ethiopian song. It took a while, but the men eventually came to the dance floor and we got a taste of the music and the dance. Interestingly, Goldie told me that as soon as the music changed, the Ethiopian women who were not dancing (at least half of them) all rushed to the dance floor and participated.
After a break, the dancing began again. As you can see in the online video (shmub.mp4 at youtube.com/user/shmukatz) I had an amazing time trying it. In the video, Amir joins in the dancing (he is the shorter guy with the beard). We were so excited to experience some of their background and upbringing, and it was a tremendously fun night for us.
In the past, I have bemoaned the lack of achdut here in Israel. We allow the things that make us different to become so divisive that it becomes difficult to coexist. I am proud that there are still some things to bring us together.
I want to wish all my readers a terrific day of Shavuot together with me in Yerushalayim. I look forward to participating in bringing the korbanot of the chag. It will truly be an honor to share the first chag in our rebuilt Bet HaMikdash together. If this is delayed for some reason, enjoy the chag anyway. And remember, L’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim hab’nuyah.
In Israel this is not the case. Yes, there are non-Jews here. However, depending on where you live, you might not see a non-Jew for days or weeks at a time. So we are all the same, so to speak. Yet, in many ways our community is still divided by “ethnicity.” There are Anglos, charedim, Sephardim, chilonim, Russians, Ethiopians, and others. And that is just our little corner of Bet Shemesh.
We tend to daven in separate shuls (Sephardi, Ashkenazi, Ethiopian, charedi, etc.) and socialize within our individual group. That is not to say that you cannot find a mix of people, or that we do not socialize across “ethnic” lines. We do. It is just hard to do so. With so many cultural differences, it is often hard to relate to a neighbor who grew up in a radically different culture than the one you grew up in.
Our children will not feel the same sense of separation that we do. Not only will they have much less of a language barrier, but they will have grown up in the “cholent pot” known as their schools.
In our children’s classes, there are children from all sorts of backgrounds. They play and study together. They make friendships and bond, regardless of the color of their skin or the background of their parents. And we love it.
I remember what I thought of Ethiopians when I first came here. They were different, not like me. They might be nice people, but since we were different, I didn’t need to really concern myself with them other than as part of society. I wasn’t thinking of having any friends in their community; they were too different from me. I’ll admit it.
And they are different. They dress differently and behave differently. Yet, this is one of the best lessons I learned in Israel (Gabe Levi, this is for you): A Jew really is just a Jew. Pull back all the layers, and he is still my brother. For an intolerant guy like me, that is a big statement.
We paid lip service to this idea when we first came. It took time and exposure to our neighbors for us to really get it. Yet, once we became more comfortable with ourselves as Israelis and began to really communicate with other people, the sense of commonality was incredibly enhanced.
Unfortunately, economic conditions perpetuate our differences. The Ethiopian community, for instance, is by and large a poor community. They came to Israel with nothing, and others are extremely prejudiced against them. In Bet Shemesh, one of the poorer Ethiopian housing projects is right next door to an Anglo community, with private houses and seeming abundance wherever they turn. This creates a sense of distrust between neighbors and a jealousy that can even turn violent.
I don’t have the answer to these problems and how we can help raise their standard of living. Yet I have an example. I have a friend and neighbor who I absolutely love, who is the epitome of what can be good here in Israel. His name is Amir Avraham.
Amir came to Israel in the 1970s, with the first wave of Ethiopian immigrants. He went to school and excelled. He wanted to be a lawyer, but his father told him that there was plenty of time for law school; first he had to study Torah.
He learned in the Gush and eventually changed his goal. Today, Amir Avraham is a teacher of Torah to children in a yeshiva elementary school. He and his wife Tamar are really outstanding people. We have a few (very few) non-Anglo friends, and they are two of them.
Amir davens in our shul. His sons go to school with mine, and all the children play together outside shul while their parents are inside. My kids are so comfortable with his that the fact that their skin color is different is really immaterial. They just don’t care. What makes Amir so incredible is his background.
His father doesn’t read Hebrew. He couldn’t help him with his homework or study with him, and I am sure at some point it is hard for them to relate. Amir has become part of another world. Yet the respect and honor he clearly shows his father is amazing. He constantly credits his father for putting him on the correct path.
Amir gives of his time to teach within the Ethiopian community. He doesn’t just lead by example. He arranges activities and educational opportunities. His gentle manner and sincerity are a striking contrast to the stereotype against which he is cast.
His son Etiel, a recent bar mitzvah, made a siyum on erev Pesach on all of Mishnah. He did a significant amount of the learning, including many meforshim, on his own. Clearly, the apple did not fall far from the tree.
Goldie and I were privileged to attend Etiel’s bar mitzvah celebration last week. Aside from the standard speeches by the rabbi, the father of the bar mitzvah, and the bar mitzvah boy himself, there was one more speech. Amir introduced the person who first taught him Gemara. He spoke of him with reverence and clear gratitude. It was clear to me that Amir maintains a special place in his heart for the person who introduced him to a new world.
Of course, after the speeches came the dancing. This was something I had been looking forward to for weeks. After all, ethnic Ethiopian dancing!! The first dance surprised me. It was regular music and the standard dancing. I even went over to Amir and said, “I know how to do this; where is the Ethiopian culture for me to experience?” He looked at me and smiled, telling me to be patient.
Eventually, at the end of the dance, they played a single Ethiopian song. It took a while, but the men eventually came to the dance floor and we got a taste of the music and the dance. Interestingly, Goldie told me that as soon as the music changed, the Ethiopian women who were not dancing (at least half of them) all rushed to the dance floor and participated.
After a break, the dancing began again. As you can see in the online video (shmub.mp4 at youtube.com/user/shmukatz) I had an amazing time trying it. In the video, Amir joins in the dancing (he is the shorter guy with the beard). We were so excited to experience some of their background and upbringing, and it was a tremendously fun night for us.
In the past, I have bemoaned the lack of achdut here in Israel. We allow the things that make us different to become so divisive that it becomes difficult to coexist. I am proud that there are still some things to bring us together.
I want to wish all my readers a terrific day of Shavuot together with me in Yerushalayim. I look forward to participating in bringing the korbanot of the chag. It will truly be an honor to share the first chag in our rebuilt Bet HaMikdash together. If this is delayed for some reason, enjoy the chag anyway. And remember, L’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim hab’nuyah.
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