tuluum's Diaryland Diary

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A Boston-Ethiopia Love Story (article)

From Aish.com:

1981. Akiva Lebowitz is cracking a calculus equation at the elite

Phillips-Andover Prep School near Boston, as the sound of classmates

playing lacrosse drifts through the open window. This is where the

likes of George W. Bush and John F. Kennedy, Jr. (and for that

matter, Oliver Wendell Holmes) spent their high school days.

Meanwhile, half a world away, a young girl named Rachel Darar is

walking barefoot across the desert. Rachel's family -- parents, four

siblings, and elderly grandmother -- have left their Ethiopian

village, hoping to fulfill a 2,000-year-old dream of returning to

the Land of Israel. The decision is fraught with risks; those caught

trying to leave Ethiopia are imprisoned and tortured. Yet those who

remain face a constant threat of war, famine, and horrendous health

conditions that will claim 1.3 million Ethiopian lives over 20 years.

Rachel and her family are headed for Sudan, where rumor says they

can be airlifted to Israel.

They are traveling in a group of five families -- walking by day,

camping at night. The desert heat is excruciating, and thieves

threaten along the way. Before leaving the village, Rachel's father

sold everything they owned -- a flock of sheep and some rudimentary

furnishings. He sewed the money into the children's clothes, and

keeps a few coins in his pocket -- so when the thieves come, he can

quickly give up the money and spare the rest.

One of Rachel's relatives didn't give up his money. The young girl

watched as the thieves beat him brutally.

Rachel's family has a donkey, which carries the flour from which

they bake flatbread. Though they are to take turns riding the

donkey, Rachel's grandmother is paralyzed and needs to ride

continuously. The grandmother feels she is a burden, and tells the

others, "Leave me here and you go on." Halfway through the journey,

she dies. The family buries her en route and plants a tree to mark

the gravesite.

Of the 12,000 Jews that leave Ethiopia in the early 1980s, the harsh

six-month trek to Sudan would claim 4,000 lives.

Once in Sudan, Rachel and her family live a clandestine existence,

blending in with the Sudanese locals, awaiting word of the airlift.

If they are discovered to be Jews, they'll be arrested, deported or

killed.

After two years, word finally arrives. In the middle of the night,

completely without Sudanese approval, Rachel and her family sneak

out to a field and board an Israeli transport plane. Their 2,000-

year exile has finally ended.

BROKEN HEBREW

Meanwhile, back in Boston, Akiva Lebowitz is on the fast track. He

graduates Boston Univ. School of Law, serves as an assistant

district attorney, and then enters private practice as a defense

attorney. For Akiva, the 1990s are a decade of building a lucrative

and prestigious career. But a big part of the picture is missing:

Akiva has no wife.

September 2000. Akiva is on a two-week vacation to visit family in

Israel. While at a restaurant in Jerusalem, an old friend introduces

Akiva to a coworker, Rachel. Later, Akiva finds that he can't stop

thinking about her. His flight back to America is in a few days, so

he has to move quickly. The next day he goes back to the restaurant

and asks Rachel to meet him at 8:00 p.m. for a date.

That evening, Akiva arrives at the designated place and time. Rachel

isn't there, so he waits until 9 o'clock. 10 o'clock. 11 o'clock.

But she doesn't show up.

Akiva is upset. But he can't stop thinking about her. Two days

later, he goes back to the restaurant to confront her: "Why didn't

you show up?"

"What do you mean?!" Rachel says. "I waited until 9 o'clock, 10

o'clock, 11 o'clock -- but you didn't show up!"

Apparently Akiva's broken Hebrew led to a miscommunication. Rachel

had shown up the next night. At this point Akiva has only 48 hours

left in Israel, so he says: "I'm waiting right here until you get

off work, and then we'll have our date."

The date goes well. Very well. They both sense this could become

serious. Akiva flies back to Boston. They correspond, Akiva visits

again, and they decide to get married.

Rachel and Akiva never give thought to their different skin color.

Judaism has taught them to look beyond the surface. But how would

their parents' react? After all, interracial marriage is still

uncommon, especially those with such vastly different cultural

backgrounds.

Akiva meets Rachel's parents at their home in Kiryat Gat. Rachel's

parents acknowledge the obvious and give their blessing: Rachel and

Akiva make a great couple.

Next hurdle: Akiva's parents. Though they come from an open-minded,

New England culture, they naturally have some concerns. Will Rachel

and Akiva be subject to ridicule and prejudice? How will their

future children adjust? Will the cultural barrier prove

insurmountable?

Akiva's mother visits Israel and arranges to meet Rachel. They spend

an hour together. Immediately after, Akiva's mother calls him to

say: "Rachel is a beautiful, wonderful woman. You'll make a great

couple."

The power of love, it appears, dissolved the more "pragmatic"

concerns.

TON OF BRICKS

Rachel and Akiva are married in Jerusalem. An Ethiopian wedding band

shares the stage with an Ashkenazi rock band. There is a great

spirit of unity, two corners of the long Jewish exile bonding

together in the Holy City.

A few days after the wedding, the couple flies back to Boston, where

Akiva is to continue his legal practice. Rachel's culture shock is

immediate and enormous. She is plunked into the midst of what

strikes her as crass materialism -- with no friends and no support

group. Materially, it's a long way from the Ethiopian village. And

spirituality, it feels even farther from the holy land.

On top of this, Akiva is working 65 hours a week, at home for little

more than dinner and Shabbat.

Rachel feels disconnected and alone. She tries spending time at

Akiva's office, in an effort to connect with that world of his. But

the experience leaves her even more alienated; Akiva's work

environment is spiced with the criminals he's been hired to

represent.

Akiva senses Rachel's displeasure, but is too tied up professionally

to give due attention. He tries to buy her happiness -- trips,

vacation home, jewelry. But it isn't what she wants or needs.

A new baby diverts Rachel's attention... temporarily. She cannot

envision a future for her family revolving around American

commercialism and criminal clients. After two years of patience and

tears, Rachel turns to Akiva and says, "I didn't walk six months

through the desert for this. We have to go back to Israel."

The reality hits Akiva like a ton of bricks. He has put everything

into building his legal practice, and now, if he wants to save his

marriage, he'll have to give it all up. He loves his wife, and knows

she is right. Akiva struggles for weeks. The decision, though

difficult, is clear. In March 2002, Rachel and Akiva pack their bags

and move to Jerusalem.

Now it's Akiva's turn for a difficult adjustment. He explains: "I

was fully committed to being in Israel for my wife. But I was highly

self-actualized as an attorney, and the existential question nagged

at me: Had I 'thrown it all away,' so to speak? And who am I now?"

In the process of self-examination, Akiva discovers something about

life: "Everyone needs to earn a living, to meet the basic needs and

support one's family. But beyond that, by dedicating one's entire

life to work, to the exclusion of all else -- as I did -- then work

becomes the definition of self. In other words, you are a slave to

your work."

Akiva now realizes it doesn't have to be that way. "Striking a

balance is a much healthier, saner, complete way of life. I was so

immersed in career, that it takes a while to pull out and get

clarity. But I'm getting there."

Together in Israel, Rachel and Akiva have found their happy medium.

Akiva has resumed his Judaic studies, and works as the programming

director of an orphanage in Jerusalem.

"My work at the orphanage certainly pays less, but in many ways it's

a lateral move, where I apply a lot of the talents and energies I

used in being a successful attorney," says Akiva. "In criminal

defense, I was the only thing saving the defendant from a worst-case

scenario, consigned to a lifetime of hardship. These kids at the

orphanage are from troubled homes, often forcibly removed by the

state. I'm their advocate, keeping them from slipping into life's

worst-case scenario.

"And in a deeper sense, it's more satisfying to be defending

innocent kids in Israel, than to be defending accused criminals in

America."

While Akiva's adjustment is not yet complete ("Little things bother

me, like not being able to turn on the radio and understand the

news."), in the greater scheme of things, he recognizes God's

guiding hand in bringing him together with Rachel, and back to

Israel where they are raising their two children with a lot of

warmth and love. Israel is where the disparate worlds of Boston and

Ethiopia converge in a shared Jewish destiny. He says: "In my heart,

I know this is where we're meant to be."

FASCINATING HISTORY

Many ask the question: How and when did Jews get to Ethiopia in the

fist place?

During the First Temple period, around 700 BCE, the Jewish kingdom

in Israel split into two, threatening the spiritual life of the

nation. Some Jews from the tribe of Dan decided to escape the

resulting corruption and fled to Africa, where they would spend the

next 2,000 years in virtual isolation from the rest of world Jewry.

Calling themselves Beta Israel, the House of Israel, Ethiopian Jewry

would eventually reach half a million strong.

In Ethiopia, the Jews spoke Tigri, an Ethiopian dialect. They

studied a holy text called Orit, consisting of the Five Books of

Moses and the prophets. But they knew nothing of the later rabbinic

injunctions codified in the Talmud; they were unaware of the

holidays of Chanukah and Purim; they never heard of Maimonides, and

never saw a copy of the Code of Jewish Law. (Today in Israel, they

have adopted these laws and practices.)

The separation was so complete that Beta Israel thought they were

the only remaining Jews in the world.

In the meantime, they developed a unique set of customs, like the

wintertime Siged festival, signifying the receiving of the Torah on

Mount Sinai and including prayers for the return to Jerusalem. (It

is still celebrated today, with the Ethiopian community gathering in

Jerusalem.)

But for the Jews, life in Ethiopia was not always easy. Native

Ethiopians called them Falashas -- the alien invaders. In the 4th

century, Christian missionaries forced the Jews to withdraw to the

mountainous region of Gondar, further sealing their isolation from

world Jewry. Things remained relatively quiet until the 17th

century, when Christians conquered the region and Jews were sold as

slaves, forced to baptize, and denied the right to own land. Jewish

books were burned and the practice of Judaism was outlawed. The

Ethiopian Jews had to struggle mightily to hold onto their

traditions.

Then in 1974, the situation turned urgent. A coup d'etat resulted in

the installation of Colonel Mengistu as a Marxist dictator. During

this time, an estimated 23,500 Jews were killed. Mengistu then

instated a policy of "villagization," where Jewish farmers were

forced to relocate to state-run cooperatives, thereby breaking apart

their traditional communal structure. By the early 1980s, Ethiopia

had instituted an official policy of anti-Semitism: forbidding the

practice of Judaism and the teaching of Hebrew. Forced conscription

at age 12 took many Jewish boys away from their families, and other

Jews were imprisoned on false charges of being "Zionist spies."

It was during this time that Rachel and her family made the decision

to leave. A few years later, in 1984, the secretive Operation Moses

was held during a 6-week period. Those who were strong enough to

make the trek to Sudan were airlifted out; 7,000 Jews were brought

to Israel, before news leaks and pressure from Arab governments

stopped the exodus. Approximately 4,000 more died en route; a

memorial at the southern entrance to Jerusalem stands in their honor.

In 1991, as the dictator Mengistu was forced to flee Ethiopia, the

State of Israel took advantage of the chaos. El Al jumbo jets --

their seats removed to maximize capacity -- flew 34 planeloads in a

36-hour whirlwind dubbed Operation Solomon, bringing 14,000 more

Jews home to Israel.

LIFE IN ISRAEL

When Rachel and her family arrived in the early 1980s, they were

sent to an absorption center in Kiryat Gat; other groups of

Ethiopians settled in development towns like Afula and Arad.

Adapting to daily life proved difficult. Ethiopians were

transitioning from primitive villages -- with no electricity or

running water -- to a modern, industrialized nation. They didn't

speak Hebrew, and even their religious customs were different. To

facilitate absorption, everyone attended Hebrew ulpan, Ethiopian

synagogues were built, and -- for daily life -- an Israeli guide was

assigned to each family, to visit their apartment and show them how

to use the radio, stove, etc.

And then there was the thorny issue of the Ethiopians' "Jewish

status." On one hand, the respected 16th century Torah sage, the

Radbaz, had declared Beta Israel to be Jewish, descendants of the

tribe of Dan. Yet because they had been isolated for so many

centuries, basic laws of status -- such as marriage and divorce --

did not conform to contemporary Jewish norms. The decision was thus

made to require all Ethiopians to undergo a "symbolic conversion,"

which would essentially allow them to start with a clean slate.

The decision was not without controversy. "I remember as a young

girl going to the mikveh," Rachel explains. "Many Ethiopians were

upset: 'They're doubting me?!' But I said, 'I'll just go along with

it. God knows who's Jewish and who's not'."

Now, 20 years later, Ethiopians have by and large "mainstreamed"

into the Israeli melting pot -- excelling in the work force, serving

in the army, and often marrying outside of their community. Israelis

have a positive image of Ethiopian Jews, with none of the negative

stereotypes about blacks that typify Western society. Their

integration promises to increase; a recent poll showed that 90

percent of Ethiopian parents had no objection to their

children "marrying out" of the community.

Ironically, it is in the spiritual realm that Ethiopian immigrants

have had the most trouble adjusting. Back in Ethiopia, the community

was tightly knit and everyone was religiously observant. Yet with

their arrival in Israel, it became more difficult for parents to

guide and influence their "new world" children. While many -- like

Rachel -- strengthened their connection to Torah and mitzvot, many

other Ethiopian youth have drifted toward secularization.

The good news is that Beta Israel has a new generation of mainstream

rabbis who are fluent in Hebrew, scholars in Torah, and familiar

with Israeli society. But it took an entire generation to develop

these leaders, and much was lost in the transition. Such is the

tragic irony: After preserving their religious-cultural purity for

millennia, the spiritual heritage of many Ethiopian youth has

dissipated in a culture of Nike and MTV -- here in the Holy Land.

Finally, the story of Ethiopian immigration is not yet complete;

there is the sticky point of the Falash Mura. In the late 19th

century, when Christian missionary activity intensified in Ethiopia,

large numbers of Jews converted. Some did so against their will;

others did so as an economic opportunity to legally own land. Today,

most of their descendants have never practiced Judaism, and are not

considered by Beta Israel as part of their community. During

Operation Solomon, many Falash Mura tried to board the Israeli

planes and were turned away. Among the group were practicing

Christians who simply saw Israel as a ticket out of Ethiopia.

Today, thousands of Falash Mura still hope to make aliyah. As a

compromise, the Israeli government has brought a few thousand Falash

Mura to Israel on the basis of family reunification. Thousands more

remain in Ethiopia, awaiting a resolution.

Still, the ingathering of Ethiopian Jewry must be regarded as one of

the great miracles of our time. For those who tenaciously clung to

their Judaism over the centuries, their reward today is a thriving

Ethiopian community in Israel numbering 60,000. And even Rachel's

grandmother, who died on the way to Sudan, has made it back, too.

Family members journeyed back to the desert and found the tree

marking her gravesite. They exhumed her body and brought it to

Israel for reburial. An eternal resting place, in the eternal land

of the Jews.

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CLIX MORE LOVE MY WAY!

8:37 p.m. - Wednesday, Sept. 24, 2003

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