The first thing that I think of when reading about the story of the Jews of Ethiopia, is their struggle to be seen as Jewish by the global Jewish community. No less so with Baruch Tegegne’s story, which reminded me quite a bit of our earlier discussion of “who is a Jew?” To my mind, although there is certainly a connection between the identity of Ethiopian Jews to that earlier conversation, there are also marked differences. Mendelssohn, Hirsch, Geiger, the Baal Shem Tov, the Vilna Gaon, and all the others we’ve discussed had ideas that, fundamentally, had their roots in the same notion of Judaism. Regardless of their theologies, philosophies, understandings, or applications and critiques of Judaism and its practice, each of these men grew up in traditional Judaism; rabbinic Judaism, that, while it underwent many forms of disruption, could be traced back to the codification and redaction of the Talmud in the fifth and sixth centuries CE. They stood in their respective times connected to a chain of transmission and interpretation of rabbinic law their ancestors had carried with them into exile after the destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans. As did members of many Sephardic and Mizrachi groups, and Yemenites, although the latter were relatively isolated for a longer period from other Jews.
Ethiopians are distinct in that their traditions predate by about a couple of centuries the advent of the Rabbinic Judaism either practiced or actively not practiced by nearly every other person who considers themselves to be Jewish. There are certainly other groups of Jews with origins predating the destruction of the Second Temple, but unlike Ethiopian Jews, by and large these other communities were not cut off from the rabbinic Judaism that took hold in the early centuries CE. As Tegegne notes, Ethiopian Jews had with them the Torah as well as other parts of Tanach. They also had a form of Oral Torah, presumably related or dating back to the version which was still being transmitted orally before the Mishnah was redacted. Altogether, the Judaism practiced in Ethiopia was at once greatly similar to rabbinic Judaism and incredibly different from it.
As Baruch’s Odyssey and Israeli history show, the existence of a non-rabbinic strand of Judaism with many thousands of adherents presented a strange problem for other Jews in general and for the Israeli government in particular. What were non-Ethiopian Jews to do with a community which fell totally outside of their received traditions, whether they practiced them or not? Tegegne refers to several possible origin stories and it is not entirely clear which one is the case, but regardless, by the time he was born, there had been recent contact with European Ashkenazi Jews. By the time he went to Israel, he had been preceded there by several groups of his countrymen. Overcoming the divide between Ethiopian Jews on the one hand and Western and Israeli Jews on the other is a central theme of the book.
In the beginning of the book, he relates the story of his childhood, living a similar life to that which his ancestors had lived for many centuries. He then gets an opportunity to go to Israel as a teenager and stays for nearly a decade before returning home. During that time, despite making some friends, he faces near-constant attempts by peers, teachers, governmental officials, and other Israelis he encounters randomly to other him and the rest of his cohort. He is subjected to racism and doubt which strike at the heart of his Jewish identity. As he observes many times throughout the book, his antagonists are consistently unable to reconcile the fact that someone who is black can also be Jewish, or even something similar to Jewish. Once he is back in Ethiopia, he makes multiple efforts to help his community, buying land and building up a farm and village several times. When a revolution deposes Emperor Haile Selassie, he is caught between the forces of the former government and those of the rebels, who soon establish a new Communist regime. He is forced to flee the country along with his Christian friend Alam.
The second portion of the book is devoted to his circuitous route. He travels through Sudan, Chad Cameroon and Nigeria, alternately relying on luck, the kindness of strangers, quick thinking, and quid pro quos with the people he meets. Depending on the circumstances and who is asking, he is Ethiopian, Sudanese, Eritrean, or some combination thereof, in addition to being Muslim, Christian, and occasionally Jewish. Upon arrival in Nigeria, he is eventually able to obtain employment on a Greek ship, which sails around the west coast of Africa and up to the Mediterranean Sea before passing through the Suez Canal and heading down to Singapore and then Australia. He ultimately must fly back to Nigeria, where a couple of Israelis he meets suggest simply flying to Israel from there. After some visa trouble he does make it to Israel, but there he runs into new troubles with the Jewish Agency and immigrant absorption services. Ultimately, he is able to successfully work in several different jobs in Israel, as well as serve in the IDF and become an Israeli citizen.
However, he encounters new difficulties when the “Jewish question” rears itself again: the government rabbi he and his girlfriend Susan meet with to arrange their marriage refuses to do so because although he is willing to accept Susan’s Jewishness without question, he will not acknowledge that Baruch is equally Jewish. This is in spite of the fact that by this time, both the Sephardic Chief Rabbi, Ovadia Yosef, and the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi, Shlomo Goren, have ruled that Ethiopians are Jewish and must be accepted as such. Tegegne mentions that even in the case of Ethiopian men who went to a mikveh and had a hatafat dam brit (ritual drawing of a drop of blood from a man who was already circumcised), their Jewishness was rejected at first. After effectively being rejected by the government rabbi, he acknowledges sarcastically that he and Susan will just have to go live in sin. He calls out the rabbi for not sincerely wanting to advance the cause of all Jews and for being racist on his way out.
In the last part of the book, Tegegne tells the story of his involvement in efforts to bring more members of the Bet Yisrael community. After several failed attempts, he is finally able to help bring a small group to Israel. What is striking is the sheer magnitude of bureaucratic hurdles that he and they must overcome. At each of the steps, from transport to Sudan, to waiting in refugee camps, to verifying status with the Jewish Agency as well as the Israeli government, to finally facilitating absorption in Israel, there are many roadblocks and setbacks. Tegegne’s efforts led up to Operation Moses and then Operation Solomon, the best-known actions taken in support of the Ethiopian Jewish community, in which the Israel government facilitated the airlifting of thousands of Ethiopian Jews to Israel.
Two things that stands out over the course of the book are Tegegne’s persistence and his attitude. Despite hostile people on all sides, governmental difficulties, and medical ailments, he manages to pull through on his journey to Israel and subsequently on his mission to help his people come home to Israel themselves. After facing turmoil in Ethiopia, he becomes willing to endure anything over the course of his travels, and sometimes ignores advice and warnings from doctors to expedite the process. So too when he’s making plans to get more Ethiopians to Israel, he sometimes forges ahead without heeding the instructions he is given from Mossad or other agencies. His fiery righteous indignation perpetually burns within him, to the point that at key moments, he is utterly unafraid to speak what is on his mind and confront those who would do wrong by him. Considering his and his people’s suffering, it is not entirely surprising that he sometimes becomes violent in reaction to injustices either against him or his community.
One surprising part of the book is the initial, years-long intransigence of the Israeli government in properly addressing the Ethiopian Jewish crisis. Despite previous contacts with the community, it takes a lot of effort for the government to both prepare to rescue Jews from Ethiopia and actually follow through on doing so. As the book recounts, it took many months from the conception of the idea until the landing of the first group of refugees in Israel, in part because governmental stakeholders disengaged from the plan before later rejoining. They had to be convinced again and again that there was a real problem, and that further the safety of thousands of Ethiopian Jews and not just that of a random small group was in question. This was true both for those left in Ethiopia and those waiting in refugee camps in Sudan. I had been aware of both large operations, but not of the path taken to reach them. But knowing that questions about the Jewishness of the Ethiopians and various forms of discrimination against them persisted for decades, including to this day, it is logical that the decision to rescue them had to win a difficult battle.
Baruch’s Odyssey and the story of Ethiopian Jews in general forces readers to contend with the question of “who is a Jew?” like almost nothing can. The combination of a pre-rabbinic tradition with the attitude of other Ethiopians, other Africans, the Israeli government, and other Jews means that his legitimacy and safety and that of the rest of his community are constantly threatened and questioned. As the book demonstrates, it was not enough to make it to Israel, which was hard enough on its own because of the process it took to convince everyone involved in the rescue operations that what they would be doing was worthwhile. Nearly all of the officials involved in facilitating the Ethiopian aliyah were skeptical at one point or another that the olim had just as much basis and reason to come to Israel as any other group. After their arrival, the absorption process was difficult; like Tegegne’s personal experience, both governmental employees (including rabbis) and other members of the public were confused by the identity of Ethiopians as black Jews. Even following the successful absorption of each small group, it was a heavy lift to raise the plight of those who remained in Ethiopia for Operations Moses and then Solomon; not to mention the struggle of Ethiopians to integrate properly into Israeli society, both because of their unique culture and traditions and the hesitancy of the public to accept them.
It has now been over thirty years since Operation Solomon, and the Ethiopian Jewish community in Israel numbers well over 100,000. While great strides have been made, including the highly visible achievement of the first Ethiopian-born minister in the Israeli government two years ago, the presence and legitimacy of Ethiopian Jews still sparks debate. Many non-Ethiopian Jews, if not most, have dropped the question of whether Ethiopian Jews count. However, not all have, and people learning about the Bet Yisrael for the first time may wonder to themselves how their existence makes sense. Will there ever be a time when Ethiopian Jews are just another group of Jews, albeit with a very unique history and culture? What will it take on the part of Israeli society and the rest of the global Jewish community to fully accept them without contingencies, and to at least not ask the lingering questions they have out loud, if they still wonder? Can those who still have doubts learn or come to understand something that can assuage them once and for all? If there are other Jewish communities that also predate rabbinic Judaism, will they be come to be accepted more easily? Hopefully, these questions will have positive answers, but I invite you all to consider them in the meantime.
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