I’m in Jerusalem! I arrived here today on the 2am flight from Ethiopia, with 60 or so ethiopian immigrants/olim. It was quite a sight, seeing the olim all dressed up for the plane ride and their actions on the plane; the examinations of all the individually wrapped items in the meal, the mixed use of hands and spoons for eating, the headphones on from the beginning of the trip to the end, and just the overall feeling of excitement that these Ethiopians were about to start a new life. I followed their entire first day in Israel. After we got off the plane, we walked through the terminal and saw a few ethiopian-israelis who were working in the airport as janitors. We took a bus to the old terminal one section in david ben gurion airport, where the immigration center is for the airport. People were fed sandwiches, and children were given goody bags. All sessions were led by Ethiopians who have lived in Israel for nearly twenty years. Baby’s were diaper changed in a separate room; diapers are given to the olim with children before they leave, but most use them incorrectly (they never really used disposable diapers) like putting them on backwards, or not using the sticker fasteners.

Following the processing, luggage was collected. The Ethiopians skipped passport control., and so did I by accident. The Israeli officials weren’t too grateful when I came back (voluntarily) from the baggage claim, realizing I didn’t get a stamp. After that was cleared up (luckily my guide came into the office and cleared things up right when they asked where my parents were born) we boarded a bus to take the families to their absorption centers. I went to Ashkelon, in the south. I followed one family as they were entering the center and getting orientation on the basics, what to do, what not to do, etc. It was funny because most of the Israeli staff didn’t speak English, so I needed to pay attention to the Amharic translations that were designated for the olim to understand what was going on. After the orientation, the family was taken to their apartment in the center, where they will stay for the next two years. They had an Israeli soldier who had come to Israel three years prior taking care of them in the beginning; she was the niece of the parents of the family. The fridge was stocked with eggs, humos, vegetables, and other random things. The freezer had chicken and beef. The cupboards had sugar, oil, and flour. The apartment table had fruit. The beds were made with clean blankets. What a transition from their previous lodgings; I wish I had my camera to do a before and after picture. Another family from the center brought them injera and wot, and some young men brought a case of Israeli beer to celebrate their arrival. I took my cue to leave, not wanting to tinge the camaraderie of the celebration with prying eyes.

I roamed around the center, exploring the Hebrew classes and talking with the immigrants.  The Hebrew classes were interesting; I sat in on a “slow” class, as the teacher put it. Most people I talked to were very happy to be in the center, although I sometimes I felt their reluctance to tell me the problems they faced.

I got a more direct view of the problems from the absorption center’s director. He explained to me what I had heard before: children and women do excellent, but once a man passes the mid-30’s years, he usually is helpless. The men usually do not adapt well to the society and cannot pick up the language easily, forcing them to be dependent upon the wife and children, a dramatic switch from the prior Ethiopian patriarchal society. This leads to domestic violence, and in some cases, murders.

In the absorption centers, the children go to school. The adults receive language training for the first year, and technical/trade training for their second year. During both years, they receive religious instruction – as it was put to me, a kind of missionary work. The olim are required to go through a conversion process (as it was put, “lip service”), although nobody really keeps tabs on what they do when they leave the absorption center. I noticed that all the students kissed the mezuzah on the doorway when they entered; not one missed it. I also noticed that all “ishi” (Amharic for basically OK) was substituted with “bseder.” Not tragic, but a notable thing in my opinion. I did not hear one “ishi” from the Ethiopian soldier who had been there for three years.

The funniest thing by far was how I had to communicate with the Israelis using Amharic. Who would have guessed?