In the corridors of Shaare Zedek Medical Center in Jerusalem, a 75-year-old grandmother cries out in grief. Widowed and frail, she has been admitted again and again, her body weakened by illness and loneliness. She came to Israel in 2008 with one son, believing the rest of her family would soon follow. That promise was never fulfilled. Four of her adult children remain in Ethiopia over two decades later.
Her pain deepens with irony: One of her daughters is a nurse in an Ethiopian clinic, caring for strangers, while her mother lies sick in Jerusalem without the comfort of her children. From her modest senior-citizen stipend, she still sends money back to Ethiopia, funds meant to sustain her in her final years. “There is a God in heaven,” she whispers. “Before I die, He will wipe my tears and bring my children to the Holy Land.”
Her story is not unique. Decades after daring airlifts brought tens of thousands of Ethiopian Jews to Israel, thousands remain behind. Promises were made, papers signed, yet families are still divided by bureaucracy and political indifference.
Every morning, in another part of Jerusalem, Tadela Mengistu puts on the green uniform of the Israel Defense Forces. She once served in a rescue and recovery unit; her younger brother now commands a unit in the Nahal Brigade. They are proud Israelis, standing on the frontlines like so many of their Ethiopian Jewish peers. Yet they live with an ache: an older brother left behind in Ethiopia, a man neither of them has ever known.
Tadela was six weeks old when her parents immigrated in 2000. Her father was assured that his son, then just five years old, would soon follow. Twenty-five years later, that boy is now a man of 29, still waiting. “I have six brothers,” Tadela says. “But one is missing here.” Her younger brother adds, “I have never met him. I am proud to serve Israel, but my family will never be whole until we are together. We love our homeland and are ready to die for it without complaint, but why must this happen to us?”
Their father has spent years knocking on doors, writing letters, and appealing to ministries. He has been met with endless referrals and empty reassurances. “He is growing older,” says Tadela. “His fight for his son has become his grief.”
Giving to Israel through loyalty and sacrifice
THE GRANDMOTHER in Shaare Zedek, the Mengistu siblings in uniform, these stories reveal the same contradiction. They have given to Israel through loyalty and sacrifice. Yet Israel has not given back the one thing they ask: family unity. More than 7,000 people of Ethiopian Jewish descent remain stranded in Gondar and Addis Ababa, even as their relatives serve and sacrifice in Israel.
Too often, politicians are busy labeling their own people: One Jew is called “not clean,” another “more religious.” Some are labeled “Beta Israel,” others “Falash Mura.” Bureaucrats argue over definitions while mothers weep and soldiers serve, with empty chairs at their Shabbat tables. Ethiopian Jews are not strangers. We are Jews, and we strengthen this country.
We will never forget leaders like chief Qes Rafael Hadana Takoya, who guided the Beta Israel community with faith; chief Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, who ruled that Ethiopian Jews are “Jews, without any doubt”; and ambassador Abraham Negussie, who has humbly worked to bring our brothers and sisters home. To many, these leaders have been like fathers, like a modern-day Abraham, our forefather. And Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks reminded us: “The Jewish people is a living family, not an exclusive club.”
Where are the voices of solidarity? Where are the Jewish National Fund, the federations, the philanthropists who speak of justice? They remain silent when Ethiopian Jews cry out for family unity. And where is the international community, so quick to lecture Israel, when it comes to demanding justice for Ethiopian Jews?
THE TIME for promises and delays has passed. We call on the Israeli government to act immediately to approve an emergency airlift, reunite families, and honor its commitment that every Jew belongs in Israel.
We call on Jewish organizations worldwide to mobilize resources not just for distant causes, but for their own brothers and sisters. And we call on governments of conscience, especially the United States, to press for urgent action. American presidents, from George H.W. Bush to Donald Trump, have supported efforts to strengthen Israel and save Ethiopian Jews. Where is that leadership now?
History shows that when the world unites in moral clarity, miracles can happen. The rescue missions of the 1980s and 1990s were not only logistical achievements, but they were also acts of faith, justice, and solidarity. Today, the need is just as urgent. Families are suffering. Elderly parents are dying without their children. Soldiers are serving without their brothers. Every day of inaction is another day of betrayal.
The roughly 7,000 Ethiopian Jews still waiting to come have close relatives in Israel. They have studied Judaism, embraced modern life, and are ready for integration. This is not a question of cost, as donors stand ready. It is a question of will.
Bringing them home would end needless suffering and strengthen Israel’s moral standing in the eyes of the world.
The question is simple: Who will listen? Who will see? Who will act? Israel must decide whether it will remain true to its promise as the homeland for all Jews, or continue to turn away from its own. The answer will define not only the fate of thousands waiting in Ethiopia, but the moral soul of the Jewish state itself.
Dr. Shmuel Legesse is an international educator, activist, and diplomacy expert who has served in the Israel Police and represented the Knesset in global public affairs.
Gabi Worko, who contributed to this article, is a community activist, chairman of the National Committee of the Power for Ethiopian Aliyah Association, and a former journalist.