I was born in Africa, raised in an ancient Jewish community in Ethiopia, worked more than 20 years in New York’s justice system, and now live in Jerusalem.

From this vantage point – Black, African, Jewish, Israeli, and American by experience – I see something that should alarm anyone who believes in Zionism and in the Jewish state:

We are wasting precious voices our people desperately need.

I have made aliyah twice. I served in the Israel Police. I worked in the Knesset’s international communications unit. I have written for The Jerusalem Post, JNS, and The Washington Post

I hold an MA from Hebrew University and an Ed.D in International Educational Leadership from Yeshiva University, where I learned from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory. This is my story:

ETHIOPIAN JEWS take part in a prayer of the Sigd holiday on the Armon Hanatziv Promenade overlooking Jerusalem, in November 2025.
ETHIOPIAN JEWS take part in a prayer of the Sigd holiday on the Armon Hanatziv Promenade overlooking Jerusalem, in November 2025. (credit: YONATAN SINDEL/FLASH90)

In 2008, when I first made aliyah from New York, my Zionist Jewish Ethiopian father told me: “One day you will stand before the nations and tell them we have the right to live in our forefathers’ land.”

That dream led me to voluntarily join the Israel Police Harel Unit in Mevaseret, study at Hebrew University’s International School, and do volunteer work for the Knesset during Operation Cast Lead.

I applied to the Foreign Ministry and asked to take the entrance exams in English or Amharic, because my Hebrew then was not yet strong enough for a psychological exam in Hebrew.

The cost of being overlooked

The answer was no. There was no flexibility, no recognition that an Ethiopian Jew fluent in Amharic and English might be an asset to Israel’s diplomacy in Africa and the English-speaking world.

Instead, the only role I was offered inside the Foreign Ministry was as a cleaner. I accepted, hoping that perhaps someone would eventually notice who I was. No one did.

A scholarship later took me back to New York to complete my doctorate.

I returned to my role as an investigator and educator in the New York court system and continued writing and speaking for Israel in the American public arena. I married, raised a Jewish family, and never gave up the dream of representing our people.

In August 2023, my wife and I brought our three children home to Israel. Weeks later came October 7. In the middle of that darkness, it was a difficult time for my American children, and in December 2023, God blessed us with a new son. 

We named him Eliyahu, because we are crying for redemption.

I promised myself I would not raise my personal story while our hostages were still in Gaza.

Now, as we slowly heal, I must ask: what lesson are we teaching our children when a Black Ethiopian Israeli Jew with my background is welcomed to clean the offices of the Foreign Ministry but not to sit at the table inside?

SINCE OUR return, I have again sought roles in diplomacy, education, and public advocacy. Again, the only job offered to me in that framework was cleaning. Work is dignity, and I am not ashamed of it.

But when I see much younger Israelis and olim (new immigrants) from Western backgrounds, with far fewer publications, less training, and less life experience, accepted into diplomatic and advocacy roles, I cannot pretend that everything is fine. 

This is not only about my career but also about what message we send to the next generation, especially Ethiopian and other non-white Jewish youth.

What will my children think if they see their father, with a doctorate from a respected American university and decades of public service in NYC, treated as fit to scrub floors but not to represent the Jewish state?

I want to be very clear: I do not want to go back to America and lead protests against Israel. I do not want to organize demonstrations in our streets. We are at war. We are mourning.

My goal is the opposite: to raise this issue within the family, in a free Jewish press, and in respectful communication with our leaders, including Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Jewish leaders worldwide.

I want to speak as a loyal son, not as an enemy.

But I must be honest. If nothing changes and I am forced to return to the United States simply to support my family, what story will I then have to tell?

What will I say to American Jews, to Black communities, to Africans, when they ask why a man who served as a detective and educator in New York could only find work as a cleaner in Jerusalem?

What will our children believe about their Jewish hope and their Jewish state?

More than at any other time, it is crucial for Israel and the international Jewish community to take immediate, affirmative steps to include Black Ethiopian Jews in high-level leadership: in the Foreign Ministry, at the UN, in Abraham Accords frameworks, and as senior ambassadors and public faces of Israel.

Not as tokens, but as full partners.

I stand ready. I am seasoned. I am loyal. I am educated in your institutions and rooted in our oldest tradition. Yes, I am Black. That is not a problem.

In this generation, it may be one of our greatest strategic assets. I do not want to leave. I do not want to protest you. I want to serve you.

The author is a former NYC Supreme Court detective/investigator and educator and expert in conflict resolution, restorative peace, and moral diplomacy. His upcoming book is Moral Diplomacy for a Broken World, inspired by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.