"Despite the Terrible Suffering, We Told Ourselves: The Main Thing Is We Will Reach Jerusalem in the End"

A new project by the Petah Tikva municipality, called 'The Journey to Hope – Remembrance in the Living Room' introduces the city's residents to the heart-wrenching immigration stories of many Ethiopian immigrants.

The municipality initiated the project for the national day of remembrance for the Ethiopian Jews who perished on the way to the country – four thousand in number. Most Israeli residents are completely unaware of the arduous journey and sacrifices made by the Jews who chose to immigrate from Ethiopia to Israel, and precisely to raise this awareness, this project was created.

"For years, I thought that Ethiopians arrived in the country by planes, and only now I understand that most of the journey they did by foot," said in an interview to 'Yedioth Ahronoth' Doron Cohen, a Petah Tikva resident who participated in a meeting with Inbal Chokul, a 40-year-old Ethiopian native who recounted how she embarked on a grueling journey at the age of six, along with her parents and eight siblings.

"Since I can remember, I heard at home talks about immigrating to the holy Jerusalem," she recounted. "My mother said that after I was born, my grandfather blessed me and said: 'This girl will reach Jerusalem, to our land.' I always knew we were temporary in Ethiopia, and indeed, one night our parents woke us up and said: 'Get up, we are going to Jerusalem.' I remember the picture vividly: my parents and my eight siblings along with all the Jewish villagers gathering on a dark night and whispering to maintain secrecy. I didn’t feel fear: it was the excitement of a dream about to come true."

On this journey, two of the children were lost. The sister who fell ill and perished, and the one-year-old brother, who at a certain stage was separated from them with his mother. The mother returned to reunite with the family, when the child – was gone. They didn't even ask questions. Death was a constant companion to those walking to Sudan, on the way to the land. Inbal recounted how she was hungry, thirsty, and injured, but maintained her silence. "As if everyone told themselves that whatever happens is for the best – the main thing is to reach Jerusalem."

At the end of 1984, they arrived in the country. Only here did the mother allow herself to cry, night after night, for the child and the daughter she lost. Only here did the father ask his daughter to write down the names of the children who perished and ensure their names would one day appear on a monument in memory of the Ethiopian immigrants who died on their way. She fulfilled the promise, but her father did not live to see this monument: in 2002, he was killed in a terrorist attack.

Yisrael Itzhak, a 59-year-old immigrant from Ethiopia and a nurse by profession, recounted how his father sent him to the country alone due to battles near their home. The family stayed behind – Itzhak believed the road's dangers were too great for them.

"A guide led me to the Sudan border and left. I stayed on the Nile bank: the current was terrible, I didn't know how to swim, but I had to get to the other side, to Sudan, so I entered the river, and there started the hardest hours I endured. I saw death before my eyes. I barely breathed. I drank contaminated water and let the river carry me. I don't remember exactly how, but after two days I found myself on the other side.

"On Sudan's soil, I vomited my soul. When I realized I was alive, the first thing I did was check if my daughter's picture survived. It was in my pocket. I drew strength from it. I told myself that I am alive and so is my daughter. I walked every night not knowing where: I found cow tracks and followed them. I told myself that where there are cows, there is a village somewhere."

A few years later, his wife also reached the country – alone. "I heard from relatives that my wife and the girl, who was five and a half, set out on a journey to Jerusalem and arrived in Sudan after a month on the road. Both fell ill, and the girl cared for her mother, fed her water until at a certain stage, she couldn’t hold on and passed away." For years, neither Yisrael nor his wife could mention the girl they lost on the way to the Holy Land. "I think about her a lot, how old she would have been today if she had survived, how she would look, where life would have taken her. But I'm afraid to think too much about what happened to her: perhaps in her last moments, she wanted water and was denied; perhaps she suffered greatly until she died.

"As a nurse, it was clear to me that I would never work in a children's ward. I can't handle a suffering child."

Rachel Tshale, also a nurse, embarked on the journey to the Land of Israel when she was a 16-year-old girl.

"We walked a month and a half until we reached the Sudan border. The most terrible image I remember is from the border, from the Nile: people would enter the waters and disappear. In hindsight, it turned out the river teemed with crocodiles. I was terrified of disappearing like them...

"In Sudan, my father's sister, niece, and her three children, his brother, and his sons passed away. We left many bodies in Sudan. I think about it a lot, but for years I didn’t tell the story because I didn’t think it interested anyone. Today, it’s important for me that people know we came here out of sheer Zionism and not because there was famine in Ethiopia."