Kechene Jewish Community in Addis Ababa

The Kechene Jewish Community in Addis Ababa

Before traveling to Ethiopia, we researched the current status of the Jewish community in Ethiopia and discovered that there are a few thousand Jews living in the city of Gondar and a large number of Jews living in Addis Ababa. The synagogue in Addis is located in a part of the city known as Kechene, which is also where most of the Jewish people live. 

Through a U.S. based organization which has assisted the Kechene Jewish community, we obtained the names and contact information for a few members of that community and after our arrival in Addis, we contacted them, introduced ourselves and asked if we could join them for a Shabbat service. One gentleman immediately responded and invited us to spend Kabbalat Shabbat with the Kechene Jewish community the following Friday. He said that once we found a taxi, he would talk to the driver in Amharic and explain to the driver where to take us. We could not give the taxi driver an address, as most buildings in Addis don't have an address, many streets don't have a name, and street signs are very rare. 

So the following Friday afternoon, we found a taxi, negotiated a price for a ride to the Kechene neighborhood and then called the person whose name we knew, who spoke with the taxi driver and gave him directions. It seemed that all was going well.

But after driving for about 25 minutes, our taxi driver seemed hopelessly lost. He was calling to people on the street for directions and no one was able to help him. We called our "contact person" again on the telephone, and he again spoke with our driver and gave him further directions. The driver drove a few more blocks and still seemed lost. We were getting frustrated, but felt that we were at least in the right neighborhood, because we saw a sign about a Kechene Women's Pottery Workshop.

Then, suddenly, a guy on the street, with a bushy beard, red plaid shirt and funny looking hat approached our taxi and began talking to the driver in Amharic through the front passenger window, which was rolled down. (We were seated in the back seat.) We had no idea what they were talking about and the driver seemed to be motioning the guy away. Then this guy opened the front passenger door and got in the taxi. We thought, "Great", our driver is lost and now this guy is trying to get the driver to take him somewhere. We were quite perturbed.

Then, just a moment after this fellow got in the taxi and settled himself into the front seat, he turned around, looked at us, gave us a big smile and said "Shabbat Shalom!"

The fellow who got in the taxi with us was Asalf Teketel, a leader of the Kechene Jewish community, who had been watching for the taxi with two white foreigners. Asalf directed the taxi driver to the synagogue, a few blocks away, and then chatted with us for a while in the synagogue courtyard, as we had arrived about an hour before the Shabbat service was to begin. 

Bet Abraham synagogue in the Kechene subcity/district

of Addis Ababa

Asalf told us that his father was the High Rabbi of that community until his recent death, but Asalf had broken with his father, because his father practiced Judaism in secret and Asalf wants to practice it openly.

Despite his desire to live openly as a Jewish man in Ethiopia, however, Asalf told us that he had a difficult time in public school and even at the university, because Ethiopians believe that Jews have an "evil eye". If someone becomes ill, a Jew is blamed. Some non-Jews who live in the neighborhood, he said, believe that white onion will protect them from the "evil eye". So, if they have to pass by the synagogue to buy bread at the bakery, for example, they will eat an onion first for protection. 

After chatting for a while in the courtyard, Asalf took us into the sanctuary, and as we entered the room, noticed the mezuzah on the doorframe and looked around, we immediately knew that we were in a synagogue. There was a podium which held a siddur in Amharic and Hebrew. There were candlesticks and a tzedakah box on a table next to the podium, and adjacent to that was a wooden arc which held the Torah. On a table near the entrance, there were piles of kippot and talaisim. In another corner, there was a table full of pottery kiddush cups. 

On the table next to podium were Shabbat candlesticks 

and a tzedakah box.

The sactuary with an Israeli flag on one wall and a picture of 

the Western Wall on another. On yet another wall there was a

plaque with the "Shema Yisrael" verse printed in Hebrew. 

In the center of the room stood a podium with a siddur and 

a silver kiddush cup. Next to it was a wooden arc with the Torah. 

Nancy, her head covered with a scarf, sat in the women's section

chatting with our host, Asalf, prior to the service. Asalf is 

determined to live his Jewish life openly, despite all the hardships.

Our route to the synagogue took us through an extremely poor district of Addis, the worst that we had seen. The last thing one would expect to encounter in that neighborhood would be a synagogue.  

A table in one corner held kippot and taleisim.

In another corner, a table held hand-made pottery 

kiddush cups. 

As other people arrived for the service, they all greeted us warmly, shook our hands and wished us a "Shabbat Shalom". After three weeks of being surrounded by Amharic, it felt surreal to be welcomed with this Hebrew greeting.

Because David and I were guests that evening, as sunset approached, they asked me to light the candles. That simple act, which I have done since I was a little girl, drew me into the celebration of Shabbat. 

Finally, it grew dark outside and everyone stood for the service. The men stood along one wall behind the cantor and the women along another wall. A strong sense of spirituality permeated the service. 

The cantor davened mostly in Amharic, but we heard verses from several familiar Hebrew prayers as well, which everyone present chanted in unison. We know only a few words of Amharic, but one of the few words that we know, which means "thank you", we heard several times during the service. 

The podium with a siddur and silver kiddush cup.

The siddur had the prayers in Amharic on the right, 

and Hebrew on the left. This seemed to be the only siddur

available. Evidently, siddurs in Amharic are rare.

By the end of the service there were about 15 men, 5 women, and 8 children in the 25 by 30 foot room. Everyone, without exception, was deeply engaged in praying. They were rocking and praying; and consistently, after a phrase sung by the cantor, the congregants would respond with "amen." 

After the service ended, we all sat down on the benches that were set up along each wall to chat for a while. Then, suddenly, as is a common occurrence in Ethiopia, the lights (the electricity) went out. At that point it was only the two Shabbat candles that lit the room and, strangely, this created an even stronger feeling of closeness and spirituality.

A few minutes later, we all rose again and another man led the group in reciting, in Hebrew, the traditional blessing over wine. Afterwards, two kiddush cups were passed around so everyone could take a sip. Next, two men, one with a large pitcher of water and the other with a bowl, walked around the room and poured some water over each person's hands, catching the falling water in the bowl. Then, we all recited together in Hebrew the traditional prayer that is said upon washing one's hands before eating. 

Lastly, we said the "motsi" together. The bread which they had was far from the braided, twisted egg challah to which we are accustomed, but it was quite good. It was an enhanced Ethiopian style bread. The 'loaf' was round and flat, about the size and shape of an extra large stuffed pizza. The bread was sticky and had a mild of taste of peanuts and a dose of red pepper: a unique, but enticing taste.

A short while later, a woman who was at the service with her two young children gave us a ride home and our Shabbat with the Jewish community in Addis Ababa came to an end. It was an absolutely amazing, unforgettable experience.