In the Spring/Summer of 2012 I had a chance to intimately know the Sudanese refugees of Darfur who are living in the southern neighbourhoods of Tel Aviv. Through volunteering to teach them english I was able to discover how a traumatized group of people who had escaped genocide in their homeland were subjected to further marginalization in the place they sought refuge. There are truths to both sides of the arguments and an answer to solve this dilemma is not simple, though what I seek to present here is simply a human story, one that any one of us could tell. The Sudanese Refugee community of Tel Aviv taught me about the resilience of the human spirit, our inherent capacity to survive and the flexibility of the heart. Some of my students have faced the gravest tragedies imaginable and are now separated from their loved ones since many years, living in less than desirable conditions, working too many hours per week in laborious jobs, and facing the fear of deportation and hatred on the streets. Though they have much to complain about I was always surprised by their toothy grins and their warm, generous spirits hiding behind shy downturned eyes. These beautiful people that you see here are the shadows that walk the streets, the unwanted reminder of our collective suffering, and they feel as unwelcome and insecure in the country which protects them from the one that tried to exterminate them. Take a long and hard look into these eyes and perhaps you will see something familiar, something that reminds you of yourself. This is the naked human spirit, beyond race, creed, and colour. This is the story of a Refugee, but equally a story of our failure as humankind. Filmed/Edited - Yamuna Flaherty Music - 'That Home' by Cinematic Orchestra

 

Refugees in the Holy Land

It was spring 2009 when I was walking through the bus station in south Tel Aviv and a bomb scare trapped me indoors.

As I searched the exits trying to find a way out and away, I met Adam, a refugee from Darfur. He knew his way around the bus station and found an exit that we both slipped through, leaving the chaos behind us for the sunshine and fresh air.
As we walked side by side I learnt that he had been living in Israel for the past decade and was an English teacher. He had a classroom nearby where he taught other refugees from Sudan and invited me for a visit.  

I will never forget the evening that I stood in front of a packed, windowless classroom which also doubled as Adam's bedroom. About twenty sets of white eyes stared at me, starkly contrasted against the rich tones of their deep black skin and the occasional flash of white teeth as they smiled. I gave my impromptu introduction to two full classes, allowing questions, and encouraging their introductions. In my early twenties I had been an English teacher in Korea for a couple of years, though standing before these young men was very different. I sensed the importance of my presence and interest in their lives. I had heard about the African refugee crisis in Israel a couple of years before I stood in that room, but I had no idea that I would become so intimately involved with this community and develop such a profound empathy for their plight.

Though refugees from the crisis in Darfur have escaped genocide in their homeland, an experience they historically share with Jews, they are mostly unwelcome and unwanted in Israel. After suffering severe trauma in Sudan they are subjected to further marginalization in the place they seek refuge. Naturally, it is a complex situation with arguments on both sides. To this day there remains thousands of refugees from Africa in Israel that face very uncertain futures.

I spent four months teaching English to the Sudanese Refugee community of Tel Aviv though it was them that truly taught me. I learnt about the resilience of the human spirit, our inherent capacity to survive, and the beauty alive in the hearts of people who have suffered some of humanity's gravest tragedies. Constantly facing the threat of deportation, racism on the streets, and danger if they return to Darfur, my students became my friends.


Their toothy grins and warm, generous spirits are permanently inscribed upon my heart.