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For Ethiopian Israeli Pnina Agenyahu, celebrating diversity is about speaking up and representing
As director of Partnership2Gether of the Jewish Agency for Israel, it’s Pnina Agenyahu’s job to bring together disparate Jewish communities from around the world and celebrate their diversity. It’s a role for which Agenyahu has spent a lifetime preparing — ever since she made aliyah at the age of 3 on the back of her mother, who had walked for two weeks from Ethiopia. Agenyahu was among the early wave of Ethiopian immigrants to Israel back in 1984 and, from a young age, found that she had a gift for being a leader and spokesperson for her community.
In this interview, she discusses the challenges and promises that come with a diverse Israel and wider Jewish community.
Tell us about your childhood and how you adjusted to life in Israel.
I grew up in Israel, but I was born in Ethiopia. And I came in Operation Moses when I was 3 years old. My experience is a bit different from the current aliyah because in our aliyah, in the ’80s, we were quite new to society as a Jewish group. It was the first time that black Jews had arrived in Israel. I was the first Ethiopian—the only one—in my elementary school. I grew up in Haifa, and then I moved to Jerusalem for high school. In Israel, as an Orthodox girl, you don’t go into the army; you go to national service. But I really, really wanted to wear a uniform and wanted the army experience as well. They asked me to move to Rehovot because there was a neighborhood that was 95 percent Ethiopian Jews, and they needed a role model. I accepted the challenge because it really kind of blew my bubble to see the entire community living in a ghetto. It was miserable. Parents didn’t know how to communicate with their kids and couldn’t figure out how to integrate into society. And it really broke my heart. So, I was really into that challenge. That experience defined where I am today.
Because you were the first Ethiopian Jew in many situations in your life, did you feel that you were representing something more than just yourself?
Sometimes it feels like a burden. I’m not saying that I’m famous, but the minute that you become present in some places, you are automatically the representative of the community—especially with our skin color. So, I always felt responsible to not shame my own community and be proud of representing who we are. But at the end of the day, I also feel like it’s kind of a secret mission that I have in my life—to educate about us and challenge us to be more diverse. You will not find so many Ethiopian people, unfortunately, in senior positions in the government.
In 2019 you wrote a piece in Haaretz about police violence against the Ethiopian community. Have things improved since then?
I think it’s improved a lot. First of all, they’re hiring more and more Ethiopian people to serve in the police department, which is important. But I think it’s also about awareness. Before, it was our community’s issue. We knew about the data. We knew that there were around 10 or 11 teens that, unfortunately, had been shot by policemen in Israel. But the majority of Israeli society, I don’t think, had ever been exposed to police profiling or understood what it means. Today, people are more aware, more sensitive about it, and there’s more tolerance.
Do you feel like there’s a juggling act you need to perform when you point out what’s wrong in Israeli society because Israel’s enemies are always quick to pounce on imperfections?
I got that question a lot when I was in Washington. People reached out with questions like, “How can you be a pro-Israel because of what your government is doing to you people?” First of all, we put in a lot of effort as individuals to come to Israel. My mother walked 400 kilometers to come to Israel. Not everything is perfect. I mean, there are so many things that I would love my government to change, especially in education to learn more about diversity. If you ask random Ethiopians on the street here, they’ll tell you they feel solidarity with a black person that’s been profiled by the police in the States because we, as a minority of the same color, can feel the same thing. But you can’t judge using the same perspective, the same history. In the States, it was driven by slavery. In Israel, we’re here by choice. We are here because we are a part of the Jewish people.
You’re very strong and positive in your own identity. But in the United States, college kids are under pressure to denounce Israel or minimize their Jewishness. What advice would you give to college kids?
Oh, wow, good question. The moments that really excite me are when I think that every Jew can feel part of the Jewish people. And I think we are much more diverse today than ever and able to embrace this diversity. I mean, one of the things that I’m running today in the Jewish Agency is a global partnership for Jews of different ethnic backgrounds. And it’s fascinating to see individuals that come in from different countries — from Nigeria, South Africa, New York, India, Canada, U.K., and they’re all not Ashkenazi. And I think that’s what makes me proud, when you see how colorful we are and that each of us can bring his own voice to the table.
What do you plan to speak about at the Z3 conference?
We’re going to speak about the different voices in Israeli society and how these voices create more diversity and visibility for the people around us. The Torah doesn’t say, “hear the voices,” it says, “and all the people see the voices.” So, it’s a lot about visibility of the voices that we create and making that more familiar to all of us.
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‘Text me when you get home’ — on confronting hatred as both a woman and a Jew
There’s a universal language that every young woman I know speaks. It’s an expectation, a pact even, to “text me when you get home.” A baseline understanding that the walk home isn’t always safe for us.
A different dialect of that same universal language exists across our Jewish community. It shows up when my mom texts me to ask, “does your shul have good enough security?” before I walk into Shabbat or high holiday services.
Being a Jewish woman in America means having to constantly do the calculus of how to be safe as a woman and as a Jew. And I know that my experience is not unique. With antisemitism rampant and other forms of hate still deeply embedded in our society, so many people across America with overlapping and intersecting identities — people of color, trans people and others — are also doing this calculus every single day.
The question I keep asking myself is why? Not why we have to do this constant mental exercise, but why it isn’t getting any easier. The FBI reported a decline in hate crimes in 2025, but those numbers don’t tell the whole story. Hate crimes often go unreported, whether because people don’t feel safe reporting to law enforcement or because agencies lack the training, resources and requirements to properly identify and document them. And beyond what gets counted, hateful rhetoric, threats, and violence continue to shape how we move through the world. Hate permeates our daily lives in ways that statistics alone cannot capture.
Turn on the news or scroll through Instagram on any given day and you can see why we don’t feel safer, despite what the data is telling us. You can see that the static noise of hate and violence continues to intrude on every aspect of our lives.
Our lives — across identities and generations — have been marked by hate, by story after story of deadly attacks at synagogues, mosques, churches, schools and supermarkets.
Twelve years ago, a man fueled by his hatred of women killed six and injured 14 people in Isla Vista, California — my hometown. When I think about that time in my life, I don’t think about graduating high school or my senior prom. I think about the flashes of images of my town, of the victims, on the news. And eight years ago today, a gunman took the lives of 11 congregants and wounded six others in an antisemitic attack at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. It was the day before my 22nd birthday, another moment in my life now marked by grief.
Hate and hate-motivated violence are not new phenomena in our country. But in the last decade, we have seen a normalization of hate that is both new and devastatingly familiar.
We have seen this normalization fester online, where once fringe antisemitic, misogynistic, racist, and anti-immigrant beliefs — like those held by the Isla Vista and Tree of Life attackers — are now part of mainstream conversations. We have seen this normalization take hold in our halls of power, where our president, members of Congress, and leaders around the country not only legitimize but promote hateful rhetoric and conspiracy theories.
And, we have seen this normalization thrive in policy, where hate and violence are being systematized in executive orders and legislation by the same leaders who made it normal. Policy can and should be used as a shield to keep people safe. Instead, it’s being weaponized before our very eyes to foster an environment where hate can thrive.
It’s no wonder we don’t feel safe when our president and many of our lawmakers are using their power to target women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, and so many others. It’s no wonder we question whether our institutions will protect us when the Department of Justice cancels grants supporting victims and programs designed to prevent hate and violence. And it’s no wonder survivors of gender-based and sexual violence feel abandoned when this administration is deliberately refusing to use Title IX to protect them but is instead weakening this law to harm trans people.
For people my age, who grew up with social media and the 24-hour news cycle that brought reports of hate directly into our homes, it can be hard to fathom what to do at this moment. But there are people all around us who not only know what to do, but have done it before.
I spend my days at National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW) working to dismantle antisemitism and the hate plaguing all of our communities. I am fortunate to work with and learn from people who have dedicated their lives to building a world where every person can feel safe and thrive. We are fighting every day to ensure that our institutions and our laws protect people from hate, violence, and discrimination. NCJW has been doing this work for over a century, and we know that progress is not inevitable.
The Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crime Prevention Act, signed into law 17 years ago this week, was the result of nearly 20 years of advocacy — a reminder that disrupting hate and building a safer world requires perseverance. It takes leaders willing to fight against hatred, not embrace it. And, it takes partners, allies, friends, and neighbors to move the work forward together.
That is why we have no choice but to keep showing up, to keep fighting, even when the hate and violence all around us feels like it has taken over our lives. We have to keep working, every day, to build that world we seek, where our rights, our safety, and our dignity are not up for debate.
And hopefully, one day, we will all live in a world where we don’t have to say “text me when you get home.”
The post ‘Text me when you get home’ — on confronting hatred as both a woman and a Jew appeared first on The Forward.
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Seeking funding for a Yiddish project for kids or young people?
די פֿישמאַן-פֿונדאַציע פֿאַר ייִדישער קולטור האָט געמאָלדן אַז זי נעמט שוין אָן סובווענץ-אַפּליקאַציעס אויף נײַע פּראָיעקטן פֿאַרן יאָר 2027. די פּראָיעקטן דאַרפֿן האָבן פֿאַר אַ ציל דאָס שטאַרקן ייִדיש ווי אַ לעבעדיקע שפּראַך, באַזונדערס בײַ קינדער און דער יוגנט.
דער טערמין פֿאַר אַפּליקאַציעס פֿאַרן יאָר 2027 איז דער 7טער נאָוועמבער 2026. די אויסגעטיילטע סובווענצן וועט מען מעלדן אין דעצעמבער.
אַלע אַפּליקאַציעס מוזן זײַן אָנגעשריבן אויף ייִדיש און דאַרפֿן נאָכפֿאָלגן די אַפּליקיר-אָנווײַזונגען וואָס איר קענט געפֿינען דאָ.
אַפּליקאַציעס וועלן ווערן באַטראַכט אויף קאָנקורס-יסודות. מען בעט מען זאָל אַרײַנשיקן אַן אַפּליקאַציע (מיט אַלע נייטיקע בײַלייגונגען) דורך בליצפּאָסט צו:
applications@fishmanfoundation.org
The post Seeking funding for a Yiddish project for kids or young people? appeared first on The Forward.
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Democrats leader Golan approached by man with knife on Israeli election day
(JTA) — JERUSALEM — Israel Police arrested a man carrying a large knife after he approached Yair Golan, head of the Democrats party, as Golan was campaigning in Tel Aviv on Election Day.
“Contrary to reports, no stabbing attempt occurred,” the police spokesman said in a statement.
The police said officers at the scene noticed a “suspicious object” protruding from beneath the coat of a man standing nearby. When they stopped him for inspection, they found a knife in his possession.
In a statement, Golan’s party said the man approached Golan “in a threatening manner” and that “when Golan’s security guards blocked him, a large knife slipped from beneath his clothing and fell to the ground.”
Police described the suspect as a Jerusalem resident in his 20s. He was arrested and taken to a local police station for questioning. They said the investigation “is ongoing.”
Following the incident, Golan said “incitement and violence will not deter us.” In a statement to the press he blamed the attack on Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s negative campaigning and highlighted the ties between one of his spokespeople and Qatar.
“This is the direct result of the poison machine operated by Netanyahu and his Qatari agents. I call on everyone who cares about security and democracy to go out and vote now, so that we can ensure the country we love so dearly becomes a free and safe place once again,” Golan said.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Democrats leader Golan approached by man with knife on Israeli election day appeared first on The Forward.
