Poverty swells in the slums of Addis Ababa. Yet none of the tin and mud homes that I have visited lacked in either grace or generosity. The beauty of having time to work on this project allows me to not only spend my moments seeking out the aesthetic, but also using my time tending to a growing trust and sensitivity, ultimately finding the poetic balance that weaves the photojournalist with the humanist. Today I enjoyed listening and not looking as intently.
And as I listened I began to feel the growing strings of sympathy pull me. I came to know the deep crisis that is endured by the Falash Mura, as they wait between three to nine years with the unrelenting expectancy that they will be brought to Israel. Those that have been rejected hardly flinch when they say: Maybe next week I too will join my brethren in the holy land. Listening to each speak his own impoverished share, I began to realize that while all dreams dreamt were about climbing out of poverty and joining immediate loved ones in Beer Sheva, Tzfat and Jerusalem, I was one of the only ones aware that tonight the Jewish holiday of Shavuot begins. All barriers to Jerusalem are crushed as Jerusalem’s gates are unhinged and she embraces all those yearning to congregate within her. How appropriate it felt to be with these people on the eve of this holiday, and how alone I feel in its celebration.