Over the past weeks, protests have spread throughout Israel calling for a response to racism targeted at the country’s Ethiopian community. Sparked by a Channel 2 story on discrimination in Kityat Malachi, citizens have taken to the streets to show their outrage at the status quo. Although the despicable slurs and actions that triggered these protests are blatant examples of these grievances, they conceal a deeper issue.

Beyond more overt examples, Ethiopian Israelis are often considered less desirable neighbors, and frequently have a harder time finding a job. They are perceived as a poor, underprivileged community, and face the stigma of lacking the capability to contribute equally, even if this myth is belied by reality. Some of this is outright racism, but the rest is symptomatic of a deeper and far more widespread prejudice: indirect or concealed racism.

This sentiment is dramatized even in circles that would never admit to harboring prejudice.

The primary vehicle to overcoming these obstacles is exposing reality through education, gaining knowledge of the range of personal stories.

The lack of education becomes abundantly clear when we consider how little the average Israeli knows of the Ethiopian Aliyah. They may be able to name Operations Moses and Solomon, but not much beyond that.

How many of us – in Israel or outside it – know that more than 4,000 Ethiopian Jews lost their lives on the way to Israel? How many know that nearly every family lost at least one loved one? And that it was not only the Mossad who worked to save the Ethiopian Jews, but that there was enormous activism from local members of the Ethiopian Jewish community?

An even stronger tool, however, is exposing Israeli society to the personal accounts of these same Ethiopian immigrants. Each Ethiopian family has its own story of aliyah, uplifting and inspiring for its own reasons. Hearing these stories, however, and gaining entrance to them is something that takes initiative from the public – to ask, to take interest, and to invite speakers to schools and communities. It also asks the Ethiopian community to share their experiences, often buried deep inside.

One project that strives to create tolerance on the basis of these stories is Project Abrah, which sheds light on the stories of Prisoners of Zion, individuals jailed in Ethiopia or neighboring countries as a result of their Zionist activity. In this project, both Israeli Ethiopian and non-Ethiopian youth work together to make films on the little known stories of these remarkable individuals.

For the Israeli Ethiopians, it is a way to promote intergenerational dialogue, and to utilize the heroic actions of their own community as a foundation for developing communal pride. For non-Ethiopians, it is a way to understand the community, break down walls and shatter stigmas. By listening to the stories of others, they begin to internalize the legacy of this community. This, in turn, impacts their interaction with the wider Ethiopian population, changing a relationship based on distance and preconceptions to one of mutual respect and admiration.

Education – with emphasis on programs that involve personal stories – is the key to bridging cultural gaps in our society. In this way, someone who began as an “other” becomes “another” – a fellow member of a wonderfully diverse community.