ISRAEL’S SECRET CULT

THE INCREDIBLE STORY OF A FORMER MEMBER OF THE AFRICAN HEBREW ISRAELITES OF JERUSALEM

BY

MAHALEYAH GOODMAN

Copyright © 2013

By

Mahaleyah Goodman

DEDICATED TO THE YOUTH OF THE WORLD WITH LOVE

SEEK NOT

If you seek knowledge, you will end up confused; for the past is his story and the future is yet unseen.

If you seek youth and beauty open, your mind; behold the beauty surrounding you which the eyes cannot perceive.

If you seek power, you are a fool. For unlimited power was your birthright at the moment you came into being.

If you seek fame and approval, this you will find; an empty house with broken shutters and dusty rooms, for the child that once dwelled there left home long ago, taking with him all his toys and joys.

If you seek riches, you will be disappointed; for sleepless nights await you.  Neither will you rest in your grave, for your riches shall haunt you from above, and only then shall you know who your true friends were.

If you seek wisdom, be still; read no book, seek out no master; for wisdom whispers to you from within the quiet chambers of your soul.

If you seek joy you, will find sadness; for joy is only a choice that you make each moment of your life.

If you seek love, just breathe; for every breath you take is love’s unfailing answer to your call.

If you seek truth, you seek for naught, for no man’s truth is the same; neither can he trust in it, for truth is but an illusion, forever shifting with the sands of time.

If you seek eternal life, love yourself above all things, for all things will pass away, but love remains forever pure, unaltered yet transforming, unconditional and indestructible.

If you seek God, you seek in vain; remember instead who you are, for you are one and the same.

Seek out no safe place, nor protector; for this world is not your home.  But the Kingdom within your heart is your refuge.

Seek not, for you are perfect. Realize your perfection, and be at peace.

By Mahaleyah Goodman

Table of Contents

DEDICATED TO THE YOUTH OF THE WORLD WITH LOVE

PROLOGUE

INTRODUCTION

IN THE BEGINNING

THE ADULT YEARS

FRANK

YOKANON

FIRST GLANCE

THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER?

TOO LATE!

LIFE IN ISRAEL

THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES

The Order

THE NEW SAINTS

THE MOSHAV

MARRIED LIFE

THE SISTERS

CROWNED SISTERS

SINGLE SISTERS

The “Village of Peace”

THE BIG SURPRISE

THE HONEYMOON IS OVER

A CHILD IS BORN

IGNORANCE IS NOT ALWAYS BLISS

THE LAST ONE TO KNOW

HEELA

BETRAYED

THE RELEASE

SHI

YONAH

KAVIVAH

THE TEAR

OH JORDAN

A PLACE TO CALL HOME

THE MANHUNT & THE MONEY

AVITAL

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE SAINTHOOD

THE CULT

WHITNEY HOUSTON

JONESTOWN REVISITED

THE FALSE MESSIAH, BEN CARTER

WINGS

DEACON

THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

MY HONORABLE BURDEN

MAHALEYAH’S BIO

CONNECT WITH MAHALEYAH

PROLOGUE

This is the story of one of the greatest and most courageous Pan African grass roots movements to ever originate outside of America in the 21st century. The story of the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem is long overdue. For those of you who have decided to purchase this book and read it, I apologize for its delay, and thank you for your kind support.  I understand that the issue of the “Black Hebrews” is of great significance not only within the community residing in Israel, but to the entire international community at large. Hopefully this book will address many of your questions, doubts or concerns.

A wall of deafening silence has surrounded this community for over 40 years. Finally, the facts will be revealed. In this book, I will tell the story about how it all began, and what is currently threatening to shake loose the very foundations of this internationally renowned community.

As the writer, I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge all those souls who have up until this time remained voiceless.  Without them, there would be no story. So for every child that cried out alone or afraid; for every elder that mortgaged their home, and sold everything they had for the “cause;” for every brother that slept in a tent while living in the teeming jungles of Liberia, fighting off malaria and waiting for his turn to travel to the promised land; for every mother that never saw her child again because they travelled to Israel and never returned; for every soul lying in an unmarked and un kept grave… I want you to know, this book is for you!

In rendering my account, it is impossible for me to tell the whole story, but I can and do tell the whole truth. I invite you to accompany me along my journey of transformation where I first became involved with the African Hebrew Israelites, and lived as a loyal and content citizen of the “Kingdom of God.” Then later, my story reveals in shocking detail how the collective dream of so many, came face to face with a monstrous hidden agenda. If this story sounds familiar, then you’ve been paying attention. Now read……

INTRODUCTION

There have been several books written on the subject of the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem. But no one can really tell the story of what happened to us over the past forty years except someone who has actually “lived” it. Some parts of our history are relatively known and thoroughly documented. But there is much that has been hidden. Even amongst the members themselves. How many members have confessed their knowledge of the many crimes being committed within the sanctuary of the “KOG” such as: child abuse, rape, incest, extortion, identity theft, etc.? How many members dare speak about the hundreds of bodies lying in unmarked graves, right outside of Dimona, Israel? What happened to those former members, and why is there hardly any trace of their deaths? And why is this remote burial site now slated to be wiped out? There isn’t one nation on earth that doesn’t have its fair share of dirty laundry… and the story of the “Original African Hebrew Israelite Nation of Jerusalem” is one of Israel’s best kept secrets…

First let me say that I am not writing this book to impress the spiritual, religious, or academic world. There are some that won’t like what I have to say, be they a member of the community or not. But I am calling upon you, the reader, to temporarily dismiss your prejudices for just a few hours, or however long it takes you to finish this book, and try, at least to, “get the message.”  In the end, the reader must determine his or her own “truth.”

It is important for you to read this book in the order that it was written, and not give in to the temptation to skip to the middle. You need to know the whole story. And folks the book is not that long.

Living in a cult for more than twenty years has been the experience of a lifetime. This book only covers a small portion of what I have discovered during that time. My mission now is to help the world, the children born into this mess, and all those still trapped in this dreadful cult to understand how it all started – and what is happening now.

This book is my personal attempt to educate and inform the world concerning the plight of the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem. To ignore this subject, is to ignore the many lives that hang in the balance.

IN THE BEGINNING

It seems almost a contradiction that I, the great granddaughter of southern slaves, could have experienced such an idyllic childhood. I inherited from my parents an incredible endowment of genius, fortitude, and pride. My father's quiet determination epitomized these attributes by affording his family opportunities for travel and higher education which previous generations could scarcely imagine, much less attain.

Besides me, I had four other siblings. Susan, the oldest, was like our second mother. I looked up to her greatly, and even today, I call her the world’s greatest big sister.  Edith, who came next, was my favorite. She was my constant playmate, and trusted friend. After me, my only brother, Frank, was born.  We tease him to this day about his terrible temper tantrums as a kid; but he came out to be a wonderful brother indeed. I’ll never forget the day my mother and father brought my youngest sister GaiI home from the hospital. She was born prematurely, and was extremely frail. We were told she was too delicate to play with, and so we didn’t. I think from that day on, all of us kids kind of unconsciously ignored Gail. Fortunately children grow up. And after many years, Gail and I became very close; making up for all the lost time during our childhood.  In the end, each sibling was different, each of us flawed in character, but perfect in our love for one another. It is good to know that, if I had a chance to choose my family all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

I worshipped my mother, even though she was a complete enigma to me growing up. She reminded me of an exotic fruit, ripe with passion. Her moods encased her like fruity membranes…. sometimes soured from bitter memories. All those I quickly discarded, to reach her succulent core… always sweet, always satisfying.

As a young girl, I could sense the impossibility of me ever really "knowing" my mother. So I, like most other children, settled for loving her. She was a master story teller. And I was her student. You could find us together late at night, long after the others had gone off to bed. I would sit at her feet, awaiting transportation into one of her mystic tales of the bible or some old plantation ghost story. Many a night, I’d lay awake in my bed, frightened from the hags and witches my mother had just told me about in one of her stories; but I could not resist our nightly ritual.

My mother and I had a very curious relationship. Whether she knew it or not, she was the one who skillfully imparted to me all the moral codes of life through her constant story telling. Under her tutelage, I became a highly sensitive and spiritually mature child. And I felt the bond between us was unbreakable. Imagine how I felt when my younger brother Frank arrived, followed by my younger sister Gail. In my tiny world, I no longer felt "special."  In fact, I felt betrayed by my mother who now had much less time for me.

One day at school my teacher passed out envelopes to all the students. She told us to ask our parents for donations to help cure children with polio, the scourge of that time. I remember rushing home to ask my mother for a donation to help the sick children. I received the usual reply, which was no, and the discussion ended. I remember staring at her that moment; watching her shrink before my eyes, just like the wicked witch of Oz. I couldn't understand her refusal. After all, we were rich. Why not help those in need? For the first and last time in my life, I defied my mother. A little while later I opened her purse and took out what I thought was two dollars. A fair amount, I thought… she wouldn't even miss it. Afterward, I carefully placed the bill inside the envelope which my teacher had given me and signed my name as best I could. I was proud of myself, and a short time later, had almost forgotten what I had done.

A few days had passed before my teacher reached my mother to inform her of my "good deed". She knew there must have been some kind of mistake when she opened my envelope and saw a crisp twenty dollar bill – which was a huge amount of money in the 1950's. I was busted! But in all fairness; how was I to know the difference between a two and twenty dollar bill? I had never handled money before. And I had only just learned to write my name.

My mother was extremely grateful to the teacher for returning the money.  And, luckily for me, she understood what my intentions were, and did not punish me for my so called "good deed." I didn’t understand at that time that the twenty dollars I took was intended to cover my family's expenses for the entire month. Neither did I realize how much distress I had put upon my mother, who thought she had somehow lost the money. I felt terrible for what I had done, and was convinced my mother could never forgive me. But my mother understood me better than I could ever imagine. Not only did she give me the forgiveness that I so desperately needed; but she also called my teacher, and arranged to give a small donation on behalf of the children stricken with polio.

I am sure this was the Creator’s way of showing me that everything is not as it seems. And I needed to perfect patience. My mother's lesson here was more about giving. She learned that she needed to give me more attention, and give more of herself to others. Here, the intent of a child with a pure heart not only went a long way in serving everyone involved with a powerful learning experience, but also shows the beauty of redemption for a mother, in the eyes of her child.

THE ADULT YEARS

Reviewing my childhood years has helped me to more clearly understand why I made certain life choices.  For many years I felt the fact that I was never “popular” in school was a plus. Usually being popular meant being involved with a lot of drama. And I always hated drama. In grade school I was sometimes teased. I wore thick glasses and neat, but unattractive hair styles.  Some people become loners or fighters because they feel they have no other choice. Maybe that is what happened to me. I was tough, both mentally and physically. So I had no problems protecting myself.  I felt like one day, MY day would come.

By High school I had outgrown physical fighting, and was learning the fine art of “rebellion.” I suppose this was my new way of fighting back.  I hung out with a few other “unpopular” girls and, for a brief time, abandoned my previous strict moral codes. Aside from a few petty incidents of shoplifting and trying cigarettes, I basically stayed true to myself.

The only area of “true” freedom I allowed myself was the theater. In theater I could be and do practically anything imaginable. Acting was my passion, and I was encouraged by my teachers to pursue the arts. I did work at a dinner theatre for a short time, but eventually quit. As much as I loved the theater, I found it hard working around the pretentious artsy crowd, and I wondered if I could ever make it as an actress. Not because of my lack of acting skills, but because I didn’t want to live in a constant state of pretense. I didn’t know whether to take a chance at what I really loved, or just work in an area where I knew I could find easy employment. I would be attending college soon, and I hadn't the slightest idea what I would do.

Leaving home and going off to college represented an opportunity for me to reinvent myself.  I had a lot more confidence now having blossomed into quite an attractive young woman. I didn't resent the opposite sex nearly as much as I used to as a preteen. I marveled at my newfound feminine powers, even though I wasn't quite sure how I would use them. All in all, I guess you could say I was still pretty old fashioned about certain things in life. Drugs and screwing around, just wasn’t for me.

College was more like high school on steroids.  The only difference was the stakes were just a little bit higher, and your parents were betting on you to win. I felt like I had just been dropped into a giant pressure cooker. Inside this giant pressure cooker, there were the usual divas, and jocks in attendance, your freaks, and then what I like to call the “sorority suckers,” and last but not least, there were the nerds. Whatever you were looking for, you could find on the college campus. I gave in to the impulse of total freedom and gave myself the quirky nick name Stacey. I also dressed a little more daring, but that was the extent of it.

Whenever the pressure was on, I reverted to that place where I felt most comfortable; my safe mode. So, after much anxiety and soul searching, I reluctantly majored in business management and fell in with a very select and sensible group of friends; this time, both girls and guys.

During this time away from home I learned a lot about life, the good and the bad. I also learned a lot about myself. Although I had met new and wonderful people whom I still consider friends, I realized two things; I had a problem “fitting in,” and I seriously hated conventional learning.  After two years I quit college, feeling that I was only wasting my parent’s money.

I was ready to start my own business. It didn’t take me long to realize that life in the real world was not that simple. My work did not inspire me, and I was becoming more and more depressed. Every relationship with a man seemed to deteriorate. Chastity might have been a virtue, but it didn't make me very popular within the dating scene. Loneliness and I had become quite good friends. I had everything to live for but secretly wished to die. The only thing that seemed to comfort me was the belief that God loved me, and had a beautiful plan in store for me.

FRANK

The tragedy of “growing up” means leaving the world of the “extraordinary” and entering the world of the mundane. Physically and mentally, I had completed childhood. But I longed for the magical world I had left behind. I had almost put away all my childish dreams when out of the blue, an idea sort of entered my mind and took shape. I guess you could say at that time I was rather bored with my earthly life, and I found this new idea strangely appealing.

My brother Frank and I were close. I guess we both felt like we were the two odd balls, or black sheep of the family. He wanted to become a professional bass guitarist, and I wanted nothing more than to write plays and to act. Neither one of us had the courage to make it happen. We understood one another. We spent hours together, sometimes people watching, or discussing our dreams, ideas, failures, and more.

I’ll never forget the day I casually asked him “the question” which had been on my mind for some time. “If space aliens were to contact you,” I asked, “and told you that they could take you aboard their space ship to a place where only peace and love existed; a place where death, disease and poverty were unknown…...then these same space aliens said that you could go with them, but there was only one criteria; you had to leave right then. Would you go?” He looked at me for a minute, laughed, and finally answered. “Wow, that would be fantastic sis, but how would you know whether or not you could trust them?”  I smiled at him proudly and whispered, “I would go.”

After that conversation, I felt somewhat relieved. My secret longing was finally expressed on some level. Now only time could confirm my inner feelings.  The trust that Frank had been so uncertain about, was not even an issue for me at that time. I was obsessed with the idea of, and a firm belief in, a better existence; someplace else.

Not long after that conversation I was introduced to a group of men and women that would convince me of a place where only love and harmony reigned; a place where death and disease barely existed. I was told that I could go with them if I left right away. But I was cautioned not to waste precious time. Not even to say goodbye.  At that time I was a young, impressionable woman, searching for a life with true purpose. At that time I felt I had a wonderful spiritual connection to God and that I was special. I had become a perfect candidate for a spiritual conversion.

YOKANON

I’ll never forget the first time I met Yokanon. It was evening, and I had just come in. From the foyer I could see a slim dark male sitting in the living room. His dress was casual, but he had an unmistakable air of class about him. From what I could see Gail, who was seated beside him, had apparently fallen asleep. “Poor girl,” I thought. “She doesn’t even know how to entertain her guest.” Gail had casually mentioned meeting a guy at the mall where she worked. She said he seemed “nice,” but that was all…. I was pleased. It looked as though my little sister was finally growing up. It seemed like only yesterday, I was helping her memorize the names of exotic cheeses for her first job, and now she was entertaining guys.

She was a young woman now, just back from college. Her beauty and charm had taken me by surprise. I had always looked at her as a skinny little brat. We were not particularly close growing up. I found her boring and too serious for my tastes. I much preferred the company of my older sisters, who had both left home long ago. I did love Gail. I just didn’t particularly like her. But now her drop dead looks showed another side of her. She looked almost exotic. Like a tiny porcelain figure. With her slanted brown eyes, and silky black hair; most young men found her enchanting. I knew dating could be potentially frustrating for her. She was shy, and so very innocent. I understood the pain young women often underwent when they chose to save themselves for marriage. Like me, she had been hurt before. If this guy wasn’t the one; I hoped she and Yokanon could at least be friends.

After it became quite clear that Gail had no interest in Yokanon other than friendship; we decided that he would be considered a “friend” of the family. A friend of the family meant, you had special privileges such as an automatic place at the dinner table, overnight stays (girls only), and my mother’s expressed approval.

Yokanon might have been considered a “friend” of the family, but I was baffled by some of his peculiar behavior. He seemed almost too polite, and strangely calm. He displayed an almost imperceptible air of superiority around others. I remember asking him one night why he never accepted food or drink at our house. I detested snobs. What he told me totally contradicted my assumptions about him. I learned he was a vegan. At that time, vegans were very rare. But his unusual diet was just the beginning…. Yokanon was introducing me to a whole new world of ideas. It was refreshing to have a male friend that wasn’t trying to get into my pants. A friend that was smart, trusting, and loved God…. What more could a girl ask for?

FIRST GLANCE

One evening Yokanon took me along to attend a meeting at a church somewhere downtown. He had jokingly assured me that what I saw and heard there would change my life. I remember laughing when he said it because, being raised as a Christian, I felt there was very little that I hadn't already seen, heard, or done within the African American Baptist church – let alone change my life. Not wanting to offend my friend, I went along with a certain degree of skepticism, good humor and even humility in my heart.  In the back of my mind I was still curious, and was eager to strengthen my relationship with my Creator.

When I entered the room, my eyes scanned a group of beautifully arrayed black men, women, and children of all ages. A sense of calm swept across me, and I immediately felt at “home.” For the first time I saw and heard people speaking the language of God (Hebrew) freely and eloquently. I also saw the beauty of men women and children worshipping God in a fashion unlike any I had ever seen. I knew at that precise moment that I could not imagine myself serving God in any other way. Yokanon, who was later to become my husband and father to my children, had been correct.

I found myself irresistibly giving myself over to this new group, and their belief system so quickly, and drastically, that my family and friends could barely recognize me as the daughter, sister or friend they once knew. Within a year I had totally changed my diet, political/religious beliefs, physical appearance, and my name. I had found my “purpose” in life and had become part of a group called “The Original African Hebrew Israelite Nation of Jerusalem.”  This particular “community” was generally known as the “Black Hebrews” from Chicago. There were several satellite communities outside of Chicago, in Washington D.C., Atlanta, Georgia, and Houston, Texas. The operation consisted of young socially/politically, and most of all; spiritually conscious individuals from all walks of life.

In all honesty at that time, there was a certain kind of positive energy that this community emanated. There was also a sense of genuine peace and overflowing joy that you felt surrounding them. The members carried themselves with a royal dignity, and were highly respected within the communities wherever they resided. They were renowned for their strikingly bright and flowing African-type garments. You would often see the “brothers” carrying scepters, and the “sisters” donning intricately wrapped colorful headpieces. Of course no outfit was complete without the additional adornment of gold and/or silver chains dripping from one’s neckline.  Member’s garments were designed and professionally hand sewn. Only the purest of fabrics were purchased. Gold, silver, and other precious stones were routinely worn; and these too were often exquisitely hand crafted.

Careful attention was given to any prospective member, and the recruitment process itself was relentless. New members were feverishly sought after, and it seemed like every other day a new member was joining the ranks. These newbies were carefully analyzed, and groomed for their eventual progression into the community, and eventually on to the Holy Land. Once you were officially recognized as a member of the community; you gained the status of a “Saint.” Saints were not allowed to drink alcohol, use foul language, or take drugs of any kind. They couldn’t wear leather or any other kind of animal by-product either. This was just a few of the dozens of restrictions placed on the Jerusalem sainthood.  If a couple fell in love, they could be married by a community “priest.” But marriages were considered sacred contracts, and could not be annulled or terminated.

Higher ranking saints would often teach classes, dispense Hebrew names to new members, and handle the more administrative tasks within the organization. New saints were carefully indoctrinated into the new family. I can remember studying films and countless pictures of the Holy Land with other “newbies.” We never tired of hearing about Israel, our new home, or the pioneer “saints” who had gone on before us. We were taught that Israel was the land where we would receive the many blessings we could not inherit in America. We were told we would live a life of spiritual paradise.

When I left the United States, I left following the strict instructions not to say good bye to anyone outside the community.  I was told this was the normal procedure every saint took just as a precaution to prevent any friends or family members from interfering with their travel plans. Not wanting to disappoint my superiors, and wanting instead to impress them with my seriousness, I followed these instructions to the letter. I departed in a blissful state of ignorance, on my way to experience some of my greatest challenges, and life lessons.

I had no way of knowing that this was just the beginning of my spiritual transformation. I didn't know that my new “purpose” for living would take me down a path which would last over twenty years, and practically destroy everything that I once held dear. It would have been easier to count the stars in the heavens than to change my way of thinking at that particular time in my life. The only thing worse than the need to be right, is the need to blindly believe.

THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER?

Why is it that the grass always seems greener on the other side of the street? Why is it that as soon as we get that thing we’ve always wanted it somehow seems to lose its appeal?  Why is it that so many of us living today in modern society are seldom satisfied with our looks, partners, jobs, our entire lives? A partial explanation for our incessant state of discontent might begin with the understanding that it is our primary purpose as parts of God to infinitely create or evolve. It is our nature as parts of God to seek that perfection from whence we came. The “powers that be” have known this for ages and have skillfully seized the power to graph our social and moral evolution by defining for us what we need. We are told that man started off in Eden, a virtual garden of paradise. What happened? Wasn’t paradise good enough? Will we ever find our way back?  The journey back is taken one step at a time, each soul embracing his precious gift of choice.

The Hebrew Israelite missions in the United States were flourishing. The community was rapidly growing into a powerful and attractive alternative to the Christian church. The “Nation,” another term of endearment for the “community,” was more appealing to young people because of its emphasis on black pride and radical ancient Hebrew philosophical teachings; and if that didn’t attract the restless, youthful, masses; then the opulent Hebrew lifestyle would.

The black Hebrews were much flashier, yet less strict than their Muslim brothers and sisters. Nothing was too good for the Hebrews. They had their own restaurants, radio/television shows and social centers as well. An endless stream of money flowed into the Nation’s coffers from the huge donations and tithes which seemed to come from everywhere. Each satellite community boasted bright minded and beautiful young people, finely furnished living quarters, the best in organic and health foods, wines, wardrobes, cars, and extravagant social events. Being a member was like belonging to an exclusive VIP club. And life was one big happy party. From the “Hebrew” side of the street, life looked not only greener, but exciting, great!”

TOO LATE!

All the romantic visions I once held for Israel were shattered upon my arrival. I could see in one quick glance, why there had been so much pressure to recruit new members and get them to Israel as quickly as possible. Most new saints left the United States with one way tickets in their hands. Most of these saints had made incredible sacrifices to start their new lives across the globe. And many had been brainwashed into committing crimes, meaning they could never return.

I arrived at Ben Gurion airport of Tel Aviv, in the late evening. I was weary from the flight, yet excited as well. There was a tall dark brother named Abeer already there waiting for me. I had barely said Shalom, before he had picked up my bags and whisked me out of the airport. He was wearing a long cotton shirt with even longer fringes. The shirt looked old, and He looked tired. He sported the typical mustache and beard most of the brothers wore, but not the fine jewelry I was accustomed to seeing the brothers in the States wear. Once in the car, I wanted to ask him a few questions but I could tell he wasn’t very much in the mood for conversing.

I used the silence instead to meditate, letting Abeer concentrate on his private thoughts, and the long road ahead. The night was breathtakingly black, beautiful, and still. A million twinkling stars seemed to come out to greet me. I began to finally relax, and felt at peace. The next morning I woke up in my hotel room to a brightly lit sky; almost too bright for words. I remember looking up at the sun, and at that same moment, one of my contact lens broke right in my eye. As I struggled to remove the cracked lens; I prayed what just happened, wasn’t some sort of bad omen of things to come. I learned I was in the Southern region of Israel; in a city called Arad. This small dessert town is located about thirty minutes from Beer Sheva; and approximately twenty minutes from Dimona, Israel

After checking out of the hotel, I was literally dropped off with no instructions, or real information. I had no idea where I was going, for how long, or what I was supposed to be doing. I could tell right away, that the brothers in Israel did not relate to sisters in the same manner their counterparts in America did. The brothers here seemed distant. I could tell that in Israel, sisters were looked at differently. I was taken to an area of Arad with three story apartment dwellings somewhere not too far from the hotel.  Even though it was still early morning; the heat was intense, even in the shade. We followed a maze of alley ways and several flights of stairs before we reached an old catty-cornered, apartment.  My bags were placed inside the door which, surprisingly, was unlocked. The driver called out someone’s name, and a sister graciously appeared from the rear of the apartment.  There was no sofa so I sat on a stack of mats which the saints used for seating during that time.

As I took in my surroundings, I immediately noticed the absence of sound. No television, no radio, no conversation; not even a baby crying. It was as if time stood still. Children were quietly darting in and out from every direction. And it was impossible to tell who actually lived there. After some time, I guessed at least five or six of the women passing back and forth must have actually lived there. The women seemed to move about robotically, doing, whatever. My intuition kept buzzing in my ear. But my attention was elsewhere, caught up by these strange new people. I was captivated by the sisters, their perfectly wrapped head pieces…., speaking their perfect Hebrew, in an attempt to disguise what they were obviously saying about me.

My mind wandered, and wondered… Where are all the brothers? … And what was that cooking?  I could smell delicious and tempting aromas coming from the kitchen nearby. I was offered a glass of lemonade, and received my first half smile, by a sister who would later become my sister wife, or second wife, to my husband. I wondered if I could ever measure up to these remarkable sisters; these women so poised, articulate, amazingly virtuous, and almost completely…. inanimate.

It was by chance, while looking into the face of a child, I realized what my intuition had been trying to tell me. Beneath the mischievous grin of a little boy peeping at me from a corner, I saw what all these strange, new people had been trying so hard to hide. Everyone I had come into contact with was trying to hide the secret that this was a place of great “sorrow.” An uncontrollable urge of mutual understanding and complete sadness began to envelope me, as I sat in silence; grateful to the little boy and the truth he revealed to me through in his eyes. I looked around again, at the people, the sky, and the room. At that moment, I wished I could fly away. Go back to my real home. But I knew it was too late. So, I sat there sipping my warm glass of lemonade, hoping for the best.

I was told that night to give my money to the “head” sister for safe keeping, which I did. Evidently, there were some thieves amongst the saints. Time passed, and the women kept up their incredibly busy pace. I felt very much in the way. And I was depressed because I was used to working, contributing. I was mostly ignored, except for the one sister who would occasionally ask me for money to feed her family.  Each day seemed like a week.  When market day arrived, I was relieved. It was my first time travelling outside the city of Arad. I went to Beer Sheva, with one of the older daughters to the open air market. She purchased for me there a mat to sleep on, and fabric for dresses, and head pieces. Lastly we purchased a small wicker chest to keep my things in.

The comings and goings of “saints” at that time was generally kept a big secret. This was due in part to the illegal immigration status of many members of the community. So it was about a week or two before I finally got a chance to talk on the phone with the person responsible for my becoming a saint, my good friend Yokanon. It had been over a year since I had last seen or spoke to him. He was an excellent recruiter, and had earned his way home a year before me. Now he was immensely proud to hear that I had made it home at last. I was crying, and telling him how desperately I wanted to leave Arad, and come live in Dimona. He promised me he would try to pull some strings to get me moved, and told me to be strong.

Several weeks had passed before I received permission to move to Dimona. I didn’t know who was responsible for the move, and I really didn’t care. All I knew was Arad was not the city for me. Dimona was considered by the “saints” to be the “spiritual” capital of Israel. Some said Dimona was smaller than Arad, but it didn’t feel smaller……  There were three or four times as many saints living in Dimona. And there were three to four times as many things to do as well. When I finally arrived at the Dimona “guest” house I almost laughed. But by then, I didn’t expect too much in terms of lavish surroundings. And I certainly didn’t consider myself a “guest”.

Yokanon was there to greet me with his usual big smile. Everyone thought we were husband and wife because of the hugs and many tears exchanged.  From that moment on, Yokanon was my constant advisor, and trusted confidant. He not only spoke Hebrew fluently; but he knew the geography of Israel better than most Israelis. I was overjoyed to reconnect with my old roommate from the states, like Kleerah, and some of the other saints I had met or lived with in America. It was at that time that I found out the reason why I was treated so coldly by the sisters I had stayed with previously in Arad. It finally all made sense.

I was told the sisters in that particular household thought I was placed there to become their husband’s new wife. I can remember how sad his wives looked; and the cold stares I had received. I learned their husband was a notorious philanderer, who thought his high ranking position would insure him the “pick of the ladies,” so to speak. Some of these affairs were with females as young as his daughters.

At that time he had about four wives, which was more than most of the other brothers in the community. And he wasn’t slowing down. Suddenly I remembered how saints kept snickering about how much I resembled his last and favorite, younger wife.  I knew he had an interest in me. But the feelings were far from mutual.  When I arrived in Arad; I had no idea who these women were. Realizing what happened, I felt terrible for what his wives must have been going through. They were being forced to cater to, teach, and live with someone they thought was their husband’s “mistress.” I was then told countless stories of mistresses being placed in households without the knowledge or consent of the wife or wives. These women obviously thought that I had slept with their husband! But nothing could have been further from the truth.

LIFE IN ISRAEL

The culture shock of life in Israel was huge. There were no shopping malls. Public restrooms were practically nonexistent. Long and disorderly lines awaited you everywhere you went. Israeli apartments were mostly constructed from cement. There was no central heating, air conditioning, or even closets. Dishwashers, dryers, bathtubs and many other standard American amenities were considered luxuries here.

Everything took time.  Customer service was a totally foreign concept at that time in Israel, and not common even today. Most appalling was how we found the average Israeli to behave. By American standards, most Israelis' would be considered rude, and ignorant about many things; especially Black folks. Many of them will call you “Cushie” or Blackie in Hebrew without even hesitating. Most of them honesty had no idea they were being impolite. At that time, some of us were approached by Israeli strangers who would reach out to touch our hair or skin, never once realizing this was personally offensive

Black faces were not common in Israel at the time that I arrived. I learned that our community represented a great curiosity to the average Israeli citizen. To add to the confusion; this was the first time many of the saints had ever been outside of the United States.  Some saints had never even ventured outside their own hometowns.

In some ways nothing had changed, and in other ways everything changed. We lived in Israel physically, but remained in America both mentally and psychologically.  We had left America, and were no longer “individuals.” We had now become a “group,” our inextricable ties forcing us into a new and reluctant reality. We now existed in a strange, new environment. We all knew we were grossly unprepared and completely “vulnerable” here. Our only problem was we didn’t understand who or where our “real” threat was. Thus, time stood still for us. Our old lives ended, and our new lives began… within the “bubble.”

THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES

A bubble can be a happy place.  You can float around, and your feet never have to touch the ground. You can look at everyone else on the ground going about their everyday lives and feel a sense of elevation, or even elation. You feel safe, and secure as you float idly by. The only trouble is when the slightest breeze comes your way; your bubble could burst, and send you crashing back down to reality.

As I said before, there was a deliberate attempt to hide the truth about how miserable life actually was for the saints living on the other side of the ocean in Israel.  The living conditions were deplorable.  An average apartment designed to house a family of three, would normally accommodate thirty saints or more. Privacy was a thing of the past.  People slept on thin mats or comforters; some under tables, and often in hall ways. The women and small children were separated from the brothers by a thin cotton curtain which ran across the length of the living room by an elastic curtain rod. Bedrooms were generally reserved for elite families or older married couples. Bed bugs were a part of everyday life in these “ghetto like” dwellings.

The cellar rooms, or vacant bomb shelters, were used for meetings or Shabbat Seders.  Rules were strictly adhered to and often harsh repercussions followed even the slightest infractions.  The worse offense of all was to complain. Anyone who dared complain about the living conditions or the “system” was branded a “clown” “lazy” or “weak.” Once you earned this reputation, it was almost impossible to disprove or overcome. New saints learned early on, not to complain.

Everyone received two meals a day which was an improvement from the early days according to the “pioneer” sainthood. Newbies immediately sensed a need to prove their dedication to the “cause.” And tested we were. Just like chattel slavery, once the new saints arrived they were divided and distributed.  Just like chattel slavery the “best” saints, or saints with inside connections got to live in the best living quarters.  The prettiest women, or girls, were carefully placed and groomed for purposes of mating or marriage.

We understood that “worthiness” was not granted upon your admission into the group, or your arrival to Israel. Worthiness had to be earned and then constantly safeguarded in order to be “accepted” into this community called the KOG, or Kingdom of God.

THE ORDER

There were many degrees of separation within the community. But only one man held any “real” power within the African Hebrew Israelite community. His name was Ben Carter, and was affectionately referred to as “Abbah,” which meant father in Hebrew or the Holy Messiah by his followers. Second in line were his twelve princes. The original princes were intended to personify a certain godly trait like wisdom, love, blessings etc.   The nation ministers were the leg men for Ben Carter, and his princes. And they oversaw the following areas:

* Transportation

* Divine distribution     (disbursing food, and sundries)

* Entertainment            (scheduling shows, community affairs)

* Building and                  Maintenance (building projects)

* Housing                         (assigned living quarters)

* Ministers of the City   (oversees specific cities in Israel)

* Economics                     (collects tithes, debts, requisitions etc.)

* Education

* Ministry of Divine Information

Below the ministers are the “Crowned” brothers and sisters; the “bulldogs” of the community.  The “Men and women of valor” are next, and then comes the “Brothers and sisters on the move.”

Priests were the counselors of the Hebraic law set down by the Holy Scriptures, and Ben Ammi Carter. Priests performed all marriages, circumcisions, prayer meetings, and funeral arrangements, etc.

If you didn’t fit into one of the above categories, then you would fall into the “senior” brother or sister category.  The CFF or “Chosen First Fruit” is the “young adult” category. You were not considered an adult until you completed your official “Coming In” ceremony, which usually took place around the age of eighteen to twenty.

Every level of governmental structure was carefully designed to assist the level above it. The lower the level, the less important you were, and generally speaking, the less informed you were. Information was power in this community. If you knew what the leader had for breakfast, then you could consider yourself “in the know,” at least for that particular day.  Just like any other government; having friends in all the right places could assure you special favors like catching a ride in the nation vehicle, or singing before the “Holy Father.” Another badge of honor was to be a part of the “Holy Father’s” royal entourage, or being selected to leave the country on one of his “sacred missions.”

Survival was the name of the game. And it didn’t take long for the new saints to realize the importance of having the right friends. It was important to know who the best doctors were if you or someone in your family became ill. Maintaining your health was of the upmost importance, Modern medicine, and hospitals were considered the last resort to solving health problems then. Having the right doctor could literally save your life…

It was important to know who the best cooks were.  If you were a renowned cook within the community everyone came to you for your special recipes. As a woman this could mean you became more highly favored as a potential wife. Cooking for others meant you always had all the special spices that were so hard to come by at that time. And you had more food to share…..

It was important to know who the best tailors and seamstress were, since no one wore retail garments. Well-tailored garments meant you looked your best. It was also important to know who the community “clowns” were. These people you had to avoid contact with at all times. Nobody wanted to risk gaining a bad reputation. A “big mouthed” or “lazy” sister was an abomination in the eyes of many.

Being in the “know” was crucial within this tight knit group; and those people surrounding the “throne” knew the most, and held the most powerful positions. In the end, the order of survival was made clear for all inhabitants of the KOG: shekels came first, street smarts came second, and spirituality or love of God, barely made the list……

THE NEW SAINTS

I was naïve in many ways when I entered the “nation,” and truly out of my league when it came to the games, and devices many of my fellow brothers and sisters had mastered.  I was from the suburbs of the East coast, while most of the saints were from the inner cities of Chicago, or Detroit.

These cities were the fertile soil where many of the original Black Hebrew fundamentalist groups and Black Nationalist organizations had sprung up during the 40’s all the way up to the 60’s. Comparing Detroit to Chicago was like comparing Arad, to Dimona.

But Chicago was more than just the “Windy City.” It was the literal feeding ground for revolutionary forms of art, music, and culture.  Chicago was home to every radical: political, ethnic, religious, sexual, and narcotic, and criminal school of thought imaginable. I would say, for every militant fist raised, there was another “pimp preacher” or cult leader, waiting in the wings; ready to “save” any disillusioned or misguided soul.

But being a new saint in the KOG definitely had its advantages. For one, you could break many of the rules and pretend you didn’t know any better. The new saints generally had fewer responsibilities, and we got a chance to travel around Israel on tours. I’m sure some of the saints that had been members of the community for many years really resented us, and why not? Newbies generally got their ice cream first; while everybody else had to wait for hours in line. When we newbies unpacked our suitcases; we had all the stuff most other saints only dreamed about. Stuff like Herbal vitamins. Vaseline, afro picks, herbal brand toothpaste, gold chains, watches, and Bragg’s apple cider vinegar……

Those items were either impossible to find in Israel; or beyond the price range of the average saint living in Israel. You either had to have “special” connections with someone on the “other” side (America) to get these items, or you would have to barter for them with a new saint.

The disadvantages of being a new saint were you would oftentimes become a target of the “old” saints; saints who had lived in Israel for years, and knew the “system.” Some of the craftier old saints robbed new saints of their precious loot; and many new saints lost their former status and friends as soon as their funds or goodies were depleted, or when the next wave of “new” saints arrived. When these not quite so “new” saints fifteen minutes of fame finally expired, they too, had to stand in line for hours like everybody else, to purchase their tiny scoop of soy ice cream.

Some new saints received their Hebrew names in America. And others received their names in Israel. I loved the name I had received in the states, and learned to pronounce it perfectly. The name given to me was Nahali’yah, which meant “one who has ascended unto God.” Very few of the saints in America spoke Hebrew so practically no one knew the actual meaning or pronunciation of my Hebrew name. But once I arrived in Israel things were quite different. Many of the saints spoke Hebrew fluently; and once they heard my name, I received some very unusual responses. Almost everyone asked me to repeat my name, and translate the meaning for them. In my ignorance, I thought this was because my name was especially beautiful or rare… Several weeks later, I discovered the reason for all the confusion surrounding my name; and my ignorance was laid bare.

I was attending a gathering of the Chosen first fruit, in a large room full of people. Everyone was excited because the spiritual leader and many other top ranking officials were also in attendance. During this gathering the spiritual leader asked all the new saints to stand up and introduce themselves.

When my turn came I proudly stood up and stated my name. I couldn’t help but notice that afterwards, a hush fell over the entire room. You could literally hear a pin drop. Ben Ammi stood staring at me for a moment, as if I were speaking in a language other than Hebrew. Finally he smiled. And I began to exhale along with everyone else in the room. He asked me politely to repeat my name, and then spell it. I did so slowly, nervously awaiting his response. When he opened his mouth to laugh; the whole congregation burst into whoops, and howls. Saints were literally bending over and cracking their sides….

When the ruckus finally died down, he explained that the meaning and spelling of my name were grammatically correct, but my name would have to be altered in order for the average Hebrew speaker to comprehend it fully. He went on to say that my name was loosely being translated to mean, “Shoe of God,” instead of, “One who has ascended unto God.”  Unbeknownst to me, my name had become the butt of numerous jokes. Saints were going around asking each other….. “Hey, have you met the new sister? Her name is: sister shoe, sister boot, sister sandal.  lol

A few weeks later, I received another beautiful name. The meaning was closely related to the first, but I love the name Mahalehyah even more.  It means “The high place of God.”

Once we, the new saints, arrived in Israel, the second phase of our indoctrination began. There was much to learn about our new way of life. It was almost like visiting another planet. And that is no exaggeration. After the initial assignment to cities, new saints had to attend mandatory absorption classes. This was where we learned the basic Hebrew language, simple prayers, and songs. Learning the new currency exchange rates was very important as well, and many of us learned the hard way, how unscrupulous some Israeli shop keepers were.

A whole new set of skills were needed in order to navigate this new lifestyle. Sisters had to acquaint themselves with new food stuffs, bartering with merchants to get the “best” prices, and cooking for a household of twenty or more people. New brothers had to learn new work skills, as very few job opportunities existed at that time. We had to adjust quickly, or face humiliation amongst our peers. We mistrusted some of the “old” saints, but we needed them just as well.

Our diets went from cashew nuts, honey and sparkling wine, to two or three oranges for breakfast, and watered down soup for dinner. Single sisters were allotted a stipend of about twenty five cents a day. We were told that this was more than the original saints ever received; so we should consider ourselves lucky. Lunch was not provided for adults, so we were on our own when it came to finding a lunch meal.  All I could afford was flour, so another sister put in the margarine, and we ate biscuits every day for months. Needless to say, we didn’t complain.

THE MOSHAV

During the fall months, the community automatically relegated all available saints to work up North where various Israeli citrus packing houses were located. Of course, the new saints had no idea what was in store for them. We only knew this place was called the “Moshav.” By then, we were accustomed to just following instructions and hoping for the best.

I was packed and ready, standing in a dark and cold parking lot. I was waiting my turn to mount what seemed like the biggest and most dilapidated old truck I had ever seen.  I was told it was the “nation truck.” I’m sure that old truck must have had a name, but it escapes me now. It must have been some kind of cargo truck they converted into a passenger vehicle for that night. The driver sat in a small cabin in the front, and the rear portion of the truck was covered with a huge canvas tarp. There must have been at least fifty or more saints huddled onto the back of that truck that night. Shivering and wet from the drizzle overhead, we joked and sang until most of us had fallen asleep. Amazingly, we didn’t seem to mind the overcrowding, or even the weather. Most of us looked at this as another adventure; one that we would ultimately complete with flying colors, and live to tell.

We rode for several hours. The driver knew not to drive too fast. We had no work permits, and some of us had visas that had already expired. Being pulled over for speeding could mean deportation for some of us, and other serious consequences.

As a general rule, saints always prayed before undertaking important tasks, and especially before travelling. This trip was no exception. Our driver was one of the twelve princes. I remember the prince hitting a rough spot in the road, and I whispered under my breath “Lord have mercy!”…… Somewhere from the darkness I heard another voice say “No need in calling on God for mercy, cause the prince of “Mercy’s” driving the truck!”….  There was never a doubt in our minds that he would not get us to our destination safely. We rode for several hours. By the time we arrived at the moshav, everyone was so tired and sleepy, we didn’t care what came next.

We were quickly and skillfully herded through the darkness; some here, some there, quietly entering our new sleeping quarters. Throwing our heavy bags down, we collapsed wherever we could. The next morning we awoke to our new surroundings. Our rooms appeared to be some sort of empty metal garage sheds. Old tired cots lined each shed, and each room was dimly lit by dirty hanging light bulbs.  The brothers shared one large shed a short walking distance away from the sister’s. And the actual packing house stood about two hundred feet away. This place would have reminded me of army barracks if it had been a little nicer, but these sheds were the former homes of many a rodent, spider, and maybe even a snake or two.

Getting used to our new environment did not take long. Many of the “seasoned” saints had worked on the moshav previously and were more than happy to show the new saints the ropes. The packing house was surrounded by vast citrus groves of oranges, grapefruit, and tangerines, which perfumed our nostrils, and created a stunning view. This remote location provided us with little visibility, and wonderful protection from the Israeli authorities. At least for the next few months; we would be guaranteed some wages, and all the fruit we could eat.

The next day we grabbed empty crates and washed them for use as storage shelves. It was surprising to see how creative one could be with such few creature comforts. Everyone showered in a small closet-like shuttered room, which had been built up on several cement blocks. If you were unfortunate enough to get there late, there was no hot water.  There was one shed designated for the cooks. And there was a community open pit where you could cook over open flames. It was fun sometimes to cook outside, and the food often times tasted better.

The days were long and hard. We were each assigned a huge packing bin and a card with our number printed on it. When the fruit began to roll down the lines, someone would shout from above, PACK! … And pack we did. The more crates you packed, the more money you made. The younger males usually made the most money. This was because they were stronger, faster, and smarter. Some of them were replacing our cards with their own; which meant they were cheating. By the time most of us found out what they were doing, it was too late, the season was almost over.

MARRIED LIFE

Married life in the “KOG,” or kingdom of God was nothing like the typical marriages in America. In the KOG not only was marriage sacred, it was “forever.” Life was hard in Israel, and that was a fact. But it looked as if nothing was as unbearable as a marriage gone wrong. During my early years in Israel, I literally saw hundreds, if not thousands of people come and go. We became used to waking up in the morning, only to learn another sister had run off in the night with her children. The American Embassy helped many sisters who were desperately seeking a way to escape from the cruelty of marriage, or life in the KOG.

On the surface the whole idea of “Divine Marriage” sounded quite reasonable; especially considering the fact that the female population greatly outnumbered the males. What sister wanted to be left alone? It seemed fair, and logical to share. After all, the bible supported polygamy. Brothers were encouraged, sometimes even coerced into taking on several wives. Theoretically, a brother’s finances, and his household had to be in “order” before he could take on another wife, but in practice, brothers basically did as they pleased. He could take on one wife, and after just one year, marry another. A jealous woman was greatly frowned upon in the community by both men and women seeking husbands; but there were plenty of women who fought tooth and nail against “Divine Marriage.” And In some cases, she won.

A man’s control over his family was absolute. He could report any “problems” with his wife to the proper authority, which was normally a community priest, or his wife’s appointed “crowned sister.” Every report was taken seriously, and considered his “right.” Men were advised it was their responsibility to report their wives if they became “unreasonable,” or “out of order.”

No tolerance was granted towards a disrespectful wife. Sisters branded by too many of these “reports,” were generally labeled, “cluck heads.” And if a sister’s behavior was found to be too disruptive; a series of punishments could follow. The most common being:

* Denial of bedroom privileges. She slept in the sister’s room.

* Banishment to another city for an indefinite period of time.

* Physical beating by the crowned sisters.

* Some social or personal restriction(s) supervised by a crowned sister.

I can now say there were some customs which caused me to feel totally degraded. This is a subject many men will never be able to understand or accept. The subject is menstruation. In this community (and in many others) women are set aside during this time due to certain biblical scriptures. Women are/were considered “unclean” during this time. Also, women are characterized as a bit “crazy” or “unstable” during the menses. Well, I cannot speak to the character changes in different females.  But I can say that many men did, and still do go through drastic changes of character during his wife’s menstrual period. Some brothers literally ran in the other direction if they knew you were “inactive,” or on your period. They made females feel extremely filthy, insane or both. Most brothers would completely ignore his wife during her period. But when his wife’s period ended, she could not get rid of him. I hated everything about this custom with a passion, but I upheld the community guidelines concerning “inactivity,” or “impurity.”

Carrying an “inactive” cloth to sit on was customary during a sister’s period of “inactivity,” and she discretely carried her cloth wherever she went. The general rule for sisters in the KOG was to curtsey and kiss a brother on his cheek in greetings. But if a sister was “inactive,” or on her seven day menstrual cycle; she had to alert an oncoming male by throwing him a kiss, or placing her finger upon her lips. No chances were taken. Because no brother wanted to accidentally become “defiled.” If a brother accidentally became defiled through the act of intercourse, he had to adhere to seven days of uncleanliness, and separation just like the sisters.

Humility was a sister’s greatest virtue in the KOG. It was disrespectful to raise your voice to a male, or interrupt him when speaking. To enter a room without knocking was even more contemptuous. Males were waited on hand and foot. Even male babies were more highly prized than female babies. The better service a male received by his wife, the more respect he garnered within the community.

I had to learn that once you give your power over to someone else; you have given away your right to choose for yourself. Letting someone project their doubts, fears, and guilt’s onto you can stunt your own personal growth, and evolutionary process. If something doesn’t feel good, right, or just to you, it probably isn’t……

THE SISTERS

If there ever existed a place called “Hurry,” the KOG would be that place. Every sister in the KOG was kept busy in some way. The pressures of life in the KOG were so brutal, that it was not surprising to hear of a sister having a nervous breakdown. The pressure to become that “perfect” sister was always looming over you. Not yet attainable, and never quite sustainable. .

Pregnancy was no excuse for slouching in the kingdom. Women generally worked right up until their delivery dates. Almost every child was born in the “House of Life,” or Bate Kiem. Babies were delivered naturally by community midwives, who did not accept any whining from sisters during delivery. Sisters that controlled themselves during labor were applauded, and were “tough,” or “soldier sisters.” Those who cried, or screamed between contractions were considered “clowns.”

Disposable diapers were virtually nonexistent in the “Village of Peace.” Besides, who could afford them back then? Bottles were used only to dispense water or special teas to babies after they reached a certain age. Nursing was not an option. The only sisters, who did not nurse their babies, were generally sisters with dire medical conditions. Cracked nipples were dealt with by using Vaseline, or castor oil. And you were still expected to nurse your baby, even with sore or split nipples. We were told the trick to keeping healthy nipples was massaging them daily and oiling them. Expectant mothers were put on a “special” diet of natural vitamins, and supplements to insure their breast milk would be of good quality. If you birthed a girl, you had a period of eighty days to rest and recuperate. Birthing a boy meant you rested for forty days. While a sister was “on her days,” her only responsibility was to care for her new infant.

The sisters were the glue that held the KOG together. Without them, the KOG would not have achieved one major accomplishment. But much of their hard work and sacrifices often went without notice, or appreciation.

The sisterhood’s ability to make something out of “nothing” was truly remarkable. Their ceaseless devotion to their families, and community was indescribable. Even when a sister could take a break; she usually wouldn’t; too much to do. Many new saints missed their families in America and subsequently sought out someone to act as their spiritual “mother” or “father” in Israel. The affectionate title of “emmah” or “mother” was given to various super hard working sisters. The title was a sign of great respect, and usually these specially appointed “kingdom mothers” possessed qualities of wisdom, patience, and generosity.

CROWNED SISTERS

As I mentioned before, the “crowned” saints were the bulldogs of the community. The crowned sisters kept the sisters in “order.” Every crowned sister presided over a group of women.  Each individual in that group had to report to their personal crowned sister from time to time. If a sister had a problem, she would go to her crowned sister for counseling. Crowned brothers and sisters were appointed by the spiritual leader of the community. In order for one to receive such an honor, one generally had to be a person of unquestioning loyalty to the throne, and usually have some inside connections. It could take years of relentless work to even be considered for this leadership position. The “crown” itself was a gold necklace. Every year the saints assembled at a special awards ceremony, hoping to hear their names announced for this coveted award. But few saints were chosen.

It was pretty much agreed upon that the newly crowned sisters were the worst. Why? Because newly crowned saints were not used to wielding such power. It sometimes took years for a newly crowned saint to “lighten up.” The newly crowned saints also wanted to prove themselves. This sometimes backfired. If the general sainthood didn’t like you, they could find many different ways to “bring you down.” And some did just that.

Over the years it became quite clear to many, that receiving this particular award, presented far more problems than it was worth... Once you received the crown, you could certainly kiss your families good bye. The crowned saints were under enormous pressure to be the standard bearers for “sound” marriages. But ironically, divorces were on the rise. And it was a common fact that many of the “crowned” saints and leaders in general, had the worse marital problems, and worst children… Princes included.

Accepting the crown meant endless meetings and “checking in.” The precious crown, had in truth, become an albatross around one’s neck. And holding on to that gold necklace was becoming harder and harder.

I felt quite sorry for my crowned sister who also happened to be a wife of the spiritual leader. She was on constant guard against making a mistake. She in fact, had to be perfect. She knew her crown, which might have taken her twenty years to earn, could be taken away for the slightest offense. The crowned saints were intended to be respected leaders within our community. But instead they were mostly feared, and then eventually, just hated….

SINGLE SISTERS

Even the single sisters had very little free time. I was told that the “new” single sisters had it relatively easy compared to the sisters “back in the day.” “Back in the day,” every single sister was assigned a single brother to “care” for. This was done supposedly to keep her out of trouble and prepare her for marriage. This “caring” might include ironing a brother’s clothes, or preparing his lunch daily. Luckily, by the time I arrived such practices had been abandoned. The “new and modern” singles preferred to barter services. A virtuous sister could improve her situation substantially by such arrangements.

Every female knew that marriage in the KOG was an art, so single sisters closely studied the married sisters. Competition was fierce. One could not rely on false eyelashes or hair extensions here. Your natural beauty had to shine. Privacy was highly valued because there was so little of it. Everything you did or said was open to scrutiny. One had to be careful not to make any mistakes, or worse, any enemies. Everything from making your man look good, to keeping your children looking crisp, and clean, to even battering eggplant perfectly; had become closely guarded secrets. Nothing could be overlooked. Everything was important, but nothing was as important as pleasing your “Lord” or husband; because unhappy husbands simply found someone new.

Here are a few more important skills every single sister needed to master:

* Wrapping and wearing the prettiest and biggest headpieces.

* Decorating. Every woman needed to make her “Lord” comfortable.

* Wearing the prettiest hair styles

* Serving. Sisters tried to find the prettiest serving trays to impress others.

* Cooking. Every woman needed to serve impressive lunches.

Married sisters had additional duties such as:

* Cooking and sewing her “Lords” clothes. Wash, iron, shop, knit or crochet for him...

* Braid her “Lord’s” hair, wash his feet, and perform sexual duties.

* Clean house, heat his food, and serve his friends or his girlfriend meals

Keep in mind, there were no washing machines, or dish washers. No microwaves. No frozen foods were used, and we kept a strict vegan diet, meaning no meat, eggs, or dairy products. We had three regular “no salt” days, and every several months the whole nation was required to eat raw for a whole week.

Every job was taken very seriously in the KOG. A bad cook day could mean, jokes behind your back, or dinner plates left untouched. Being late for your assigned duty could mean points deducted from your yearly evaluation or worse…..  Here is a list of many but not all of a sister’s civic responsibilities within the Kingdom of God:

* Sister’s meetings                                   Sisters met weekly for updates, and teachings.

* Cafeteria duty                                      8-10 hr. shifts preparing children’s hot lunches.

* House of life duty                                     Cooked, cleaned and served the new mothers.

* Mother’s duty                                  Sisters assisted elderly women in the community.

* Hospital duty                  Sisters aided, and stood guard over patients in the hospital.

* Phone duty                       Supervised the 1 public telephone, and delivered messages

* National sisters meeting                     General sisterhood attended monthly meetings

* Shabbat service                            Weekly Shabbat services. (Every Friday at sundown)

* Book Class                                       Mandatory adult participation. (Sporadic meetings)

* Crowned sister’s meetings                  Sisters met with their personal crowned sister

* Nation meeting                               Mandatory adult participation (sporadic meetings)

* House meeting                           Sisters met weekly to schedule cooking and cleaning.

In between all these regular duties; there were other activities such as; outside jobs, Holy days, and at least half a dozen other special or “national” days. During these times homes were put in order by painting or decorating etc. Special meals were planned. Extravagant affairs were organized, and new garments were sewn. If you couldn’t get a sewing appointment, you might have to stitch by hand.

THE “VILLAGE OF PEACE”

Shortly after my arrival to Israel, the KOG went through a great period of advancement. The city of Dimona had decided that the overcrowding in our community had reached its limits. A new area was designated as the place for us to build our own village. The area was just on the outskirts of the city. We had previously been living in a neighborhood located in the center of Dimona.  As a group; we never posed any “real” social problems since arriving in Israel. But we were quite controversial because of our appearance, customs and beliefs. I’m sure the idea of “relocating” the Black Hebrews seemed like a good solution to Dimona’s embarrassing situation.

Our new compound was quickly dubbed the “Village of Peace.” and practically overnight, an entire bustling community had replaced what was once an old abandoned absorption center slated for demolition. The excitement was overwhelming and contagious. People from all over came to witness the “miracle in the dessert.”  Out of the heaps of rubble and ram shackled buildings; we had totally refurbished over forty homes, a recreation center, and community cafeteria. We designated certain areas for civic activities, such as our library, the house of life, nation store, a boutique, and cafeteria. Trees were planted, and of course, no community was complete without a meeting hall, which we called the “Hilltop Mansion.”

These new homes were really more like simple cottages, and they were originally equipped to accommodate a small family of perhaps four. But the saints redesigned those original plans. Now, instead of a family of four; there were generally two families per dwelling. Overcrowding, it seemed was inevitable; but nowhere near as bad as before. Other solutions were also rumored to be in effect. Saints who were considered to be “knuckle heads,” or “problems” might all be placed in the same house.  The idea was to let them all drive each other crazy. A few of these houses did exist. And most saints avoided them like the plague.

THE BIG SURPRISE

I had been in Israel for about a year, but time was passing so quickly, it felt like one day. I was getting to know my way around the city. My time was up in the absorption house, and I was moved to my first “nation” house. Even though I slept behind a curtain with three other new sisters, Yokanon assured me that my living situation was better than most other saints.

I never knew what to think about Yokanon’s attitudes. I knew I was an optimist by nature, but he absolutely never complained about anything. He kept telling me he had a wonderful surprise for me, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. After a week of trying to figure out what the secret could be, I gave up and totally forgot about it.

About seven days later, I was rushed outside to the street, where the nation vehicle was waiting for me. For the life of me I can’t remember who, but someone was yelling, “Hurry, you have urgent nation business to attend to!” Now, whenever a nation official tells you to jump, you ask how high? I flew from the house in a tizzy, and jumped into the back seat of the car. I was so nervous and out of breath, I barely noticed who was sitting motionless in the back seat next to me. When the car didn’t move, I sat there for a second in confusion. It was then, that I looked over to see Gail’s sweet face staring back into mine. Her ears were stuffed with cotton. And I could see her body was thin, yet swollen.  Our eyes filled quickly with tears, as we embraced each other for the first time in nearly two years. Gail, who had been attending “nation meetings” since I left America; had also joined the KOG. I had asked about her, but not received any word on how she was doing. Once I arrived in Israel, I was cut off from all contact with my family members and previous acquaintances. Now, out of the blue, Gail was here with me.

After the initial shock wore off, we sat down together and Gail gave me the details of her arrival into Israel. Like most of us, Gail was not told that she would be travelling to Israel until the last minute. In her rush, Gail had forgotten to place her insulin inside her “carry-on” bag. Instead, she packed it in her suitcase. Because of that one mistake, she had spent the last two weeks recuperating in an Israeli hospital from a subsequent diabetic coma. I was devastated to hear what had happened to her, but glad to see she survived. Her appearance had drastically changed since the last time I saw her. Once again I was reminded of the infant Gail, my parents had brought home from the hospital; the Gail who was born premature, and was too delicate to play with her siblings.

I had no doubts that Gail would be cured of diabetes. We had been told that our nation physicians had cured many incurable diseases. In our hearts and minds, God had already performed a miracle, for he had already brought Gail to Israel where she belonged.

Love was in the air, and it seemed like every month another young couple was getting married. Saints were reminded not to use “worldly” standards such as physical appearance, age, or money to select a mate. We were told the most important factor in determining a potential partner must be their moral character, or their dedication to the “nation.” Yokanon had already asked me to marry him several times, and I had always gently told him no. Now he was getting impatient with me, and I felt like I was losing my best friend. I was sick about it…

The pressure was on.  The fact that Yokanon and I were always together was giving people the wrong impression. They couldn’t understand why we hadn’t joined the rush to the altar. To make matters worse, Yokanon had just recently lost his wife, who decided to divorce him once they arrived in Israel. He tried not to show it, but he was extremely unhappy about it. According to nation law, divorce was expressly forbidden. But there were always exceptions to the rules. Under these special circumstances you could legally obtain a divorce from your spouse:

* You could join the nation as a single person denying your previous marital status.

* You could join the nation as a couple, and declare yourself single once in Israel.

* You could leave Israel declare yourself single, and after a few years return single.

It came as a complete surprise to everyone when Yokanon’s wife declared herself single. Looking back now, I’m sure he must have been both devastated and humiliated. He was a super hard worker, and had already gained a lot of respect within the community. Her actions caused others to speculate about what was truly going on in their marriage.  She seemed sweet. I liked her. But whenever I asked her what really happened between her and Yokanon, she would only give me a strange smile.

Changes were taking place so rapidly, I could barely breathe. And I was not prepared for any of them. Making the wrong decision in the states was one thing. It was nobody’s business but your own. But here in Israel; everyone knew your business. It was difficult for me to maintain a close relationship with Yokanon and not feel guilty. I constantly worried that I might be sending him mixed signals. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, could be interpreted as a display of affection when it was truly just another way of expressing friendship, or even sympathy.

I felt as though I was sinking into a sea of complexities. A few “seasoned” sisters suggested I reconsider Yokanon’s marriage proposal. Gail advised me against marrying so soon. My indecision made me feel weaker by the day. Was I just being silly? I couldn’t think of any good reason not to marry Yokanon.  He was reliable, intelligent, and very charming.  I decided to base my decision solely on character. By the time I finally said “ok,” I’m sure Yokanon had built up a huge degree of resentment towards me. And maybe even towards women in general.

THE HONEYMOON IS OVER

If earth is nothing more than a school, then the institution of marriage is certainly our highest institute of learning. Again, whatever we learn is totally up to us.  Our parents are our first teachers. Our siblings and children come next. These people I like to think of as mirrors, or reflections of our selves. Partners or spouses are the master teachers in our lives. We choose these people on a “subconscious” level to come into our lives and help us grow. We might have many partners or spouses within our lifetime, yet never achieve “true” happiness with any of them. This is because “true” happiness is not intended to come from someone or something outside of ourselves. Happiness is but a choice we make every day.

Brothers fell easily into their new roles as “Lords,” or married men. Basically their responsibilities were simple.  First, he must pay nation tithes. Secondly, he must keep his household in “order.” In “order” meant keeping household and personal problems to a minimum. Every household and every family had issues. Brothers had to learn the art of keeping those “issues” private.

Even after several years of living in Israel, Yokanon and I were still considered “new saints.” It took about five years for you to generally lose your “new saint” status. The label wasn’t necessarily intended to be disrespectful. And it wasn’t always fair…… That’s just the way it was. There were a few “new saints,” though, that had gained a great deal of respect even before their arrival. Yokanon was one of these. He had far surpassed me and most of the other “new saints” in our acclimatization to Israel.  His skills as a top notch salesman and his mastery of the Hebrew language had preceded him. His Hebrew language skills were even superior to some natural born Israelis.  He was remarkably versatile. And once he put his mind to something, he could easily master it. Maybe this is why he came to expect so much from me.

My first year of marriage was like being in kindergarten. Yokanon insisted that I spend time understudying the best cooks, and seamstresses in the community. He reminded me to take exact notes as to how many minutes I should boil the kalebone (gluten).  I was dragged by my feet out of bed to go running with him. I was denied sugar in my soy milk because I should learn to drink it plain. From time to time I would discover that he had put different substances in my food or drinks without my knowing. All of this, of course, was done for my benefit.  When I mentioned this to a couple of other sisters they agreed that his actions were rather strange, but a good wife never complained.  By the time I found out that Yokanon was a true “zealot,” it was too late.  A “zealot.” was a term used for someone who was extremely cautious, and overly strict concerning biblical scriptures, and KOG regulations. Now I understood why his first wife had left him. But in a foolish way, I pitied her. I was certain that Yokanon only wanted the best for me…

A CHILD IS BORN

I wasn’t used to such harsh conditions on the moshav. By the end of my second year, I had grown quite thin. I was so maladjusted to Israel and my new surroundings that I nearly suffered a great loss. Even as a married sister, I was still sent to the moshav to work. Who was I to complain? Working on the moshav meant packing crates. The crates themselves passed overhead on a rotating conveyor belt. We had to reach up to get these crates, fill them, and then place the crates onto another conveyor belt beside us. This work we did for eight hours a day. I should have been growing stronger; but my body was getting weaker.  I was experiencing chills, fever, and other strange symptoms, and couldn’t move from my cot.  Luckily, there was a nation doctor working on the moshav.  She examined me and quickly diagnosed my condition. I was pregnant. Being so physically exhausted most of the time, and barely eating; I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that I had missed my period.  When one of the sisters finally asked when was the last time I had my period; I could not even remember.

Almost losing my baby was hard to accept. But the thing that hurt me the most was the words whispered to me by one of the “seasoned” sisters as I was preparing to leave the moshav. She said, “Wow Mahaleyah, I didn’t think you were actually sick. I thought you just wanted to get out of working.” I will always think back with some fond memories of those days on the moshav. But neither will I ever forget the lessons I learned. Don’t overdo it, trying to impress others with your good works. Doing so will sometimes makes matters worse. Know your own worth and value. And set your own limits.

Whenever a child is born in the KOG there is great cause for celebration.  But along with that comes extra responsibilities for the sisterhood.  A woman who gives birth to a girl will automatically be assigned a period of eighty days maternity leave. Anyone who births a boy receives forty days. As stated earlier, during this time sisters are exempt from all national and household duties. Even the bedroom is off limits. After you complete your initial two weeks of rest in the “house of life,” you return home. At the time I gave birth to my first child, it was customary for the sisters in the household to act as an extended family. A daily schedule, which included every sister in the house, went into effect the moment the new mother arrived home. Hot soy milk, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and diaper duty were all expertly carried out. Washing was all done on scrub boards at that time. And the very idea of pampers was ludicrous.  No one was happier than the sisters in your household when your days finally ended. The termination of maternity leave was often greeted with a huge sigh of relief both by the sisters in the household, as well as by the new mother’s Lord. Eighty days was like an eternity for brothers who only had one wife.

The birth of my daughter was personally momentous.  I was proud of myself. I was spent after the two and a half hours of intense labor, but I kept my composure, and hadn’t made a sound. Everything seemed fine. I had every reason to be happy but, surprisingly, I wasn’t. Returning home with the new baby was predictably uneventful. Other than an old metal cot sitting in the corner, nothing had changed. For me, the eighty days maternity leave seemed to be passing quickly. I wish I could say I enjoyed them. But I was too preoccupied with strange new feelings. Rather than enjoy this blessed opportunity to bond with my baby, and get some much needed rest, I worried.  I knew that I could give birth to a baby naturally. I knew that I could endure endless excruciating pain without even so much as a whimper. I knew I could nurse my baby even with cracked nipples – but I had no idea if I could be both a good wife and mother.

IGNORANCE IS NOT ALWAYS BLISS

It is my belief that ignorance is our world’s number one problem. To live a life in ignorance is like living in a constant state of darkness.

I have no way of knowing if the midwives in our community knew the facts about, or had even heard of postpartum depression. If they did know, shame on them for not sharing that information with the new mothers in their care. If they didn't know, then that just goes to show how much ignorance prevailed amongst those whom we entrusted with our very lives.

Postpartum depression affects the lives of countless new mothers every year. Unfortunately, many of these new mothers will never be medically diagnosed, or receive proper treatment for their condition.

Every case of PPD varies. Symptoms generally include: depression, lack of interest in many former activities, diminished sex drive, anxiety, etc., most women suffer slightly from this condition but severe cases can develop if left untreated.

Every mother understands the chances of fate during pregnancy and childbirth. Anything can go wrong. Yet nothing deters her from her mission to deliver a healthy child. Sometimes even at the cost of her very life. Her physical and emotional preparation is vital to bringing that child safely into the world.

The term “labor” is used when describing the birth process. It is intense and utterly unpredictable. It’s hard to imagine the enormous stress a woman undergoes at this time; especially when it’s her first attempt at childbirth. Now, imagine doubling that pressure by telling her that she can’t show the least bit of fear or pain during labor.  This is what I experienced in the KOG. I was denied everyone’s God given right to express pain. To this day, there are portions of the delivery, I just cannot remember.

It was like having a complete psychological “split” from reality. That post traumatic episode left me totally unable to feel for months.

At that time, neither Yokanon nor I understood what PPD was, much less how to deal with it.  Our ignorance gave way to mutual mistrust, doubts and fears.  In my world, I felt empty and afraid. In Yokanon’s world, he must have felt, rejected, convinced that I never really loved him. Luckily my depression passed away after a few months.  But the damage it caused to my marriage was permanent, and irreparable. The stage was set. Heartache accompanied by pain was waiting in the wings.  Act two was about to begin, and I never had a queue.

Here is the link that provides more information on PPD:  http://1.usa.gov/1crmBKz

THE LAST ONE TO KNOW

Nothing can replace our good old gut instincts. They are oftentimes our only allies in uncertain times.

The sun had already set when I left the house. The moon above was full and bright. I was on my way to meet Moniel, one of the top nation priests. Shabbat Seder was now over and a procession of priests were slowly weaving their way through the camp, spreading deep vibrations of mesmerizing Hebrew chants throughout the camp. They appeared almost angelic in their long white robes flashing amid the darkness like sacred beams of light.  The saints were quietly drifting about, some starting home, and some sitting on park benches enjoying the crisp evening air. Brothers wielding tall wooden staffs, escorting sisters wrapped in crocheted cotton shawls nodded as they walked past hand in hand. An overwhelming feeling of peace permeated every corner of the village, and the surreal beauty of that eve completely saturated my being. I felt foolish; a night such as this was meant for lovers… not marriage counseling…

I was determined to make my marriage work. I had noticed a distance in my Lord, Yokanon. I wanted desperately to please him. Tonight I would put aside my embarrassment and get some real help. The priest I was meeting with was supposed to be one of the best marriage counselors in the KOG. I didn’t know what to expect. All I knew was that I had to try something different.

I was glad to finally catch up with Moniel. But there was no place private for us to talk. So we started circling the camp, walking and talking. My thoughts were sliding from anger, to resentment, from fear to anticipation.  I wished we could have met someplace more private, away from the saint’s suspicious smiles, and evil thoughts. Finding the “right” priest was very important. I was aware that some priests were known to take advantage of unhappily married women.  Some were extremely zealous, and not very understanding. Then you had some with very little interest or knowledge into your specific problems.

Thankfully, after a short time I could tell that Moniel was not only completely sincere in his intentions, but was also incredibly skillful in marriage counseling. My nervousness had subsided, and I was feeling a lot more at ease. He was explaining Divine Marriage and how it related to the Holy Scriptures and kingdom doctrine. I struggled to take mental notes, afraid of forgetting any important points he might make. But it wasn’t easy, because Moniel was a popular priest. It seemed like every five seconds; we were interrupted by someone passing by.

I barely noticed the couple approaching when Moniel paused again to say shalom.  Although it only took a second for me to look up and speak to the oncoming couple, all time seemed to cease. The brother and sister said shalom, but I didn’t hear them. From another place outside myself, I saw the couple smile, and politely slip past the priest and I, on down the path. I stared at them briefly in disbelief.

The moment I saw them together, I knew their evening stroll was not a chance encounter. Nor was this their first Shabbat stroll. I detected immediately the apparent ease between them. And I knew positively that they were a couple. Shocked, hurt, and embarrassed, I turned to the priest and faked a smile.  His understanding eyes forgave the lie my face had told.  He stood in silence, waiting patiently for my next move. But I was no longer present. I had escaped my conscious prison. My mind was expanding, exploding, into myriads of tiny flashbacks. Endless scenes of seemingly random conversations, and events were bursting before me in splendid detail.... Yokanon’s new eating habits…. the way he dressed so “carefully” now… those many unaccountable hours he spent away from home…. and everything else …“Yokanon”… was crystalizing into one giant epiphany.

The thoughts of that night plagued me for months, like some vicious reoccurring nightmare. My brain was trying to comprehend an event which was totally incomprehensible. I wished there was a switch I could flip to forget.... to ease my pain.  But I couldn’t. This was my new “reality.” The old Mahaleyah was dead, and I didn’t know what to do. I was lost.  I was now a stranger, irresistibly drawn back to that place and time. Searching for clues of who I was, and how I got there. Inside I hated the old Mahaleyah. She was careless and stupid. She should have known better.

Whenever the “old” Mahaleyah interjected herself into my thoughts, I would watch her from a distance. Oh, the way she hung on to every syllable out of that priest’s mouth, disgusted me…. Where was her pride? Through phantom eyes, I watched her physical body reeling in shock, and gasping for air. Inwardly, she was fighting to keep back her tears. Outwardly she was trying to keep her balance.

The old Mahaleyah never noticed her real “self” slip outside her physical body, leaving behind a figment of her own imagination; a better, nobler soul; a soul devoid of self-love, and unwittingly filled with pain. I pitied her. And so did the priest Moniel. How fortunate for her, that he was there that night, standing beside her.  Not only to bear witness to her shame, but to help her find her way back home.

HEELA

Her name was Heela, and I once considered a close friend. She was one of the first sisters I met when I first arrived in Israel. Yokanon and I had attended her engagement dinner. She was known for her wonderful skills in cooking, and decorating. She was also considered a “seasoned” saint. If she hadn’t married Yokanon, we might have remained close friends.

Heela was the quiet, virtuous type of sister everyone thought of as an aunt, older sister, or mother. She came into the KOG during the season when sisters were not even allowed to touch a bible. It was a time when any single mother with a child, came under strict guidelines. Single mothers were routinely separated from their children. This was done for two reasons; first, to avoid children becoming too attached to their mothers. Secondly, new sisters had to learn the “kingdom” way of raising a child. Heela learned well, and had become a perfect “kingdom product. “ The only problem was most “products,” from that specific era were left damaged, or jaded. Heela didn’t appear cynical or cold to me.  She appeared quite the opposite, warm and kind. I often wondered whether her sweet demeanor was just a clever façade.  Only time would tell.

She was from Chicago, just like Yokanon. She had come into the nation with her young son during the seventies. She was married twice and had three children by the time she and Yokanon were wed.  Her knowledge in child rearing, men, and nation protocol, infinitely exceeded mine. She was the picture perfect wife for Yokanon, someone who would love him completely. And never ask questions. It didn’t take long for me to learn my place within our new family structure. They were the real couple, and I was the third wheel, a poor first choice.  Yes, this was a marriage made in heaven, and Yokanon’s sweet revenge……

BETRAYED

It might have been a few months after their wedding, or even a year, who knew? For me, time was just a blur. One day, and for some reason, I was talking with a sister from Heela’s former household. After the usual chit chat, she struck a serious pose, and looked directly into my eyes. “How you been doing ova dere wit Heela, and Yokanon?” she asked. “Izz everything alright?”  I laughed to assure her I was fine. “Girl stop lying!” she screamed. “All of us know how dat nigga been treating you.”  I sat, stunned by her rage.  I could see that she was just beginning her tirade….. And I was much too afraid to interrupt. Her eyes were bulging from their sockets, and her lips were twisting into an ugly snarl. She was spitting out Yokanon’s name like a filthy germ, and pointing in my face.  “His ass was ova here every day, telling everybody who’d listen, how much he couldn’t stand you”… “He was ova here so much we wondered if his ass even had a home!”

I knew she wasn’t trying to hurt me. She was simply trying to wake me up, and see what was going on behind my back. Her anger was probably coming from a deeper place; a place where she had experienced a similar painful episode. This was her way of warning me to pay attention. I was thankful for her “pulling my coat.” She was the only one who had the nerve to tell me about Yokanon’s betrayal. It’s funny, but I never thought Yokanon was capable of such deceit.

I couldn’t understand his need to inflict such pain upon me…. Did he really hate me that bad? That night I realized that my Lord Yokanon was not above the art of “manipulation.”  He was initially responsible for the poor treatment I was receiving from Heela. First, he deliberately trashed my reputation. Then he brought in Heela to further punish me. In effect, he had given her, and everyone else involved permission to pity me, shun me…. And look upon me as someone who deserved neither his love nor attention.

That night I decided to take my chances and confront Yokanon.  I knew I had a right to challenge any outright lies, or threats against my character, even if they were coming from my so called Lord.  After listening to me repeat what I had heard, Yokanon just sat there staring at me. He never denied a thing. Feeling stupid again, I asked him to be more careful in the future, because his words had caused me “great humiliation and pain.”  His blank face sent chills through my body. He stood up and walked away, never uttering a word.  I didn’t recognize the person I had married. Was this really Yokanon, or did I ever really know him?

I knew it was too late to prove to Yokanon how much I truly loved him. You see, people are different. For me love wasn’t an adjective. It was a verb. I thought that having his babies; thinking of his needs before my own, protecting him from any harm…. seeing only the good in him…. and believing in him, was love. I guess that wasn’t enough for Yokanon. His solution to my problem was just to, “Be more like Heela.” Then, everything would be alright.  Any other sister would have cursed him out, or left him.  But if that was what it took to please him, I was fine with it.

I studied everything about Heela, secretly at first. After a while, we even joked about it. One day stands out in my memory of how low I had sunk…. I was about to knock on Yokanon’s door when I overheard Heela speaking to Yokanon inside. She was telling him I was like an angel of darkness… that had been transformed into an angel of light. What I couldn’t believe was the fact that he was listening. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Not from her, but from him. Not once did he defend me, or say “No Heela, that’s not nice.” Nothing! It is one thing to hear something second hand. It’s another to hear your own husband involved in such treachery.

My crowned sister found me under a chair. I was curled into a fetal position, wailing and moaning. She shook her head in dismay, and slid up beside me. I can’t remember what I was saying; but I can recall very clearly her words to me. She was speaking to me, not as a government official doing her duty, but as one woman to another. “When you get tired enough of this, you’ll leave him.” she said. Then she left.

Over the years, I discovered I had become the subject of great curiosity and pity. Yokanon made it abundantly clear to everyone that Heela was his favorite; but nobody seemed to understand why. After all, I wasn’t a cluck head, liar, or thief.  I wasn’t the ugliest sister in the Kingdom either. I was just…. “set aside.” Yokanon’s reputation as a “zealot” was beginning to tarnish his “righteous” image. Many whispered there was no reason to treat any woman this cruelly. Other brothers joked it was just a “waste” – if you know what I mean. The crowned sisters, priests, and even the princes were all tired of Yokanon wasting their time with endless reports and complaints, all aimed against me.

Yokanon bragged to me that he would “break my spirit,” like I was some kind of untamed animal… The saints in the house were tired of the humiliating scenes at night, where he would throw me and all my clothes out of his room into the hallway. His behavior was setting a bad image for all the other brothers in the house, and upsetting the other sisters. I must admit, Yokanon and Heela had become extremely creative at coming up with reasons to keep me out of his room. But the worst was yet to come.

Like every good story, there is often a point where one last straw will break the camel’s back.  Nearly fifteen years had passed. During those years Yokanon had come up with some punishments for me that even southern white slave holders would have admired. I was made to face the wall and recite prayers he chose from the bible. I was banned from his room, and other times, held in his room under “room arrest.” Thankfully, the crowned sisters got me out of that one, by sending for me.

I had been working for weeks on a special presentation for the sisterhood. This particular Shabbat I was supposed to present it, but Yokanon had me restricted to his room.  To this day, I can’t remember his reason for doing so, but I do remember having to ask him to use the toilet. Luckily, one of the other sisters in the house informed the crowned sisters of my situation, and my crowned sister came over to plead with Yokanon. A little while later, my crowned sister informed me that I would be excused from Yokanon’s room arrest long enough for me to make my presentation to the sisterhood. Ironically, his efforts to hurt me that day failed. My presentation was a huge success, and reignited in me, my passion for writing.

I was drained, after the birth of my last child. I had spent so little time in Yokanon’s room the previous year, it was a miracle she was even conceived. I dreaded the ending of my maternity leave. I knew what it meant. Heela and I were supposed to switch. Switching was when sister wives switched from the sisters room to their Lord’s room. Some sister wives switched after one week, some after two. It really all depended on how many wives a brother had. And what arrangements they all agreed upon.

You could always tell when sisters were switching rooms because there was always a tension in the air. Rooms were cleaned, and redecorated. The sister leaving “his” room would usually be in a foul mood, sometimes due to jealousy, and sometimes due to practicality. The Lord’s room was usually preferable to the sister’s room because of the privacy, and of course because of the quality time spent with your man.  It was a fact, that some sisters found it very difficult to wait another week or two for sex.

Heela had been in Yokanon’s room for months, and I suspected she and Yokanon would have something up their sleeves; some reason to keep me out of his room.  When the day of reckoning finally arrived, I packed my few belongings and went to his room to place them on the shelf which Heela and I shared. We only had one shelf to keep all of our things on. And Heela refused to remove all of her things. What happened next took place very quickly.  I decided not to switch because I really had nowhere to place my things… so I went back to the sister’s room.  Yokanon was obviously looking forward to a dramatic scene; In other words, a “reasonable explanation” for kicking me out. But I had spoiled his plans by walking out, without a word. He came back to the sister’s room after me in a rage. Before I knew it, he had his knee in my chest, and his fingers wrapped tightly around my throat.

I could hear one of the sisters in the house screaming for security.  Yokanon, who, was beyond sanity, had me helplessly pinned underneath him. When security arrived, they pulled Yokanon off of me and escorted him from the house. It took a while for the children who had witnessed the attack to calm down. Even Heela was hysterical.  The bruises left on my neck and chest were proof enough that he had almost killed me. I decided right then, not to ever switch rooms again.

The next day, word had gotten around about what had taken place the night before. Several priests and a crowned sister were dispatched to sit with me, Heela, and Yokanon.  An official investigation had to be opened, and an official report made. This time Yokanon was not allowed to character assassinate me, or play any of his usual tricks. He could have very easily killed me. When one of the priests asked him about his relationship with me, he drily stated, “Mahaleyah is the kind of sister that doesn’t require affection.” I was embarrassed for him. The officials were dumbfounded. Heela dropped her head.  After that statement, nothing more needed to be said.

I decided to get a job. And I decided to have a talk with God. On my knees I said to God if there was any proudness in my heart that I was not aware of, to please remove it.  I asked for forgiveness for any sins, known or unknown. I asked that Yokanon and Heela be forgiven as well. And finally I stated that this would be my last time shedding tears. I was tired of crying. I was tired of hurt and pain. I told God I needed a change. Getting up off my knees, I felt the greatest relief imaginable. I knew then that nothing Yokanon and Heela would do could ever hurt me again. I took my mind off them completely, and decided to be happy.

About two months after my chat with God. I found a job, and was making a salary for the first time in over ten years. The management at the job liked me so much that they even hired a couple of my friends. Many months later, I bumped into one of the priests that had sat with me, Heela, and Yokanon on that terrible night. He was busy and just wanted to ask me a quick question. “How are you and Yokanon doing?” he asked. I smiled at him, and told him I was fine, but hadn’t been back in Yokanon’s room in nearly a year. He hugged me, and hurried off on his business. I never gave that conversation a second thought.

The season of Yom Kippur sometimes brought sweeping changes within the KOG. You never knew what to expect. Would this year be any different? I was at home one evening when one of the sisters came rushing into my room to announce the “releases.” A “release” is when a person is released from a previous oath or obligation. And this year, an announcement, or “holy decree,” was read stating that divorces would be granted for couples with longstanding or irreconcilable differences. Obviously the spiritual leader felt that the issue of “Divine Marriage” had gotten so complicated that there needed to be some sort of intercession granted from the throne. It was only the second time in nation history that “releases” were bestowed upon the saints. The first time was several years earlier, during the season of the “Jubilee.”

THE RELEASE

Someone was knocking on the sliding glass door to my bedroom. I don’t remember who it was that woke me. I only remember what happened next. It had to be about two in the morning. I was still in a daze. I was being told to go into the front room, but I didn’t understand why. When I got there I saw Yokanon and two nation priests standing in the middle of the room. The priests were wearing their white robes, and one of them was holding a white piece of paper in his hands. They asked us to sit down. Yokanon and I looked at each other in confusion, and then sat down on the sofa.

When one of the priests proceeded to read from the paper in his hand, Yokanon and I knew immediately that he was reading into our hearing an official nation “decree.” Priests read public announcements all the time, but usually before they did; they would first call everyone in the household together before reading it. Why was this announcement meant just for Yokanon and me? I couldn’t figure any of it out in my mind. I was just too tired.

It didn’t take long to read. It was an official declaration of the termination of our marriage. After a brief moment of total silence, Yokanon insisted that we should have been receiving more counseling. The older priest looked Yokanon impatiently in the eyes and stated, “The time for counseling is over brother,” then quickly walked away.

After the priests left, I wasted no time getting back to my room. Yokanon and I never said a word to each other after the announcement was read. I suppose there was, finally, nothing more to say. I locked the sliding door to my bedroom, afraid that Yokanon might try to harm me. I really didn’t know what he was capable of when he became angry. And I wasn’t taking any chances. Lying on my bed, I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was frantically rewinding what had just taken place in my head. Was it all a mistake? Was I really free? Or was I just dreaming?

The following morning, I learned that I was one of about half a dozen sisters that had received “releases.” I was up early cleaning the house, when one of the sisters in the house snuck up behind me to tease me. “How does it feel?” She grinned. We slapped five, and giggled softly so no one else could hear us. “I can’t believe it.” I said. “I didn’t even put in a request for a separation!” She rolled her eyes to the top of her head and said sharply, “Well, everybody knows you deserved one.” She was right. My bad marriage was no secret. The sad truth was I could have obtained a “release” several years before, when the first official “releases” were announced. I missed that opportunity because I had foolishly decided my marriage was worth “saving.” I was happy for this second chance. I guess I felt like one of those slaves on the plantation who had just received word that they were “free.” I was happy, but fearful of the enormous challenges this new freedom would ultimately present.

Receiving a release was a bitter sweet moment for me. As much as I wanted to be free, I knew what it would mean for me and my children. It was a strict nation policy that children always remained with their fathers when a marriage was terminated. In rare cases where a brother had no other wife, the children might be allowed to go with their mother. I had four children. And even with me there, they were physically and emotionally abused by both Yokanon and Heela. Some of our biggest fights were over the children. I came from a loving family and tried to raise my children in the same loving manner. Yokanon’s background was totally different. Heela made no secret of her dislike for me and my children, and took advantage of them every chance she could. It never ceases to amaze me how women can be so cruel to children (even her own) for the sake of keeping a man….

Again, I asked God to give me the strength to do what I had to do. Leaving my children in Yokanon and Heela’s hands was the hardest decision I have ever made in my entire life. My greatest consolation was I that had other sisters in the household who understood my situation, and did everything they could to look out for my children and protect them.

I tried even harder now to appease Yokanon and Heela, for the sake of my children. But I learned that my oldest daughter was catching hell. It was nothing for Yokanon to slap her for absolutely nothing. Heela and I had four older daughters between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. The abuse they suffered was insane. They were insulted, overworked, denied company, and beaten regularly. Many times Yokanon would have them strip down to their underclothes before beating them. This was entirely inappropriate. Heela’s older son ran away, not able to endure the constant humiliation from the nation brothers and his step father Yokanon. The saddest thing I ever heard was Heela telling her young son who had threatened to run away… “Go on, I’ll help you pack your bags!” Imagine the pain her son must have felt hearing his own mother say something like that. A short time later, I was saddened by the fact that he did run away. I miss him to this day.  I guess Heela thought she was showing him “tough love” …. But to me, it wasn’t love at all.

Because they moved me to a house which was only a short distance away from my children, we got to see each other every day. And I knew I could report anything extreme to the nation officials concerning my children if things got too out of hand. But the sad truth was, in the KOG, children were not looked at as precious gifts from God. They were looked at as little servants, especially the girls. Our sons had it a little bit better, but in some ways they suffered even more. They grew up with little to no self-expression skills. Any odd look on their face could warrant a slap in the face from any adult in the household, or in the village.  I promised my children we would not live that way forever, in fear and in pain. I promised my children that one day, our time would come…

SHI

A few weeks passed before Yokanon asked the nation officials to move me to another household.  I guess he couldn’t stand looking at me. But Yokanon couldn’t push my buttons any more unless I allowed him to. And as long as my children were able to see me every day and sometimes spend the night, I was basically able to cope. My children certainly seemed to like the new me.  I was working and trying to get my life back on track. I was one of the first saints to get a job working in a supermarket, Now that job was nothing to brag about, but after three months of squeegeeing floors, my waistline decreased, and I was looking and feeling better than I had in years.

For the first six months, I was working too hard to even think about the opposite sex. I was married for so many years, that “single” felt strange. A few other single sisters suggested I get out and meet other people. There was only one brother that came to mind, when I thought about dating. His name was Shi. We had met at a play rehearsal many years before.  Shi was very intelligent and charming, but he had a reputation as a notorious flirt. I found him quite interesting, and over the years of performing many skits, and plays together we, and his family, had formed a solid friendship. Now that I was free, there was no reason we couldn’t explore other options. But another year would pass before that would happen.  And that is where Gail came in.

One day out of the blue I received a knock on my door. I recognized the knock immediately, because only Shi announced himself in that peculiar way. He wanted to talk, and so we did. He told me about a phone call he got from my sister Gail. Evidently she called him to put an end to the relationship I was developing with another brother. She told Shi that I cared deeply for him, and that Shi should marry me because I was about to make another reckless decision. “What reckless decision?” I demanded. He looked at me with the slyest of grins and said, “The decision to marry a man because he can’t live without you, instead of the other way around.”

In many ways I think I sort of dreamt Shi up, because he represented so many of the things I longed for in a mate. As a young girl, whenever I felt lonely, I would conjure up an image in my mind of my perfect “soul mate.” Being gifted with such an incredibly vivid imagination, most of my fantasies were created with painstaking detail and were deeply spiritual in nature. So, after some thought, I came up the perfect “soul mate” without a face… He did possess though, everything else a young girl could desire… intelligence, trustworthiness, unbridled sensuality and charm. Sometimes I would get so caught up in my thoughts about my “soul mate,” that I would completely forget all about my previous loneliness. My soul mate and I were more than just friends, and lovers. We were one.…

I never thought for one minute that I would ever meet my “soul mate” in real life but just in case he existed, I gave him the name Marcus, so I could recognize him. In my daydreams, Marcus always introduced himself to me, by handing me a glass of wine, which would accidently and dramatically, break in my hand. Oh, how I enjoyed acting out that fantasy over and over in my mind. But my childhood dreams could not last forever. I grew up. Got married, had children and now I was sad and lonely all over again…

By the time I met Shi, my childish games and notions about Marcus was the farthest thing from my mind. I never suspected that Shi could one day be my husband or “soul mate,” but in fact, he was. Sometime after my divorce; a friend showed me an old photograph of me and Shi on stage. He was handing me a wine glass… to my amazement, on the back of the photograph, his name was clearly written 1984, “Marcus.” He is the reason that I now believe that dreams can come true.

He asked for my hand in marriage high atop a mountain cliff. I had said yes, and the universe rejoiced. Our simple declaration of love seemed to open a portal of sacred confirmation. We waved in delight, as a huge winged bird circled high above us. We dubbed him our “witness” before we moved back down the mountain pass. Then, out of nowhere, a flurry of pastel pink butterflies suddenly filled the sky. It was the most beautiful experience I have ever had. If Shi hadn’t been with me to verify such a spectacular event, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.

Shi made me smile. In truth, he made everybody smile. He had a brilliant mind, and was very popular within the community. Shi already had two wives, so I would be his third. We experienced more than I could ever describe here in one small chapter. And believe it or not, it was all good. But matters of the heart are sometimes complex. I have come to realize that “Divine marriage” is not for me. I could never be happy at the expense of another woman’s unhappiness. Even though Marcus and I are not together anymore, we still maintain a bond of friendship. My mother always said, “If you have even one true friend in your life, you are blessed.” I could not agree more. I shall always remember Shi as my angel, because he came into my life at such a pivotal time and helped me to make it through.

YONAH

Gail was lucky. She didn’t have to have her name changed when she got to Israel. The Hebrew name she had received in America was Kavivah, and it meant joy or happiness. Obviously, her sweet disposition was the reason she received such a beautiful name. For a long time Kavivah and I both lived in the same house. We were married a few weeks apart, and our baby girls were born several months apart.

When Kavivah married Yonah, I was overjoyed. They both were quiet, serious types. I thought they made a good match. For a while, they were quite happy together. Working together as a sales team, they had become quite successful. I don’t know exactly what it was that changed everything for them. Maybe it was Kavivah’s poor health problems. Maybe it was the birth of their first child. All I know is that one day Yonah decided to move his small family to the city of Arad. For some reason, he thought this move would help their marriage and their financial problems. As much as I wanted Kavivah to remain in Dimona, I had to respect Yonah’s wishes. What else could I do?

Instead of things getting better, things got worse for Kavivah and Yonah. They were arguing even more now, and Yonah was removed from the house, in order to keep peace. Not long after that, Yonah found work up North as a night watchman. He wasn’t making a lot of money, but the job was steady, and much less stressful than selling. He felt so much better, he sent for Kavivah and their three children to come up North to spend the Holy Day with him. Together, far away from all the stress of holiday planning, away from all the gossipers and nation officials, Kavivah and Yonah reconnected. With a new sense of purpose and pride, Yonah began to look at life differently, and plan for the future. He wondered if he had made the correct decision coming to live in Israel. He wanted to make a change. Kavivah was back at home in Arad, looking forward to the day he would come home to stay. She and the children had had a wonderful week-end up North with Yonah. She also hoped for a change in their lives.

About two weeks later, I received an urgent phone call from a nation official in the city of Arad. I was instructed to come right away to be with my sister Kavivah.  Yonah had been struck by a train, and feared dead.

KAVIVAH

After the death of Yonah, I spent as much time with Kavivah as possible. I worried about her even more now, because she was not only widowed with three young children, but sick as well. Kavivah had suffered a major blow, but she was taking it better than expected. She was determined to be there for her children and putting everything else aside. I wanted to be there for my sister, but at the time I was going through my own hell with Yokanon. Trying to get her to open up about her inner feelings wasn’t working too well. I was at a point where I thought Kavivah would never regain her physical strength, or ever smile again, when something truly splendid happened. Kavivah fell in love.

Just about anyone can testify about the amazing regenerative powers of love, especially young love. It can mend broken hearts, and awaken passions long thought dead. Love is the elixir of life and Kavivah shocked everyone with her new zest for living. No one knew how it all began. Kavivah wasn’t exactly sly; but she was obviously not too shy either. When everyone found out who she was involved with, we were even more dumbfounded. For, right under our noses, she and the priest Daniel had formed a very special bond. After all the joking and conspiracy theories died down, the saints happily gave the couple their blessing. It actually made sense that they should be together. Some probably wished they had thought of it first.

They were married and had a beautiful baby girl named Amira. Everything seemed to have worked out fine; but in my gut, all was not well. I had learned by then, that it was not wise to jump to hasty conclusions. For only time can reveal what truly lies within the heart of a man.

THE TEAR

It was not unusual for me to receive a call from Daniel, or some city official asking me to get to Arad as quickly as possible. No questions were asked. I knew the reason was to look after Kavivah. In cases of emergency such as this; I would generally be excused from my scheduled household duties until I returned from Arad. Once I got back, I had to make up whatever chores I missed. Luckily, Heela was there to look after my children...

I could always sense the relief of the other sisters in the household whenever I arrived in Arad. They knew I would be picking up the slack for Kavivah, and they would be able to get back to their normal schedules. I never blamed them for feeling this way. Everyone was overworked. But I didn’t look at my time with Kavivah as a chore. I was ready to do whatever I had to do to help her get better. I would be acting as a personal nurse to Kavivah and surrogate mother for my nieces and nephew. Daniel helped out as much as he could, but he still had a job. Most of my time with her was spent preparing her special meals, and coaching her to eat. She always did better when I was around. By the time I left, she was usually up and smiling again. But she was like most mothers I knew, always looking after everyone else in the family first, and putting her needs last.

I can’t remember how many times I had been out to the hospital with Kavivah. All four of her children were born there by cesarean section. Her doctors warned her against any further pregnancies, and urged her to take better care of herself. Her nation doctors, who weren’t able to “cure” her, scorned her condition. In their opinion, she was either stubborn, or wasn’t trying hard enough. A few saints that never really knew Kavivah, even called her lazy behind her back. I wondered how many of them could walk a mile in my sister’s shoes…..

The last time I saw Kavivah, I was confident she would be okay. After everything she had gone through that day, she was still alive and resting comfortably. The way Daniel explained it, he had left out for work as usual, but for some reason he went back to the house.  He could see immediately that Kavivah was about to enter a diabetic coma.  He rushed her to the nearest health clinic where she waited for more than two hours on an ambulance. By the time Daniel and I arrived at the hospital, it was early evening. Kavivah was so swollen and still. I couldn’t help but cry, even though I knew she wouldn’t approve of me doing so. I held her hand up to my face, hoping she could sense my presence. Then, leaning over, I kissed her forehead, and whispered gently, “Come back to us Kavivah.” When I saw a small glistening tear appear in her eye and slowly slide down her cheek, I knew that she had heard me.

The next day, Shi came with me to visit Kavivah. I was looking forward to seeing her and sharing all the latest news with her. I looked for her room but couldn’t find her. One of the hospital staff informed me that she had passed away sometime after Daniel and I left the night before. I heard the words, but I couldn’t feel anything. I remember returning home in a daze. I packed my things and returned to Arad a few days later, to be with my nieces and nephew. They had heard the news by the time I reached them, but none of us seemed to be able to process the thought that she wasn’t coming back home. That night, Kavivah’s three older children and I cuddled together in silence. After each one of them finally fell asleep. A quiet moment of clarity formed in my mind.

I was revisiting the last time I had seen Kavivah. I was pleading with her to stay; to come back to her family and friends. I realized then that her single tear was her way of saying to me, “I’m sorry, but I can’t come back.”  Her work on this earth plane was done.

Then my mind flashed back to all those extravagant birthday parties she had planned for all her little ones. And to the nights she had stayed up until sunset, sewing new garments for her children on that old broken down sewing machine. I thought about all the special meals she prepared for them. What a great cook she had become…. I thought about how she brought me and Shi together, knowing that I was about to make another huge mistake by committing myself to the wrong man.

I could see her hunched over her daughter Teemnah, braiding her hair into some intricate style. And then I saw Kavivah, singing at her college talent contest. How beautiful she was….. Somewhere from the other side Kavivah was showing me that she had never given up. And that she had never wanted to leave us. Her body just wasn’t strong enough to go any further. She also knew her children would be in good hands.  Through them, I would always have a piece of her. And in that precious moment I felt so close to her… and I could finally fall asleep.

OH JORDAN

Over twenty years had passed since I had last seen my sisters. I had no idea what they really thought of me. I supposed they thought I was crazy, leaving home without even saying goodbye… and not making it home for mama’s funeral. Whatever they felt toward me, their disappointment could never outweigh my guilt or shame. How could I face them? And what would I say?  Fear and loneliness gripped my soul.  I just wanted to fly away. I knew they would want to know what had happened. First Jonah’s death, and now Kavivah’s?  Even I couldn’t wrap my head around such a tragic turn of events.

I was told by several nation officials that this was the first time in nation history that relatives had come to Israel after the death of a loved one. “How sad,” I thought. Was I supposed to be impressed by that statement, or surprised that my family members were coming to check on me? If so, I wasn’t. My family was extremely close, and only God knew how badly I wanted to attend my mother’s funeral. The nation officials realized the awkward position Kavivah’s death had created for them. They were watching me, and treating me “nice” now. Deep inside I knew they were expecting me to make them look good; to “erase” my sister’s inevitable doubts and suspicions. I was still so numb from Kavivah’s death that my sisters coming to Israel, felt like just another part of one long dream.

Watching my sisters stroll pass baggage check and out into the lobby, reminded me of one of those old cowboy movies where the Calvary finally rode in to save the day. Everything about them emanated safety, security, and unconditional love. Their hairstyles, perfume, handbags, and clothing all exemplified the modern day, woman. Their towering presences brought back to mind, the days of our childhood, where I had stood in their shadows, so tiny and proud. I was that little girl again…., afraid and ashamed of the mess I had made. They hugged me tightly, and then kissed me on my face. “Daddy couldn’t make it.” Susan said loudly. “But he sends his love, and we are here for you.” I don’t know how long the three of us stood there crying in the airport… and it really didn’t matter….. For ours were not tears of sadness; they were, instead, only tears of gladness.

On the way from the airport Susan and Edith informed me that part of their trip would be devoted to seeing some of the many Holy sites in Israel. It had never occurred to me that they would be interested in taking advantage of Israel’s multicultural tourist attractions during their stay. As each day passed, I realized how much my world had shrunk. We spent the night at the nation’s guest house, where Susan and Edith met all their nieces and nephews for the first time. Oh, what a great time we had!

The next morning, two spokespersons from the nation dropped by the guest house to officially offer their condolences.  We all assembled quietly in the living room, where Susan and Edith politely proceeded to rip them to shreds. The officials, who were totally caught off guard by my sisters’ attack, looked at each other and decided to get out of the house while they could. But Susan wasn’t through. Looking me right in my eyes, she began asking me questions, one right after another. I knew what she was doing. I tried to answer her questions as best I could. Then, all at once, she gestured for me to stop talking.  “You sound just like them.” She said calmly, shaking her head as she walked away.

My sisters obviously thought I was brainwashed. And from what they had seen; I totally understood why. That morning I could hear their muffled voices coming from their bedroom, but couldn’t hear what they were saying.  Logically they would be discussing me, and what they had seen so far. Why was I feeling so paranoid?  If my sisters had come all this way to visit me, it had to be out of love and concern. I knew I was blessed to have such brave sisters. Many people would not think of traveling to Israel with all the terrorist activities going on in the Middle East. Yet, my sixth sense was still warning me that there was something important I was overlooking.  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was. So I pushed the thought out of my mind, and went into the kitchen to make pancakes.

The children were having a ball getting to know their new aunties and Edith was busy capturing it all on camera when Susan casually looked over at me and said, “Mahaleyah, Edith and I were thinking…. Today would be a wonderful day to see where you live.” She smiled. “And maybe afterwards, we’d like to visit Kavivah’s gravesite.” I looked back at her to smile. But her words had hit me like a ton of bricks…. I could feel all the blood draining my face, and a knot forming in my stomach. “That’s it!”  I said to myself. “How could I have been so stupid?”

The village grounds were pretty well kept. And from an outsiders view, it looked okay. But once you entered the saint’s houses, and saw the actual living conditions, you would be in for a big surprise.

The saints reacted to my sisters in, let me say, a remarkable way.  Some saints rushed past, not knowing what to say or do, and never making eye contact. Others greeted my sisters warmly, but carefully omitted any mention of Kavivah. A few saints stopped and stared from a distance. And many of the children whispered and pointed at Edith who, according to them, looked like Kavivah’s ghost. I don’t think I have ever experienced anything more embarrassing than showing my sisters where I lived. Witnessing that probably solidified any question of my insanity in my sister’s minds. My actual room was nothing more than a converted back porch, covered in canvas. My single old bed took up most of the small space. And I had to go through another bedroom in order to get to my room in the back.  Edith and Susan’s complete silence was enough to say everything….

It was time to go. Daniel was our appointed driver slash tour guide on our two day excursion. He was not happy about leaving his young daughter behind, but we assured him a two day excursion was no place for a toddler, and she was better off left in the hands of a qualified babysitter.

It was January, and there was a stiff chill in the air, but none of us noticed. We were too busy enjoying the fascinating Holy sites of Jerusalem. I showed off my Hebrew skills, and Daniel showed off his knowledge of the scriptures, and geography. Leaving Jerusalem, we decided to head for the Mt. of Beatitudes, a popular tourist attraction for Christians. It is said to be the site of the famous Sermon on the Mount.

We stopped the van occasionally to take pictures, collect flowers, and take in the surrounding beauty. As we scaled the mountain, higher and higher, I was completely overcome with irrational fear. Susan, who could sense I was having a minor panic attack, quickly switched seats with me, and shielded me with her body so that I couldn’t view the abysmal valley below. Later I realized that over the past twenty years, I had subconsciously developed a fear of travelling in anything other than a bus. I suppose I equated buses with protection. I never knew I even had a problem. I was beginning to wonder how many other unknown issues I might discover.

We spent the night in an old villa located in the beautiful city of Tiberias. A small contingent of saints lived and worked there. The guest house where we stayed was run by one of the nation priests, and his wives. We rose early the next morning. Not wanting to miss the sunrise. Saying farewell to Tiberias, we set out on our way, passing glorious green hillsides, and the historic Galilee.  We were now encompassing the final leg of our journey. The long lines of tour buses and multiple signs along the roads assured us that we had reached our final destination: the ancient Jordan River. As we pulled into the parking area, we saw numerous church groups dressed in white robes moving towards the embankment. Choirs were singing old church gospel songs, and we could hear preachers from a distance, shouting out scriptures in the name of Jesus, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.... Cameras were flashing, and people everywhere were being baptized.

We had travelled to the Jordan River because I had told my sisters that this was the spot where Daniel and I had scattered Kavivah’s ashes. I could not bear to tell them the shocking truth about how and where our precious sister was truly buried. How could I explain something to them that I couldn’t comprehend myself? I kept trying to understand how I ended up in this totally unfamiliar place; this place of lies and half-truths.

How could I tell my sisters that I had never actually seen Kavivah’s grave? How could I confess to them that at the time of her burial, I didn’t know what she was wearing, or even if her hair had been combed?  How could I tell them that wherever our dear Kavivah was; she had been laid to rest in an un-marked grave, in an un-kept cemetery?

I suppose I could have told them that in our community, saints didn’t have gatherings to view the deceased, or funerals to honor our loved ones. But that confession would have to wait until later ...  just like my insurmountable grief.

In the nation, the priests took care of all burial procedures. And only a handful of saints actually knew where their loved ones were buried. I never saw Kavivah again after that night in the hospital. I had entered into a state of complete “numbness,” yet I couldn’t bring myself to share the details of Kavivah’s “improper burial” with my sisters at that time. They had no idea of the enormous pain and guilt I was carrying since Kavivah’s death.  I fell down at the water’s edge, crying out her name. My sisters tried to console me, but they didn’t know how badly I wanted to die. Edith began to speak in tongues. And Daniel, an ex-marine, stood nearby – trying in vain to hold back his tears.

That was the first and last time I visited the river Jordan. But I will always believe our tears of pure love helped to baptize my tortured soul that day. And I am certain that Kavivah was there that day, smiling down on her three sisters; the four of us were all together again, at last.

Here is a link to one of my videos describing the horrible situation with the Hebrew gravesite:  http://bit.ly/IeYSE1

A PLACE TO CALL HOME

The sudden death of Kavivah ushered in tremendous change in my life. Before her death, I was living the life of a free and independent woman. I was studying television production at a local communications center, and about to launch my first play. The money I was making enabled me to give my children more of the things they needed, and I was engaged to Shi.  I felt like I was on top of the world, and then everything suddenly came crashing down.

A few days after Kavivah passed, I moved to Arad, putting a hold on everything else in my life.  I would be living in Arad indefinitely. I was here in another capacity now, taking care of my nieces and nephew. And this time I needed them, just as much as they needed me. Nothing made sense anymore.  Looking into their innocent faces, I tried to fathom what they must be feeling, losing so much at such tender stages of their lives.  Kavivah’s youngest daughter was really too young to understand what was going on. Plus she still had the comfort of her father Daniel. But Kavivah’s three older children were devastated, having lost both their biological parents.

I wanted to be there for all of them, including Daniel. But it was hard. Daniel had always shown favoritism toward his young daughter Amira. Even before Kavivah died, she complained that he never spent time with her three older children.  Now the situation was even more complicated. Daniel had not formed any kind of relationship with the other three children, and he didn’t have a wife to care for them either. I asked Daniel several times wouldn’t it be better for me to take the older children, but his answer was always the same. “I’m not letting anybody break up my family.”

I knew that Daniel was also in pain, but I guessed his true intentions were not so noble. Saints were whispering from the very beginning, that Daniel only married my sister for her money. Men marrying women for their money was nothing new. Everyone knew Kavivah would be coming into money soon, because of the legal suit filed against the train company responsible for Yonah’s untimely death. She was by no means rich, but she had received her portion of the award in full. That money substantially improved Daniel’s lifestyle, and a huge cut went to the nation. But I wondered was there something else I didn’t know about?

My first priority was for the children. Daniel was becoming increasingly hostile toward Kavivah’s ten year old son, Yonah.  We had all hoped that Daniel could learn to love Yonah as his son. But Daniel never did. And I’m sure that affected Kavivah greatly. My heart went out to little Yonah, who was still struggling with bed wetting, and extremely poor eyesight. I’ll never forget the day I saw Daniel slap Yonah so hard that his tiny pair of glasses slid across the room. I decided that day that I would get my poor nieces and nephew away from their stepfather. Out of sheer luck and determination, I managed to rent an apartment in Dimona. This was something that few sisters ever dared to do, but in my mind, I had no other choice. I had to have a place to rescue Kavivah’s children, and my own.

THE MANHUNT & THE MONEY

Shi and I were happy newlyweds. We had just returned from Cyprus where we honeymooned for seven days. My world was a better place with Shi in it. With him, I not only felt alive, I felt adored. He was older than me. But he was younger in spirit. We could talk about anything, and I didn’t feel there was anything he wouldn’t do for me. We wrote each other poems, and made each other love tapes. We never created children together, but we shared a sacred love immortalized through a prayer that Shi had written. We recited it often, so as not to forget our sacred vows to one another. It was good that we did, for many things came later to challenge our union; such as family, friends, and inevitably the nation.

If there is one thing I learned about the nation it was, everything done by the nation’s leadership, is done for a reason; and usually, not for the “obvious” reasons.  Basically, everything in the KOG revolved around money. This was not made more transparent than the time when my niece Avital reached the legal age of eighteen. I hadn’t thought much about the reasons the nation instructed me to seek legal custody of Kavivah’s three older children. I thought it was because they needed a legal guardian to represent them.  But the nation had other plans.

It was early evening when I noticed that Avital wasn’t at home.  Since the village was located directly across the street from the school, I assumed she might be visiting friends. I had seen Daniel earlier that day in front of the “rock.” (Ben Ammi’s house) I thought maybe Daniel decided to spend a little time with Avital because of her birthday.  When the phone rang and I heard minister Yocheved on the line, I really became concerned. “Shalom Mahaleyah,” she said. “Is Avital there?” “No, she hasn’t come in yet.” I replied. Yocheved paused for a second and went on to say, “Well, when she comes in let her know that I need to see her right away.”  “Of course, I will.” I said, then hung up the phone. I wondered what all the secrecy was about, but I knew better than to ask questions. I prayed Avital hadn’t gotten herself into any kind of trouble. But my thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

A lone security captain was standing in the doorway. I asked him in. “No, that’s not necessary” he said. “I’m looking for Avital, is she here?” I was searching his face for any clue that would tell me if Avital was in serious trouble, but his blank stare revealed nothing... My mind was spinning, and my mouth was beginning to tremble, but I managed to get the words out, “No she isn’t.” His robotic cold eyes were scanning me now. And I felt a chill move down my spine. Failing to detect any hint of deception on my part, the security captain turned abruptly, said “Shalom,” and then disappeared down the stairs. My heart was pounding, and I was beginning to sweat panic, and fear.

I held my breath until Avital walked through the door. She had taken the short cut home, over the hill and missed the security guards that were out searching for her. We sat quietly at the table, trying to figure out what was going on. I asked her if anything unusual had taken place that day, and she said no. “Oh, I did see Daniel earlier today.” she said. “He asked me about my birthday.” Why the sudden interest in Avital’s birthday? I thought. Her birthday never mattered to him before.  I kissed Avital and handed her her birthday present. I watched her smile, as she opened her gift and remembered the first time I saw her face.  I remembered how her father fretted over her, and how she had been born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Now she was a young woman, yet far too innocent.  I was glad that she was sitting safely here with me. But my instincts were telling me that she was not out of danger.

AVITAL

Avital was a beautiful girl. She stunningly resembled her father. She was mostly quiet, except when around her friends. She was also extremely shy like her mother. And that is why I was surprised to find Avital had a secret love. His name was Bar. And he was the ambitious son of a prince. I rather liked him at first, thinking maybe some of his assertiveness would rub off on Avital. I was happy that she had finally begun to come out of her shell.  Actually, I had noticed, since Avital’s last birthday, she had become quite popular indeed.

The nation officials were taking a serious interest in Avital these days. Minister Yocheved and several other highly ranking officials were sending for her on a regular basis. I never questioned Avital about what they discussed. Avital was eighteen, and deserved to be treated more like an adult. “How nice,” I said “That the nation is taking such an interest in you.” Her serious glance alarmed me. “There is something that I have to tell you Auntie.” She said. Seeing her face, I could tell it was something important, so I remained silent. She explained how certain nation officials had been “courting” her. They were using Bar to also influence her thinking. I sat in shock at what I was hearing. “They asked me to steal the bank card from your purse, and give it to them.” “I just couldn’t do it Auntie.” she cried. It took a minute for me to take in all the horrible facts that were spilling out of her mouth. “They even told me they would place me in another house, if I didn’t like it here.” Her words were not falling on deaf ears…. My mind was just putting together all the details of the past few weeks. I felt like I wanted to scream.

From that moment on, everything began to come into focus; the real reason THEY had instructed me to get legal guardianship of Kavivah’s three children. The real reason THEY allowed the children to live with me in Dimona. The real reason I only received a slap on the wrist after renting my apartment without permission. The REAL reason Daniel didn’t want to give up the children, and why he was reporting to the “rock” on Avital’s eighteenth birthday. I thought about the search party they sent out to find Avital that night, and I thought about all the money Kavivah and I had been giving to the nation over the years. And when I stopped thinking I came to the conclusion that I was involved in nothing more than a cult!

Shi had seen firsthand how the leadership in the community had treated me, tried to threaten me. I was inconsolable, bitter, and mad at myself. I knew THEY would stop at nothing to get their hands on these poor children’s inheritance, so I decided to take them to America. An unbelievable courage took hold of me and I literally waged war on the cult leadership. I completely stopped paying tithes, and attending nation functions.  Years later, I wrote a letter to the saints explaining my reasons for leaving the KOG. Many lies had been spread to discredit me. And I wanted the saints to know what kind of man they were really worshipping as their spiritual leader and their Holy Messiah…

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE SAINTHOOD

About 7 years ago my life was in a total state of despair. I was recently divorced, my elderly father whom I had spent very little time with over the past 20 years was nearing the end of his life; and my younger sister had just died after losing a long battle with diabetes.

To make matters worse, I was deeply embroiled in a private war with Ben Ami Carter.  He was diabolically trying to seize the only inheritance left to my 2 nieces and nephew who had now tragically lost both of their biological parents. He was so relentless in his scheming that he had secretly instructed my 18 year old niece to go into my purse and steal the bank card which would allow him to gain access to her inheritance without my knowledge or consent. (I was her legal guardian).

What happened to the instructions God gave us in the Bible to protect the widows and orphans? Wasn’t it enough that he (Ben Ami) had already taken over half of their mother's money following the death of their father? We know that Ben Ami is a biblical scholar; but maybe he interprets parts of the Holy Scriptures in the manner that benefits him…..along with all the other parts pertaining to tithes and "Can a man rob God?"

My world seemed to be caving in around me, as I realized that the dream I had of living in a community where love, peace, justice and mercy prevailed, now seemed to be a horrible nightmare instead. Over the years in the community, I along with everyone else – including the children – witnessed countless injustices. You were referred to as "crazy" if you dared to even ask

*What did I do in the first place?

*.Who is my accuser?

*.Who is judging me?

*.How long is my sentence supposed to be? And, most importantly,

*.Where is the EVIDENCE?"

But that was none of your business because you were never to question the officials or "THE FATHER."

I gave up everything I had, including my loving family members, to come help build an everlasting kingdom of righteousness. After 25 years of faithful servitude and unquestioning obedience I was ex communicated from the community. No official reason was given. But in fact the reasons were because I left Israel to return to America to care for my sick father… and, mainly, because I refused to hand over to Ben Ami Carter the inheritance of my 2 nieces and nephew.

For a long time I was very bitter about what happened to me while residing in Dimona, Israel; especially when I found out that two of my daughters and one of my nieces had been sexually molested.  My young daughters never told me because they were afraid to "tell" on an adult. They also expressed to me that they did not think that I would believe them. You can imagine the hurt and pain I suffered as a mother whose only desire was to love, protect and raise her children in a safe and loving environment. They told me with tears in their eyes that this all happened while I was so diligently working overnight shifts serving in our “Kadar okale” (school kitchen).

One daughter was only 9 years old and still remembers the color of the little panties she was wearing when she was raped.  These young brothers participated in other acts of perversion as well; such as indecently exposing themselves to very young children. A prominent security captain who also lived in our house was caught hiding in our daughter's bedroom closet one night after they had complained about someone always standing over them in the dark during the night  It's a wonder these innocent young daughters can sleep at all; to this day they still have nightmares. How many more of our young sons and daughters have been molested – and then forced to give "respect" to the same monsters who took advantage of them?

As a parent I felt like I totally failed my children; and everything I tried to do to make it up to them seemed to be in vain. They have expressed to me now, years later, how it felt growing up not feeling protected by their own parents; and not having any voice, or control over their lives.

I am writing this letter for them. I cannot go back in time to change anything that happened to my precious children. I only know that hate is not the answer. I will teach them about the real love: The True Kingdom that resides within the human heart. The forgiveness we have to have – even in order to heal our own wounds. I tell them to respect themselves first, and that you teach others how to treat you.  Neither should they stop their spiritual journeys. They seem to be doing alright.  But we as parents owe it to our children to help them find solutions; to be there for them, to inspire them, and to truthfully answer their questions. They need us now more than ever. They are our future. Love them, cherish them while you can.

I want the Saints to know, though I may not be an active member of the Community any longer, "I love you all with a perfect love"….. I will always love you whether you speak to me, judge me, hate me, or not.  My love for you (the Saints) is unconditional. I did not come to Israel to serve man, but serve God.

If I had only known that the true essence of Yah dwelled within me, I could have saved myself a lot of pain and heartache. But then I would have never known what a great man my own biological “father” really was, and what a real sister (Arnonah) really is…..and what a great man/partner/friend (Shi) really is… what Real Saints truly are (the Jerusalem Brotherhood and Sisterhood!) We built this Community! WE gave our blood, sweat and tears! WE are the heart and soul of every good thing that ever came out of Dimona, Arad and Mitzpeh-Ramon! That which we have built – the "Kingdom of Yah", the "Hebrew Israelite Community" or however you refer to it – shall stand; even without Ben Ami and his glorified cronies. This is OUR Kingdom, not Ben Ami's: We don't need him; he needs US!

My spiritual journey is not over, but I found the Kingdom right here in my heart. I found the Love, Peace and Joy that I searched for so long. And the abundance we heard so much about, and those "Windows of Heaven" have truly opened for me. There is no doubt in my heart, mind or soul that even Everlasting Life is within my grasp.

Selah.

JULY, 2010

End of my letter

THE CULT

Many people don’t realize it when they come into contact with a cult. For many living in Israel, The African Hebrew Israelite community is an accepted part of Israeli society. But they don’t know what is really happening “right under their noses,” so to speak.

Cults can be disguised as an activist, or self-help group; an organization, or even a religion. By the time most folks find out they’ve actually been involved in a cult, their money is all gone. Their families have been split up or totally destroyed. And their mental state has been grossly compromised. Many never recover from the ill effects of brainwashing, and physical abuse. The elderly and children are often the most victimized because they cannot defend themselves. The cult I belonged to still has active members who steadfastly adhere to their spiritual leader Ben Carter’s strict rules and guidelines. My heart and prayers continue to go out to them.

One of the first things cults do to brainwash their members is assign them different names and relocate them as quickly as possible. The leaders, which are usually some kind of egomaniac, or psychopath, will carefully surround his self with a group of henchmen, or subordinates with low self-esteem who will follow his every instruction without question. If he chooses to establish himself as a Godlike spiritual enigma; he will distance himself from his followers, allowing his select cronies to deliver his messages, or dictates down to the general membership.

Members are barraged with constant conspiracy theories about the enemy, which generally means your family, friends and of course, your mind. After members are thoroughly engrained with their new righteous and noble cause, the second phase begins. In this phase, members must show their worthiness and dedication by giving up all their “worldly possessions.”  Members don’t throw anything away, that would be foolish, they just hand everything that’s worth anything over to the guru, master, or spiritual leader.

Another common characteristic of a cult is the devaluation of human life. There are some cults that trivialize the human experience by teaching their members that the rewards of this life time will come only after much struggle and persecution. Other cults teach that one’s reward comes only after death. Thus, some cult members end up committing suicide in hopes of securing their final rewards in the afterlife.

Dying in the KOG, is still regarded by some in the community as: a “surprise,” a “punishment,” or an embarrassment. This is due to the fact that Ben Ammi taught his members that they would have “eternal life.”  And many members thought that they would.

This clever cult “tactic” kept members from worries or concerns about their future. The idea of living forever meant members could accept dealing with their day to day struggles. Nothing bothers you when you know you can live forever…  When someone died in the KOG, the word spread quickly throughout the camp, but oddly, there was no public commemoration of the deceased, or record of their deeds. Usually these “deaths” were chalked up to some “higher spiritual reasoning or understanding.” Something the average saint could never spiritually or mentally grasp. The personal possessions of the deceased were generally burned as quickly as possible. Leaving very little evidence of their life among the living…  No periods of mourning were set aside, or grief counseling given. It was as if the deceased person had just vanished. Visiting the Hebrew, or any, other cemetery was considered taboo, and doing so, would render you “unclean“ for a certain period of time. Basically, the nation priests were the only ones who dared to visit the Hebrew cemetery. The cemetery itself was nothing more than an isolated area without any signs to designate it as a graveyard. Trash was heaped up over the entire area, and the saints buried there had no headstones to show who was buried where. There were many stories of bodies being buried right behind the village, in the dead of night. It was rumored that stillborn infants were literally wrapped in garbage bags and thrown into trash bins, rather than take the time to dispose of the precious souls properly. I am haunted by the idea that so many saints will never be honored or remembered as a valuable part of our history. I hold Ben Ammi Carter personally responsible for these abhorrent dealings. Most of the saints had no idea what was going on. We were encouraged to “Let the dead bury the dead.”

Most Christian beliefs were abandoned by the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem, in favor of strict scriptural interpretation of the Old Testament by Ben Ammi Carter. Although, the bible came in very handy when it came to the offering of tithes! It was heralded to the rooftops of the entire camp how idolatrous it was for a “man to rob God.”

In this particular cult, Ben Carter and his cronies set up an elaborate plan to attract members from the disillusioned black conscious communities, and Christian-based churches. Carter, the chief architect, fashioned himself as a messiah to lure gullible Christians, who still related to Jesus. His light complexion and good looks made that easy. He simply became their light skinned, “Black Jesus.” To make his cult even more attractive to these former Christians, he went on to set up a defunct counsel of twelve princes, to personify the biblical twelve disciples. This watered down version of Christianity was the template for his master plan. For the Black Nationalist, he preached “nation building.”

It is said if you repeat something long enough; it becomes a part of you. And that is what happened in Dimona. How could such a beautiful dream, end as a nightmare? First you have to destroy the family structure. How do you do that? Create animosity and distrust between husband and wife, parents and children; In other words, plural marriage. Now I’m not saying the institution of plural marriage is inherently flawed. I’m just saying, in order for it to work you have to institute equality, and morality first.

I could not list here the many young women and girls that were sexually abused by the leadership and sometimes even their own parents, all in the name of “nation building.”  I dare not list the countless children that were and continue to be sexually molested and threatened to “keep quiet” by the leadership and the general brotherhood of the KOG.

Ben Carter sanctions these crimes through his silence and support of “known” community pedophiles. To my knowledge, there is still very little dialogue between adults and children concerning sex education within the KOG. Unfortunately, due to the fact that these children are not being advised of their rights, these issues will continue to affect future generations of children.

Here are a few of the ways that children in the KOG are being violated. Most of these violations are random, and take place on the spot, without the knowledge or consent of the child’s parents.

* Children are subjected to head shavings for minor offenses.

* Children are strip searched by teachers to enforce community dress codes.

* Children are stripped down to their under garments for physical beatings.

* Young girls are physically inspected for virginity by various females in KOG.

* Children are physically beaten by “teams” of adults with belts and paddles.

Here is a link to a video on my channel, which describes the child abuse taking place within the KOG:  http://bit.ly/1dmrzKW

WHITNEY HOUSTON

Whitney Houston was just one of a cavalcade of stars who visited the Hebrew Israelite community in Dimona, Israel. Stevie Wonder also came, along with the Neville Brothers, and Barry White. Congressmen, Senators and top ranking politicians from all over the world came, saw, and left donations to help the struggling Black Hebrews.

When Whitney came to visit Dimona, she added a lot of credibility to the Hebrew Israelite community in Dimona. During that season in her life, Whitney was searching for a change. And the International Ambassador to the African Hebrew Israelites knew it. Just like so many others, he was able to convince Whitney that the Black Hebrews had just what she needed. When he brought her to Israel, to see the community in live and living color, the whole world took notice.

It must be stated here, that the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem is comprised of many good and innocent people. This book is not intended to ridicule their religious or spiritual beliefs in any way. I’m sure there are many legitimate Hebrew groups around the world. But these particular Hebrews in Israel, feared and worshipped a man as a “God,” rather than use their own God given, common sense.

I suspect Whitney Houston was proud to be associated with a beautiful, peace-loving and internationally renowned community such as the African Hebrew Israelites. And I am sure Whitney just wanted to help her black brothers and sisters, whom she thought were being victimized by the Israeli government; an idea which was probably carefully implanted into her mind by the unscrupulous leadership of the KOG. I am sure this was the reason she refused to shake the hand of the Prime Minister of Israel, Ariel Sharon. If the truth be told, the State of Israel, tried on many occasions to help our community, but Ben Carter’s followers were too brainwashed to understand who their “real” enemy was. Ben Carter had convinced his followers never to trust the “heathens,” or the “white man.”

Like most blacks in America, Whitney Houston probably grew up in the Christian church. Travelling to Israel to be baptized in the river Jordan is one of the greatest dreams for black Christians. When Whitney came to Israel, to be baptized, she was accompanied by the Hebrews from Dimona. Isn’t it interesting that this has never been a custom of the Hebrew Israelites in Dimona? As a rule, it just isn’t done.  But Carter wanted to impress Whitney in any way he could. He even went so far as to transport his famous gospel choir to attend Whitney’s baptism, and sing for her, to make her feel right at home. The whole thing was indeed a big joke to the saints, and everyone else.

Photographers, Israeli officials, star struck fans, and all the saints, came out to greet Whitney and Bobby Brown.

For us, (the saints,) she was like a breath of fresh air in a sweltering desert. I’ll never forget how happy she looked the day I saw her. She and Bobby looked as if they had just found paradise. And I must say from what I could see, she was enjoying herself, and felt very much at home. Even though Ben Carter greatly frowned upon R&B music, Whitney was an exception. She was a star beloved by all. As I stood in the rear watching the crowd throw her kisses, I couldn’t help but think how tired she appeared. I wished she would stay long enough to get some real help. But before we knew it, she was gone.

The saints were told that part of her time in Israel was spent at a remote location, where she was undergoing some type of detoxification program. Other than that, we were generally kept in the dark. Later we learned that she had made a sizable donation to the community. As usual, there was no transparency involved, and the actual members of the community never benefited from it.  I have no idea as to what extent the nation actually played in poor Whitney’s life, but she will always be loved and remembered for her kindness and support. May she rest in peace.

Here is a link to a video entitled “Diva in the Desert,” concerning Whitney’s visit to Israel:  http://bit.ly/184BIGV

JONESTOWN REVISITED

It was a day none of us will ever forget. A day firmly etched in our minds that many of us will try all our lives to forget. In many ways, that day was just like the mass suicides/murders that took place in Jonestown. Yet we in Dimona were spared. We had been preparing for this day for weeks. Our spiritual leader Ben Ammi Carter had instructed us to pack dates, and other dried fruit because we were marching to Jerusalem.

Over the years Ben Carter had staged many protests. One of his first protests was concerning the State of Israel’s law of return. His unilateral decision to reject converting to Judaism resulted in forty years of unnecessary suffering and pain for our entire community.  “We don’t need to convert!” Carter told the State. “We are already Hebrews!” But now he was changing his tactics. His mistake had already cost the Black Hebrews: legal residency in Israel, legal work permits, free health care and a whole host of other valuable State benefits. Unfortunately, even our grandchildren have not escaped paying for his fanatical stunts.

In Carter’s mind, this new protest would force Israel’s hand into giving his group legal residency in the State of Israel, and hopefully bring international attention to his community and ultimately gain more political and financial support. He is quite adept at playing the “race card” to justify his criminal and other nefarious activities, or ideologies.

He is also well known for his false predictions. Earlier in his messianic career, he had prophesied more than once, the advent of the war of Armageddon. During that season, He had prophesied that the saints would escape that cataclysm by running into the surrounding hills of Dimona. Pregnant sisters were warned back then; they may not make it…

But no one seemed to remember those false predictions on this day. Carter had instructed every member in the KOG to wear white garments and comfortable shoes. Some of the elders would ride in vehicles alongside of the procession of saints marching to Jerusalem on foot. Mothers lined up with their toddlers in baby strollers, while others carried their infants on their backs. Brothers carried staffs, and the nation priests stood at the front of the line. We were marching to Jerusalem to protest Israel’s racist policies.

Heela, and I were both too far along in our pregnancies to participate, so we watched everyone else line up from our window.  Carter had told the saints that this would be a historic day. And at least for once, he was correct.

What the saints didn’t know at the time was the Israeli government had evacuated several city blocks of surrounding neighborhoods, and parameters had been set up for more than twenty miles. What the saints could see was the sniper teams aiming their rifles from every available rooftop adjacent to the village of peace. Saints woke up to see monstrous military bull dozers encircling the camp, and lines of helmeted soldiers surrounding the village with tactical weapons in hand. Some soldiers held back snarling dogs, intent on breaking their leashes, while helicopters flew overhead.

As I watched from my window inside the house, my heart sank deeper and deeper.  Interestingly, Heela was upset that she couldn’t be a part of the apparent carnage that was about to take place. I was amazed at her fidelity. The saints stood ready, like sacrificial lambs headed for the slaughter. I could only think of my young daughter just three years old. “What have I done?” I asked myself. This was such a terrible and pointless way to die….

As the scene unfolded, a distinct calm seemed to settle over the area. I perceived it as the “Calm before the storm.” No one knew what would happen. And no one knew where Ben Carter was. After a few minutes of deafening silence, a high ranking Israeli officer stepped forward with a bull horn. “Go back into your houses!” He said. “Please go back!” “You are breaking the law!” I saw a brother holding a video camera in his hands, videotaping the whole event. I wondered if my parents would be hearing about me on the six o’clock news, or would our entire community be bulldozed into oblivion.

Finally, Carter emerged from his home, which we referred to as the “rock.” You could taste and smell the relief in the air. He slowly walked over to a nearby flight of steps to elevate himself before the crowd. And in an eloquent flair, he began to speak. “Do not feed the appetite of those who have come to feast upon us!” He said loudly. ”Do not leave the village!”   he continued, “We will wait!”  With that, the terrifying confrontation between the KOG and the Israeli government ended and everybody went home.

Carter dramatically referred to the day as “The Showing of the Day of Strength.” Which I might add was quite appropriate; because he did show his strength on that day… The saints were drained from the experience, but it was chronicled in nation history as a great “victory” over the Israeli establishment.

The Israelis had instructed us to go back into our homes that day, because they said we were “breaking the law.” But what laws had we broken? Nobody I knew even bothered to ask… Looking at it today, I’m sure the problem was nothing more than someone forgetting to obtain a simple “permit,” which would have granted the Hebrews permission to march to Jerusalem and stage a peaceful protest. There are times when such matters must be dealt with legally beforehand. After all, the Israeli government didn’t need this type of “unfavorable” media attention anyway…

We may never know what actually took place behind the scenes on that particular day. But there is one thing that I know for sure… Ben Carter’s oversized ego was involved….  I believe he purposefully orchestrated the whole event to show the Israeli government that he presided over a group of Americans that were ready to commit mass suicide for him, whenever he so chose. I believe that secondly, his grand hoax permanently sealed his position as the undisputable “leader” of the Black Hebrews in the minds of the Israeli government and in the minds of the general sainthood as well.

Today Ben Carter suffers from a series of medical conditions. It is obvious that he can no longer rule as he did in the past. But make no mistake about it, for some of his followers, he still holds the absolute power of their life and death in his hands…

Here is a link to one of my videos on cults:  http://bit.ly/1bRH7C3

THE FALSE MESSIAH, BEN CARTER

The complete life and story of Ben Carter could never be covered in this brief chapter. I feel he deserves a book of his own. So everybody stay tuned…..The important things to know here are how he emerged as the leader of the African Hebrew Israelites of Jerusalem and what his legacy shall leave behind.

He came from the Westside streets of Chicago. The word that generally described him then and today is “charismatic.” He worked as a foundry worker in the steel mills in Chicago, and as a bus driver.  He became infatuated with the teaching of the Black Hebrews during the 60’s, and after receiving the name Ben Ammi, Ben Israel by Rabi Reuben of the Congregation of Ethiopian Hebrews, he decided to form a beta, which was named the A-Beta Israel Hebrew Cultural Center. A few years later, he informed his congregation that he had a vision which revealed to him that he was the “anointed” one which would lead them out of America and into the Promised Land.

He and his group of approximately 350 followers left for Liberia in 1967, where Ben Ammi, told them that they would “purge” themselves of all their inequities before entering the Promised Land. After two years of constant huger, and despair, many members returned to America.

Once entering Israel, in 1969, Ben Ammi, began to systematically establish himself as the indisputable spiritual leader of the group, by disempowering all those around him and ruling over his followers with an iron fist.

His greatest crimes are crimes against humanity. And he will be remembered throughout all time as a despicable cult leader who even denied his followers the inalienable right to a proper burial. When I came back from America, I realized I had to honor my sister Kavivah, by correcting this wrong. Everyone deserves to be buried properly, and have their gravesites properly maintained. There are a few brave souls who fight with me, in the struggle to put things “right.”

Throughout the years of his rule, it has been said that Ben Carter, has practically bankrupted the moral and financial assets of the community, through cult rituals, institutionalized fear, and all manners of sexual exploitation and criminal activities. It is important to state here that without the consent and complacency of the saints, Carter could have never accomplished any of his evil deeds. Sometimes we can be our own worst enemies. And let this be recorded as a warning for all future generations.

Now, we must ask ourselves as followers and ex members of this giant “social experiment;” where do we go from here? I will humbly attempt to answer that question:

* We must redeem the names of all those lost souls who came here in search of a better life;     we must do this for those saints who never even received an honorable mention in our nation’s history.

* We must build them a lasting memorial and bring closure to our painful past.

* We must also hold those guilty accountable for their gross deeds and insist on justice for the innocent.

Only then, can we heal as a people and begin to move forward.  This is my prayer for my people and people spanning the globe, stuck in the fear, and insanity of cult brainwashing. If you are lucky enough to escape the clutches of a cult, don’t just leave, do something about it……

Here is a link to a video describing the false Messiah, Ben Carter:  http://bit.ly/1gkBIZ9

WINGS

A row of carefully packed suitcases sat near the door. My crumpled to-do list, which had been the source of such previous anguish, had been gratefully tossed into the trash. The driver wasn’t due for another hour, but I couldn’t help rechecking my watch. In a few hours, I would be on my way to America, my other home. Everyone including the gardener had their instructions. The children were all placed with family or friends. Everything was in order. I would be travelling alone. Something I hadn’t done for many years. I was elated, excited, and extremely impatient.

Feelings of deja vu surprised me as I entered the huge sliding doors to the airport departure area. The driver, who barely spoke on the way, quickly assembled my luggage onto a loading cart and unceremoniously waved goodbye. As I watched him speed away, I thought to myself, this was just another day in his life. But for me, this day was monumental. The brightness of everything around me seemed to reflect the auspiciousness of the occasion. The terminal was like a hugely lit stage, noisy, and crowded with travelers of every race and religion busy scurrying about. Plain clothed police and uniformed security agents swarmed the place like busy “airport bees.”….. Checking trash bins for bombs and tickets of passengers, eyeing stray luggage and monitoring rest rooms.

I wasn’t wearing the traditional “nation” attire. I was wearing simple black trousers and a bright cotton blouse. To everyone else, I looked like an average African American tourist returning to the States. But in my mind I felt hopelessly out of place. I was angry at myself for being so “out of touch” with the rest of the world. I envied the other travelers obvious self-confidence, and worldliness.

I tried to comfort myself with some stupid gibberish that I remembered from the cult. It seemed it would take some time for all the years of constant brainwashing to go away.  I kept asking myself why did it take so many years for me to finally go back home? It wasn’t like there was a ball and chain hanging around my ankle or anything. But the psychological brainwashing had taken its effects on me. And I had also burnt a lot of bridges on my way to the Holy Land…..

I felt like a little girl. Lost and in between two worlds, yet safe in none. I realized at that moment that this was the first time in over twenty years that I was not in the company of another saint for more than a few hours. Since the day I left America, I had never actually been “alone.” I prayed that I wouldn’t have another panic attack. You know, like one of those people that could never go outside because of some irrational fear……  I calmed myself down and began to reason with myself again. I told myself, that all these people in the airport were just like me. Each of us was going on a different journey. Each of us was a child of God…...  I was tired of being afraid. Maybe this was the perfect place for me to shed my fears and take flight.

DEACON

I didn’t know what to expect. But in my heart I wished my father would be there to greet me. As it turned out, it was Susan and my first cousin Henry James who came to pick me up from the airport.  I smiled, and waved back to them, glad that I was finally home.  Seeing them dissolved all my silly concerns about who would be there to greet me. Susan was working her magic again. She always had an amazing ability to make me feel good and safe, no matter what the situation was.

I slept that night at her house. Together we lay in her oversized bed laughing, and talking until we both fell asleep. I had forgotten what normal felt like, and I was enjoying normal surroundings again….. Normal for me was carpet on the floor instead of ceramic tile. Normal meant two car garages, with clean and shiny cars. There were so many things that I had come to miss by living in Israel that I just had to laugh. We would be going to Daddy’s in the morning. I wondered what I missed most about my old home and my father… No need to wonder what I missed most about Mama. I missed everything about her.

Miles of familiar landmarks flashed by as Susan sped down the beltway. She had ordered me to the back seat of her car in order to avoid another one of my panic attacks. It seemed to help. So much had changed. But not Susan’s speeding.

I found Daddy sitting in his favorite recliner chair. His back, now slightly more curved, inched upwards to greet me. His strong black hands reached out to hug me. And I felt like a little girl again. “Oh my gee!” he cried. “My baby girl has finally come home to see me.” At first his comment caught me off guard. I had never heard him refer to me as “baby girl” before. Then I realized that Gail was gone and I must have inherited the new title of his “baby girl.”  Feeling guilty, I ignored his comment and sat down directly at his feet. He talked for as long as he wished and then stopped. Daddy was not much of a talker and when he was finished talking he always said the same thing. “Okay, y’all go on in the kitchen and find yourselves something to eat” I had almost forgotten Daddy’s unique way of dismissing us.  He had made it plain earlier, that Gail and I, had no business going “over there to Israel, and getting ourselves into trouble.” I accepted his short reprisal gracefully. Then Daddy started to pray.

Now praying to some other family might mean a few short sentences at the dinner table. But my father was a deacon. And he took the art of praying to a whole other level. He would reach out his hands real wide, signaling us to form a close circle. Then he would open the prayer in a slow baritone modulation.  The rest of us would always keep our heads bowed down low, waiting for Daddy’s famous cue. Then, when Daddy raised his voice up high and began to preach real hard, we would all join in, repeating choice words from Daddy’s powerful prayer. We teased anybody who made the mistake of standing next to Deacon when he was about to pray. Once he grabbed your hand there was no letting go. Whoever he caught ended up with a sore hand and nearly crushed knuckles. Daddy might have been in his late eighties, but even then, Deacon had the strongest hands that any of us had ever seen or felt.

THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

I couldn’t believe the unconditional love my family bestowed on me during my stay in America. I had expected the worst, but instead I received only heartfelt prayers and best wishes for me and the children. I kept asking myself why I had ever left. Standing over my mother’s grave seemed to give me some degree of closure and meaning about many of my life choices. I learned that sometimes we don’t have to leave home in search of something greater.  Sometimes we just need to know that we are already alright….. There were so many things I wanted to share with mama, but I sensed she already knew. I placed a flower on her grave and a gentle breeze passed by, reminding me of a beautiful song that I had once loved. It said, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” And so it was…….

Death brings with it such sorrow. But from it, we also learn so much about life…. I learned from Kavivah that strength is not determined by the physical body but by the spirit within. She lived her life fully and against all odds… She gave birth to four incredible human beings. And she changed my life for the better, entrusting me with her most cherished possessions, her children. In the end, I found out something else which was totally amazing. Kavivah knew me better than I knew myself. I pray this story adequately symbolizes the improbable journey and the timeless love we shared.

My father passed away at the age of eighty eight in a blissful state of mind. The nurse had told us after his passing that his last words were, “Jesus, sweet Jesus, come carry me home.” Reflecting back on the time I spent with my father, I realize how very special he was. Here was a man that never uttered a bad word about another soul in his life; a man that never used a curse word, and loved his family beyond words. Daddy, I will cherish your memory forever and the redemption I received with your final blessing. May you rest in peace with the final knowledge, that your prodigal daughter has come home and that she has learned her lessons well.

MY HONORABLE BURDEN

How foolish I was to think that this book was about me. I can clearly see now, that our lives are not our own. I struggled with the idea of writing this book for over ten years. I couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs and only now, do I understand why. It wasn’t time. There was much more I needed to experience in order for me to begin my story. Just to illustrate my point, I will give you a brief example. My girlfriend, who is highly psychic, came to visit me recently. We were right in the middle of one of those titillating girly conversations when she abruptly stopped and began to give me a surprising message from beyond.

The message was clear and greatly appreciated. I was told that I was overlooking some very important information that should have been included in my book. The message helped me to correct several mistakes and redefine the entire book project. Did I feel like going back to rewrite certain chapters after being over half way through the book? No. But I have taken on the honorable burden of also speaking for the dead.

Today, I stand as a woman with a rich past, stepping into an exciting new future.  I believe in a sense, we can change the things that once caused us pain.  We do it with our renewed perceptions of what happened to us at that time; and the beauty of overcoming each unique challenge, one day at a time.

The sorrow I endured during my marriage lasted a while, but I understand now, that Yokanon, Heela, and I, were all just doing the best that we knew how to do at that time in our lives. I am happy that I have moved on, but I will always appreciate what they have taught me about myself and life in general. Although our marriage didn’t work, Yokanon and I, created four of the most beautiful children I shall ever know. Would I change one sweet face? I think not.  Life is for those who dare to live.

My work of course, is not done. There are many more stories to tell. There are also the problems that still need to be addressed within the community in Dimona. It is time to end the cult dictatorship there and begin anew. Let us stop the incessant backbiting, wife swapping, incest and idol worship of Ben Ammi Carter. Honor your loved ones by purchasing headstones for those who have passed on.  Visit their graves and place flowers on them too. Give to yourselves instead of giving all you have to Carter.  And most of all, love yourselves, and your children.

MAHALEYAH’S BIO

Mahaleyah Goodman came to Israel in 1980. She is an entrepreneur, actress, playwright and poet. She is the proud mother of four children and nine grandchildren. In the year of 2000, after a dispute with the leadership in Dimona, Israel, Mahaleyah left the African Hebrew Israelite Community and briefly returned to live in America.

Mahaleyah’s seriousness as an advocate for women’s and children’s rights is reflected in her writings such as “Seek Not,” a poem especially written and dedicated to the youth of the world for this book. Her life experiences coupled with a profound affinity for human empathy has led her to her new passion, which is quantum healing.

You can look forward to her upcoming book of poems, children’s stories and Israel’s Secret Cult: Book II.

CONNECT WITH MAHALEYAH

ISRAEL’S SECRET CULT GROUP PAGE:  If you would like to connect with Mahaleyah, or receive further updates on the community, you can visit her new Group Page on Face book. There you can post questions, suggestions, and connect with other book fans, or ex cult members. Anyone can join. Hopefully this page will create a thriving community for advocates working to stop the spread of cult abuse, and aiding those who have suffered from the ill effects of cult brainwashing.      Here is the link:  http://on.fb.me/1emXfi3

MAHALEYAH’S YOU TUBE CHANNEL:  DIARY OF A REVOLUTIONARY:  Watch her videos, and stay informed…   Here is the link:    http://bit.ly/184yumM

MAHALEYAH’S AUTHOR CENTRAL PAGE:  Find out more about Mahaleyah, and her upcoming events, books, and videos on Amazon.com Author central page  Here is the link:  http://amzn.to/18dAx89

MAHALEYAH’S EMAIL ADDRESS:  africanamericanslivinginisrael@gmail.com

THANK YOU

I WOULD LIKE TO THANK ALL OF MY KIND SUPPORTERS, WHO TOOK THE TIME TO PURCHASE AND READ MY BOOK.

AND SINCE YOU’VE FINISHED READING, PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO LEAVE A BOOK REVIEW.

THESE THINGS ARE VERY IMPORTANT TO ME.

Here is the link to the amazon.com review page:  http://amzn.to/18p3v8c

SO, UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN…

Peace and blessings to you all,

Mahaleyah

Table of Contents

DEDICATED TO THE YOUTH OF THE WORLD WITH LOVE

PROLOGUE

INTRODUCTION

IN THE BEGINNING

THE ADULT YEARS

FRANK

YOKANON

FIRST GLANCE

THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER?

TOO LATE!

LIFE IN ISRAEL

THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES

The Order

THE NEW SAINTS

THE MOSHAV

MARRIED LIFE

THE SISTERS

CROWNED SISTERS

SINGLE SISTERS

The “Village of Peace”

THE BIG SURPRISE

THE HONEYMOON IS OVER

A CHILD IS BORN

IGNORANCE IS NOT ALWAYS BLISS

THE LAST ONE TO KNOW

HEELA

BETRAYED

THE RELEASE

SHI

YONAH

KAVIVAH

THE TEAR

OH JORDAN

A PLACE TO CALL HOME

THE MANHUNT & THE MONEY

AVITAL

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE SAINTHOOD

THE CULT

WHITNEY HOUSTON

JONESTOWN REVISITED

THE FALSE MESSIAH, BEN CARTER

WINGS

DEACON

THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

MY HONORABLE BURDEN

MAHALEYAH’S BIO

CONNECT WITH MAHALEYAH