My journey to Ethiopia actually began with a smell. Even before I tasted Ethiopian coffee, I felt it. The coffee beans were roasted before my eyes, and the air filled with a deep, warm, and slightly smoky aroma. Alongside the coffee, incense was burning, its scent blending with the aroma of fresh coffee. This was the buna ceremony, the traditional Ethiopian coffee ritual.
As the journey progressed, however, I realized that coffee is much more than a beverage. It is a ritual of hospitality, conversation, respect, and shared time. The beans are roasted, ground, and brewed in a traditional clay pot, and the coffee is served in small cups over several rounds.
Early in the trip, I thought about how human beings take something provided by nature and transform it into culture. That thought would return to me time and again later on.
Addis Ababa – between past and present
The first stop was Addis Ababa, a city where different layers of time and culture coexist. On the busy streets, one encounters modern buildings, coffee shops, hotels, and markets, while in that same space traditional clothing, ancient traditions, and community life persist. This is not merely an encounter between old and new, but a way in which a society changes without entirely relinquishing the elements that shaped it for generations.
We went up to Mount Entoto, which rises to about 3,200 meters, offering a view over Addis Ababa. The mountain is linked to the city's origins and the era of Emperor Menelik II. His wife, Empress Taytu Betul, was instrumental in moving the imperial center to the area of the Filwoha hot springs at the foot of the mountain. It was here that Addis Ababa - which means "New Flower" in Amharic - developed.
From there, we continued to the National Museum, where we met Lucy, the famous fossil whose age is estimated at about 3.2 million years. The name "Lucy" was given to her after the Beatles' song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," which played at the excavation site when she was discovered. In Amharic, she is called Dinkʼinesh, meaning "you are marvelous." Meeting her is a reminder that Ethiopia is not only a place of ancient cultures, but also part of the broader story of the beginnings of humanity.
In the Mercato market, I encountered a different side of the same society: Spices, coffee, fabrics, handicrafts, agricultural produce, and crowds of people. Within the market, a daily meeting occurs among people, goods, traditions, and different ways of life. Precisely here, one can see how culture is not something found only in museums or ancient rituals. It is also created in daily life, in the interaction between people, and in the way they work, trade, and conduct their lives.
Addis Ababa is also a city of faith. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church, with its ancient roots, is interwoven into history and daily life, and alongside it exists a significant Muslim presence in the city. Ethiopia's political history is also present here. The figure of Haile Selassie, the last emperor of Ethiopia and one of the prominent African leaders of the 20th century, is a reminder of how Ethiopian identity was built out of a combination of tradition, faith, governance, and contact with the modern world.
Already in Addis Ababa, the question that would accompany me throughout the rest of the trip began to take shape: How do human beings take the place where they live, the conditions around them, and what they inherited from previous generations - and turn all of these into a way of life, beliefs, customs, and culture.
The Daasanach – when nature dictates the way of life
As one travels south from Addis Ababa, the landscape changes: The roads become more difficult, the spaces open up, and the vegetation transforms. When we reached the far south, I felt primarily an awe at the ability of human societies to sustain life under conditions of limited infrastructure and such direct dependence on nature.
In the Daasanach region, near the Omo River delta and the border with Kenya, the heat and dryness are part of life. It is a semi-arid region where rains are scarce and not always predictable, and therefore water determines almost everything: Where pasture will be, whether cattle will survive, and what options a family will have.
We visited the Daasanach people and encountered a very colorful world: Women adorned with colorful necklaces and jewelry, dances, and music, alongside simple homes built from sheet metal. Yet behind the colorful appearance lies a reality directly dependent on nature - herding cattle and goats, seasonal agriculture, and utilizing the river's resources.
Cattle are much more than a food source. They represent wealth, security, status, and part of marriage alliances. Therefore, losing a herd can change a person's standing and their family's future.
Out of this reality, the Dies community also developed, identified with people who transitioned from relying on cattle herding to greater reliance on water resources, including fishing along the Omo and around Lake Turkana. Thus, environmental conditions can gradually influence a way of life as well.
The Konso tribe – when man learns to work with the mountain
The Konso people live in a mountainous area and for generations have learned how to adapt their lives to the environment. They built stone terraces that allow them to cultivate the land and reduce soil erosion. This is knowledge passed down from generation to generation that became part of their culture and social life.
The cultural landscape of the Konso was recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2011. Memory also takes on a tangible expression among them. Wooden statues known as waga commemorate respected individuals and heroes in the community, while memorial stones and their associated traditions express generational cycles and collective memory.
One of the striking aspects of Konso tradition is the connection between the physical environment and social life: The terraces, fields, structures, and means of commemorating the dead are all part of a cultural landscape created over generations.
The Dorze – what nature provides and man turns into food
From there, we continued to the Dorze tribe in a mountainous region at an elevation of about 2,500 meters. Here I encountered another example of how a society learns its environment.
Enset, often referred to as "false banana," is a central plant in the Dorze food system. A starchy substance is extracted from the plant after processing and fermentation, and it is used to prepare traditional food. On-site, we tasted a kind of pancake made from the enset plant.
The Dorze learned over generations how to derive various uses from the plant and make it a significant part of their lives. When a particular resource is fundamental to the environment, society does not merely "consume" it; rather, it develops cumulative knowledge around it: How to grow, process, ferment, and eat it.
Among the Dorze, enset is not just a source of food. The knowledge accumulated around it over generations is part of how the community adapts to its environment.
The same principle is evident in the traditional dwellings of the Dorze, made of bamboo and mainly enset leaves, whose tall shape resembles an elephant's head. Weaving is also part of the Dorze tradition, passed down in the community from generation to generation.
During the visit, we put on the tribe's clothing and broke into dance. We were hosted in the chief's hut, which was colorful and decorated with embroidery work, and danced with members of the tribe as they sang and played with sticks and drums. The chief was an impressive and humorous figure. He told us about tribal life and introduced us to the Dorze way of life.
In meeting them, we encountered smiling, open, and welcoming people.
The Hamar tribe – when ritual turns a child into an adult
The appearance of the Hamar people is part of their identity. Women and men style their hair and bodies with natural materials and wear jewelry made of leather, metal, and local materials. Notable among the women is hair colored with red ochre - a natural reddish pigment derived from soil - mixed with butter. The jewelry also indicates status and marital standing.
One of the central customs is the bull-jumping ceremony, a rite of passage in which a young man is required to jump over the backs of bulls, thereby transitioning from childhood to adulthood, earning status, and becoming eligible for marriage.
Alongside the ceremony, another custom exists: Female relatives of the young man ask young men who have already passed the bull-jumping ceremony to whip their backs. Within the local society, the custom is linked to loyalty, family bonds, and mutual commitment.
It is difficult not to think about the pain and the scars that remain on the body. In my travels, I try to observe the customs of other cultures with curiosity and respect, attempting to understand the meaning they hold for the people living within them.
Here, too, I can understand that the beatings are perceived as an expression of loyalty, belonging, and commitment to the family. And yet, this custom stirred a different feeling in me. It is difficult for me to see young women bearing pain and scars on their bodies to express loyalty and belonging.
I understand that the meaning they give to the act differs from the meaning I give to it, but for me, this is a point where cultural understanding does not erase the feeling that there is something in the pain and injury to the body that is difficult for me to accept.
Perhaps this is also one of the complexities of encountering a different culture: Knowing how to observe it with open eyes, trying to understand it from within, and at the same time not losing the values from which we ourselves view the world.
From nature to culture
As I approached the end of the trip, I returned to the smell that opened it - the coffee. At the beginning of the journey, I saw the buna ceremony as a tradition of hospitality; now I understood that it embodies a broader idea: How a society takes a thing from nature and turns it into a social institution.
Coffee is not just a drink, but time, hospitality, conversation, respect, and connection.
I encountered the same principle throughout the journey: The Konso terraces are not just stones, but knowledge and adaptation to the environment; the Dorze enset is not just a plant, but food and knowledge accumulated over generations; and the Hamar rite of passage is not just jumping over bulls, but a transition between stages of life. Even the wooden statues of the Konso are not just material - they are memory.
I return from Ethiopia with pictures and memories - from Addis Ababa, from the mountains, and from meeting the communities in the far south. But above all, I return with a thought about how people learn to live within their reality.
The water, land, plants, animals, and surrounding conditions affect what they eat, how they work, how they live together, and what traditions they create. What is born out of the need to cope with life becomes, over time, knowledge, customs, and culture passed down from generation to generation.
In the end, perhaps that is what connects us all: Everywhere, man takes the reality given to him and finds a way to make it part of his culture.
And perhaps that is also one of the great gifts of traveling to such a distant place: The encounter with a different world causes us to look anew at the world from which we came, at the things we take for granted, and at the way we, too, cope with our reality.
Thanks to the Ambassador of Ethiopia to Israel, Tesfaye Yetayeh; to Iris Barr, our fascinating guide with vast knowledge from Butterfly Tours, who enabled us not only to see Ethiopia but to try to understand it; and to the local and professional guide, Tamirat.