Old Jaffa, New Tel Aviv

Evan Sisay and Mazal Tazazo are descendants of Ethiopian Jews whose families fled political and military upheaval in Ethiopia during “Operation Solomon,” the 1984 airlift that brought more than 14,000 members of the Beta Israel community to Israel. Born and raised there, the two women have taken different paths but share a common purpose: giving voice to those who are too often unheard.

For Mazal, that mission is personal. She survived the October 7 assault on Israel and now dedicates herself to advocating for the friends she lost that day. Evan amplifies stories like hers from behind a news desk.

Evan, 31, is a journalist based in Old Jaffa and a presenter for the I24 News channel. Mazal, the mother of an 11-year-old boy, works as a public advocate, recounting her survival and honoring the young Israelis killed at the Nova music festival, where more than 400 people died at the hands of armed militants who crossed from Gaza

While Mazal’s advocacy emerged from tragedy, Evan’s media career began two years ago, when she joined I24 News as an anchor. She initially saw the role as a way to bring greater energy and visibility to the broadcast. But the recent attacks, she said, have reshaped how Israelis view their country — and how she sees her own responsibility as a journalist.

Living and working in Jaffa has grounded her during a volatile period. The ancient port, with its layered history and tightly knit communities, provides both the backdrop to her reporting and the sense of belonging she often draws on.

Old Jaffa is among the world’s oldest continuously inhabited port cities, its history stretching back more than 4,000 years along the Mediterranean coast. It appears in religious tradition as the port linked to the prophet Jonah. Long before such stories were written, it was a strategic outpost touched by Egyptian expansion into the region, said Yishai Ferziger, a tour guide with Conexion Israel. Archaeological traces — including hieroglyphics carved into stone — testify to those early connections.

“These influences shaped Jaffa long before the Biblical era,” he said.

Over centuries, Jaffa grew into a diverse port where merchants and families from different backgrounds lived side by side. “For hundreds of years leading into the modern period, the population was predominantly Muslim, with Christian communities and a smaller Jewish minority,” Ferziger said. Migration in the early 20th century shifted that balance, and today, he added, Jaffa’s residents include both Arabs and Jews, all Israeli citizens who move fluidly between Jaffa, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and the wider region.

Modern Jaffa is also known for its artistic life. Its streets hold small galleries showing sculpture, photography, and painting — many of them run by local artists. The creative scene, together with the coastal breeze and the city’s cultural mix, draws visitors from Jerusalem and beyond. Arab-owned restaurants dot the port, while the surrounding neighborhoods reflect Jaffa’s layered demographic past and present.

Jaffa’s significance lies not only in its contemporary diversity but in its foundational role in regional history. For millennia, ships carrying cedar from Lebanon followed this coastline, stopping at ports like Jaffa before the timber was transported inland to Jerusalem. In those days, Jaffa was a fortified city, its people living within clustered neighborhoods behind protective walls, a hub of both trade and strategy.

The old and modern communities of Jaffa remain closely tied to St. Peter’s Church, a landmark that carries symbolic weight in the early development of Christianity. According to Ferziger, the story associated with the church marks a moment when Christianity began to distinguish itself from its Jewish origins. The events linked to St. Peter in Jaffa, he said, reflect a shift toward a more universal message — one intended to reach far beyond a single people.

“Unlike Jerusalem, which sits on a mountain and developed as a strategic inland city, Jaffa faces the Mediterranean — an open route to Europe and Africa,” Ferziger told The Reporter. “From this coastline, ideas, people, and beliefs moved easily across the sea. The Mediterranean exposure suggests one of the paths through which Christianity’s message could have traveled southward, including toward Ethiopia, even as other traditions trace the journey through Egypt. The architecture of St. Peter’s Church reflects this orientation.”

He believes that the church’s alignment toward the port symbolizes a spiritual and physical openness to the wider world. For pilgrims and travelers arriving by ship to the Holy Land, the church was often one of the first landmarks visible from the water — a reminder of Jaffa’s longstanding role as a point of entry, exchange, and encounter. That influence continues today, even as modern Tel Aviv rises around it.

Despite Tel Aviv’s rapid expansion, Jaffa remains distinct. As the older settlement from which Tel Aviv grew in the early 20th century, it still retains the character of a coastal town where history, community, and creativity overlap. Its residents — Arab and Jewish, long-established and newly arrived — shape a city that carries its layered past into the present while adapting to life along the Mediterranean shore.

Yet the growth of Tel Aviv has reshaped the coastline that once centered entirely on Jaffa. What began as a small settlement — often described as an archaeological mound — evolved into the “city of spring,” which would become the urban core of modern Israel. As the state developed, Tel Aviv emerged as the hub of modernization, commerce, and high-rise construction.

Today, the boundaries between Tel Aviv and its surrounding areas are increasingly difficult to discern. The urban landscape has merged into a nearly continuous stretch of development along the sea, home to a significant share of Israel’s population.

“Tel Aviv is often described as a liberal bubble within Israel, a safe haven for many young people who have left more conservative family environments,” Ferziger said.

Along this narrow strip of coastline — dense, fast-growing, and diverse — the contrast between ancient Jaffa and the modern metropolis around it is unmistakable. The two exist side by side, linked by geography and shaped by continuous expansion, as communities adapt to modernization nearly as quickly as it arrives.

A newly opened Ethiopian restaurant in downtown Tel Aviv, has begun attracting both longtime fans of the cuisine and curious first-time diners. Dohor Shemesh, who lives nearby, said he and his partner decided to visit after noticing the growing number of eateries in the city center.

He described the neighborhood as a busy commercial hub — offices, steady foot traffic, and an expanding mix of food options — an ideal setting, he said, for new restaurants to take root.

Beside him, his partner, Lia Faglev, originally from Russia, paused from her meal to say she had been familiar with Ethiopian cuisine for years. Shemesh added that he grew up with Ethiopian friends and often shared meals in their homes. Both said they appreciated the vegetarian tradition of the cuisine, with shiro and tibs among the most popular choice.

“It’s a wonderful place,” Faglev said. “Everyone is welcome here in Tel Aviv. We love Ethiopia. And you can see all kinds of people in Tel Aviv, living in different ways.”

Yet reminders of the October 7 attack still linger across parts of Tel Aviv and at the site of the music festival. The festival grounds — in the Re’im parking area near Kibbutz Re’im, close to the Gaza Strip — continue to bear the marks of the assault. A resident told The Reporter that only a quarter of the Kibbutz community has returned home, even with the signing of the peace accord.

The open tract of land that once hosted thousands of young people dancing through the night now carries the weight of one of the country’s deadliest recent attacks. For many Israelis, “Nova” has come to signify not celebration but a place etched into national trauma and collective memory.

For Evan and Mazal, the situation facing the country is unambiguous, and both feel a duty to continue their respective struggles. “We know this is the situation of the country, and this is our country,” they said. “We need to fight, and this is what we must take on.” The events of the past year, they added, have transformed daily life and introduced deep tension into the routines of residents.

Yet as the dust slowly settled, a vibrant rhythm of life returned beneath the Tel Aviv sky. For Evan and Mazal, that revival is more than symbolic; it follows a period of profound fragility that continues to shape their sense of purpose. They see their ongoing efforts as expressions of both personal resilience and collective endurance.