queen of sheba wisdom

When I was in the fourth grade, my history teacher, a nun from the order of the Sisters Charity of Nazareth, made a shocking remark in class. She stated that none of our ancestors were native to the United States. All of us had ancestors from other countries. She then began asking each of us in turn, where our ancestors originated. I sat stunned in my chair.

I was one of two black children at St. Andrew’s Catholic School. The school was located in a small, Southern town in southwestern Virginia. What could I say? How would I answer her question? Did I want to tell everyone that my ancestors were slaves? Did slaves even have a country?

No one in my family ever mentioned being from any place other than Virginia. Except, I recalled having heard that my grandparents (my mother’s parents) met in Pittsburgh. I could say that I did not know where my ancestors came from. I was so busy trying to find my roots, that I heard nothing that any of the other students had said. Not only did I not know where my ancestors originated, I was not going to know where anyone else’s ancestors originated.

“Miri, where did your ancestors originate?”
“Ethiopia,” I heard a voice, that sounded somewhat like mine, say.
“Thank you. Gerald, where are your ancestors from?”
She went on around the room, oblivious to the fact that I had never heard of Ethiopia until I heard myself say it in that moment.

I went home and told my mother that I thought we were from Ethiopia. Her response was a bit mystifying. She asked me who I thought I was, the Queen of Sheba?

I responded like any ten year old girl from the south would respond, “Yeah, maybe, I am.”

Who was the Queen of Sheba, anyway? What did she have to do with Ethiopia? Why did I think that I was from there? Where was Ethiopia?

Many years went by before I thought about my ancestry again. This time I was living in New England. I had been married and divorced and was currently trying to make it in the world of showbiz. Some friends suggested that we should go to an Ethiopian restaurant for dinner.

I walked in and was seduced by the aromas coming from the restaurant. I was mesmerized by the people who worked there -- they were all beautiful, and they all looked so familiar, yet I knew none of them. Apparently, they felt the same way about me, as they tried to greet me in what they thought was my native tongue: Amharic.
As far as I know, these were the first Ethiopians that I had ever met. While I was in college, I had met other students from West Africa. I had felt no connection to them, but to the people who ran this restaurant and greeted me as if they knew me -- I felt not only connected, but as if I had finally come home.

Many years later I moved to San Francisco and began developing a relationship with a casual acquaintance that I had known while back in Boston. She, like me, was new to San Francisco, so we were learning our way about the town together. Since moving to San Francisco, she had decided to convert to Judaism. One weekend in January, I found myself attending Sabbath services at a local Synagogue. A Black Gospel choir was performing in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and on Sunday the rabbi and cantor were to participate in Sunday services at the Church. All of these activities were to promote good relationships between blacks and Jews. What, I wondered, did Black Jews think of this? I had heard of Black Jews who lived in New York and Chicago. They had asked to make aliyah (law of return) to Israel as a way to remove themselves from the racial tension that they often felt in the United States.

As Chanukah approached, my soon-to-be-Jewish-convert invited me to a benefit walk/run that the Jewish Community Center was having in order to raise money to send Chanukah gifts to Ethiopian Jewish Children, who had been in Israel only a few months. They had been part of Operation Solomon, a secret airlift mission, in which fourteen thousand Ethiopian Jews had been flown from Addis Ababa to Tel Aviv.

Not unlike most of the Jewish world, I met the news with humor and denial. Jews? In Ethiopia? How did that happen? Then I saw the faces and read the stories and once again, just like the time when I walked into the Ethiopian restaurant, I felt a sense of homecoming, of finding some aspect of myself that had been buried and long forgotten. These people were part of who I was.

With my attachment and fondness for Ethiopia explained, I struck out in search of solving my next identity crisis: Yemen. While I lived in Florida, I had developed a huge interest in metaphysics. High on my list was the Kabalah, Jewish mysticism. While browsing in my favorite bookstore, I had stumbled upon a book that simply said Jewish Mysticism. I opened it and immediately began reading. It took me several seconds to realize that the book was in Hebrew and that I could not read Hebrew. I bought the book and put it high upon my bookshelf.

Years later and thanks again to my almost converted friend, I began to take Hebrew classes, so that I could finally make a stab at reading that book. In my class, I met a woman, who was interested in Israeli folkdancing. One night, I went dancing with her and just like the Ethiopian restaurant and the faces of the Ethiopian Jews, when I heard the music of Israeli culture, I felt that I was making another step towards discovering who I was.
I fell madly in love with the music and dancing of the Jews from Yemen. Up until the moment I began dancing, I had never heard of Yemen and I had no idea where it was. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Yemen and Ethiopia were neighbors, who shared a common history and a common queen: the Queen of Sheba.
It would be simple to say that I began studying Sheba and from that point on my life has been a series of events that have led me to an in-depth analysis of the land and culture of Sheba. However, I have found that life and her lessons are not necessarily about going from point A to point B in a straight line. More often than not the path is long and winding and the traveler is blinded by the ego’s idea of what the path actually is. Consequently, I took a detour. On my way, I stopped in order to form an Israeli dance performance group. The group specialized, not surprisingly, in Jewish Yemenite dance. I also took the time to convert to Judaism, and to fall in love with a choreographer of Yemenite ancestry.

My romance with the choreographer was ill-fated. He was married and lived halfway around the world. I was a feminist and not about to become a mistress. So we saw each other at dance workshops two or three times a year for several years and pretended we were not in love. I, however, was in love, with him, and with what he represented -- an embodiment of the Jewish God with whom I longed for connection and a longing for a people that were at once familiar and yet so strangely foreign. By falling in love with him, I felt closer to the God that I had chosen to worship and closer to a culture that fed my spirit. Not very feminist, but then again, who were my role models?

Unknowingly, I was making a similar journey to that of the Queen of Sheba. She traveled to a foreign land, and as some legends claim, she fell in love with Solomon, adopted his religion and gave birth to their child. In my story, I did make a journey (several, in fact) to meet this man, however, I had already chosen his religion, although not officially. I did fall in love. However, our relationship was left unconsummated. From talking to other women in my life, I have heard this archetypal story over and over again. It is, of course, the story of the handsome prince, who has come to give meaning and purpose to the young maiden. It is the patriarchal story that we all grew up hearing as children: Snow White and Cinderella.

What joy now to realize that there is no longer a need to be stuck in the projection, that I can have my own personal relationship with the Divine. That which was so familiar and so foreign was a recognition, perhaps a genetic memory of who I once was which feeds into my awareness of who and what I am now. An ancient memory stored in my genetic tissue triggered the recognition.

When I was ten and decided that I was from Ethiopia, I never realized the amazing journey that I would have before me: the journey to discover my ancestors and to find a link to the re-discovery of a matristic society. No mom, I don’t believe that I am the Queen of Sheba, some have been committed for such thinking. I do, however, believe that she and I are related.

TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE QUEEN OF SHEBA, THE JEWS OF YEMEN AND ETHIOPIA AND TALISMANIC ART IN ETHIOPIA, order you copy of Miri’s book “THE QUUEN OF SHEBA WISDOM ORACLE”
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