TamaRadah: Finding Self and Seeking Unity
Calling from a Florentine balcony in Tel Aviv, Tamar Radah lights a cigarette and makes small talk about the weather. A heavy rain of 120 ballistic missiles, 30 cruise missiles and 170 drones from Iran’s unprecedented missile attack on Israel had showered the country the previous night. Sharply interjecting Hebrew where the English language falls short, “I don’t know what the world wants from us. I slept through it, but others felt the rockets until 5 am. Everyone is scared. But we are like ‘Kol shtuyot’. We are used to it.”
Photo by Michael Liani
Musically known as TamaRadah, Tamar Radah is an Israeli-Ethiopian recording artist living and working out of Tel Aviv. In 2016 Radah made the inevitable move to Tel Aviv, 20 kilometers north from her childhood home in Rishon Lezion to join the music scene. Thinking, “it would be 2 years, that I would mark myself as a musician in Tel Aviv and then I would go live in the forest or something like that.” She laughs at her younger, more naive self, “Eight years later, I’m still here.”
With three albums already under her belt, Radah cultivates a unique musical identity within each one. Her first, self-titled TamaRadah [2018], waxes classic Israeli rock, emblematic of the 4 years she spent earning her degree from the Rimon School of Music. Vintage warmth drum sounds and 70’s style upbeat and bright riffs build the base for Radah’s alto voice to weave through, sometimes singing in unison with the horns and guitars.
Her second record, Adisge [2021], is pop leaning while still incorporating “an African sound into the grooves.” The title track, “Adisge,” pays homage to Radah’s home village in Ethiopia. Explaining nostalgically, “The song talks about my life as a young girl, born in Ethiopia, who came to Israel. But still I have my culture. I still have Adisge.” Over a marching snare she sings in Hebrew, “Adisge, Adisge, you walk with me wherever I turn.”
Throughout the first two records, Radah nods to her Ethiopian heritage, but only fully embraces it on the third album, ERTEVÉ. Also self-titled in a way, Ertevé [air-tah-veh] is Radah’s Ethiopian name. It is crucial that people pronounce her name correctly. She states matter of factly, “I put the accent on the last “e” to help people get the pronunciation right. If I didn’t put the chubchik at the end, people probably wouldn’t get it right.” Radah sings ERTEVÉ entirely in Amharic, an Ethiopian semitic language – her first language.
Photo by Michael Liani
There is an unquantifiable yet undeniable shift in Radah’s vocal delivery when she sings in Amharic. She notes,
“There is something hidden that comes out of me when I sing Ethiopian music. It’s my roots.”
Radah owes much of her deep cultural understanding to her parents, especially her father. He was adamant on raising children who could integrate into Israeli society while still maintaining their Ethiopian heritage. Radah expands on her father’s attitude, “He wanted me to be the best I could with Israeli culture, and he would ensure I knew the Ethiopian side of things. He would make sure I didn’t forget where I came from.”
Airlifted out of Ethiopia during Operation Solomon in 1991, Radah was almost 4 years old when she left her village of Adisge for Israel. Saying she doesn’t remember much but, “my parents used to tell me stories and show me pictures. We went from a village near Gondar to Addis Ababa, to the refugee camp until we were taken. They gave us numbers to make sure families stayed together and no one got lost.” Operation Solomon brought over 14,000 Ethiopian Jews, also known as Beta Israel, to Israel from Ethiopia, where they faced civil war and famine.
Growing up with nine siblings equates to a constant stream of sound and music. Her father played the Masenqo, a traditional Ethiopian single stringed instrument. He encouraged his children to engage with music from a young age. Radah adds, “All my life, my family would dance and sing at home. Sometimes my parents would give me and my siblings a cash tip if we would write something and perform it.” Even so, she never wanted to perform Ethiopian music. At least, until her final year at Rimon.
“The last year of school, my dad passed away. I still had to do my senior recital. My dad would always ask me why I didn’t sing Ethiopian music. But after he passed, I felt like I had to do something to memorialize him. So my senior recital was the first time I sang Ethiopian music and sang in Amharic.”
She chose the well known, “Abebayehosh,” popularized by Ethiopian singer Teddy Afro, but the original writer of the song remains unknown. In contrast with Afro’s 80’s ballad style opening, electronic drums, and stylistic use of autotune, Radah’s version opens with a melodic bass lick that drops straight into a jazzier interpretation of the groove. Bright electric guitars, wurlitzer, saxophone, call and response background vocals, and a full drum kit carry Rahdah’s explosive performance. Radah’s “Abebayehosh” closes out both TamaRadah and ERTEVÉ, threading a unique moment of continuity between the two self-titled records despite the differences in both language and genre.
Photo by Michael Liani
Since the release of ERTEVÉ on May 12, 2023, Radah has only released one other single, “Ech Metaknim Et HaLev.” Translating in English to “How to Fix the Heart,” Radah co-wrote the song with Michael Liani, a renowned LGQBTQ photographer and Radah’s longtime friend. “Ech Metaknim Et HaLev” speaks to the drastic shift in Israeli society since the Hamas attacks Israel – primarily on civilians, most notably, the NOVA music festival on October 7, 2023.
Over a bare electric guitar with an occasional crack in her voice, Radah sings in Hebrew,
“Stories that have not been told // People that still haven’t come back // Today I have hope that we will // continue to invent love.”
Referring to the deceased who can no longer tell their stories and the hostages who have yet to return home to their families, the lyrics long for a chance at optimism, even under the weight of an unbearable grief.
Radah speaks plainly, “First, we were sad. A lot of people were writing music right after, trying to make sense of what was happening. Most of the songs that came out since the 7th have been about it. Even songs that aren’t necessarily about it, you can feel the sadness underneath.” She goes on to explain the international response to her Israeli identity as she continues to pursue music, “I tried to go to Europe. After the 7th everyone stopped answering their emails. I was supposed to have an interview on a big radio station in Paris, but they stopped answering. I would just prefer they say, “I don’t want to have an Israeli on the show,” than nothing at all.” It is the silence that is the most painful to hear.
Radah’s response to the quiet rejection of Israelis from artistic spaces is simple,
