Al Jazeera World

Israel is a nation of immigrants, and first-generation Israelis comprise only 32 percent of the population. Integration into Israeli society has been one of its main political goals and, under the leadership of founding prime minister David Ben-Gurion, Israel was going to be "the great Jewish melting pot", but it has come under severe strain almost since its inception in 1948. "There's a gap in Israeli society," says Karen Amit, an Israeli of Moroccan origin. "They support the arrival of immigrants in theory and love them but, in practice, the ordinary Israeli doesn't open his arms to welcome them. Research about Israeli attitude towards immigrants from Ethiopia has shown surprising results. On the one hand, they love them and have no problem with them. But when asked if they'd accept an Ethiopian neighbour or their children being at school with Ethiopians, their reply was negative." Jewish people living in Israel today are largely divided into three main groups: Ashkenazi, Sephardi and Mizrahi. The Ashkenazim are from Germany, France and Eastern Europe. The term "Ashkenazi" comes from the Hebrew word for Germany. Most American Jews today are Ashkenazim, descended from those who arrived from Europe in the mid-1800s and early 1900s. The Sephardim are from Spain, Portugal, North Africa and the Middle East. The term "Sephardi" comes from the Hebrew word for Spain. Many Jews fled Spain after the end of Muslim rule there in 1492. Sephardic Jews are often subdivided into Sephardim and Mizrahim, from North Africa and the Middle East. The term "Mizrahi" comes from the Hebrew word for eastern. There are claims of discrimination against the Mizrahi community in Israel. "Discrimination and inequality were always a common practice. Western [Ashkenazi] Jews look down on others. They don't want to grant the Mizrahis power ... They want to fill their prisons with them rather than offering them education, culture and guidance," says Pinhas Aloshi, an Israeli of Tunisian origin. David Hetsroni, an Israeli of Polish origin, came to Israel in 1930. "My father arrived the following year. He didn't get any help from the state but paid for everything out of his own pocket. But as soon as the Mizrahi Jews arrived, they started complaining they were being oppressed. They used to say, 'You send us to live in Dimona, in the south while you live in Tel Aviv and in the centre. You offer us poor jobs while you get all the decent ones.' We didn't make these allegations. That's what I find hard to accept. natural justice, in my view, says [the allegations] are not fair," Hetsroni says. Yehouda Shenhav, an Israeli of Iraqi origin, believes that the situation of the third-generation Mizrahi Jews compared with Ashkenazis, is worse today than it was 30 years ago. "In the Seventies, there was one Mizrahi with a baccalaureate diploma to three Ashkenazis. Four percent of Mizrahi got the baccalaureate compared with 16 percent of Ashkenazim. Today, the gap has widened to about 12 percent against 50 percent. I re-invented myself as Israeli rather than Arab. The more you distance yourself from Arabness, the more chance you have of integrating into Israeli society. It's sad," says Shenhav. Rabbi Haim Amsalam says personal progress often depends on whether your family name is Mizrahi or not. "I know many people who've reached high-ranking positions. They had no choice but to adopt Ashkenazi speech and physical appearance and gradually adopt Ashkenazi culture .... The melting pot that Ben-Gurion wanted to create has failed, because he wanted to melt everyone into one culture, the Western, Ashkenazi one. Why should I abandon my culture and heritage?" says Amsalam. Israel's Great Divide explores the deep-rooted tension between Israel's Ashkenazi Jews and the Sephardi and Mizrahi communities. More from Al Jazeera World on: YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

Once a year, for a whole month, Muslims around the world observe the holy month of Ramadan. Family, community work, prayer, reflection and, most importantly, fasting from sunrise to sunset, are the main elements of the month. However, observing Ramadan is not always straightforward in countries where Muslims are in the clear minority. So, how do Muslims in the western world put their faith into practice when lifestyles can often be so different? Ramadan has recently fallen in July and August, summer in the northern hemisphere and winter in the south. Fasting during daylight hours in Iceland where there can be 24-hours sunshine in summer, contrasts sharply with the short days of the New Zealand winter - but each posts different challenges for the minority Muslim communities of the two countries at opposite ends of the globe. There are almost 50,000 Muslims in New Zealand now, one percent of the population. The numbers of indigenous Maori converts are also on the rise, some claiming it helps them connect with the true nature of their heritage. Carlos Brokeen, now known as Abdulaziz, his extended Maori family and friends in Hastings on the South Island, are relatively recent converts. "People look at me like I'm not a Maori because of my clothing," says Carlos, indicating his salwar kameez. "But then they've got to turn around and look at what they wearing." With a troubled past including gang violence and drug abuse, Islam has brought him and his family a fresh start and a new inner peace, especially evident during Ramadan. "Once I became a Muslim it became obligatory upon me to seek knowledge. So now I know more about my history than I did before I was a Muslim. I feel strong and more intact with my Maoridom," he continues. For the family, Ramadan can be both the best and hardest time of year. It's sometimes difficult to cram everything into a shortened winter day. But over in Iceland, the day sometimes never ends for its estimated 1,200 Muslims. Sverrir Ibrahim Agnarsson came to Iceland as a Muslim in 1973 and is Chair of the Association of Muslims in Iceland. If he and his fellow Muslims adhered strictly to Quran timings - sunrise to sunset - they might not be able to pray Isha (the night prayer) until December. "In middle of June and July we have 24-hour sunshine," says Agnarsson. "In Reykjavik the sun goes down but it never gets dark." One year when Ramadan fell in July, he approached the religious authorities in Cairo for guidance and was told he should start fasting at dawn - but only for the same duration as fasting hours in Mecca, a much more manageable 15 hours. Although the Muslim communities of the New Zealand town of Hastings and the Icelandic capital Reykyavik are literally a world apart, it's clear that Ramadan is the same deeply spiritual time for both of them. More from Al Jazeera World on: YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

Yehia Mohamed Elias, a former Comoran minister for education, married his wife Zakiya 20 years ago. He married his 'new' wife Zuleikha just two years ago. But now Elias and his wives have decided to take part in the great Comoran tradition of the 'grand marriage'. The 'grand marriage' is an age-old institution which has been passed from generation to generation on the islands of Grande Comore, Moheli and Anjouan. It's a symbol of social status on the islands and a must for any self-respecting Comoran, a commitment not even the President of the Republic can avoid embracing. A Comoran man can only wear certain elemens of the national dress or stand in the first line at the mosque if he's had a grand marriage. There are two types of legal unions in the Comoros - the small marriage and the grand one. The ordinary wedding is an intimate gathering and one which has to satisfy the appetite for celebration until the married couple decide it’s time for - or they can afford - the grand marriage. This is normally at least a year after the smaller ceremony and involves a major series of parties, processions and gatherings that can last up to two weeks and take over the whole village. The grand marriage is as important for the bride as it is for the groom, with some beauty preparations starting as long as six months before the event. Other women might only take a week of pre-nuptial make-up preparations, depending on the couple's social and financial status. The grand marriage certainly doesn't come cheap and Elias claims to have spent all his money, over €20,000, on the wedding - not much by modern international standards but a small fortune on the Comoros. These festivities are a huge extravagance, particularly on these islands which are among the 20 poorest nations in the world. But while half the population continues to live beneath the poverty line, the grand marriage remains an important beacon of Comoran social standing. More from Al Jazeera World on: YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

Bread is a matter of life and death in Egypt, once the provider of grain to the whole Roman Empire but now the biggest importer of wheat in the world. More from Al Jazeera World on: YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

In 1948, hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were forced to leave their country during the ‘Nakba’, the ‘catastrophe’, the founding of the state of Israel. The majority of Palestinians in Lebanon retain the hope of one day returning home - known internationally as ‘the right of return’ - but almost seven decades later, refugee camps have become part of the urban landscape of Lebanon. Over a quarter-of-a-million Palestinians still live in the 12 UN-registered camps and 42 other so-called ‘gatherings’ across Lebanon. Lebanon is their home but any chance of becoming a genuine part of the communities they live in is constantly undermined by strict laws ‘protecting’ Lebanese citizens’ rights, general safety and well-being. More from Al Jazeera World on: YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YT

Mayotte is a magnet for Comoros islanders who risk their lives crossing hazardous seas in search of a better life. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Waqf, an Islamic philanthropic tradition, was abolished in Tunisia in 1957. Now, there are calls to restore it. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Waqf, an Islamic philanthropic tradition, was abolished in Tunisia in 1957. Now, there are calls to restore it. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

In the heart of Egypt's bustling capital Cairo, only very few female taxi drivers brave the unforgiving traffic. Um Waleed is one of them. Driven by force of circumstance and the need to make a living, she went down a road that very few other women in the Arab world would contemplate. This Egyptian woman has been driving for over 30 years and first bought a taxi when her father encouraged her as he had no sons. This kind of work is dominated by men - but the discrimination she's encountered along the way has only her made her more determined. "When I went to the traffic department to take my test, men were making fun of me. 'Go peel onions and cook cabbage', they said. This just made me more determined. Their comments and the way they looked at me motivated me even more," she says. Um Samah's husband used to drive a minibus but was diagnosed with glaucoma. Hiring someone else to work the bus was more trouble than it was worth, so she started driving without a licence. After a run-in with the police, she was later able to pass her driving test and now drives the bus legally. She wouldn't want any of her children to do what she has done because it is so tough, but she has no regrets: "If I could go back in time, I'd do the same thing. This is the only work I can do... I like my job but sometimes I cry, tears run down my face while I drive, because I didn't stay at home like other women do," she says. Dalia is 20 and decided to drive the family auto-rickshaw because her younger brother was being bothered by other drivers. She drives wearing an abaya to try and cut down on harassment - but that doesn't stop other drivers trying to run her off the road. "It's not the driving itself. The problem is the people. A day doesn't go by without fighting. I face about 20 fights a day," she says. Away from work, Dalia likes to go to the beauty salon: "I like Dalia when she is not driving the auto-rick because she gets to act like a lady. The Dalia that drives the auto-rick acts more like a man than a woman... I wish I could be a child again and make a fresh start, to become another Dalia. A different Dalia from the one drives an auto- rickshaw," Dalia says. Um Khaled drives a 36-tonne truck. She was also motivated by the discrimination she felt as a woman taxi driver. Now she says people either love her or hate her. She is proud of what she does and feels more at home in the cab of her truck than she does in her apartment. She works obsessively, sometimes two months at a time, without taking a day off. "I'll never stop as long as I can work. I'll continue working until God wants me to stop.... Not just any woman can drive on these roads. The proof is that we don't have female heavy vehicle drivers," she says. But she does like to dress nicely off duty: "God made me a woman. I need to take care of the way I look and dress, of my appearance. Deep inside, I know I don't live my life like other women. But that doesn't mean I don't have feminine qualities or that I don't act, dress, walk and eat like a lady". Behind the Wheel follows four remarkable women, battling against the discrimination they experience every day - and constantly trying to reconcile the tension between their work lives and their identities as women. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Five young Arabs from countries that went through the 2011 revolutions reflect on what has happened five years on. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Five young Arabs from countries that went through the 2011 revolutions reflect on what has happened five years on. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Akincilar is a small village on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus. It has lived through Cyprus' turbulent, modern history, including the island's civil war in the 1960s and its division in the 1970s when Turkish Cypriots moved north, and Greek Cypriots moved south. Akincilar, like many rural communities the world over, has experienced the outflow of young people seeking opportunities in big cities. But Akincilar's decline from a bustling town of 5,000 to a village of 350, almost frozen in time, has to do with its geographical location, the division of Cyprus, and the island's complex history. This film explores Akincilar's past and present through the eyes of three residents. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Seven disabled Palestinians negotiate the challenges of life in Gaza and the Occupied West Bank. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check out our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Seven disabled Palestinians negotiate the challenges of life in Gaza and the Occupied West Bank. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check out our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/

Moroccans who have spent all their working lives in France and the Netherlands are now facing discrimination against their pensions in what has been slammed as a form of 'retirement apartheid'. Retired French and Italians can live anywhere in Europe without it affecting their domestic pension entitlements; but north Africans who've lived and worked in France for more than 40 years are denied the same rights. Instead they face a stark choice - return to their home countries and lose large slices of their pension and face medical bills they can't afford; or remain in, say, France with their full pensions but away from their families back home. "I'm sick," says 75-year-old Mohamed Air Wakrim who's lived in France for 45 years. "If I stay in Morocco for more than six months, they'll find out and take away my rights." Contrast this with the treatment of Europeans and you have what some people have called 'retirement apartheid'. "In Tunisia, I only have to pay four or five percent tax," says Italian pensioner Mauro Sansovini. "In Italy, the tax rate on my pension income is between 40 and 45 percent." Salim Fkire who heads the campaign group 'Moroccans Residing Abroad' sums up the situation: "Mohamed and Patrick both worked in the same factory, got the same pension and paid the same taxes. Today, Patrick has the right to live permanently in Agadir. But Mohamed can't stay in his home town for more than six months. After that he’ll have to return to France or else he’ll lose his social rights." In The Retirement Trap, we look at the struggles of Moroccans to redress this pension injustice and escape the retirement trap they find themselves in. - Subscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/AJSubscribe - Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish - Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera - Check out our website: http://www.aljazeera.com/