Echoes of Israel on Ghana’s Gold Coast

Stories about indigenous groups claiming descent from the Lost Tribes of Israel surface across the globe. In some cases – most notably the Lemba of Southern Africa – genetic evidence has supported those claims. In other cases, there is no explicit assertion of Israelite origin, yet certain customs and traditions invite comparison. The Ga people of Ghana belong to this latter category.

It is tempting, perhaps inevitably so, to imagine that such traditions might trace back to ancient exile. After the Assyrian conquest of the northern Kingdom of Israel around 722 BCE, large portions of the population were deported and dispersed across the empire in a deliberate effort to dismantle national identity. Over time, these communities assimilated and disappeared from the historical record. (I’m ignoring current efforts which seem to be attempting the same.)

At the same time, other explanations may be equally plausible: similarities may reflect centuries of cultural exchange, including contact with Jewish traders along established trade routes, rather than shared ancestry.

The story took an unexpected turn in 2009, when Dr. Sherry Schwartz, PhD in Social Studies Education, was teaching at SUNY Geneseo. She recalls the excitement of her superior, Dr. O.A.⁽¹⁾, Dean of the School of Education and a native Ghanaian, who rushed to tell her about a rock ’n’ roll song he had heard on the radio. Sung in the Ga language, the song referred to the Ga people as “coming from Israel.” Though not Ga himself, Dr. O.A. was from Accra – home to many Ga – and understood the language.

That moment sparked an idea. SUNY Geneseo was developing partnerships with schools in Ghana, sending teaching students abroad. Dr. Schwartz would mentor history majors, and Dr. O.A. suggested she use the opportunity to research the Ga people, particularly the question of whether their traditions reflected Jewish roots.

Over the next several years and multiple trips to Ghana, Dr. Schwartz pursued this research. She quickly encountered its limits. Ga history is entirely oral, and Ga communities are organized around spiritual leaders known as wulumo, or priests. Variations among accounts and the absence of written records made it clear that her findings would not meet the standards of peer-reviewed academic publication.

Still, what emerged was compelling. In repeated conversations, Ga participants referred to their ancestors as “Hebrews.” One wulumo went further, claiming descent from the tribes of Benjamin and Levi. Notably, these were not among the tribes traditionally considered “lost.” After the Assyrian conquest, the tribes of Judah and Benjamin, along with members of the Levite priesthood, remained in the Southern Kingdom of Judah and formed the core of the Jewish people.

Beyond oral claims, several Ga practices invite careful comparison with Jewish tradition. The wulumo may not enter cemeteries – a restriction applied specifically to priests. The wulumo must also come from a priestly family. While many cultures have religious specialists, hereditary priesthood combined with priest-specific purity rules is less common.

Other customs add texture to the picture. Male circumcision is widespread across Africa, but the Ga hold a ceremony welcoming the male child into the family on the eighth day after birth, when he is given his family name – the eighth day being unusual timing that echoes Jewish practice, even though circumcision itself occurs later. Ritual purification of the body before burial is common globally, but among the Ga it is paired with the practice of never leaving the body alone and with priestly purity restrictions restricting contact with the dead forming a recognizable cluster.

The annual harvest festival, Homowo, provides another point of comparison. Celebrated after the millet harvest, Homowo commemorates a famine experienced during the Ga migration and the joy of survival. Its name means “hooting at hunger” – laughing in the face of deprivation. The festival lasts for an unusual eight days. Homes are cleaned in preparation, and doorposts are painted with red clay to ward off evil spirits – details that inevitably invite comparison, even while remaining grounded in local symbolism.

Geography also plays a role. Accra sits on the historic Gold Coast, making centuries of interaction with traders – including Jews – entirely plausible. Oral traditions are difficult to validate with material evidence, and it is often impossible to determine when new practices entered older frameworks.

All of these similarities can be explained through multiple lenses. Yet there is something quietly striking in the idea that fragments of Israelite tradition – whether carried by people, traders, or stories – may surface far from their point of origin.

Oral traditions evolve. Rituals adapt. Cultures are shaped as much by contact and exchange as by ancestry. In a region defined by centuries of trade, Jewish influence – direct or indirect – is not surprising. The full story may never be known.

Still, the Ga traditions merit attention. Practices related to priesthood and burial, in particular, echo Jewish patterns strongly enough to invite thoughtful comparison. These parallels do not establish lineage, but they do suggest that religious ideas and cultural memory can travel, settle, and endure.

Rather than asking whether the Ga are “really” Israelites, the more revealing question may be how traditions persist – how fragments of identity move across time and geography and take root in new contexts.

During Dr. Schwartz’s years of research, when Ga participants were asked about their feelings toward Jews today, the response was consistently that they considered Jews their brothers. One can only hope that sense of kinship continues – especially at a moment when Jews could use understanding and support from every corner of the world.

(1) Initials are used in place of the individual’s full name because permission to publish the name could not be obtained.