The killings are not as common as those in the United States, a far larger country with a larger black minority, but the parallels are unmistakable.

“As a mother, I’m very afraid,” said Tami Ayalo, 35, an account manager at an import-export company who was visiting her mother in a heavily Ethiopian district of Kiryat Malachi. With an 11-year-old son who will soon want the freedom to go out alone, she said, “You know you are getting close” to the stage when the police may see him as an “automatic suspect.”

The police acknowledge the problem.

Gilad Erdan, the minister for internal security, said this week that he met with dozens of activists who told of mistreatment by the police and “they did not all make up stories and did not coordinate with each other.”

But the authorities say there has been progress. Ms. Palmor wrote recently that internal data reflected “a drop in over-policing” and “a significant improvement in police interactions with young Ethiopian Israelis.” Indictments of Ethiopian-Israeli minors for assaulting a police officer have fallen by about a third.

Mr. Erdan and Motti Cohen, the acting police commissioner, promised to set up a new unit “to fight expressions of racism wherever they exist” and to ensure that force is used “moderately and responsibly only against those who break the law.”

Ethiopians are hopeful but they have heard these promises before. All they ask, they say, after an extraordinary journey to a promised land, is to be accepted as no less Israeli than anyone else.

In the 1980s, as a youth of 14, Zion Getahun walked hundreds of miles from his village in Ethiopia to a camp in Sudan, from where he was airlifted to Israel.