Calculation of Your Rights

For the past months and weeks, I’ve been working on my application for the Fulbright Fellowship to study Gender and Social Policy in London next year. Since 40% of people who live in Inner London were born outside of the UK, I want to specifically focus on migrant women and the subsequent discrimination and sexism they face in their new life. It’s been remarkable to work at Kav La’Oved with migrant women in Israel—exactly the reason I wanted to take this year and gain real, practical experience in the field. I’m learning so, so much at such a pace…not only policy and numbers and regulations, but how it emotionally and psychologically affects these women. One woman might be treated like a member of the family, while another paid mere dollars an hour and banned from taking days off. So many work so hard to pay off their debt from coming here, only to be left unemployed and at risk for becoming illegal within weeks. I’m equally inspired and guilt-ridden at times, both in awe of their strength and courage, and ashamed my life is so full of privilege in comparison. But I definitely feel a passion for this cause. If I had to re-do college, I might be an ILRie! (Adrien, relax…I know you’re probably cheering right now…)

Last week I talked to three women from the Philippines. When I asked them why they chose Israel out of all places, one woman said, “You know, we’re Christians—we thought the best place to work in the world would be the Holyland.” Another chimed in, “Yeah, but even if the land is holy…the people aren’t!”, referencing her employer who had been withholding paychecks. Matan and his sister Nitzan and I discussed this the other night—how true that many people must see this country as being one of success and wealth, a country of redemption where you might just finally get what you deserve…and how disappointing it is to realize no place on earth is that perfect, that just. These women I meet are smart, sharp, college-educated. A woman yesterday who was fired with one hour’s notice broke down in tears, saying it wasn’t the money that mattered, but how badly she had been treated by her employer. She has a degree in economics, but is paid more as a caregiver in Israel than in an office in the Philippines. The three women all openly acknowledged the fact that Israel is forward-thinking, modern country in many ways. There is gender equity, and laws to provide for workers, even if they’re illegal. But for Asians, they said, there is not mobility, just open discrimination when it comes to work. Several Israelis in the office agreed. It’s something I still debate in my mind. Israel’s purpose as a country is to be a safe haven for Jews. But where are the lines drawn? Is it racist or discriminatory to deny rights to migrants who have lived here for over 30 years, when Jews can gain citizenship in months or years? My stance changes all the time, depending on the day, the place, the people I’m around. It’s OK for now, but I wonder if I’ll ever have a set perspective on this…

I love being in the Kav La’Oved office—it’s a cacophony (yes! I always enjoy using this word when applicable) of languages, a bit of Romanian and Russian here, Filipino and Nepalese there, with someone on the phone in Arabic, Spanish or French in the next room. The stories are so diverse, so unique to each individual. Rwandan refugees, Sri Lankans seeking work, legal, illegal, single or with families, young and old…I consistently get asked when I’m in the office if I’m a migrant, and if I need help. I guess in some ways I am. I relate to them in some ways—but at the same time, I know our lives are worlds apart. Over the weekend, the door across the courtyard from ours was open, and I could see and hear a Chinese soap opera playing inside. Finally, I ran into the tenants: two Chinese women from Shanghai, who are now caregivers for elderly Israelis. They were surprised to hear why I chose to be here when I’m a “wealthy American” with so many other choices. They said it’s hard to be here, far from home, in a country that is vastly different from China. And for a second, we could relate on that level—the simple feeling of being a foreigner.

The people who work at the office are so passionate, on their toes, fighters for their clients…another volunteer is the wife of a US Embassy guy, from Honduras and full of stories of her own. The secretary is a young guy, G, who is doing a year of service instead of joining the army because of his political views. We talked for a bit, and when I asked him about his hobbies, he said, “Well, protesting. Lots of things.” I’m glad I have a new friend in him! (And an invitation to the next “Israeli Young Left” meeting…) This other Moldovan woman was a blast to work with, so willing to explain things to me and make sure I wasn’t confused. Yesterday, one of the staff members, Y, pelted me with questions about caregiver rights, and then called in a Filipino woman and said to me, “OK, Angie. Now you’re me. Start asking her questions.” And then and there, with my heart going a thousand beats per second, I started helping this woman figure out her rights and compensation deserved. It was a HIGH stress day, plenty of mistakes, plenty of frustration. The language barrier creates huge challenges, since the worker is already anxious and has a specific goal in mind, and the staff member is trying to understand the situation and ask the right questions. So the staff member might say, over and over again, “What is your monthly salary?” And the worker just keeps replying, “No holidays. Work on holidays, no pay…” A few times, I saw staff members remind each other to take a deep breath and stay calm…

On a lighter note, last night I watched the sunset over the water after a swim. I looked to my right, and there were the huge beachside Tel Aviv hotels, shiny and modern in the twilight with restaurants glowing in neon lights, surrounded by palm trees. To my left, there was the beach trailing off into historic Yaffo, a little glittering white fortress. It was comical to me at the moment, the contrast of the two. Then again, I’m starting to get used to that in this country.

Stranded in the Apartment

2 September 2009

12:36 PM

I continue to be amazed, and somewhat in shock, at how much has happened in my life since I arrived here. Overwhelmed is the only word that truly encompasses how I feel, which is funny since I’ve been to Israel before. I think it comes down to the fact that in the past three years, when I’m in the US, school and work and all that are usually great… but there’s the constant distance from Matan. And then the times I’ve visited Matan here, it’s so wonderful to be close to him, but I often get to this place where I’m restless due to my lack of productivity and the kind of dependence I would feel. But in the last week, I’ve been so, so happy on so many levels—not only being with Matan, but seeing old friends here, feeling comfortable, getting around on my own, speaking Hebrew when I can and, most significantly, starting to intern at these two incredible non-profits.

The first one is called the Jaffa Institute; within the organization, they run a program called Beit Ruth, which is in essence a safehouse for 11 at-risk teenage girls with histories of sexual or physical abuse, homelessness, prostitution, etc. I visited the “hostel,” as they call it, in January, and spent a day with them, and it was easily one of the most meaningful experiences I have had in this country. The staff and girls were so warm and welcoming to me, even though I was this completely random student from the US who just arrived on their doorstep. By the time I left that day, I had promised some of these girls I would come back again. And I am so thrilled I’m here with the opportunity to fulfill that promise…the Jaffa Institute has assigned me the project of developing a new set of publications and marketing materials about Beit Ruth to bolster their new fundraising campaign, mainly focused on American funders. This means I’ll be spending at least a couple days a week at the hostel, talking to the girls, writing about their stories. In addition, the Institute is builing a new website about Beit Ruth, so I’ll be able to contribute there as well.

Yesterday I went to the Western Wall Tunnels with nine of the girls, stepping on 2,000 year old stone walkways while simply reconnecting with them in a slurry of English and elementary Hebrew, listening to Michael Jackson and eating bagele. When we returned at the end of the day to the hostel, I had just woken up from a nap on the bus, and groggily stepped into the blinding sun. Suddenly, right in front of me was another girl who lives in the hostel. She didn’t make the “field trip” with us because yesterday was the first day of school, and her first day returning back to public school after only homeschooling at the hostel. We both screamed and hugged and kissed, and repeated the sequence. This is a girl I met once, last January, but became a friend in 10 minutes or less. That visit, we sat together at a table and talked for so long, finally resorting to drawing pictures and looking up words in a dictionary because of her limited English and my limited Hebrew. But nevertheless, we found a way to discuss our families, our hobbies, our views on God, war, relationships. She was positively beaming when I asked her how her first day of school went. Her uncontainable smile was perfect proof of the amazing work Beit Ruth does for these girls. It gives them a chance to gain their confidence, build self-esteem, move beyond their pasts to dream bigger. R, the director of the hostel (who also happens to have headed the Commission for Women in their Israeli government for two terms, instigated the first academic research on domestic violence in the country, and helped found the first safehouses for battered women…she’s pretty much unbelievable), told me more anecdotes about the hostel as we drove back to Tel Aviv, stories that are so far from the childhood I had and the neighborhood I grew up in. Unimaginable conditions and circumstances in the world, in the lives of people, children, who have done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

The next gigantic project of Beit Ruth is to open a “Residential and Educational Village for Teenage Girls at-Risk”—this will more or less be a boarding school/campus of sorts for 200 girls, including residential buildings, academic and activity buildings, and dining and recreation areas as well. They have received $7 million from one US couple, and are trying to raise another million before they begin building it. Simply being a part of the organization at this point is so exciting, when they are on the brink of creating something impactful and significant for the country. The staff, I must say, is made up of compassionate and genuine individuals who love their job, and love the girls they work with. Within 5 minutes of being in the Jaffa Institute office earlier this week, I had been thoroughly hugged and kissed by several staff members, making it feel more like a family reunion than meeting with my supervisors…

The other organization is called Kav La’Oved, which means “Worker’s Hotline”—they provide legal representation, counsel, and aid to migrant workers in Israel, including manual laborers, caretakers/domestic workers, and Arab workers as well. Twice a week I’ll be there to help workers calculate their rights in English during open hours. For example, for a caregiver, minimum wage for one month is 3,850 NIS (New Israeli Shekel) for a full time job, which is 20.7 NIS per hour. For any work over 8 hours, they are entitled to overtime pay which is an additional 25% for the first two hours and 50% more for any hour after the first two hours. They are legally allowed 36 continuous hours of work off per week. If they work on their rest day, they should get 150% of their daily wages (minimum of 231 NIS) plus another rest day…I have in front of me 4 pages of such regulations and rights, which also cover housing, holidays, recuperation pay, severance pay, health insurance, pension, pregnancy, agency fees, etc…it’s a little intimidating right now because it’s SO much, but it feels good to be learning a lot at this speed. I’ll also be going in once a week to help translate during Chinese open hours. Chinese migrants are concentrated in the manual labor field, with 99% of them men. I sat in last Monday as an Israeli lawyer reviewed the case of a Chinese worker, with another Kav La’Oved volunteer translating. The Chinese man, before and after sitting down with the lawyer, told me how frustrating it is to go through these consultations, because the Israeli volunteers understandably struggle with the Chinese, even if they’ve studied it for many years, and sometimes it takes a long time to convey a thought or a concern so that both parties understand. But I don’t speak Hebrew nearly enough to understand a lawyer use legal terms to then translate that to Chinese…so I'm helpful and useless at the same time.

That’s another major theme…if I ever want to seriously work here and create a career for myself, I absolutely need to speak Hebrew fluently. Maybe if I was working with computers or financial systems it would be different; but I want to work with people and so the ability to communiate is the foundation for doing that successfully. I’m not worrying about it right now—I think that’s a relatively healthy outlook right now.


Some random other things:

1. Caregivers and maids here are most commonly Asians, mainly from Nepal, the Phillipines and Sri Lanka (also some Chinese, but less). I learned this during my first visit, when the parking man asked Matan’s sister if I was their maid. Anyways, since then I’ve noticed that when I walk by an Asian-looking woman who is accompanying an elderly Israeli person, 95% of the time she’ll openly stare at me. I always smile, and then usually they smile back. It’s a very bizarre feeling to be in a place where the people who look most like you are most likely of a lower SES than everyone else, and have come here without their families because they simply needed to make money in a place with jobs. Asians in the US have been more successful in assimilating…but here, and as I saw in Spain, it’s so much more obvious that Asian migrants have limited social and class mobility.
2. To me, for some reason, being able to take the bus (successfully!) in a foreign country is always a huge climactic cause for joyful celebration. India and Israel and even parts of Europe have been prime examples. I think it’s because buses exist for the people who live there—it’s not meant to be a tourist draw, or accomodation. So being able to navigate and claim independence in that manner deserves attention .
3. Last year, we were able to pick lemons off the lemon tree in Matan’s backyard up north, in Kfar Vradim (Village of Roses). This time, I was able to eat figs and grapes that are growing right there in their yard. HOW INSANE. I don’t think I’ve ever had a fresh fig before that. They are ridiculously sweet, almost like corn syrup or something.
4. Hummus and falafel and olive oil and olives = heaven. Here again, I would use the world overwhelming. It is overwhelmingly good.

5. On my flight over here, I met a bunch of American guys who are spending a year or more in Israel studying at a yeshiva. One guy was awesome—we were talking about free will and faith and destiny at the gate in JFK, and continued chatting all the way to Tel Aviv. He has also studied Buddhism, Hinduism, philosophy and more, so I can truly appreciate his choice of religion and lifestyle because he sounded extremely open-minded, aware, and self-reflective. Another guy I sat next to from Zurich to Tel Aviv was extremely conservative, religiously and politically, and quite outspoken. In fact, he asked me at one point why would I choose to go to Israel, since I’m simply not wanted here…wouldn’t I feel more comfortable in China? In the beginning, I found it all rather fascinating, and the discussion was really enlightening and new for me. But after a while, I was just biting my lip non-stop, trying not to explode…especially once we started talking about Israel and Palestine. Some of the things he said stung a little, but it was hard to take him that seriously when he was being so extreme and, in my eyes, unreasonable with his arguments. Anyways, it was almost funny to arrive in Israel because Matan’s sisters and niece met me at the airport, and they are such warm and loving people. Our friends here have been awesome, as always, and the people at the non-profits, or even the fruit seller at the market, are friendly, welcoming and eager to hear where I’m from and what I’m doing here. So more than ever, I am noticing the diversity of thought and belief in this one tiny country, the spectrum of viewpoints people take on Judaism, politics, war and peace. And while I still struggle with how I want to be connected with this country, and how I relate to Judaism and Israeli politics and so on…I’m just glad that most of our friends, and Matan, happen to be secular or atheist. Because, well, let’s just say I definitely would not be here if he was that religious…

News of the Day!

We moved into our apartment last night, AKA our living situation for 6 weeks. That’s a pretty short amount of time to call something ours, but we’re paying rent so I guess that’s how it works. I am in love with it, with the neighborhood, with the way it’s been furnished. In a couple minutes, you can walk to Shuk Hacarmel, the largest market in Tel Aviv; in less than FIVE to the beach with the clear, warm Mediterranean Sea water. The area is right by the crossroads of Alenbby, Sheinkin and Hamelech George, known for its shopping, bars, and young vibe. Every time I’ve told an Israeli where the apartment is, there is some kind of ooing and ahhing, followed by me smiling proudly. The girl who’s renting it to us is traveling in India before the start of classes in mid-October. Done deal: I love her taste. Yesterday, when I first got here, I just sat and evaluted the curtains, the chairs, the desk, the paintings, the bowls and plates…and came to the conclusion that just about everything in this apartment I would pick myself. For example, in the middle of the room there is a yellow skychair, Indian elephants hang in the kitchen (I have the same ones at home), one of those mini bamboo plants sits on the coffee table, and there is a cat who chills outside on the porch area. Yes, there is a porch. The door has an “ohm” charm stuck to the front. That's the neighborhood below:


Unfortunately, I’ve had rather bad luck with that door. Which explains why I am writing a monstrosity of an entry right now. I tried to lock the door this morning around 10 AM, and instead broke the key in half. So I’ve been stranded here for the day—Matan will pick up a spare from someone when he finishes his day, which is usually around 7 or 7:30 PM. Let’s hope this was a one-time incident…

OK, I better get some other things done. Thanks for reading this! You deserve a prize.