Hope and Ordeal in the Holy Land
/This is an updated version of an article published in Filipinas Magazine, February 2004
Something in Common: Filipino workers (pictured here with their employers) often take advantage of the opportunity to talk with their compatriots about their families back home.
While the cheaply paid Thai agricultural workers, Romanian and Chinese masons and African cleaners are often seen as "usurpers" of jobs that should be available to unemployed Israelis, Filipinos are recognized as irreplaceable caregivers of elderly, chronically sick and disabled people. Trying to understand this widely accepted image of the Filipinos, I joined a group of elderly people in Pecah Tikva, a town not far from Tel Aviv, who sat on tree-shaded stone benches. Nearly every person had a Filipino man or woman standing by, attending to every request, predicting every desire, ready with a snack or a reminder of the time to take a pill, or to go home. The Filipinos seized the opportunity to socialize among themselves and share information or talk of their problems and families back home.
They were very friendly and respectful to me but were reluctant to be photographed. I understood that some of them were undocumented. When I reassured them that the pictures were intended for a Filipino magazine in America, one of the men changed his mind and asked if he could have a picture to send back home. They eventually asked me to photograph them with their employers. I asked the old men why they liked Filipinos.
Wheelchair-bound Reuben S. raised his eyes to me and stated with conviction: "They are trustworthy and devoted."
Oma Kazin, in her article, "Globalization of Love" (Haaretz newspaper March 6, 2000), wrote: "Their love for their children and their other relatives that they left far away in their homeland they transfer to the Israeli people, to those they are taking care of."
At the Messiah Baptist Tabernacle, Brother Roland Ustares, the choirmaster, told me he would be returning to the Philippines in two weeks' time. Brother Roland had been a caregiver in Israel for eight years, and when he was out of a job (and work permit) he had worked as a house cleaner. He married Mimmie, a Filipina he met here. Their Israel-born daughter, Miracle Ness, goes to an Israeli school and speaks fluent Hebrew.
"Why are you going back then?"
"My parents are getting old. You see, in the Philippines nobody would even think of putting one's old parents in an old-age home or even of hiring a caregiver. We feel that it is our natural duty to take care of our old parents personally and somehow return to them the love and care they gave us."
It is difficult to ascertain the exact number of Filipino overseas workers in Israel. The Israeli Ministry of Labor and the labor attaché at the Embassy of the Philippines can only guess. A fair estimate would be 30,000 legally documented Filipino workers and another 15,000 to 20,000 without legal papers. Up to 80 percent are women, and more than 90 percent are caregivers.
Israel is a preferred destination for Filipinos who badly need sources of income for themselves and their families. Word has spread that in Israel, they are generally well treated by employers. The pay, based on the minimum salary allowed by law, seems to be enough to send some money home every month, to pay their relatives (sometimes their mothers, sisters or older daughters) who raise their children and to put some money in savings accounts. Usually, it also allows for some local "luxuries" that they never had before.
In order to get a visa and a working permit in Israel, caregivers must be contracted by a person who has a special permit to employ a foreign worker. Those are people who can no longer live by themselves, and the Ministry of Health prefers to subsidize a private caregiver instead of putting them in old-age homes. The candidate has to register with an employment agency in the Philippines that contracts caregivers for Israelis with permits. Those agencies charge exorbitant amounts for their services and for transportation. The practice of illegal recruitment, or charging high fees compounded by usurious loans for the "right" to work abroad, seems to be quite common since many Filipinos come to the country as tourists or undocumented workers. Those are just one class of illegal workers. When they come, they eventually get a job as maids or cleaners in private houses. This is against the law for the employer, too. The worker is usually the victim if anything goes wrong.
The second class of illegal workers results from an absurdity in the law. The work visas bind the worker to a single employer and condition his/her legal status in Israel on continued employment with this employer. When the worker leaves this original employer, for whatever reason--even disagreements, like unpaid salaries -- the visa loses validity, and the worker loses his legal status in the country.
This was the case of Fermin, the only sad Filipino I met. Fermin has been in Israel for a little over a year and had been happy with his job taking care of an old man. Then the man died, and his permit expired. Since then, Fermin has been working here and there, always hiding from the Immigration Police. When he is not working, he goes from one agency to the next, hoping for a job with a permit. Others avoid walking in the streets, or do so only early in the morning, with large hats hiding their faces.
The scene is quite different on Saturdays, their usual day off. In the new Central Bus Station of Tel Aviv, with a shopping center that is walking distance from one of the areas where foreign workers live, a large number of Filipino women and men in their best attires queue in the foreign exchange shops and international telephone booths, socialize, lick ice-cream cones, or sit in cafes and at McDonald's. You see them in the streets, too. Sometimes they come from other places in metropolitan Tel Aviv, just to be near their own people.
Sixteen Filipino overseas worker civic groups are coalesced in the Federation of Filipino Communities in Israel, which has the full support of the Embassy of the Philippines. Ambassador to Israel H.E. Belen Anota sees the well-being and the security of the Filipino OFWs among her top priorities. The embassy’s Labor Department headed by Attache Jalilo Dela Torre had aided the repatriation of Filipinos who feared for their lives after several became victims of suicide bomb attacks. But despite the dangers, Ambassador Anota says most Filipino workers refuse to leave Israel: "They are paid well and their Israeli employers treat them well."
Filipino worshippers usually go to St. Anthony Catholic Church along Yefet Street in Jaffa for the Saturday masses. When I was there, the first row of benches was occupied by young Filipino couples, waiting for their babies to be baptized.
Out and About: On Saturdays during their days off, Filipinos can be seen shopping, relaxing at cafes and going to foreign exchange shops at the New Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv (pictured here).
On the same Saturday, at the Messiah Baptist Tabernacle, on Lewinsky Street, not far from the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station, the blessing of two other Filipino babies, Elyza and Jonathan, was taking place. During services, congregants receive a list of people who need their prayers for personal needs. This list includes people with serious health woes (or their Jewish employers, too), marital problems, and those who need work or visas. The latest list included Pastor David and his wife, and his assistant Arlyn. On Saturdays Filipinos are not afraid because it is the immigration agents' day off.
In Haifa, Filipinos frequent the St. Joseph Church. In Jerusalem, they like to gather at Notre Dame Church and the Church of the Terra Sancta. A Filipino Franciscan missionary, Fr. Angelo Ison, has been appointed chaplain for the community in Israel.
The Philippine Basketball Association organizes frequent tournaments at the Hapoel Gym in Tel Aviv with all-Filipino basketball clubs’ participation.
Israel has announced a campaign to deport 100,000 undocumented foreign workers by 2024. Immigration authorities have officially informed the Embassy that the campaign will intensify the arrest and deportation of such workers.
The annual "Miss Philippines-Israel Contest," which took place in August, was nearly canceled because candidates dreaded police intervention. Eventually the organizers obtained a court injunction to protect the event. The winner was 24-year-old Ovenia "Ovey" Gumabay, a graduate of Civil Engineering at the National University of Manila. "I left my noble job in the Philippines because of salary difference," she said in an interview with Manila Tel Aviv Magazine. 'Tm talking about stability here. Securing my future is a lot easier," she added.
Ovey has an Israeli boyfriend whom she intends to marry in the Philippines, out of respect for her family. But they intend to live in Israel, and Ovey is ready to convert to Judaism. "I don't want my kids to be confused about what their real identity is."
A "Globalization of Love" indeed. The majority of Filipino overseas workers see in Israel a land of hope for a better future in their homeland, the Philippines.
Inacio Steinhardt is a freelance writer based in Israel.
