By Randi Gordner
“Look around and tell me what you see.”
These were instructions given to my group as we walked around Tel Aviv’s New Central Bus Station back in October. I slowly looked from side to side, up ahead and behind. It was as if I had been transported away from Israel and back to the multicultural city streets of Toronto. It was at this bus station, its name a misnomer as it is a far cry from the chic centre of town, that I first witnessed the diversity of Israel.
This diversity does not quite translate into the multiculturalism with which I am familiar in Toronto. The scores of people from Africa, Asia and South America who find themselves in Neve Shaanan (the South Tel Aviv neighbourhood home to the Central Bus Station) have nowhere else to go. They are non-Jewish foreign workers who have left their homes (and often many family members) in search of, or in hope of, a better life. They live in cramped apartments, attempt to learn the language and perform the jobs that many ignore.
As the years pass, many begin to plant roots in Neve Shaanan and start families. However, while foreign workers may receive work permits and gain limited rights, their children, even those who are born in Israel, are deemed illegal residents.
My newest volunteer project, an after-school club or Moadonit in Neve Shaanan, is a space for these children. The club runs under the auspices of Mesilah, an organization that offers assistance in all matters to foreign workers. As soon as school ends, upwards of 50 kids between the ages of 6 and 11 make their way to the Moadonit, as their parents work well into the evening or night. Tucked away amidst the industry and poverty, the club is alive each afternoon with the sounds of laughter and energy.
When I first came to the club, I had intentions of teaching and tutoring in English. When compared to the children with whom I work in Remez, the mostly Israeli school in Kiriyat Shalom, the level of English in the youth club is quite advanced. Although many of the club’s children speak Hebrew at school and amongst themselves, many speak English (or a broken version of it) at home with their parents. I found that the only children in the Moadonit who speak little to no English are those kids whose parents are from South or Central America because the children speak Spanish and not English in their homes.
My entry into the club coincided with its disruption of normalcy and stability. Activities like English classes were moved from their usual times because the club was preparing for a special show: a belated Chanukah and Christmas Show performed by the kids for their families. The show was composed of several mini-performances such as: salsa dancing, a small drum and rhythm circle, gymnastics, theatre and singing. Instead of teaching English in the classroom, I found myself preparing 10 children for the English half of their choir performance: the Christmas song portion of the evening. Pleased that my not-so-hidden love of Christmas music was finally able to be of use (in the Jewish state no less) I did my best (as a new and not necessarily respected authority figure) to keep some semblance of order as the children sang, We Wish You a Merry Christmas and Santa Claus is Coming to Town at the top of their lungs.
When I wasn’t acting as choir master, I was indeed tutoring, but in Hebrew. Suddenly I was helping Ruti with her Hebrew reading and Camillo with his math homework. Math? I’m a theatre and comparative literature graduate, I don’t do math! However, in this Moadonit, it seems I’m a jack of all trades – and I like it.
I am just one of the many dedicated people who work at the Moadonit. While I volunteer there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, others are there day in and day out, making sure the children receive hot lunches and snacks, helping with their homework and fun activities including movie watching and game playing. Perhaps most importantly, every child has someone to whom they can turn if they need a friend.
And these children need a support system, badly. In this club, each child can look around and see the face of another youth in a similar position. Many of these children (especially the young ones) were born in Israel, and those who weren’t came to Israel at a very young age. While many proudly say the names of the countries that their parents left, these children consider themselves Israeli. And why shouldn’t they? For most, if not all, Hebrew is their first language, they have grown up among Israeli peers and are immersed in Israeli culture. However, as children of foreign workers, these kids face a daunting future. They are not eligible for Israeli ID cards and cannot join the Israeli army (considered a right of passage for Israeli youth). Furthermore, at 18, these children, face the possibility of deportation as adults.
When I think about the children with whom I work, I am worried. I worry about their future and the problems they will inevitably encounter as children of foreign workers in Israel. Luckily, the more time I spend at the Moadonit the more I am convinced that these children are not forgotten. The Moadonit gives these children a place to be more than Israeli or any hyphenated existence that others may deem appropriate. In this space, they practise tolerance, friendship and respect on a daily basis and give smiles without hesitation. At the Moadonit, when I look around, I can’t help but be happy with what I see.
This article originally appeared in the Jewish Tribune (Toronto) on January 26, 2006. It can be viewed in its original form here, and the Jewish Tribune's homepage can be found here. The article is reprinted here with permission from the Jewish Tribune and its contents have not been altered.
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