the work visa revisited

As I’ve mentioned before, I went through a rather lengthy process of procuring a work visa in order to make my life easier. Not only did it give me legal permission to work in this country, it also provided me with a multiple-entry visa valid for an entire year. No more day trips to Jordan to renew visas, no more hassles at border crossings about bending the rules conveniently exiting and re-entering the country every three months, and best of all, no chance of being detained in Denmark again.

But what I forgot to take into account about the work visa was that in placing those 2 full-page stickers into my passport, I became a foreign worker (“you’re Philippino?” one friend asked). The difference between work visa and foreign worker is simple semantics. But being a foreign worker in this country carries weighty implications.

According to Kav La’Oved there are approximately 200,000 foreign workers in Israel and the territories (including Palestinians who work in Jewish settlements), and many of them are here illegally. They come from the Philippines, Thailand and Eastern Europe among other places. As non-Jews they are not eligible make aliyah/become citizens.

Daily, my life has not changed. In fact, I still haven’t received a paycheck in shekels, so I haven’t actually put the work visa to use. Entering the country, however, is a different story.

Upon my return from Morocco in January I was actually looking forward to passport control. With the year long visa already in my passport no snippy airport worked could give me grief about abusing tourist visas. After taking my passport and asking some standard, prerequisite questions- “where did you learn Hebrew?” and “where do you work? - she point to a small waiting room in the corner and said, “go wait there.”

At 5am, the airport was quiet and I stood alone in the corner until someone came out and without explanation returned my passport and allowed me to go on to baggage claim. No one would answer my questions.

When I returned from 10 days in the states this past Friday afternoon, Ben Gurion Airport was packed with tourists and Israelis coming in to the country. I braced myself as I got one of the crowded lines for foreign passports. Again, I was told to wait on the side. This time, the room was teeming with people, men and women, young and old. Without speaking to any of them, I began to imagine their stories: Palestinians, other foreign workers, travelers who had been to Syria or Lebanon. All undesirable (read: probably non-Jewish) whose entry will be impeded.

As an American I could be automatically entitled to the 3-month tourist visa, as a Jew I could become an Israeli citizen, and as a Hebrew speaker I am rarely seen as an outsider or a threat. My B-1 visa overrides all that, and gives me new perspective on what it’s like, although marginally, to be among the unwanted.