Stranded Mid-Aviv

• Israel's employment agencies obtain permits to hire foreign workers
• The permit allows them to secure employment and a work visa for a foreigner
• The Israel agency's partner in India takes huge sums of money from those wishing to work in Israel
• But once the Indian worker reaches Israel, he finds his employment, and therefore his visa, cancelled
• The guilty employment agency uses the permit to take out a visa for yet another Indian
• Those left stranded go into hiding, hoping to evade deportation. They work illegally to pay the loans they took to finance their journey to Israel.

***

• Those working legally are also ripe for exploitation. Their work visa is valid as long as they have the job.
• Employers consequently compel, say a caregiver, to also double up as cooks, gardeners etc
• Wages are often far lower than promised originally
• NGOs suspect cases of sexual abuse. These are not reported because the victim fears his visa could be cancelled.
• Should the employer die, the visa stands cancelled.

***

• The interior ministry says there are about 18,000 Indians in Israel
• Only 5,100 of them have a legal status. The rest are working illegally.
• Actual number is said to be much higher. Many who're pushed across the Egypt-Israel border don't figure in official estimates.
• People pay $8,000 to $10,000 for working in Israel
• Most Indians workers are employed as caregivers. The salary offered is $700 a month.

***

ily Devi had paid $8,000 to travel from India to Egypt, and then to be illegally slipped across the border into Israel. The Indian agent she had given the money to had vowed work would be there for her in the promised land. Instead, abandoned in the desert town of Eilat, Lily soon found herself at the Tel Aviv office of Kav LaOved or the Migrant Workers' Hotline, an ngo that assists foreign workers. The ngo couldn't help her—she didn't know the full name of either the agent or of the employment agency where he worked. Lily is now hiding from Immigration Police in a friend's apartment, hoping to find work to pay the debt she incurred to travel to Israel.

When Lily does find work, she'll join the growing mass of foreign workers in Israel, currently estimated to be well over three lakh—a majority staying illegally. You can find people like Lily at the Tachana Merkazit or the Central Bus Station, located in one of Tel Aviv's poorest quarters and where foreign workers of all nationalities gather over the weekend. Despite Indians being one of the smallest groups among them, they have a strong presence here. Israel's interior ministry estimates the Indian population at about 18,000; only 5,100 of them are on valid work permits. But their number's said to be much larger and growing, for those like Lily who slip through the border don't figure in official estimates.

At the Tachana Merkazit, tables line the sidewalk. One of these has been set up by a vendor in front of the Om Indian Store, selling chaat masala to those who want a taste of home. Indian music with an upbeat tempo pulses from the recently opened 'Om Bar'. Next to the door there is a framed Ganesha, draped in a marigold garland. A handful of men mill about, speaking rapidly with one another in a language foreign to this urban centre perched on the edge of the Mediterranean. Among them is Santiago Luis, from a village in Goa. "You won't find the people with the big problems here," he says. "They're all hiding." Luis is happy with his salary of $700 a month, which is typical for a caregiver. "I'm very lucky," he says, "but everyone who comes to Israel has problems."

Luis has had his share. Three-and-a-half years ago, he had paid an Indian employment agency $6,500 to arrange for a work visa in Israel. Like so many others, he arrived only to find there was no job. And because he didn't have work, he lost his visa. Luis was an early victim of a scam that's now infamously known as 'flying visa'.

The flying visa starts—and ends—in Israel. Individuals, elderly or disabled, seek caregivers through Israeli employment agencies, which in foreign countries, including India, work in conjunction with local agencies. The local agencies charge potential employees large sums of money for the arrangement of employment and a work visa. But their visa is precarious—it's dependent on their employment by the inviting employer. Flying visa victims arrive in Israel to find their job, and thus their visa and their legal status, cancelled.

"It's so simple, so ugly, so cruel," says Rivka Makover, manager of the registration department in the ministry of trade, industry and labor. Makover licenses employment agencies. But much of her time is spent trying to ebb the flow of flying visa victims. "When I started this position in July 2004, there were 350 such companies," she says. "Since then, I've revoked more than 230 licences." She has forwarded many of these cases to the Immigration Police. David Peretz, superintendent of Immigration Police, and his colleague Eli Tsemach have made more than 100 arrests in flying visa cases. "The agencies bring someone, cancel, bring another, it's a revolving door," Tsemach explains. "One hand brings them, the other hand takes them out."

Those in India who believe that Israel is a model society, refreshingly different from the Arab countries ringing it, had better be warned—here too illiterate, poor workers are exploited by fly-by-night operators. Here too employers promise salaries to foreign workers they never intend to pay.

***

To meet the Indian workers, I choose a crisp, bright Sunday morning to visit Kav LaOved. The queue of foreign workers in the waiting room spills out into the hallway, where Manoj Jorees, from Kerala, waits patiently for help. He paid $10,000 to come to Israel, where he worked for three months before his employer cancelled his work visa on a whim. Unemployed, he relies on friends for food and shelter. He can't return to India because of the loans he took from neighbours to reach Israel. "They'll kill me, maybe," he says. Jorees has repeatedly called the employment agency that brought him to Israel. "They say they'll give me a new employer and a new licence (visa) in two weeks, three weeks." The agency has been assuring him with this promise for months. "They are playing games," he declares.

Anne Suciu, the migrant workers coordinator at Kav LaOved, says, "Most of the workers from other countries come to complain about wage payments—Indians don't even get to that point." Explaining that Indians are disproportionately plagued by the flying visa, she says, "The agency uses the permit to get the visa, bring the worker, cancel the visa, and bring another. The permit is used again and again."

The result is a large pool of unemployed illegal workers, many of them in debt. These workers are ripe for exploitation—but, surprisingly, no more so than those who work legally. This is because of the 'binding arrangement' that links the employee's legal status to their employer. If an employer fires an employee—or if an elderly or sick employer dies—the worker loses his visa, as also his legal status. This exploitative law is typical of many Arab countries as well. "Workers are afraid to leave abusive employers, even if they're being sexually abused, because non-employment is a disaster," Hanny Ben Israel, an attorney for Kav LaOved, explains. Describing the binding arrangement as "a modern form of slavery", she mentions the March 2006 Israeli Supreme Court decision to end it. "So why does it continue?" she asks.

Standing in the waiting room is Goa's Victor D'Souza, who paid $8,000 to become another victim in the flying visa scam. There was no job of caregiver that was guaranteed to him. But he was lucky to find another job—and qualified for another visa. But after working for a short while, D'Souza's employer refused to grant him a visa, refused to pay the wages owed to him, and subsequently fired him. "We come to Israel to make our life," he says, "but we come here and spoil our life."

***

On Saturdays, a steady stream of foreign workers flows from Tel Aviv's Central Bus Station to the adjacent Lewinsky Park, passing three black and orange billboards advertising cellphone services—nestled between English and Hebrew is a panel bearing Hindi script. Relaxing on one of the blue-and-white sheltered benches—the colour of the Israeli flag—that pepper the park is a group of Gujaratis. One of these is Ramona Macuan, who accumulated $7,000 in loans to come to Israel. Her first employer provided her with very little food and compelled her to work such long hours that she couldn't get adequate sleep. Fed up, she quit her job even though she ran the risk of losing her legal status.

Fortunately, Macuan managed to find another caregiver position. As she narrates her story, you hope bad luck doesn't dog her again, as it did Babu Rao, from Hyderabad, and William Fernandez, from Goa. Their experiences perfectly illuminate the snare of problems they are trapped in. "There's too much suffering here," Fernandez says. He, like many others, paid $8,000 for the flying visa. "No one picked me up from the airport," he recalls. Before finding a job, he survived on the good graces of friends. His employer has now taken to exploiting him. "I don't get enough food," he says, receiving only hummus and two pieces of bread or pita a day. "But how can I get another job?" he moans, pointing out that employment agencies prefer women for caregiver jobs.

Rao estimates he only gets three-four hours of sleep a night. Though a caregiver, he's forced to clean the employer's house as also those of his children—and, sadly, without extra wages, as he ought to legally. Rao's story is typical of Indian caregivers who are compelled to work—on the same wage—as cooks, housekeepers, gardeners or nannies. When Rao cribs, his employer responds, "If you don't work, you don't have a visa. If you don't want to work, go back to India." And the visa isn't there for your asking. Ask Gujarat's Jagdish Panjari, who lost his job and visa at the death of his employer. "If you don't have money," he says, "you don't have a visa." True for the growing Indian community here.
 

(Mya Guarnieri is a Tel Aviv based freelance journalist and contributes regularly to The Jersusalem Post.)