Natalie Astor, from Potomac, MD, is a 5-month Internship Track participant. She is interning at the Terem Refugee Health Clinic, and volunteering at Kadima Wolfson, a community after-school program for children in South Tel Aviv.
After studying
abroad and interning in Tel Aviv for almost 8 months last year, I thought that
I left with a deep connection to the city and a sense of understanding and
belonging. However, in all my time living, learning, and experiencing life in
Tel Aviv, I never once ventured into South Tel Aviv. Not only was this a place
that I did not feel the need to go, but a place I purposefully tried to avoid.
Being a naïve newcomer to Israel as a whole, I pretty much started on a clean
slate and developed my outlook over time based off the information I gleaned
from others. My first exposure to the notion of division in the city was when
my friend and I were planning a trip to Jerusalem and our ulpan teacher told us not to go to the central bus station (located
in South Tel Aviv), but to go to one in the center of the city. When we asked
why, she simply said that it was a bad area of town that we should avoid and we
would not be safe there. Another time, I wanted to buy a bike located in South
Tel Aviv, but when I spoke to my friends about going to look at it, they said I
should only go to look if it is during the day and I am not alone.
A year later
when I told my friends and colleagues that I was going back to the city I loved
and that brought me so much happiness, I was confronted with mixed reactions.
Nearly everyone I encountered was supportive of the service work I would be
doing, but those who were familiar with Tel Aviv advised me not to go to South
Tel Aviv (or live there) and to be careful. They said it was “another world”
and that it was too dangerous for me. Even people I spoke to in Israel tried to
instil a sense of fear within me by telling me that South Tel Aviv, and the
bus station in particular where I would be working, is not only the worst part
of Tel Aviv, but the worst part of the country.
This whole
time, I was basing my judgments off of the opinions of others, not any
experiences or interactions I personally had. Living and interning in South Tel
Aviv for nearly three months now has truly opened my eyes to another world, both
positively to diverse and vibrant cultures, and negatively to the radical
polarization and exclusivity exhibited by many in Israeli society. I’m currently
interning at the Terem Refugee Health Clinic at the Central Bus Station, which
offers an array of subsidized medical services to asylum seekers that are not
covered by the national health insurance law, which provides universal health
care to all Israeli citizens. It is a bit ironic to me that the national
insurance law, affirming access to health care as a fundamental and collective
right, would in reality not be universal and exclude a significant portion of
the population.
The failure
of the Israeli health system to include the asylum seeker population under the
national health insurance law demonstrates the larger problem of the
government’s unwillingness to grant this population refugee status. Though the
terms are often used synonymously, asylum seekers and refugees are quite
different in that asylum seekers are not entitled to the same civil rights and
social benefits as refugees. While thousands of asylum seekers have fled
persecution and sought refuge in Israel, only a small percentage have been
granted refugee status. Not only is this distinction damaging in terms of
access to rights, but the failure to grant refugee status downplays and
disregards the terror, hardship, and violence these people endured before they arrived
here. It pains me that after all the asylum seekers overcame to get here, they
are still denied the basic opportunity to better themselves and have limits
placed on their aspirations. Interning at the clinic has allowed me to interact
with the asylum seeker community in a variety of capacities. I get to work with
many Eritrean staff members, work in reception at the clinic, complete patient
histories, and conduct research in order to develop a chronic disease workshop
for the clinic. Whether I am sitting in reception trying to communicate with a
mother about her baby being sick, or asking a patient about their symptoms to
produce their medical record, I am exposed to the humanity and humility of
individuals that want the best for themselves and their families.
It is easy to get swept up into all that Tel
Aviv has to offer (the nightlife, coffee shops, beaches, etc.) and to live in a
bubble, blind to the struggles and challenges faced by those living right next
door. As difficult as it is, more people need to take a step and face the harsh
reality, in which the same place that is welcoming and allows so many thrive
and enjoy life, can also be exclusive and stifling to others. The division of
South Tel Aviv from the rest of Tel Aviv is indicative, to me, of the treatment
of asylum seekers and migrant workers by the greater society; as outsiders,
infiltrators, and those that are not welcome. The purposeful attempt to
restrict asylum seekers acts to separate them from the rest of Israeli society
and make them want to leave. Many people in Israeli society readily assign
blame and hatred to the asylum seeker community, without even knowing them or
giving them a chance. Characterizing South Tel Aviv negatively not only perpetuates
a cycle of fear and hopelessness, but exacerbates the consequences of categorizing
people as others and forgetting that they are human too. We need to stop simply
putting a label on South Tel Aviv as different and integrate it into Tel Aviv
and Israel as a whole. We need to put off finding a solution and recognize that
the asylum seekers deserve better.
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