Guernica, March 8, 2011
This morning, I woke to the news that a woman had been stabbed to death in South Tel Aviv. Two men—dubbed migrant workers by the Hebrew press, but referred to as “African descent” in the English-language media, suggesting they were probably asylum seekers—were briefly held under suspicion for the crime. They were interrogated and released without being charged.
The story hit me on many levels: I used to live in South Tel Aviv, an impoverished area that is home to migrant workers, African refugees, and poor Jews. During my time there, I volunteered in a black market Filipino kindergarten. I developed a deep attachment for the “foreign” community. I put quotes around the word “foreign” because, as cliché as it might be to say this, I quickly realized that migrant workers and African refugees aren’t foreign at all. I have never met anyone, anywhere in the world, that I have been unable to connect with on some basic level, even if I don’t agree with their politics or decisions.