‘Masel tov,’ Osang

You don’t quite expect to see “Masel tov, Osang” on a Filipino’s Facebook page, but there it was.

“Masel tov” is a Hebrew (and Yiddish) greeting that can mean “Good luck” or “Congratulations.”  And Osang is a nickname, in this case, for Rose Fostanes, a 47-year-old Filipino woman who has worked half her life overseas, as a caregiver.  The Inquirer had a front-page article about her on Wednesday, and she has made it as well to other newspapers, and to the online edition of Time.

Osang is everything you don’t expect of a celebrity-in-the-making: She’s 47, stands 4’11, and is, well, on the plump side, yet she has been making waves and making it to the finals in a nationwide singing competition, “X Factor Israel.”

I had a hunch her performances were on YouTube, and I was right. There are several clips of her on “X Factor,” including what looks like an audition where the judges, and the audience, start out looking almost skeptical, and are quickly transformed to being stunned, awed. Her repertoire is mixed, but she seems to excel in songs which you’re not quite expecting someone like her to be belting out, like Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Lady Gaga’s “You and I.”

But I want to write not so much about Osang’s singing as about Osang as the face of the overseas Filipino. It is clear—from her performances, her interviews, her Facebook page—that she is aware of what she is, of who she is, in the beginning, to her Israeli audience: the Filipini, which has become synonymous to a caregiver (and please, let’s not take that as an insult). From postings on the Internet, you can see she’s bringing pride to Filipinos, at home and in countries all over the world.

Her making it to the front page of local newspapers is a refreshing change from the coverage of beauty contestants with all the artificial glitter and glamour. Osang is  simple, almost plain. She speaks with a strong accent, yet comes through with depth and substance. In fact, she is the antithesis of the beauty-pageant contestant whose every move,

every statement, is scripted.

Sure, there’s a bit of performance when Osang speaks. She’s self-deprecating: “I have small confidence in myself,” she says in one interview. In other interviews, she constantly refers to herself as coming from a poor family. I do have mixed feelings about this, similar to the way I respond when street vendors—of sampaguita or flannel—come up whining and begging you to buy, pleading that they need money to buy food. Osang comes too close to sounding like those vendors at times, saying she has to support people back home. I almost want to write her, and tell her she doesn’t need to say that: People know that, and will deliver votes even without the sob story.

Caregiving

Then my being a social scientist takes over. That’s part of Osang’s psyche. She is what she is, and we’ll have to respect that. And to some extent, she was probably raised that way, constantly being reminded to know her place, to know that she is “mahirap  lang,” or “caregiver  lang.”

But Osang and other overseas workers must realize that being a “mere” caregiver is an asset. If Osang awes her audience, it’s because she sings from the heart, and I am certain that many Israelis relate to her because her singing reminds them of the zest, enthusiasm and dedication of Filipino caregivers in their own homes.

When we think of OFWs, we tend to think of domestic workers in Hong Kong, Singapore and the Middle East, or seafarers roaming the world. We don’t usually think of Israel, a tiny country, as a destination, but the Commission on Filipinos Overseas lists 32,000 Filipinos deployed there and apparently, many of them are caregivers, mainly for the elderly.

Some years back an Israeli filmmaker, Tomer Heymann, won awards for an independent production, “Paper Dolls,” featuring a group of Filipino transgenders, all working as caregivers for elderly Jews while occasionally doing drag shows (female impersonation) for the Filipino community.

The drag shows retreat into the background and what is highlighted is the way the “paper dolls” care for their wards and build friendships, all the more impressive because some of them are caring for ultraorthodox Jews, who you don’t expect to tolerate transgenders.  Yet in the film we find one of them trying to teach his Filipino caregiver Hebrew, by reading poetry. Another scene has one of the caregivers with his ward, in a synagogue. The elderly man is praying and the caregiver has headphones on, lip-synching away. Toward the end, we find one of the caregivers moving on to another country—a poignant image of the wandering Filipino.

‘Toog, toog’

Let’s return to Osang. On her Facebook site you find Filipinos cheering her on, urging each other to vote for her on the “X Factor Israel” website. The exchanges on the Internet are quintessentially Filipino. There’s a woman asking for clarification about the deadline for voting, because she’s unsure if she properly heard the instructions on “X Factor,” which were given in Hebrew. There’s another one warning people of a fake Osang Facebook, which has been posting derogatory comments about the other competitors on “X Factor.” (The site has apparently been taken down.)

Of course, there has to be prayer, typically: “Lord, papanalunin  mo  si  Osang (Lord, make Osang win).” I saw one appeal to Allah. Another one is a battle cry: Load and reload your cell phones so you can send in more votes. “Ratratan  na,” she calls out, and you can imagine the cell phone turning into a machine gun.

Then comic relief, with a fan warning Osang, tongue in cheek, to be careful now that she’s famous because our Bureau of Internal Revenue will go after her to pay taxes on her winnings.

Osang’s story provides some respite from depressing news about disasters and corruption. But we shouldn’t forget that Osang and others like her are away from home precisely because we’ve made such a mess of the Philippines. And so life moves on, our Filipinos caring for the world’s children, and the world’s elderly. Many will leave their mark with families; others, like Osang, will move the hearts of many more people.

Right before one “X Factor” performance, Osang described her nervousness to the judges: “My heart is going ‘toog, toog.’” I was sure the Filipino audience wanted to scream out: “We, too, we, too, our hearts will ‘toog, toog’ with you!”

The combined meanings of “Masel tov”—“Good luck” and “Congratulations”—come about because of the root word “mazzal,” which means “destiny.” It’s almost an ambivalent phrase, a way of hoping for something better, even the best, but also ready to accept whatever happens, as destiny.

“Masel tov,” Osang.

“Masel tov,” the Filipino, at home and in the world.

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