When Hani Sabag first heard about the idea of cooperating with Amira Jabar Qassem on a unique high-tech initiative, she was put off.
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"A common acquaintance in the education field told me about Amira's idea – helping people find jobs through virtual reality – and asked if I'd want to take part. I told her, sarcastically, in Yiddish, 'Zei gezunt' – what do I know about Arabs? I dismissed the idea entirely. A week later, she called again and said, 'Amira insists,'" Hani tells Israel Hayom.
"I said, 'Give me her number.' But the truth is that I didn't intend to call her. Five minutes later, my phone rang, and when I answered I heard a woman with an Arabic accent. It was Amira. Less than seven hours after the conversation, we had a written concept that we started working on," she recalls.
Amira, 32, is married and a mother to Mohammad, eight, and Kinda, age four. She grew up and spent most of her life in Abu Ghosh, and now lives in the mixed community Nof Hagalil. She dresses like a typical woman in high-tech. Hani, 39, married and a mother of three boys – Moish, 16, Roli, 11, and Shloime, 10 – lives in Bnei Brak. She wears what most Haredi women do, including a wig.
In November 2020, the two founded an unusual partnership – a startup called Job 360, which seeks to train Haredi and Arab men and women for the interview process that is part of integrating these sectors into the workforce. The project uses a simulator that supplies participants with tools and tips to help them overcome difficulties of language and behavior in interviews that can determine their future. In other words – a virtual room that simulates the reception area and work space of a typical high-tech company.
Amira: "Our initiative is essentially a website that deals with all the requisite skills for the job market. Abilities such as problem solving, handling workplace relationships, the ability to impress superiors and those around you, and abilities of leadership and innovation.
"In a job interview, [the interviewee] should make eye contact. [But] take, for example, a Muslim or Haredi woman – they won't. The employer will interpret that as a lack of self-confidence, whereas it's actually an act of basic modesty in our sectors.
"Another example: Let's say an Arab woman holds a work meeting in a café. If someone from her village sees her with a 'strange' man and tells anyone, it will create problems."
Hani (nodding): "A Haredi woman will go for an interview, and her first question will be if they offer 'safe' Internet, which allows her to use the net without being exposed to sites with lewd or problematic content. This could cause the interview to be a failure. She won't know how to put her question in accessible terms, or ask it at the right time.
"Or, for example, a Haredi man who arrives at a new job on Sunday morning. He'll encounter questions from managers or other workers, like whether he needs them to set up a synagogue or what to do with leavened bread products during Passover. Workplaces have rules and nuances that don't get taken into account, that need to be inculcated. Haredi men, Arab women, and Haredi women need to navigate the norms of secular society," Hani explains.
Hani was born in Bnei Brak in 1982, the eldest daughter of Yechiel and Aliza – a kollel students and an educator, respectively. She has 11 siblings. When she was a year old, her mother was appointed principal of a girl's seminary in Beer Yaakov, and her father was made secretary. The family moved onto the seminary grounds and found themselves living in the heart of a secular community.
"As a child, I discovered that the world isn't as nice as the average Haredi kid thinks it is. I was exposed to a complex reality, like [seeing] girls who came from troubled families," she says.
From a young age, Hani was a leader. "In the fourth grade I was running a summer camp for daughters of the seminary staff. In fifth grade, I was in charge of a branch of the Benot Batia youth movement, which is like Bnei Akiva, but for Haredi girls."
"From the time I was young, my parents pushed me to come up with things. My mom always told me and my brothers, 'Don't look at the floor, do something.' She spurred me on to find a way of occupying myself. My father also pushed us not to be afraid and to move forward. When I was a girl, he studied in kollel, but he was also an autodidact and very knowledgeable about technology. I got my tech urge from him."
Amira was born in 1989, the oldest child of three. At the time, only the men of the village would work, and the women were mostly housewives.
"My mom, Huda, was the first woman in the village to work outside the home, in the early 1990s. She worked at a private retirement home in Shoeva. When I was in sixth grade, she paved the way, despite the resistance, and I'm always excited to talk about her. She still works there, and from her I learned about devotion, tenacity, and diligence," she says.
Amira completed a BA in sociology and education at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. "The first year was very hard. Hebrew wasn't my mother tongue, and I was studying with people who had life experience, who had done the army. An Arab student starts his or her studies with an inherent gap, and I needed to work harder than my Jewish colleagues to excel. I studied until midnight every day."
After earning her degree, Amira went on to an MA. "My thesis, on Israeli-Palestinian cooperation on social issues, was published as an article, and that was an achievement, but as an Arab citizen in this country I started from a different place than someone from Jewish society. As an Arab, if you want to succeed, you need to work a million times harder."
In 2012, she married Salah Qassem, a lawyer from Nazareth who specializes in family law. Their two children are in school in Nazareth because Nof Hagalil does not have a separate school for Arab children, even though Arab Israelis make up one-third of its residents. "Maybe this article will help us make the change," Amira says smiling.
At the start of her career, in 2014, Amira managed a project involving education and employment for the Jerusalem Municipality as well as leading groups of Arabs and Israelis.
"I was the first female Arab coordinator of groups at the Jerusalem Municipality. I'd start my work day at 5 a.m. so I could be as good and professional as the other group leaders who had served in the army and gained experience before me."
Not long after, she was appointed director of information development at Rayan, an Economy and Industry Ministry initiative that seeks to integrate, promote, and empower the Arab sector in work and job training. Rayan's centers work to close economic and social gaps by providing tools and skills for anyone who wants to expand their employment opportunities.
Meanwhile, Hani was also making her way ahead in the labor market. Initially, she studied to become a teacher at a Bais Yaakov school in Bnei Brak, and then ran a youth center. She taught at the Haredi Bnei Yosef schools, and until a few weeks ago served as its technological-pedogogical coordinator. She also worked part time as director of the training and job center for the Or HaChaim institutions. In 2004 she married Pini, who teaches in the morning and studies at kollel in the afternoon. Even though she works at a high-tech project whose goal is to integrate Haredim into the workforce, her children are at a Haredi school whose curriculum does not include the Israeli core subjects.
"That doesn't bother me. One can always acquire knowledge, no matter how old they are. What's important are the skills – thinking, reading ability, expression. As a mother I give them the tools that will allow them to fill in what's missing later on. To me, values are more important than the common view in the market that the core curriculum has to be the base. They get some of the core subjects from me at home, and at extracurricular activities."
Amira's home in Nof Hagalil and Hani's home in Bnei Brak are 113 km. (70 miles) apart. Without traffic, it's an hour and a quarter-long drive, but the differences between the two communities can be measured in light years. The two say that from the moment they first met and started talking, first on Zoom and then face to face, they discovered that the two populations "have a lot in common." They are referring to basic conservatism, modesty for women, and difficulties that arise from a lack of common language with the secular world, among other things.
The partnership got off the ground quickly thanks to a project they found only a week after their first meeting – Medina L'Mofet-Accelerate Israel, a competition to foster startups that served as a golden opportunity for them to launch their own initiative.
"Our first meetings were on Zoom," Hani recalls. "Our first in-person meeting took place a few weeks later, when we came to make a film together in which we presented our initiative to the Media L'Mofet people. We met at an office building in Bnei Brak. There were other people in the room, and at first I didn't recognize Amira when she came in. She didn't recognize me, either, until the penny dropped for both of us. I went up to her and we hugged, and it was really moving."
At first, Amira and Hani considered using help from experts at Medina L'Mofet to open a simulator that would include the use of virtual reality goggled. The two spent "plenty" of their own money working on the simulator, but eventually concluded that the idea of virtual reality was "too complicated, and not effective" and diverted their efforts to the idea of a virtual room.
Hani: "The truth is that I'm happy we worked on the simulator and spent money on it, because we got to the point where we realized it wouldn't work, and we could focus on a more implementable idea."
The Media L'Mofet startup competition launched during Israel's third COVID lockdown in October 2020. It is managed by the Or movement and a number of officials from various foundations, universities, and organizations. Its goal is to identify, fund, and implement innovative concepts that offer solutions to the employment crisis in Israel and to improve Israel's economy.
Over 300 projects entered the competition. Hani and Amira joined at the last minute, only days before the list closed.
Amira: "I was in shock when I saw how many Arabs had entered the competition – zero. Even though Arabs were very badly hurt by the upturn in the job market because of COVID, there was no initiative from an Arab entrepreneur."
To enter the competition, Amira and Hani had to build their initiative quickly, both in terms of concept and in terms of a raw first visualization. Since the country was still in lockdown, much of the work was done on Zoom.
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Hani: Essentially, we built an online platform that allows a job seeker, Arab or Haredi, to watch work scenarios. Though an interactive site that is adapted to both sectors' specific nuances, the user can watch a simulation of a job interview, record themselves during the 'interview,' and receive optimal guidance about how to interview. Later on, uses can also film themselves during the simulated interview and our mentors – who will be hired later on – will provide advice and tips.
"When the user enters the site, they can choose a language – Arabic or Hebrew – and then they move on to a simulation of their choice in which they watch a video of a job interview and practice answers by clicking on a button. After the practice session, they can see the right answer and learn how to act.
"The site also teaches where to look during interviews, with an emphasis on women, who in these sectors avoid direct eye contact with men for reasons of modesty."
Amira: "Neither of us comes from the high-tech field, and my neighbors didn't serve in [elite IDF tech unit] 8200, but we needed to reach the requisite professional level. The hard word on our project required a lot of hours. So we'd finish our regular work days at 4 p.m., spend time with our families until 8 p.m., then work together on Zoom until 4 a.m. We dug in, learned, went online to ask people from all over the world to help us and invest in our initiative."
Amira and Hani still aren't earning paychecks from their startup, and are still digging into their savings to fund it. "At the moment, we're working without pay. Everything we get from investors goes toward development," Hani explains.
Unlike Amira, Hani does not use Facebook or the Whatsapp smartphone messaging app, despite the latter being considered acceptable for use by Haredim. She does use Whatspp on her laptop, having received permission from a rabbi.
Amira laughs, saying Hani is "a smart woman with a dumb phone."
Hani: "I'm not cut off. I have everything I need on the computer, but I'm not breaking new ground or looking to do so. If there's a red line, I don't cross it. Amira told me once that her goal was for me to get on Facebook. I told her not to hold her breath, because it wouldn't happen. We'll find a way of closing gaps without crossing red lines."
After four months of diligent work that included three fundraising rounds, the Medina L'Mofet investment committee declared Hani and Amira's startup one of the competition's five winners, earning them an investment of $250,000, close mentoring by leading entrepreneurs and companies, and help reaching out to officials and target audience bases.
Amira: "We knew we had a great initiative, but it was still an amazing feeling to meet the goal."
Professor Gila Kurtz, head of the MA program and a lecturer in instructional technologies at Holon Institute of Technology, is one of founders of Medina L'Mofet.
"We started out to change the job market and find solutions that would allow anyone to be the CEO of their own life. One of the things we asked of applicants was to film a two to three-minute video telling us about themselves. The moment I saw Amira and Hani in their video, I realized this was exactly what we were looking for. Since then, I've been with them on their journey," Kurtz says.
While working on their project, Hani and Amira began getting to know each other's society, something they admit they had spent little time thinking about in the past.
Amira: "I was in culture shock the first time I visited Hani at home. I never thought I'd meet as many Haredim as I did on her street, or even go to Bnei Brak or go into a Haredi home. There are pictures of rabbis on each refrigerator in Hani's house. I took a picture of myself with the candlesticks she uses to light Shabbat candles in the background. I discovered a different, amazing world. By the way, I was a little afraid the first time I went to Bnei Brak. I asked Hani what would be appropriate to wear, if I needed to put on a dress or anything. Eventually, I learned it was just modest clothing and that was it."
Hani: "Amira was afraid they'd throw eggs at her, but discovered that it wasn't as terrible as she thought."
Amira: "When I was little I'd walk around the Old City of Jerusalem with my father, and one time they threw rocks at us because we were driving on Shabbat. So I had some concerns. Actually, I found that the people were delightful."
Hani also says she was afraid before she went to Amira's house in Nof Hagalil, and later at her parents' home in Abu Ghosh. "I got mixed up with the bus in Nazareth, and three young kids came up to me and started to ask questions in Arabic. It wasn't that I was afraid of the strange place, but in a city in which a lot of people don't speak your language, I was still a little worried. I called Amira, and she explained to them who I was and gave me directions."
Hani says that because she keeps strictly kosher, she has never eaten at her partner's home. "I'm still looking for the ultimate kanafeh recipe, and I admit that the food at Amira's looks very good."
Amira (sighing with frustration): "Hani comes to visit and doesn't eat, and it depresses me, because hospitality and food are our culture. It's unpleasant, but nothing can be done."
Hani: "I have to say that Amira demonstrated extreme maturity. She had to give in to me on something that's part of her cultural DNA, and it wasn't easy."
One of Hani's visits to Abu Ghosh ended with a minor clash stemming from their different backgrounds.
"We were supposed to go to a meeting held in a mosque in the village, which is the second-biggest in Israel, and Amira even brought a special dress and veil, but I told her there was no chance of my going in," Hani says.
Q: Why not?
"The truth is that in Judaism there is no prohibition against entering a mosque, and I was also very curious to see a mosque form inside, but in my view I wasn't there as Hani Sabag, but as a representative of the Haredi sector. I felt it wouldn't be appropriate to go in."
Amira: "It bothered me, because in my reasoning, there is no reason not to enter a mosque, it's God's house. But eventually, you need to learn to respect your partner's wishes. There are things I won't agree to, everyone has their red lines, so I could understand her. Myself, I've been in synagogues, I didn't mind."
On May 10, 2021, seven months after they met each other and began their project, the partnership encountered a tough ideological challenge. That day, at 6 p.m., rockets were fired at Jerusalem from the Gaza Strip (and landed near Abu Ghosh), setting off Operation Guardian of the Walls against Hamas infrastructure in the Gaza Strip. The operation led to a wave of clashes and rioting in Israel's mixed Jewish-Arab cities.
For a week and a half, terrorists in Gaza fired rockets and missiles at Israel – the center of the country as well as the western Negev. The IDF pummeled terrorist targets in Gaza. Amira and Hani found themselves on opposite ideological sides. The two had grown accustomed to working together despite their cultural differences, but had to find common ground at a time when the ties that bound Israel's Jewish and Arab citizens were being ripped apart.
Amira: "It was a very difficult time for us. On May 18, we set up a meeting that we'd been waiting a long time to have, but that day was declared a day of rage in Arab society because of Operation Guardian of the Walls. I told Hani that the meeting was super important, but I wasn't emotionally available and couldn't work. Despite the complexity, Hani understood my decision."
Hani says that during the operation, she would call Amira to check in. "I asked her a lot of questions – how she saw what was happening, how she was managing. I realized I didn't necessarily understand her path, and that I didn't have to agree with it. Each of us lives with a different worldview, and if we get into it, it won't end well. We looked each other in the whites of the eyes and realized we wouldn't be able to solve the problems, so it would be better for us not to get into them."
Amira: "I'd see that rockets were being fired on Tel Aviv, and call Hani right away. Each of us told her own story, including her fears. There were violent incidents in Nof Hagalil, too, and I was always careful to lock the door.
"The way I see it, we're focused on a goal. We need to be able to put these things aside. We're here to do good for our societies and for Israel, and we need to march forward, together.
"In Arab society there is a trend toward integrating into Israeli society. Looking for common ground, a partner. We have an 'alliance of the weak' with the Haredim, and as proof, [Ra'am leader] Mansour Abbas asked to earmark a special budget of 100 million shekels ($32 million) for them. I see this as a game-changer."
Q: Does a future in politics interest you?
Hani: "I'm not looking to go into politics and don't think that women should be in politics. I have my red lines. I'm not the one who sets them, rabbis are, but I act according to them. Still, it's important to note that public service is, of course, a welcome path. We were all created in the image of God, and anyone who wants to make things better is welcome."
Amira: "I'm not looking to go into politics, either. Let me work. There are some very successful religious [Muslim] women who wear hijabs. In Dubai, for example, there is a female government minister. We don't have any, I wish we did, but that's not me. When it comes to public service, I agree with Hani. Everyone can create change."
Q: How did your families respond to your partnership?
Amira: "It was a little strange for them at first, but everyone supported us."
Hani: "My family was a little surprised, but not in shock. There was curiosity. They're used to be doing interesting things."
Q: Do you still argue, or have you learned to get along despite the cultural differences?
Hani (laughing): "You don't argue with your wife? A business partnership is like a family in a lot of ways."
Amira: "You need to know how to pick a good partner."
Hani: "And God led me to a good partner."
Amira: "That sounds about right."
Q: Do you feel like you've broken through a glass ceiling? Paved the way for other women from your sectors?
Hani: "I don't like the words 'paved the way.' The path exists for anyone who wants it. I don't view my work in terms of empowering women. People who don't try, don't make mistakes, but I'm willing to make mistakes and admit them and continue on. On the other hand, people said Amira was brave and she is seen as a role model, even if she plays it down."
Amira: "There are a lot of talented women in Arab society who go far. I'm very proud of them. I might be a ground-breaker in Israel, one of a few, because it's not easy for women startup-ists in Israel, certainly not Arab women. There are still a lot of obstacles in Arab society to overcome, and it's important to give more people more opportunities. There is huge potential that isn't discussed enough."
Hani: "Haredi society is in a similar situation in terms of potential. People go into the labor market, but don't always have the right tools, so the society isn't progressing enough. They don't have the language or the skills, and this is where Job 360 comes in.
"We want to preserve what makes the community unique, with both sides being open. Openness doesn't necessarily have to create 'evil impulses' and the option of going wrong. It helps a person think with greater flexibility and make the necessary adaptations. Haredi society has grown, and we need to give it the best tools, in part so Israel won't look like a third-world nation."
Q: Do you know of other women who have formed similar partnerships?
Amira: "I don't know of other partnerships like ours. Unfortunately, people from both our cultures … tend to cooperate only if pushed to."
Hani: "I understand why it happens. Stereotypes are stronger than reality."
Amira: "We'll bridge between Arabs and Jews."
Hani and Amira are currently working feverishly to make their dream a reality. A couple of weeks ago, after receiving the grant from Medina L'Mofet, they both resigned from their jobs and are now completely devoted to their new project. A pilot version, tested on a select group, was successful and now they are planning to launch the website and make a splash.
Hani: "We got amazing responses to the pilot. One of the women who took part told us that our platform's prep for a work interview gave her the confidence she needed. Another guy said that he had never had an interview and didn't know what one was like until he tried it on the platform. We had one case in which a week after a woman tried our platform, she had already been placed successfully and gotten a job in high tech. We're closing the inherent gap and allowing people to enter the job market."
Amira: "We know both the obstacles and the opportunities. There is a high percentage of young Arab men and women who can't find work, because they don't know how to conduct themselves, and things are the same in the Haredi world. I was harmed by this gap, and now, with our platform, I want to fix it and move both our sectors ahead. If only we can go far. Amen, Inshallah."
