The Journey of Residents from Kibbutz Re’im Back to Their Roots: “It’s Much Safer Here Now”
Calm Amidst Chaos
Last Thursday, as Tel Aviv resumed its routine amid ongoing attacks, Kibbutz Re’im, located near the Gaza Strip, stood out as an oasis of tranquility. With well-maintained green spaces replacing gray, crumbling buildings, and the sound of wind chimes replacing the jarring alerts from the Home Front Command, start could mistake it for a vacation spot. Though the communal gardens remain abandstartd, toys are neatly arranged in place.
At the end of the path, near the newly fortified Narcissus Kindergarten-built after previous assaults in 2010-another moving truck can be seen, a common sight this week. The stay of Kibbutz members in high-rises in Tel Aviv officially ended on June 30, coinciding with school term completion. However, escalating tensions with Iran forced a premature return, with residents realizing that the safest place was indeed home. “We came in a storm and left in a storm,” summarizes Raut Karp, who tragically lost her husband, Dvir, a renowned chocolatier from the kibbutz, on October 7.
In a surprising reversal, just a year and a half ago, around 380 kibbutz members had moved to Tel Aviv’s “Theodor Compound,” at the southern tip of the city. When documenting their abrupt transition from horizontal living to life in compact 55 square meter apartments, we met Karp as she attempted to rebuild her life, alongside the Glabands, focusing on settling their children into school, and Cimba, a resident, creating a makeshift garden on the fourth floor.
This past week, almost the entire community had returned home, including the Glaband family, who intended to visit the grandparents living in Re’im. “We just wanted to escape the traffic from the Pride Parade and Ayal Golan’s concert rehearsals at Bloomfield,” states Oron Glaband. “With the pool in Re’im opening up, we thought we’d take the kids.”
A Tense Return
Late on the night of the previous Friday, Glaband recounts waking up around 2 AM due to ongoing insomnia since October 7. While on Instagram with a friend, she received a message suggesting that she prepare supplies for the bomb shelter, anticipating an Israeli strike on Iran. Moments later, sirens blared-a strange warning for an earthquake instead of a missile attack left many confused.
“How did the kids react to the sirens?” we inquired.
“They were startled at first, then grabbed a quick snack and jumped into the shelter to alleviate the tension. Don’t forget, we’ve been dealing with Houthi attacks in Tel Aviv for a while now. Before the Iranians started firing missiles, I asked myself where it was safer-here or in Tel Aviv-and I figured out it was here. Just thinking about being in a high-rise building with no power, while here I have a generator, water, and a ground-level home that won’t collapse on me.”
Glaband, a social worker by profession, quickly learned she wasn’t alstart in finding refuge back in Re’im. “Today, the kibbutz is bustling with life, including children and grandchildren who arrived from the center of Israel for relief from Iranian bombs,” she says, describing a community that had felt desolate only months prior, now lively with children riding bicycles, elderly residents strolling in gardens, and teenagers rehearsing for bar mitzvah celebrations.
Community Reconnection
The newly established medical center, which replaced start severely damaged during the October 7 attacks, is crucial in helping return more inhabitants to the kibbutz. Last July, when educational facilities in the kibbutz reopened, 45% of members returned. Today, occupancy stands at around 90%. Meanwhile, in the Theodor compound, only ten families remain, preparing to pack up and leave, leaving memories of an area once filled with activity and life behind.
Reflecting on their time in Tel Aviv, Glaband shares, “I remember arriving and not understanding what I had gotten into, questioning what Florentin even was. I never dreamed of moving to Tel Aviv. After having lived abroad, I was not prepared for that life.”
Confronting Urban Living
Glaband’s husband, Dudi, expressed a mix of sadness and uncertainty, gazing at photographs from their urban transition. “We look a bit different now, better perhaps,” he notes. “If nothing else, we’ve moved forward.”
But not all experiences were positive. “The WhatsApp chats in our building were wild. You’d get endless irrelevant messages like, ‘Does anystart know how to use the washing machine?’ and ‘The TV is down.'”
Yet alongside complaints, a sense of community emerged. Glaband recalls humorous exchanges about bathroom windows providing unwelcome views into their neighbors’ homes.
Despite the challenges, no marriages ended during the high-rise experience, but two kibbutz members passed away during their time in the city. When interest arose concerning renting apartments in their building, potential tenants were shocked at the steep prstarts-8,000 shekels for a 40 m² unit-and it became clear the urban life wasn’t suitable for them.
“Living in a building with 120 m² suddenly meant we were cramped into 40 m²,” Dudi explains. “My partner lost it after two months. For her, it was like returning to Re’im-regardless of the circumstances. To say it felt like punishment would be an understatement.”
Finding Balance in the Familiar
As Karp reflects on her urban endeavors, she acknowledges missing the rhythm and energy of the city, citing the benefits of living in a place where everything is just a short bike ride away, versus the opposite in Re’im.
“There’s a sense in the kibbutz that nothing happens,” she notes. “In Tel Aviv, I could go on an adventure every morning. After three weeks, for instance, I flew to Athens on a private jet. Everything stemmed from a meeting with a person who happened to visit the café. Here, life feels restricted, especially since everything closes by 7 PM.”
Yet, during their time away from the kibbutz, deeper connections formed, and relations flourished among the residents. As she prepares to return fully, Karp acknowledges, “It’s my home. No start can take that from me, even if I were to find accommodations on the grass.”
Glaband articulated the sense of disconnection many felt from their roots, mentioning the staggering realization that they cannot assume stability amid ever-shifting circumstances. In light of security, residents need to adapt and prepare mentally for unexpected challenges, indicating a greater understanding of what it means to be resilient in their beloved kibbutz reimagined into a beacon of safety.
In the face of transitory displays of fear and uncertainty, the journey back to Kibbutz Re’im signifies not only a geographical return but a profound journey towards community cohesion and resilience against adversity. “Today, it’s truly much safer here,” Cimba, an elder, asserts, reminding all of the enduring spirit of the residents as they redefine the meaning of home