It has been almost two years since that dreadful day when thousands of Hamas terrorists stormed into Israel, carrying out the most brutal massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. Just 24 hours later, Hezbollah joined the war, raining rockets on northern communities and forcing us—residents of Israel’s north—to evacuate our homes.
It was more than a temporary relocation. It tore us from our way of life. As residents of small, tight-knit communities, we suddenly found ourselves scattered across the country. Our children were uprooted from their schools and forced to adjust, again and again, to new environments. Families were disoriented, uncertain not only about their immediate safety but about their future.
For 12 long months, we lived away from home. Then, the Israeli Defense Forces launched a decisive campaign against Hezbollah, crushing the murderous organization and restoring a sense of security. For the first time in almost a year and a half, we were able to say the words we had been longing for: We can go home.
The return, however, was not simple. Some families were too fearful to come back. Infrastructure had been damaged. In some places, there were no houses left to return to. Others had begun to build new lives in the cities they had fled to. For a time, the very future of the Galilee seemed uncertain.
And yet, step by step, Kibbutz Dafna began to regroup. What started as a trickle became a tide. Today, 95% of the 1,000 residents who lived in the kibbutz before the war are back. The spirit of the community has proven stronger than fear.
In recent months, our focus has been on rebuilding—not only homes and businesses, but also our resilience. We repaired kindergartens and education centers that had been damaged because we understood our children needed safe and familiar spaces to grow. We launched plans for new community hubs that would strengthen bonds among residents. And we organized events: holiday celebrations, concerts and evenings at the communal pub or in the pool, which brought together the old-timers and the young families who had just completed their homes before the war began.
Recently, we held something extraordinary: a communal Kabbalat Shabbat in our newly created community garden. This was more than just an event. It was the closing of a circle.
The garden itself was born out of the initiative of kibbutz members. We wanted our return home to be tied to the land—to the Zionist ideal of cultivating the soil, just as our grandparents and great-grandparents had once “made the desert bloom.” That garden has become a heartbeat of community life: Children and teenagers come to plant and harvest, parents bring their kids in the afternoons to work and bake bread in the firepit nearby, and neighbors drop in at all hours to pick fresh produce.
The Shabbat gathering gave this place even deeper meaning. Dafna is a secular kibbutz. There is no synagogue here; most residents are not religious. And yet, we chose to mark the Sabbath together. The children baked challah. Two members brought guitars. The pub supplied soft drinks for kids and wine for adults. As the sun set, we lit candles, recited blessings over the wine and bread, and sang Hebrew songs together while the children played in the sand at our feet.
I will admit it … I had tears in my eyes. After nearly two years, the circle was complete. The community was back, alive and whole.
To an outsider, it may have looked like a simple gathering. But to us, it was a message—a message of resilience, of faith and hope. And, above all, a message to anyone who is willing to listen: Here in Israel and abroad, we understand the responsibility on our shoulders.
We are the modern pioneers. We are the ones tasked with rebuilding Israel’s northern frontier. Today, more than ever, we know the truth: the border will not be drawn only on a map. It will be defined at the edge of the plow.
With the start of 5786, I wish us all a year of return and renewal. A year in which our hostages, both the living and the fallen, are brought back home. A year in which security challenges are diminished, so that we may turn our full energies toward rebuilding, growth and life.
Shanah Tovah!
