An Israeli peace activist at the gates of Gaza: ‘What’s happening in the Strip is terrible’

Six faces printed on a banner watch over visitors next to the security checkpoint flanking the entrance to Kibbutz Be’eri, just a couple of miles from Gaza. The only woman among them, Ofra Keidar, was buried last week in the cemetery of this community, one of the hardest hit by Hamas on October 7, 2023. Her body was recovered by Israeli troops in the Gaza Strip on June 22, alongside those of two other deceased hostages. The other five neighbors remembered on that banner — Dror Or, Sahar Baruch, Manny Godard, Ilan Weiss, and Yossi Sharabi — are yet to return to Be’eri and are presumed dead. With them, the tragic list closes of nearly 10% of the kibbutz’s 1,200 residents who were either killed or kidnapped in the worst attack Israel has ever suffered.

Almost 21 months have passed since that massacre, and, despite the recent rumors of a ceasefire, the small towns bordering the Palestinian enclave are far from returning to normal. Avivit John, a petite 64-year-old woman, is one of the few locals who has definitively returned to Be’eri, the community founded in 1947, among others, by her father and where she herself was born. She estimates that only about a hundred residents have resettled. Others come and go, so life flows at half speed in a place where war is still very present — not only because of the military presence, but also due to the unhealed wounds left by the Hamas attack.

Military activity around the kibbutz is constant, with artillery fire striking Gaza at frequent intervals and Air Force planes flying overhead. That’s the ongoing reality, explains Avivit. “The last two nights were very bad. My house hasn’t stopped shaking,” she added on Tuesday, never raising her soft voice. Despite everything, this woman, who shows no fear and has no plans to leave again, refuses to bury her pacifist spirit.

When she speaks, she invokes ideals as far removed from the harsh reality of the conflict as humanism and morality. She often takes part in street protests and feels “unhappy, sad, and worried” about what the people of Gaza are going through and, more generally, about the systematic disregard for Palestinians. Without intending to judge anyone, she knows she is part of a minority in Israel that describes what is happening in the Gaza Strip as “terrible.” There, just a few meters away, the death toll from attacks by Israeli troops has already surpassed 56,500 — a reality, she adds, that most people in Israel ignore.

What used to be the supermarket is now just a small grocery store run by Ran (who prefers not to give his last name). “The floor below is still empty, and what you see here facing the public used to be just the area for fruits and vegetables,” the 59-year-old explains pessimistically.

The adjacent door leads to the kibbutz’s large hall, which doubles as a dining room, staffed, like the kitchen, by Bedouins — a community that makes up 20% of the Palestinian population within Israel. At peak hour, around 1:30 p.m., several dozen people gather, but it’s nothing compared to past times. Many are employees who come to work from outside and return home to other localities after the workday.

Unlike other kibbutzim, which depend more heavily on agriculture, Be’eri has developed a diverse and intense business activity, making it an economic hub in the area. Everything is managed by community members, Avivit proudly points out. The main engine, which resumed operations just 10 days after the attack, is one of the country’s most important printing presses, with 75 years of history and about 300 employees. Meanwhile, other businesses and smaller enterprises have gradually reopened, such as the veterinary clinic, the auto workshop, the bakery, and the aforementioned grocery store.

Israeli authorities announced last Sunday that they will begin gradually withdrawing housing aid for residents still relocated outside the communities attacked on October 7, 2023, when Hamas killed 1,200 people and kidnapped 250 — of whom 50, nearly all deceased, remain in the Gaza Strip. The government believes that life can begin to return to normal in some of these places and urges those who can to return.

This is not the case for those who suffered most from the brutality of the attack, like Be’eri. They have been told that return might only be possible by summer 2026, says Avivit John, who believes “security doesn’t change overnight.” Regarding the wave of hatred unleashed that day, she understands it has been exploited by Benjamin Netanyahu’s government to stir tensions rather than calm them.

Despite everything, work is progressing on a plot where about 50 new houses are being built. On an adjacent lot, construction on 70 more will soon begin. “This will take time,” Avivit adds, standing in front of excavators and trucks, shielding herself from the sun with a wide-brimmed hat as she accompanies the reporter. Dozens of houses remain burned and damaged; others are just empty plots.

Not far from where these new homes have started to take shape — in the kibbutz, everything is close by — the greenhouse that Avivit opened with a friend during the coronavirus pandemic has also come back to life. It nearly dried out in the weeks following the attack. Thankfully, the soldiers stationed in Be’eri watered it, she says, pointing to a repaired hole by the door through which they used to enter.

Upon entering, a cat scurries outside in fright. “It might have come from Gaza and is scared,” she suggests. The soft light illuminates small cacti and colorful flowers that neighbors buy from Avivit as part of the difficult process of returning to normal. But with the school still closed two years later, only a couple of children, already on vacation, can be seen running around the grounds.

“The world changed when we left the safe room,” says Avivit John, recalling the shock of that October 7, when she spent several hours hiding in her home’s shelter with her daughter while jihadists roamed, killing indiscriminately. Her connection to the place is so deep that just a hundred days later, she decided to move back into that house. “Now we are in a time of change. Everything is madness,” she adds, doubting that Be’eri can ever return to what it once was.

In the kibbutz cemetery, several wreaths of dried flowers, weathered by sun and dust, cover the grave of Ofra Keidar, the last resident brought back dead from Gaza. A few meters away, sunlight filters through the branches to illuminate the tombstone of Vivian Silver, a renowned peace activist whose charred body was found in her home in Be’eri. Silver spent decades forging connections with Gazans and other Palestinians, but now Avivit John is unsure if those bonds can be restored.

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