Kibbutzim Reborn on the Front Line
A conversation with Neri Shotan, General Manger The Kibbutz Movement Fund at the Jewish Federations of North America General Assembly reveals the staggering human cost of October 7th—and the herculean effort to bring devastated communities back to life
“October 7th was a dark day for the people of Israel and for the global Jewish community,” I began, sitting down with Neri at the bustling Jewish Federations of North America General Assembly. Around us, thousands gathered to learn, connect, and celebrate. But our conversation would take us to the darkest corners of that day’s aftermath—and into the lives of those fighting to recover from it.
“Not only was this a trauma that will live with communities for the rest of your life, there’s a mental health crisis in Israel,” I continued. “And what you’re doing with your organization is truly transformative in this space.”
Shotan didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, his voice steady and direct: First, you must understand that probably 100% of the Israeli population is with PTSD. We are all taking it on our back.”
The numbers that followed were staggering. More than 300 kibbutz members killed—a quarter of all civilian deaths that day, from communities representing just 1.5% of Israel’s population. One hundred and fifty of the 251 hostages came from kibbutzim. Thirty thousand people evacuated. And now, Shotan runs the fund responsible for rebuilding 41 kibbutzim: “19 from the northern border and 22 from the southern border.”
But these aren’t just statistics. They represent the near-destruction of communities that have stood as Israel’s first line of defense for generations—not with weapons, but with agriculture, education, and the pioneering spirit that helped build the modern State of Israel.
Why were the kibbutzim hit so hard? Shotan’s answer reveals a strategic reality most people don’t understand about these communities.
“Our communities probably were the first line to get hurt and it’s not by accident,” he explained. “There are 259 kibbutzim around Israel. 100 of them are located around the borders. So there’s a nice metaphor that if you turn off the light all over Israel and just turn on the light in the kibbutzim, you’ll see the Israeli borders. And it’s not by accident.”
He paused, letting that image sink in. “It was and it’s still the Zionist way of keeping the borders with agriculture, not with army.”
That’s why, on October 7th, these communities bore the brunt of the assault. “In the Gaza envelope and also in the northern border, between the terrorists and the army were the kibbutzim,” Shotan said. “And a lot of our kibbutzim in the southern border probably crushed by Hamas terrorists.”
Then he told me about Nir Oz. “Nir Oz is the ground zero of Israel. The first soldier got into Nir Oz after the last terrorist left, about 16 hours.”
Sixteen hours. Let that sink in. “And they needed to try and fight against those terrorists with probably with their bare hands.”
The destruction continues to unfold. In the north, “18 of 19 kibbutzim got back. One kibbutz, Manara, won’t be able to do it for next year because 74% of the houses there were crushed by anti-tank missiles of Hezbollah. About 117 of 157 houses there.” In the south, “we have 18 of 22 kibbutzim that got back. And four kibbutzim, we need to rebuild them basically from scratch. So it will take us about a year from now to build them or to start, to bring them the opportunity to start and get back to the houses.”
The Trauma No One Talks About
“What are you seeing in terms of the trauma?” I asked. “Like what are the key signs of trauma for different people? Do you see something that’s like the variable in people?”
Shotan’s answer revealed patterns that should alarm anyone who cares about Israel’s future.
“I can tell you about the children, the youth, and about the elderlies,” he began. “Because we noticed between the ages of 14 and 17, increasing use of drugs and alcohol and vandalism. So we are taking care about it now. And especially when they got back to their houses.”
The teenagers are self-medicating. The vandalism is a cry for help. But there’s another group suffering in silence.
“On the other side, the elder members, we noticed that there’s increasing death among them when they are getting back to their houses. I mean, they were holding very tight when they were out of the kibbutzim and now they’re getting back, they’re starting to die.”
The elderly held on while displaced, staying strong for their families, for their communities. But once home, surrounded by the ghosts of what was, they’re letting go. It’s a phenomenon so concerning that Shotan’s team has partnered with researchers to understand it.
“That’s why we approached Sapir College and asked them to make a research on the effect of PTSD on elderlies. And we are waiting for the results. And then when the results will come, we know what to do with it.”
Between the teens and the elderly, “most of the people are suffering from trauma or PTSD,” Shotan continued. “And we work with them, we work with the community managers in order to help them. We work with all of the welfare managers inside the kibbutzim and the health managers inside the kibbutzim in order to build systems that will be able to not only treat the people but treat the whole community.”
Here’s where the fund’s approach becomes revolutionary: “We act the community like a patient and we give them all of their needs in order to bring them back to life.”
Every Kibbutz Gets What It Needs—Nothing More, Nothing Less
“What’s your process?” I pressed. “Everyone has different recovery process. Like what do you have in place to start the process of healing from the trauma?”
Shotan’s response revealed a sophisticated, personalized approach that goes far beyond one-size-fits-all solutions.
“Look, I can draw a line since October 7th until now. So we started in emergency, then in rehabilitation and now we are looking towards growth. But I can place each of the 41 kibbutzim in other place in this line.”
Emergency. Rehabilitation. Growth. Three phases, but 41 different journeys.
“So we are taking care for every kibbutz, but we know on each kibbutz the specific needs and the specific situation of that kibbutz,” he explained. And he’s not managing this from a desk in Tel Aviv. “I visited the 41 kibbutzim in the past three months. So I know them in a very intimistic way. So we know to address in each kibbutz what programs and what solutions they need from us.”
Forty-one communities. Three months. Shotan has walked through the ruins, sat in temporary housing, listened to stories of survival and loss. That’s how you treat a community like a patient—with presence, attention, and care.
Seven to Ten Years—And Not Everyone Will Return
“What do you see the next two years looking like for these communities?” I asked.
The answer requires both honesty and hope.
“First, we’re assuming it will take us between seven and 10 years from now to rebuild our kibbutzim,” Shotan said. Let me repeat that: seven to ten years. This isn’t a quick fix or a PR campaign. This is generational work.
“Two years from now, probably, hopefully, all of them will get back,” he continued. Then came the hard truth: “We know from the beginning that all of the kibbutzim will get back, but not all of the kibbutz members will get back.”
Some families won’t—can’t—return. The trauma is too deep. The memories too painful. The fear too real.
“And we need to take care for everyone, those who choose to return and those who won’t,” Shotan emphasized. “And for those who choose to return, our main goal and our duty to bring them the best situation in order to come back and rebuild their communities.”
But here’s where the vision expands beyond just rebuilding what was lost: “And we are bringing new people to the northern side and to the Gaza envelope because we understand that the kibbutzim must be bigger and stronger. So we need to bring new young families, new educators, new farmers, and that’s what we are doing now.”
Bigger. Stronger. More resilient. The kibbutzim that rise from October 7th won’t just survive—they’ll thrive.
The Kibbutz Spirit Will Not Die
As our conversation drew to a close, I thought about the metaphor Shotan had shared earlier—about turning off all the lights in Israel except for the kibbutzim. You’d see the borders clearly. You’d see where Israel begins and ends.
But you’d also see something else: beacons. Points of light in the darkness. Communities that refused to surrender, refused to abandon their homes, refused to let terror win.
The Kibbutz Movement Rehabilitation Fund exists because these communities were the first line of defense on October 7th. They absorbed the worst of the attack. And now, with support from donors worldwide and organizations like the Jewish Federations of North America, they’re leading the way forward—just as kibbutzim have done since before Israel’s founding.
The fund’s three pillars say it all: Pioneers (advancing the pioneering Zionist vision), Protectors (promoting demographic growth, rehabilitation, and agricultural recovery), and People (strengthening personal and community resilience). Dreams, cultivation, and human strength.
“The kibbutzim led the establishment of the State of Israel by their extraordinary resilience in the face of enormous challenges,” the fund’s website reminds us. “Today, they are once again called upon to lead the way.”
Standing at the border. Cultivating the land. Building community. Defending Israel—not with weapons, but with presence, purpose, and an unbreakable spirit.
That’s the kibbutz way.
And thanks to leaders like Neri Shotan and organizations like the Kibbutz Movement Rehabilitation Fund, it’s a way that will endure.
To learn more about the Kibbutz Movement Rehabilitation Fund or to support their vital work, visit kibbutz-fund.org.
In times of uncertainty, support becomes essential — and as a Jewish community, we have a responsibility to stand together. There will be hard days and good days ahead, but there is also hope and resilience. Even in the darkest moments, the lights along Israel’s borders will continue to shine.
