Kedma by Rafi Sackville

Israel Today A Miracle on Israel’s Borders

By Rafi Sackville

The existential threat of Covid-19 has not only turned us inward looking, but somewhat stifled our ability to view the glass as half full. As we gaze at our Chanukah candles this year, it is worthwhile remembering that oil always floats to the top; it represents hope and optimism. It is the symbol of our will to persevere through difficult times.

Our story involves the vision of Tira-El Cohen, a remarkable young woman, whose indefatigable energy has brought such hope to the very places in Israel where, over the course of the last few years, it has almost vanished. Like the Maccabees, she has stood resilient in the face of adversity and has turned her vision into a miracle.

We traveled north from the Western to Upper Galil. The trip took longer than we planned; there had been activity in southern Lebanon and the army had chained the approach roads that led up to the border. We traveled around in a circle for half an hour before chancing upon a shortcut through Yishuv Yiron. We were on our way to meet Chen Makover, a 23-year-old student and a member of Kedma, the organization Tira-El founded. Its goal is to revitalize our border settlements.

Chen could be at college or university in any of Israel’s big cities. Instead, she chooses to study at Tel Hai Academic College, close to the Lebanese border in Northern Galil. Along with another 18 students she lives on Kibbutz Misgav Am (Fortress of the People).

Chen and her friends don’t live on the kibbutz because of cheap housing or due to the kibbutz’s close proximity to the college. They are, in fact, like all members of Kedma, typical post-army students who came to the kibbutz where they pledged, among others things, to volunteer 300 hours of community work a year.

From the lookout at the kibbutz one has an extended view of the Hula Valley to the southeast and Lebanon to the north, where on a clear day Tyre, its second largest city, is visible. Dotting the Lebanese village just north of the fence are scores of what appear to be empty houses. It is known that they provide hiding places for Hezbollah arms and that those who live in the basements of these are well-aware.

Chen and her friends have become a vital cog in assuring the survival of the kibbutz. It is feasible that without them Misgav Am would succumb to Israel’s border communities’ most vexing problems: a dwindling and aging population coupled with the flight of its younger generation.

Founded in 1945, the average age of Misgav Am’s members is over 70. The hopes of it continuing Zionist dreams had been crumbling over the last few decades at a quickening pace. After the kibbutz privatized, there was a downturn in the internal economy, which left the strategic outpost financially vulnerable.

Misgav Am is one of many yishuvim dotting Israel’s borders in the north, south and the Jordan Valley, where students have come to make a difference.

The genesis for this idea can be traced back nine years to the actions of one remarkable young woman.

Tira-El Cohen was 19 years of age and doing National Service when she heard about Maaleh Ephraim, a settlement in the Jordan Valley facing difficulties.

Once a magnet for people from all walks of life, it had become emasculated after the Intifada. Residents either traded their idealism for safety or left if they had the means. The once-thriving community had been reduced to a wasteland.

It was while studying Journalism in Tel Aviv that Tiara-El connected with Maale Ephraim after falling in love with the Jordan Valley.

“I saw a view of an amazing wilderness,” she recalls. “This wilderness evoked in me the desire to act and create. It’s a wilderness so full of potential and creation. This was my first insight into that wonderful space.”

Seizing the opportunity, she met with the council at Maale Ephraim, requesting permission to upgrade their abandoned field school. When she mentioned that her only hesitation was leaking roofs in the winter, she was told it was the stifling summer heat they had to worry about when temperatures can daily reach well over 100 degrees. Using the budget from Israel’s Ministry of Housing, they purchased some air conditioners to fight against the Valley’s oppressive heat and set about organizing a student migration to Maale Ephraim.

Tiara-El sent out a post on her Facebook page announcing that she was off to live in the Jordan Valley to strengthen and support those living there.

“Hundreds replied,” she says with palpable joy in her voice. “How wonderful is this generation of ours!”

Today in her late 20s, Tira-El oversees a large staff which has successfully placed hundreds of students in yishuvim from Misgav Am in the north of the country, Rimonim and Mekhora in the Jordan Valley, to Nir Oz in the south.

The eldest of eight siblings, Tira-El gets her unbridled enthusiasm from her parents, who made Aliyah as teenagers from France to serve as lone soldiers in the army.

Tira-El speaks about the philosophical approach of their love and responsibility to the Land of Israel. These echoes permeate the ideology Tira-El has brought to Kedma. She could be talking about her parents’ generation when she says, “We all have a role in the Zionist story because we are privileged to be part of a generation that has returned home.”

Growing up with such role models Tira-El searched for her own place within the dream of Zion. “I wanted

to take another step forward in the love story I have for the country. I live in the Jordan Valley, and my parents see my moving there as an extension of their own Aliyah.”

Growing up in the middle of the country Tira-El couldn’t find her place within the story.

“The cities are already so developed and ready made,” she notes.

She is ready to admit that upon starting Kedma she was as much interested in helping others as she was in finding her own place within the larger picture.

“When you do what’s good for you – something that is related to your identity – it follows that you also start doing what’s good for the public,” she asserts.

Probably the greatest example of this is the name she and her husband Idan gave to their son. He is called Ani-am, or “I am my people.”

After a few months in Maale Ephraim, Tira-El understood that she and her friends had stumbled upon something far greater than they realized. On the one hand, she saw how the students who came from every possible sector of Israeli society – from the religious to the secular – were unified in their vision and desire to help. On the other hand, the residents in the Valley were excited by the students coming to a place where they were used to seeing people leaving.

It was the realization that Kedma could have an important role to play along Israel’s border communities. Take the Jordan Valley, for example. In an area spanning 1,600 kilometers (620 square miles), there are only 7,000 residents.

Tira-El has an inimical way of condensing that space into an understandable example.

“There are great distances between these yishuvim, which creates many problems that are central to the very existence of these communities,” she explains.

“Take education. Don’t most parents want their kids to experience enrichment programs like math, English, music? We take the strengths of Kedma’s students and get them to dedicate 140 annual hours running these activities.

“Then there are the 100 annual hours each student spends working

A view from Misgat Am

with the residents in the communities. Finally, our students have to dedicate another 60 hours working on projects on the yishuv.”

An idea alone, however, does not build institutions. It takes an organization, fundraisers, requests for donations, and government assistance. These matters are usually conducted by adults with years of experience. Not so in Tira-El’s case. She started the ball rolling by herself.

It is hard to imagine a teenager with a mass of curly hair and casual clothes walking the halls of the Knesset pushing her cause. Moreover, understand that those who founded the country were young people with a glint of light in their eyes. When they saw this in me, they took me seriously.”

That was nine years ago. While Kedma continues to grow, the struggle for funds continues. Covid-19 has only added to its financial difficulties. “The pandemic has caused us a very complex economic crisis,” she says. “I believe that, coupled with spiritual abundance and effort, the end result will always be positive.”

Since its inception, Kedma has witnessed great demand, particularly

“I wanted to take another step forward in the love story I have for the country.”

it begs belief how such a young girl with an infectious smile could have convinced those twice, even three times, her age to join her bandwagon.

Tira-El’s response is surprising in her mixture of candor, naïveté, and conviction.

“My perception is that the state only needs guidance from people on the ground,” she shares. “When there is good intention, it knows how to do good things. When I brought the Kedma initiative to the table, it gave us legitimacy.”

She admits, “It required a lot of strength. I must say that I was surprised because I arrived at the Knesset in a t-shirt and started walking around. It was not easy. But the Knesset members and politicians also of late. Since the outbreak of the pandemic, that demand has increased threefold. Before the pandemic, there were about 1,200 requests for the current 300 places across the 12 yishuvim where Kedma has a presence. Last year alone, there were over 3,600 requests. Many of the requests are linked to young people wanting to get away from the cities and dire economic situations.

Tira-El looks at that high number from another angle.

“This is a situation about values,” she asserts. “In this uncertain period, people have more time to think about their priorities. Instead of urban intervention, we offer an experience replete with a strong base set of values.”

The selection process is intensive. Not everyone is a fitting candidate. Kedma has now expanded its approach to sending students to the border regions. They have developed “Young Communities,” tight knit groups of 20 individuals who have graduated from other Kedma programs and are looking to build a future along the frontier.

This answers the question of what happens to these communities when their student volunteers leave after two years. Kedma prefers to send young couples into the “Young Community” program. This provides the emotional support that many of these frontier communities need.

“After our students volunteer for two years and understand the needs of a yishuv, we look to them to settle themselves there permanently. It’s not exclusive, however. We are also open to couples who did not go through our volunteer program.”

Tira-El adds, “I’m not saying that our programs have saved these yishuvim. What I am saying is that we have strengthened them. Our data points to a 63% population growth in the yishuvim where we have had a presence.”

This fact is supported by Sharon Trebitsch, the welfare officer on Misgav Am, who has worked extensively with people like Chen Makover.

“The first year was difficult,” Trebitsch shares, “but then the students seemed to find their groove. They have really helped developed Misgav Am. They have brought with them a positive energy. More people are staying.”

Not all initiatives have been successful. Kedma sent a group of students to Manara, situated only a few kilometers south of Misgav Am, where they failed to make progress. Tira-El is quick to qualify, though.

“There is no such thing as failure,” she asserts. “These entries of ours into aging yishuvim are not easy.”

Undaunted by their initial failure, Kedma sent another group of students to Manara that has shown greater success.

One can only imagine the obstacles standing in their way. The average age of Manara’s residents is 75. The adage that it’s hard to teach old dogs new tricks is certainly applicable. It’s not enough for the students