An Israeli peace activist at the gates of Gaza: "What's happening in the Strip is terrible."

Six faces printed on a tarpaulin watch the visitor next to the security checkpoint flanking the entrance to Kibbutz Beeri, a couple of kilometers 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 Strip on June 22, along with those of two other hostages who were also killed. The other five residents remembered on that tarpaulin, already presumed dead, remain to return to Beeri: Dror Or, Sahar Baruch, Manny Godard, Ilan Weiss, and Yossi Sharabi. They close the unfortunate list of almost 10% of the kibbutz's 1,200 inhabitants who were killed or kidnapped in the worst attack suffered by Israel in its history.

Almost 21 months have passed since that massacre, and, oblivious to the rumors of a ceasefire circulating these days, 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 residents who has permanently returned to Beeri, the community founded, among others, by her father in 1947 and where she herself was born. She estimates that only around 100 have settled back. Others come and go, so the pace is sluggish in a place where the war is still very much present, not only because of the presence of soldiers but also because of the unhealed wounds of the Palestinian raid.

Army activity around the kibbutz is constant, with artillery fire pounding Gaza every few minutes and the Air Force circling overhead. That's the pattern, relentlessly, Avivit explains. "The last two nights have been very bad. My house hasn't stopped shaking," she added this Tuesday, her voice never changing. Despite everything, this woman, who shows no fear and has no plans to leave again, refuses to bury her pacifist spirit.

In her speech, she resorts to something as far removed from the prevailing reality of the conflict as humanism and morality. She frequently participates in street protests and feels "unhappy, sad, and worried" about what the Gazans are going through and, in general, about the systematic disregard of the Palestinians. Without intending to judge anyone, she knows she is part of that minority in Israel who describe what is happening in the Strip as "terrible." There, just a few meters away, the number of deaths during attacks by the occupying troops now exceeds 56,500 . A reality, she adds, that most people in Israel ignore.

What was once a supermarket is now nothing more than a convenience store staffed at the checkout by 59-year-old Ran (who doesn't want to give his last name). "The lower floor is still empty, and what you see now facing the public was once the space dedicated solely to fruits and vegetables," he explains pessimistically. The adjacent door leads to the kibbutz's large hall, which serves as the dining room and is staffed, like the kitchen, by Bedouins, a community that makes up the 20% Palestinian population of Israel . At rush hour, around 1:30 p.m., several dozen people gather, but nothing compared to times past. Many are employees who come to work from outside and return to their homes in other towns after the workday.

Unlike other kibbutzim, which are more dependent on agriculture, Beeri has built a diverse and intense business activity that has turned it into an economic powerhouse for the area. Everything is in the hands of the community members, Avivit proudly emphasizes. The main driving force, which resumed operations just 10 days after the attack, is one of the country's most important printing houses, with a 75-year history and around 300 employees. In parallel, other smaller businesses have reopened, such as the veterinary clinic, the auto repair shop, the bakery, and the aforementioned supermarket.

Israeli authorities announced last Sunday that they will begin gradually withdrawing housing assistance for residents still relocated outside the towns attacked on October 7, 2023, when Hamas killed 1,200 people and kidnapped 250, of whom 50, almost all of whom are already dead, 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 the most from the brutality of the attack, like Beeri. They have been told it could be in the summer of 2026, notes Avivit John, who believes that "security doesn't change overnight." Regarding the outpouring of hatred that erupted on the day of the attack, she believes it has been exploited by the government led by Benjamin Netanyahu to stir things up further rather than calm them.

Despite everything, work is progressing on a plot where fifty new homes are being built. And on an adjacent lot, construction of 70 more will begin. "This is going to take a while," the woman adds, shielding herself from the sun with a large sun hat as she accompanies the reporter. Dozens of houses are still burned and damaged. Of others, only the cleared land remains.

Not far from where these new homes have begun to gain prominence—everything is within easy reach in the kibbutz—the greenhouse that Avivit opened with a friend during the coronavirus pandemic, which was on the verge of drying up in the weeks following the attack, has also been revived. Thank goodness the soldiers who settled in Beeri watered it, she says, pointing to a repaired hole next to the door through which they entered. As soon as she entered, a terrified cat scampered out. “Maybe it came from Gaza and is scared,” she adds. The dim light illuminates small cacti and colorful flowers that neighbors come to buy from Avivit as part of the complicated process of returning to normal. But with school still closed two years later, only a couple of children, already on vacation, can be seen running around the facilities.

“The world changed when we left the safe room,” Avivit John says, recalling the shock of that October 7th when she spent several hours hiding in her home’s shelter with her daughter while jihadists roamed around, killing everyone. Her roots ran so deep that 100 days later she decided to settle back in that house. “Now we’re in a time of change. Everything is crazy,” she adds, questioning whether Beeri can ever return to what she was.

In the kibbutz cemetery, several wreaths of dried flowers, aged by the sun and dust, cover the grave of Ofra Keidar, the last resident brought dead from Gaza. A few meters away, the sun shines through the branches and illuminates the tombstone of Vivian Silver, a renowned peace activist whose charred body was found in her home in Beeri. Silver spent decades building bridges with Gazans and other Palestinians, a connection that Avivit John now doesn't know if it can ever be rebuilt.