Over the past year, more than 100 new communities have formed in Israel, made up of young people who have chosen to live in towns and kibbutzim along the country’s borders. These groups, structured either communally or mission-based, commit to volunteering and working in local communities for a year or more. Many come to test the real possibility of building a life in these frontier areas. The youth’s desire to find deeper meaning in life in Israel aligns with the urgent need in these border communities to rejuvenate their social fabric and fill essential jobs—roles without which resettlement after evacuations would be impossible. The result: a kind of social startup—a mission-driven group focused on Israel’s borders. Today, around 100 such groups operate in the north and south.
Ages: 20 to 35. Skills: education, therapy, agriculture. But even those who only bring a willingness to seriously consider life in a border town are welcome. The groups form through a series of seminars and meetings to develop a cohesive unit with two core goals: to support one another in the challenging reality of life in a war-touched periphery, and to contribute to the local workforce, enabling young families—the backbone of these towns—to return to normal life.
“It was a quick decision, no hesitation. Honestly, moving to a kibbutz had been my dream for a long time,” says Elia Leisten, 21, from Mitzpe Ramon, with confidence and zero embarrassment. On the surface, it’s hard to imagine why anyone wouldn’t want a home, grass, peace, and open space. But things become more complex when the destination is Kibbutz Urim near the Gaza border.
“I served as a lookout at the Kisufim outpost, and we were always walking through the kibbutz area. Life here seemed simple and fun—scenic, community-oriented, quiet. I told myself back then: when I’m discharged, I’m coming here to work with kids.”
Some might call Leisten crazy, but she’s not alone. She arrived with a group of like-minded young idealists through the Kedma organization, which aims to strengthen settlement along Israel’s borders. She felt she needed something more than just a post-army trip to Asia and catering jobs.
Kibbutz members explain that two major trends pushed 20–40-year-olds away: prolonged privatization that turned kibbutzim into small towns for young families and retirees, and the slow recovery from the October 7 attacks, which left the area wounded and uncertain.
“I didn’t come here to save the kibbutz, and they don’t need saving,” Leisten says. “We came just to be there for them.” She works in the kibbutz education sector, which, like the entire regional council, is operating overtime to restart schooling. She also helps with garden upkeep and cultural events. But this isn’t just cosmetic, she insists—the arrival of young people addresses core needs in communities where many residents still haven’t returned.
Moving as a group helped ease the transition. “It’s almost impossible for someone our age to move alone to a border kibbutz. They want families, kids, houses. You can’t just rent a place and try it out. Kedma offers us that middle ground.”
“We’ll be what the community needs—at its pace. Where we’re asked, we show up. Where something’s missing, maybe we initiate,” says Uriel Graus, 26, from Tel Aviv. He moved to Kibbutz Mefalsim with a clear mission in mind. In addition to teaching in the Sha’ar HaNegev school system, he joined the kibbutz cultural committee. “Purim celebrations sparked real debate—how can we celebrate when there are still hostages? Many events were canceled. Navigating that tension takes a lot of sensitivity.”
“In the Gaza border area, you have to grapple with the question of living in this country at all,” explains Moran Lish, coordinator of the Torenu program in the Gaza border region. “That’s true everywhere, but here it’s harder to blur it. There are a lot of young people who want to come to the area, but they don’t necessarily know how to do that. And that’s where the idea of the group comes in—not just showing up at a kibbutz as some random, undefined person, but as part of a group with a goal and a willingness to stay.”
Graus, who’s been in the kibbutz since September, says some residents still haven’t returned. While they’re warmly received (“people are shocked we’d choose to come”), there’s also skepticism about whether they’ll stay. That’s where the strength of his group, “Torenu,” comes in—around 30 young adults spread across several kibbutzim. “This is a tough region, but its strength is in its people. I wanted to come, and the group helped me not do it alone. Together, we aim to be part of the renewed social fabric of the western Negev.”
One of the group members is Maya Rusk, 30, also from Tel Aviv. At the start of the war, she helped in the Eshkol Regional Council’s education department and eventually moved to Kibbutz Re’im. “This isn’t a year of service for me. Eshkol is my home now and in the near future. But I couldn’t have made this move alone. The group is my support.”
As someone deeply immersed in community life, Rusk says the emotional demands are immense. “You can’t ignore how many people haven’t come back. You feel the hostages’ absence constantly. Every video shakes you. Every protest, every funeral—like the Bibas family’s—freezes the entire nation. But here, you literally can’t breathe.”
Despite the atmosphere, she’s intent on staying.
“I feel this is our life’s mission—some in education, some in agriculture, even just living here and absorbing some of the pain. It’s not an easy choice, but it is a choice,” she says.
Of course, there are concerns about safety.
“A local woman told me: I want more people like you to come, but I don’t want you to be the next cannon fodder. I don’t agree. I don’t feel unsafe, but I know security is essential for this area’s future. What angers me is how demographic growth is prioritized in recovery plans. First, we need security.
“And above all, if we want a future for young people here, the hostages must come home. I can’t even understand how we’re talking about bringing in new people when some of our own are still in Gaza.”
Back in his tiny room in the kibbutz’s youth neighborhood, with the booms of fighting shaking the walls (worse at night), Graus reflects on why he came: to avoid being disconnected. “In Tel Aviv, I’ve heard for months that the war is over. Here, government decisions affect your life directly. I used to think I’d never leave Tel Aviv—now I wonder if I’ll ever go back.”
