A Wound That Has Yet to Heal

For Avishay Edri, the decision to return is weighed down by memories of terror and loss. On the morning of October 7, 2023, militants stormed the kibbutz, killing 15 residents and abducting eight others. Edri and his family endured a 17-hour siege inside a bomb shelter, listening helplessly as their neighbours were massacred.

“It has become important to go back for emotional closure after the helplessness and humiliation we went through,” Edri told Reuters. “But this conflicts with the logic about what will happen next.”

Like Edri, many survivors now live temporarily in the north of Israel. The thought of returning evokes not only fear but also deep uncertainty about whether true security can ever exist so close to Gaza.

The Ceasefire and the Government Push to Return

The Israeli government, eager to restore normalcy to the border regions, has lifted emergency restrictions and halted subsidies for displaced residents of Nahal Oz. Authorities hope these steps will encourage families to resettle. Yet, out of nearly 400 registered residents, almost half have not returned.

While reconstruction efforts have begun, the landscape still bears the marks of violence: bullet-riddled walls, blackened homes, and memorials to the dead. Even during recent visits, smoke from Gaza has been seen drifting above the horizon, and the distant sound of artillery echoes through the air stark reminders that calm remains precarious.

From Hope to Hesitation

Before the 2023 massacre, Nahal Oz was known as one of Israel’s most peace-minded border communities, home to residents who believed in coexistence and humanitarian outreach. Edri himself had once volunteered to drive Gazans to Israeli hospitals for medical treatment. Today, that same spirit has dimmed.

“Perhaps after this catastrophe people on both sides will see there is nothing to gain from this kind of war,” Edri said. “But right now, that feels unlikely.”

The transformation in sentiment reflects a broader national trend. Surveys show a sharp decline in optimism about peaceful coexistence with a Palestinian state a shift that has left communities such as Nahal Oz more cautious and mistrustful.

A Community of Resilience and Memory

Founded in 1951 by young soldiers turned settlers, Nahal Oz was more than a farming community it was a symbol of Israeli resilience. Its fields of sunflowers and wheat represented life on the frontier, where danger and hope coexisted. Agriculture remains the kibbutz’s main livelihood, but its proximity to Gaza once a badge of courage now feels like a constant risk.

For resident Yael Raz Lachyani, who has returned with her family, rebuilding is both a duty and a test of endurance. “I hope it will never happen again,” she said, “but at the moment, it still feels most likely.”

Between Return and Reluctance

The dilemma facing Nahal Oz is not merely logistical but deeply psychological. For every family that decides to rebuild, another remains displaced, haunted by memories of bloodshed and captivity. The kibbutz’s revival depends not only on physical reconstruction but on restoring faith faith that safety, once shattered, can be rebuilt.

As Israel debates how to secure its volatile border, Nahal Oz stands as a living testament to the emotional toll of conflict. The ceasefire may have brought silence, but for many residents, true peace will only come when the fear of war no longer defines their lives.