When the People of Ofakim Opened Their Hearts to Vietnamese Refugees

How of a group of refugees stranded off the shores of Vietnam somehow ended up in a small town in southern Israel...

A Vietnamese child arrives in Ofakim, June 1977. The Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Somewhere on the face of this earth, lives a man in his 40s named Ofek. This man, the son of Vietnamese parents, received this name simply because he was born here in the State of Israel, in the town of Ofakim.

It’s difficult to imagine what he might be going through during these difficult days. Has he heard of the bloody events of October 7? Does he know of the terrible massacre that was carried out in his place of birth, the place for which he is named? We may never know.

“*Ofek – A Vietnamese Sabra From Ofakim*”, a headline in *Al HaMishmar,* September 8, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

But let’s start at the beginning.

Opposite the shores of Vietnam, a fishing boat containing 66 men, women, and children fleeing the horrors of war in their country, found itself adrift in the South China Sea. An Israeli freighter, the Yoveli, noticed the rickety vessel. Its captain, Amnon Tadmor, decided to take all the refugees onto his ship, saving 30 men, 16 women, and 20 children, all of them exhausted after experiencing such an ordeal. It turned out that their engine had broken down, leaving them stranded at sea for four days without food or water.

“*Israeli Ship Gathers Vietnamese Refugees and Seeks Shelter for Them*”, a headline in *Davar,* June 12, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

All that remained was finding them a home. Taiwan, Captain Tadmor’s original destination, said “No.” Japan and Hong Kong also refused. Even the Israeli Foreign Ministry initially replied that bringing the refugees to Israel was “impractical and out of the question.”

“No Country Wants to Absorb the Refugees Rescued by the ‘Yoveli’”, a headline in *Maariv*, June 17, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

But the story hit the headlines in Israel, and ultimately reached the Knesset, where Knesset Member Yossi Sarid submitted an urgent proposal for the parliamentary agenda, calling on the government to absorb the refugees. The government was changing hands in those days, as shortly before, the Likud party had managed a historic victory in the national elections that brought to an end nearly 30 years of dominance by the Mapai party and its predecessors. Now, on June 19, a day before he was set to introduce his government to the Knesset for a vote of confidence, incoming Prime Minister Menachem Begin declared his first official decision: taking in the refugees.

*The Jewish News of Northern California*, August 5, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

“We will never forget the ship which left Germany before the outbreak of the Second World War, and the passengers who had Cuban visas which were not honored,” Begin explained, justifying his decision. “No other country wanted to accept them, and after the ship was brought back to Germany, many of those who were on its deck went to the gas chambers. We, as the Jewish state, will not tolerate this injustice to humanity as done in the past, and we will therefore grant refuge to these refugees who chose freedom.”

*J. The Jewish News of Northern California*, August 12, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

Vietnamese refugees arrive in Israel, June 1977. Photo: Moshe Milner, Government Press Office

Days afterward, the refugees were in Israel, where were they sent to the small town of Ofakim.

Reception for the refugees, the Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

There was great excitement with the arrival of the refugees. Hundreds of residents from the modest town received the Vietnamese with great excitement. “We receive you with joy, just as we received our Jewish brothers who made Aliyah to the country,” said Chaim Raviv, Director of the Absorption Ministry for the Negev District at the celebratory reception. “You are wanted by us in all respects, and we will do everything to make your stay easier here.”

“Thousands in Ofakim Receive the Vietnamese”, a headline in *Haaretz*, June 27, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

“’You are wanted here’ – Refugees are Told at Celebratory Reception in the Town of Ofakim”, a headline in *Maariv*, June 27, 1977, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

And indeed, the treatment of the Vietnamese was heartfelt. They were given warm meals, medical treatment, and were even sent to learn Hebrew at the local ulpan (Hebrew language school). The refugees were also given tours of the area so they could get to know the surroundings and locals a little better. This enabled them to feel more comfortable in their new, temporary home. “The food and atmosphere and the people here,” they were quoted as saying, “it’s all very good.” The town and the people of Israel lovingly received these Vietnamese refugees, to the extent that many wanted to adopt the orphaned children among them – requests which, as far as we have been able to discover, were rejected due to the desire to maintain the refugees as a single homogenous unit.

Refugee with a Sabra hat in Israel. Photo: Moshe Milner, Government Press Office

The local council in Ofakim hoped the national and even global interest in the refugees might generate some good press for the town itself. “I want people in the country to know that Ofakim is a ‘garden city’, dipped in greenery, even though it is in the Negev,” said council head Yechiel Bentov, who hoped that new olim (Jewish immigrants) would also come to his town to establish a permanent home for themselves in the south.

And that’s the end of the story. After spending a few months in Israel, the refugees moved on to their next destinations. But there is no doubt that they took the big hearts of the people of Ofakim with them, forever.

And Ofek? If you’re reading this, let us know. We’d love to know how you’re doing.

This article is part of our special series: “Life on the Border: A Tribute to the Communities of the Gaza Border Region”

Click here to see all of the articles and stories

“Hopefully, we’ll return soon”: Postcards From the Yom Kippur War Front

50 years ago, the Yom Kippur War didn’t spare the National Library of Israel, and employees were called to the front, serving many long months in reserve duty afterwards as well. During this period, they kept their Library colleagues up to speed on events, how they were doing, and how they hoped to get back to the finer things in life: “It’s good to see that there are still people dealing with catalogs and archives.”

Amit Naor | 18.10.23

History of Israel IDF Israel's Wars Yom Kippur War היסטוריה ישראלית

Postcards from the Yom Kippur War front, sent to the National Library of Israel’s Manuscripts and Archives Department. Photo: Amit Naor

“Darkness, gloom all around, winds blowing, and a burning cold. No matter, you get over it. I imagine it’s not quite like that for all of you in the various corners of Jerusalem…”

Workers in the National Library of Israel’s Archives and Manuscripts departments may deal with historical documents and riveting personal accounts from the distant past for a living – but they are not occupants of an ivory tower, indifferent to the events of the day and the outside world. These are human beings, and like all other people, they are affected by what goes on outside – political and diplomatic developments, as well as other current events.

This is true today and it was also true in October 1973, as well as the long months that followed. Workers in the Manuscripts and Archives Department (today they are two separate departments) were called to the front during the Yom Kippur War, serving many long months of reserve duty afterwards to protect Israel’s borders. At the time, the IDF provided soldiers with postcards, encouraging them to write home – under the limitations of military censorship – and a number of our manuscript experts took advantage of this opportunity. They chose to write not only to their families, but also wrote to their colleagues at the Library. They asked to be kept up to date on how work was progressing with the parchments and yellowing pages containing the story of the Jewish People, and the State of Israel.

Some of these historic postcards have been preserved, and we found a number of them in a file kept in the National Library archives. The postcards reveal the messages which the army sought to deliver to the public, offering a glimpse of the situation after the fighting had ceased and the very human experiences of those who remained on the front lines: the unpleasant conditions, the hope of returning home or at least receiving some leave time, and also the burning desire to know what was going on in the wider world.

“Everything’s fine with me. Am at ‘the end of the world’ and hope to be released before 1980.” The National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

“Everything’s fine with me,” one of the workers informed Rafi Weiser, the legendary director of the Archives and Manuscript Department. “Am at ‘the end of the world’ and hope to be released before 1980.” The optimistic design of the artwork on the postcard was produced by the office of the IDF’s Chief Education Officer. It quotes a famous song by Israeli songwriter Ehud Manor, Bashanah HaBa’ah or “Next Year” – “We will see, we will see, just how good it will be (refrain: in the next year, in the next year, in the next year)”. Another employee asked to thank a worker named Hannah for sending him specific newspaper clippings. “Maybe I’ll go on leave soon,” he hoped.

The artwork features the quote – “We will see, we will see, just how good it will be.” Song lyric by Ehud Manor on an official IDF postcard. The National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

In another postcard from November 1973, just three weeks after the war ended, a soldier named Amos rejoiced at the letters sent to him by department employees. “It’s good to see that there are people who still deal in catalogs and archives and not nonsense like what we’re dealing with,” Amos wrote. He didn’t forget to send congratulations to a colleague named Rachel who “fell for the trap and got married,” adding an update: “They say we’ll stay here for a long time, but hopefully we’ll return soon.” The artwork on the postcard is adorned with the words “I feel five out of five [i.e., 100%]”, which we can only hope actually represented the feeling of the soldiers at the time.

“Hello! I was happy to receive your letter, and it’s good to see that there are people who still deal in catalogs and archives and not nonsense like what we’re dealing with. Congratulations are of course due to Rachel […] who fell for the trap and got married. They say we’ll stay here for a long time, but hopefully we’ll return soon. See you, Amos” – The National Library collections, photo: Amit Naor

“I feel five out of five”, a positive message on an official IDF postcard. The National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

In December 1973, a soldier named Motti delivered the postcard which features the quote appearing at the top of this article. The soldiers were cold, the atmosphere gloomy, but Motti hoped that everything was functioning a usual at work. In the postcard he also tells of how he managed to visit Rafi Weiser, the department director, during his brief vacation, and how he hoped his next period of leave would allow him to also visit the rest of the department.

In another postcard, sent two months later, Motti tells of how he returned to the “same ‘dunam’ [acre] of land I’ve known for so long.” What else did Motti have to say? “With me there is certainly nothing new aside from the increasing boredom.” But Motti had a solution: “It seems to me that paper hasn’t run out in the department and all the cutbacks and downsizing befalling the university […] need not disrupt any letters from being sent to me from your direction.”

Cough, cough. Help out your friend on the front and send me word.

The National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

“Somewhere…same place…Hello! Darkness, gloom all around, winds blowing, and a burning cold. No matter, you get over it. I imagine it’s not quite like that for all of you in the various corners of Jerusalem. How are you…I want to believe everything’s OK and flowing as usual. Fortunately, we succeeded in ‘playing hooky’ for a few hours and hopped over to Rafi’s. We were very, very happy to meet, exchange views and just see one another. By the way, he’s working hard with all his energy. I’ll try to hop over next vacation. Write!!”, the National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

“Same place…and Rafi knows where…I really hope everything’s still normal. What’s new in the department? At this stage, I’ve returned to the same ‘dunam’ [acre] of land I’ve known for so long. With me there is certainly nothing new aside from the increasing boredom. How’s Efraim, did he get out? It seems to me that paper hasn’t run out in the department and all the rationing and downsizing befalling the university […] need not disrupt any letters from being sent to me from your direction. Regards to everyone… yours, Motti”, the National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

Another postcard from Motti contains a simple optimistic message. On one side Motti wrote: “May it be so… See ya,” adding an arrow directing readers to flip to the other side. Here, we see a drawing – perhaps by Motti himself. A flower blooming in the desert, and a shining sun in the background. Underneath is a large, prominent caption: “Homeward.”

“May it be so … See ya. Motti”, the National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

“Homeward”, the National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

The file also contains a number of postcards with nothing written on them. One contains a caricature by “Dosh” (Kariel Gardosh) drawn specifically for the war. Another contains a drawing hoping for peace. Many postcards have illustrations of happy soldiers writing home. One contains a caricature with an educational message telling of the situation in those days: four children can be seen energetically doing house chores – one peels potatoes, one washes the dishes, two work to scrub the floors. At the bottom is a caption: “Children, help mom.”

“Children, help mom” – the National Library of Israel collections. Photo: Amit Naor

The Yom Kippur War touched almost every Israeli home in those years. The thin file containing these postcards shows us how the war affected the work of the National Library as well – while also showing how this organization works to preserve the memory of that time, to this very day.

Refugees of the Yom Kippur War: The Evacuees of Mevo Hama

The women and children of Kibbutz Mevo Hama in the southern Golan Heights were evacuated with the start of the Yom Kippur War. They didn’t know the true drama was yet to come: A surprising accident en route to safety was just the first of many challenges the kibbutz members had to deal with in the nerve-wracking months before the cease-fire agreements.

Mor Peled | 12.10.23

History of Israel Israel's Wars Yom Kippur War היסטוריה ישראלית

The bus driven by Chaim Avni during the Yom Kippur War. Photo: Chaim Avni

On Thursday, October 5, 1973, Chaim “Chaimke” Avni, a member of the Egged transportation cooperative and Kibbutz Mevo Hama, drove bus 018 from Tiberias to the kibbutz located in the southern Golan Heights. Before setting out, around two-thirty in the afternoon, the traffic controller approached him and told him that war would break out the next day, asking him to be at the ready with his bus. The kibbutz itself also started to organize.

This is where the story of Mevo Hama’s Yom Kippur War refugees begins. The evacuation of the kibbutz was ultimately only carried out after the outbreak of hostilities, when one could already see the enormous cloud of dust kicked up by the Syrian tanks and the bombardment of the area the next day. Noga Regev was just seven years old then, but she remembers that Saturday clearly: “We all gathered together, all the children of the kibbutz, around the secretariat building. There was an enormous ruckus there. Many walky-talkies in the background, noise, and chaos. In retrospect, I know that there was a debate whether to evacuate or not, because they promised us we wouldn’t be coming down from the [Golan] heights until Defense Minister Moshe Dayan himself called to tell us to do so. And he didn’t call, obviously. The adults refused to evacuate, but at two in the afternoon, they understood there was no choice. We had to.”

Regev had three brothers: a five-year-old and twin two-year-olds. She remembers that the kibbutz’s loudspeaker system asked the members to go gather their things ahead of evacuation: “I remember that we ran to the children’s homes, and we gathered a few things in a plastic bag and ran to the bus. A pretty short time before this, an exercise was held drilling the evacuation of the whole Golan Heights and we participated. So we knew what to do – we all ran to the buses and the men who stayed outside waved us goodbye. And then the scariest experience I had in the war began.”

At the time, there were only some 1,500-2,000 people living on the Golan Heights, spread among a number of isolated communities. During the War of Attrition, there was constant tension in the area marked by shooting incidents, terrorist infiltrations, and the laying of roadside bombs.

The evacuation was delayed and the dithering of the residents, who didn’t want to leave their homes until they received direct instructions from the Defense Minister, meant they couldn’t take the usual road to the kibbutzim in the Galilee where the evacuees were supposed to be taken. Regev remembers those moments well, even though she didn’t completely understand what was happening. At the same time, Chaimke the driver wondered which road to take. He was ultimately forced to make a far from ideal choice and take the evacuees along a narrow, winding road rather than the main route. One of the vehicle’s wheels quickly came off and the bus was about to fall into the abyss, along with all its passengers. “I remember the cries of the mothers. We all left the bus and pushed. This was a shared effort taken on by people who were experiencing a difficult moment of sheer terror. To this day, I still have unpleasant thoughts when I pass by that road. There was a feeling that the bus would fall off the cliff at any moment,” says Regev.

The inside of the bus driven by Chaim Avni, during the trip evacuating the children and women of Kibbutz Mevo Hama to kibbutzim in the Galilee. Photo: Chaim Avni

In an excited voice, Regev describes how the mothers and children succeeded in helping get the bus back on the road. The ride continued and the bus evacuated them to three kibbutzim – Ein Harod, Afikim, and Dovrat. Regev, her mother, and her brothers were evacuated to Dovrat. “They decided on this distribution because we have family there. This was a pre-arranged plan organized by the kibbutz movement. We arrived in Dovrat and were given a moving reception. They immediately arranged a place for us to sleep. I didn’t really understand what I was doing, but I remember that the residents were pleasant and warm towards us.” Regev’s mother was nevertheless worried and restless: “I remember my mother being very scared and saying there wasn’t enough food for those left in the kibbutz. This greatly worried her.”

Fortunately, none of the settlements in the area were damaged during the fighting. 48 hours later, after the situation was stabilized in the Golan sector, it was decided to allow the men to return to their homes. Towards the end of the war, all the residents of the kibbutz returned. Chaimke, the bus driver, remembers the happy and accident-free trip bringing the Mevo Hama refugees back to their homes, including his own wife and children.

Kibbutz Mevo Hama, 1974. The Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

But the members of Kibbutz Mevo Hama couldn’t enjoy going back to their old routine. Because of the security situation after the fighting, they found themselves closed down and cut off: “It was half a year of detachment where we were isolated in lockdown,” Regev recalls. “No-one came in and no-one left the kibbutz. We were closed. I couldn’t even go to school. In the children’s home we had an amazing kindergarten teacher named Michal and she took care of us. Thanks to her, we learned all the material on the kibbutz without leaving it. We didn’t leave the kibbutz, we couldn’t get off the heights, but life in the kibbutz itself went on as usual. I remember that one family forgot their daughter’s pacifier when they visited Kibbutz Afikim before, and an army tank went out to get it back.” During this time, Regev’s father was also called up to serve, and her mother dealt with four children, two of them three-year-old twins, alone. “My mother went back to manage her affairs at the kibbutz. We were cared for by the caretakers and at night we all slept in the same shelter.”

During the ongoing lockdown, the adults tried to create as calm and happy an atmosphere as they could by normalizing the situation in various original ways. “A father of a friend was seriously wounded in the war and he returned with casts on both legs,” Regev said. “They brought us dolls and we practiced putting them in a cast. We were given a sort of crash-course using the dolls. They taught us how to deal with people suffering with disability, and they helped my friend learn how to receive her father.”

Regev remembers the kibbutz bomb shelter as a happy place, and she still recalls the songs she learned: “The adults did everything to make us happy. They succeeded.” The commitment, quick organization, support, and even the maintenance of routine and optimism, all had a major impact. Regev claims that in those days, it was an internal kibbutz alternative to a non-functioning state system. She doesn’t even remember the lockdown as a trauma or even as imprisonment, but as a new experience that included sleeping together with her mother and father in the shelter, everyone together.

The Kibbutz Mevo Hama dining hall. Photo: Michael Yaakovson. Source: Wikipedia

“It was simply a shared task,” Regev summarized. “It may be hard today to understand but we had no choice then but to charge ahead. Even when a wheel falls off, even when you need to push back a bus from teetering off a cliff, leave home, or spend long months in lockdown on the kibbutz. We didn’t know where we were heading. We certainly didn’t know the scope of the damage. If we heard or saw explosions somewhere, we accepted it as part of the situation because that’s all we knew. It’s hard to contain all this mess, but our parents, who created a haven and safe space for us within the chaos, kept us together and functioning. They deserve all the credit for that.”

Life on the Border

For the community of Nahal Oz on the Israel-Gaza border, the events of the past few days have had a shocking, shattering effect. For decades, life in this region was often calm, restful and full of the wonders of nature, despite the ever-present dangers. The people of the border region are strong and resilient, and will prevail through this challenging time, as they have done so many times before.

Mia Amran | 11.10.23

Gaza Border Region History of Israel Land of Israel Life on the Border: A Tribute to the Communities of the Gaza Border Region Zionism

Working the fields in Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

For decades, the Israel-Gaza border has been something of a paradox.

Kibbutz Nahal Oz communal dining room, 1969, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The events of the past few days have had a shocking, shattering effect. Until recently, however, when you walked through the many small Israeli communities that populate this region, you couldn’t help but wonder at the idyllic, peaceful atmosphere that often prevails in a part of the world that is also known to be so volatile.

Friends stop for a chat in Nahal Oz, 1969, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

For Israelis who live in the kibbutz of Nahal Oz, life has the ability to be calm, restful and full of the wonders of nature. Like many kibbutzim, Nahal Oz is known for its warm communal lifestyle: members share many of their responsibilities and some resources, which fosters a tight-knit community, and the kibbutz prioritizes a deep concern for their cultural and social activities.

Brussels sprout harvest in Nahal Oz, 1970, IPPA staff photographer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Jewish and national holidays are celebrated with joy, as children take a central role in the festivities. For each new season, the kibbutz is decorated accordingly and excitement is palpable in the air, as teenagers rush around hanging garlands and creating baskets of seasonal food for the kibbutz members.

Member of Kibbutz Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Kibbutz living today is a mix of the old and the new. While kids grow up with Instagram and Snapchat and still beg their parents for the latest Nike trainers, there remains an emphasis on simple living and natural pleasures. Food is fresher, water is usually unfiltered, and less money is spent on material luxuries such as designer clothing or fancy events.

Nahal Oz kibbutz member tending to the chickens, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Weddings in Nahal Oz often consist of outdoor ceremonies and a party planned by the communal efforts of the kibbutz members, days off are spent outdoors at least as frequently as they are spent indoors, and tree-climbing and bare-footed walks in the fields are as common today as they were when the kibbutz was first established.

Babies born in Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The kibbutz was founded in 1951 by Nahal soldiers, right on the border with the Gaza Strip. It became a civilian community just two years later. Nahal Oz was the first kibbutz to be established by the Nahal program, which combined IDF military service with community building and agriculture. Due to its success, many other kibbutzim followed suit in the years afterwards.

Working the land in Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Established on the principles of collective agriculture and communal living, which are characteristic of old kibbutzim across Israel, Nahal Oz was a pioneer in the area, which was arid and dry, and even 70 years ago, kibbutznikim in this small community were proving to the rest of the world that life can thrive in this difficult region.

Working the land in Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

While kibbutz life has changed drastically in the last 50 years, some things remain the same including communal meals, celebrations, and educational programs. For many, the appeal of kibbutz living comes from the opportunity to work the land of Israel, creating beautiful ties with the earth and fulfilling a deep-seated and long-standing Zionist dream.

Working the fields in Nahal Oz, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Of course, now members of the kibbutz can also work in many other fields. They need not eat in the shared dining room, and they have their own individualized personal belongings and homes, but it is these changes which were necessary to make life in Nahal Oz sustainable for the 21^st century, and for many people, these updates to kibbutz guidelines have only made it a more complete haven.

That being said, Kibbutz Nahal Oz still has a very strong agricultural tradition. Members of the community have been successful in cultivating crops, such as potatoes, carrots, wheat and other vegetables.

Woman reads to kibbutz children gathered in a bomb shelter in Nahal Oz, 1967, Boris Carmi, Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

But farming doesn’t bring in the income that it once did, and life in Israel can be expensive, even for a kibbutznik. So eventually in addition to agriculture, the kibbutz started to engage in other ventures, specifically thriving in tourism-related activities. Nahal Oz opened its doors to those interested in experiencing communal living and learning about Israeli kibbutz history and culture, in doing so creating a large secondary financial venture but also enlightening those who wished to learn about the community, and helping to promote their work.

Nahal Oz kibbutz member, 1950s, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

But life isn’t always easy for the residents of Nahal Oz. While the picture just painted may sound like a modern-day Garden of Eden, the stability and peace of the kibbutz is often under threat.

This is because of Nahal Oz’s proximity to Hamas-run Gaza.

Kids helping out on Kibbutz Nahal Oz, 1967, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Throughout its history, the kibbutz has been subjected to many rocket attacks and infiltrations from terrorist militants in Gaza. In 2014, the kibbutz faced one of its biggest calamities as tunnels from Gaza were dug by terrorists seeking to infiltrate Israeli communities and harm and kill their residents.

Since then, the kibbutz has fluctuated between being a peaceful natural paradise and being the target for barbaric acts of terrorism.

Working the fields in Nahal Oz, 1967, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

But despite these monumental security challenges, the residents of Nahal Oz have shown, and continue to show, remarkable resilience. They have continued to live and work in the kibbutz, enduring periods of extreme difficulty while maintaining a strong sense of community.

Nahal Oz kibbutz children in a bomb shelter 1967, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Nahal Oz was among the many border communities that came under violent attack on Saturday, October 7, 2023. This barbaric attack resulted in many innocent Israelis being murdered and wounded, with people taken hostage as well. We at the National Library of Israel are sending strength to the members of Nahal Oz and all the residents of the border region who need our hopes and prayers right now.

We know that they are strong, resilient, and capable, and will prevail through this challenging time as they have done so many times before.

Friends spending time together in Nahal Oz, 1967, Boris Carmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

This article is part of our special series: “Life on the Border: A Tribute to the Communities of the Gaza Border Region”

Click here to see all of the articles and stories