In Metula, Israel’s northernmost city, hardly any house has been spared from either a direct hit or shrapnel. In the homes that somehow avoided being hit, an atmosphere of neglect and despair pervades.
By Anna Epshtein, TPS
“Oh my! There is a rat here!” Lili screams as she opens a drawer in the kitchen. The smell of the dead animal hangs in the air. Curious teenage volunteers who were emptying drawers in an adjoining room approach to look, then scrunch their faces in disgust.
Unshaken, Lili takes a serving spoon and uses it to lift the rat into the garbage bag, together with the rest of the drawer’s contents — papers, small plastic containers and scattered toothpicks.
Lili Medalsi is a volunteer coordinator at the organization called “Habaita,” and her job for the near future is helping northern Israelis make their abandoned homes livable — or helping them say goodbye like she did for her own house.
“When my partner and I first came here after the ceasefire, we froze in place and could not move. We stood like this for three hours and then left. Could not do a thing,” Shahaf Daniel, who used to rent the upper floor of this house in Metula, told The Press Service of Israel. “It’s devastating to see you home like this.”
Rat excrement is scattered all over. In a bedroom on the first floor, a hole in a wall – the result of rocket shrapnel – creates an expressive frame through which to view a neighbor’s half-destroyed house.
After the war with Hamas broke out on October 7, 2023, more than 70,000 residents of the Israeli north were evacuated from their homes as Hezbollah began launching daily barrages of rockets and drones.
In Metula, Israel’s northernmost city, hardly any house has been spared from either a direct hit or shrapnel. In the homes that somehow avoided being hit, an atmosphere of neglect and despair pervades.
Since a ceasefire with Hezbollah took effect on November 27, hundreds of volunteers from all over Israel have been coming to the north to help the residents restore not just their homes, but also hope that life can get back to normal.
Inside the ‘War Room’
In a small room above the dining hall in Kibbutz Amir, some 10 km from the Lebanese border, a dozen teenagers are juggling Excel spreadsheets on their computers, with a background buzz of phone conversations.
A bald, bearded man moves among them, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear, the other hand intensely gesturing.
The man is Nathanel Barak, the head of the Upper Galilee Pre-Military Academy, which has more than 200 students.
Bringing his military attitude to the civilian task of organizing the volunteers’ work, he partnered with two organizations involved in helping Israeli civilians since October 7 – Lev Ehad and Habaita – to open what everyone here refers to as “the war room,” where coordinators connect returning homeowners with volunteers.
“When a family enters their home after more than a year, it is often a shock. Rats have eaten the pipes, there is this smell… They don’t just need extra hands for cleaning – they need emotional support, and that’s what volunteers bring,” Barak told TPS-IL.
“What really helps people is this feeling that they don’t deal with this alone, that good people from all over the country come to help them.”
Most of the volunteers here are Barak’s students, but many more have come to help from all walks of Israeli society: families with kids, youth and pensioners. Some come to the north for a day, others stay for a week or even more.
At nearby Kibbutz Malkiya, once a popular tourist destination right on the border with Lebanon, orange-jacketed workers from Tel Aviv patching up a pock-marked road are the only people around. Seats at a nearby bus stop are covered with a thick layer of faded leaves.
Inside a gloomy concrete building that used to house a different pre-military academy, a group of people who could hardly be brought together under any other circumstances are gathering for dinner of couscous and vegetables – several youths from Haifa, a pensioner from Modiin, and an American pastor from Seattle — after a busy day of cleaning homes.
“We helped two nice old ladies in Kiryat Shmona today in their gardens,” Mika Mazor, a twentysomething from Haifa said. “They were so glad we came. They put on some music, and we chatted, and it felt like we really made some difference there.”
One of Mika’s friends interjects, “It’s so weird that we are here, right?’ We all have lives… But it feels so good to be here now.”
Not Staying
Medalsi, who helped clean Daniel’s house, told TPS-IL that she also has a house in Metula, but doesn’t intend to continue to living in the city.
“The community is dispersed throughout the whole country. Before businesses here will come back to life -– and I pray they will -– much time will pass,” Medalsi explained.
“Metula is going to be in building scaffolding for a long time. I found myself in another part of the country during the war. But it is a personal victory for me that I am back to the north now, helping people.”
She recalled being in her kitchen preparing to bake herself a birthday cake on October 9 when she needed to evacuate. When she returned to her house for the first time after the ceasefire was declared, the ingredients were still sitting on the counter. The dozens of houseplants she cared for were all dead.
“I finally locked my house a week ago after I painted it and fixed the holes. I pressed myself to the wall and said good bye,” she said. “I’m not coming back.”
Meanwhile, Shahaf Daniel and her partner pack all the belongings they want to take with them and take a walk around the empty house. They don’t plan to stay in Metula either.
“I need my country to do something for me to come back here. It’s impossible that Lebanese villages stay like these, so close to us. I do not want to be afraid that they watch me, or that a rocket hits me,” said Shachaf. “They need to be moved further from the border, and the IDF needs to be here. Then I can start to consider getting back.”