After years of decline,
more people are joining kibbutzim than leaving – with waiting lists growing
Kibbutz Afikim's fish farm. In the last two years, Afikim’s
membership has increased from 500 to 600. Photograph:
PhotoStock-Israel/Alamy
After decades of declining numbers, bankruptcies and privatisation, Israel's kibbutz
movement is undergoing a remarkable revival, with rising numbers wanting to
join the unique form of collective living.
The population of about 143,000 is the highest in its 102-year history, after growth of 20% between 2005 and 2010, according to the official Kibbutz Movement. More people are now joining kibbutzim than leaving – a reversal of the crisis years – and the influx of working-age adults and young children is helping to redress the balance of an ageing population.
Most kibbutzim have implemented reforms to become commercially viable and stem decline. Liberalisation – including permitting differential incomes and home ownership – has increased their attractiveness to newcomers reluctant to commit to pure communal principles.
Only about 60 of Israel's 275 kibbutzim still operate a completely collective model, in which all members are paid the same regardless of their allotted job. Most of the rest have introduced wage differentials for people employed by the kibbutz – but, more importantly, many members now work outside the kibbutz and contribute a proportion of their salaries to the collective.
Other measures have included selling kibbutz businesses, charging for meals and services, and recruiting agricultural labourers from south-east Asia. The changes, necessary for survival, have been painful, particularly for a generation of kibbutz pioneers wedded to a socialist-Zionist dream.
Increasing numbers of families are attracted to kibbutz living by the quality of education, environment, space and security. But, according to Amikam Osem, a member of Kibbutz Afikim near the Sea of Galilee for 50 years after marrying a kibbutznik, the most important reason was a sense of community. "This is the principle of kibbutz life – mutual help and responsibility for each other." A kibbutz, he said, was like an orchestra with people playing different parts "but together we create something meaningful".
Amikam Osem, who
has lived at Kibbutz Afikim for 50 years.
In the last two years, Afikim's membership has increased from 500 to 600, and
there is now a waiting list of people wanting to join. Many are the children of
members, wishing to raise their own families in a co-operative environment.
Others have never previously lived on a kibbutz.
Afikim operates a progressive taxation system: the more you earn, the more you pay into the collective fund. There is a "safety net" minimum income for all, and the kibbutz subsidises healthcare, education, social needs and care for the elderly. The kibbutz owns and runs several successful businesses, plus dairy and fish farms, and grows dates, bananas, avocados and olives on its land. The heavily subsidised dining room – the heart of the kibbutz – is open every day for lunch, and twice a week in the evenings.
Before being accepted as members with full voting rights, candidates rent homes on the kibbutz. Most members now own their own homes, which can be bequeathed to their children or sold back to the collective. Occasionally a candidate family decides that kibbutz life is not for them; sometimes the kibbutz admissions committee rejects candidates as unsuitable.
"Now we could double the size of the kibbutz if we wanted to," said Yaniv Osem, 50, Amikam's son and the elected head of the kibbutz. "But we need to be careful." Those with criminal records, a history of financial mismanagement or antisocial behaviour were not invited to join.
There was no bar on unconventional family units, including same-sex couples, he said. "It's like an excellent country club, but with a safety net. It's the most secure place in the world."
"Here in the kibbutz, we're not neighbours – we're partners," said his father. "The kibbutz movement is in a process of change in which there are many different directions. But the thing that unites all kibbutzim is mutual responsibility."
Between forkfuls of subsidised salad at a window table in the vast dining room, Vered Ofir, 45, a fitness instructor and mother of four, reflected on her family's decision to embrace communal living.
Vered Ofir, 45,
whose family became members of Kibbutz Afikim last year.
The population of about 143,000 is the highest in its 102-year history, after growth of 20% between 2005 and 2010, according to the official Kibbutz Movement. More people are now joining kibbutzim than leaving – a reversal of the crisis years – and the influx of working-age adults and young children is helping to redress the balance of an ageing population.
Most kibbutzim have implemented reforms to become commercially viable and stem decline. Liberalisation – including permitting differential incomes and home ownership – has increased their attractiveness to newcomers reluctant to commit to pure communal principles.
Only about 60 of Israel's 275 kibbutzim still operate a completely collective model, in which all members are paid the same regardless of their allotted job. Most of the rest have introduced wage differentials for people employed by the kibbutz – but, more importantly, many members now work outside the kibbutz and contribute a proportion of their salaries to the collective.
Other measures have included selling kibbutz businesses, charging for meals and services, and recruiting agricultural labourers from south-east Asia. The changes, necessary for survival, have been painful, particularly for a generation of kibbutz pioneers wedded to a socialist-Zionist dream.
Increasing numbers of families are attracted to kibbutz living by the quality of education, environment, space and security. But, according to Amikam Osem, a member of Kibbutz Afikim near the Sea of Galilee for 50 years after marrying a kibbutznik, the most important reason was a sense of community. "This is the principle of kibbutz life – mutual help and responsibility for each other." A kibbutz, he said, was like an orchestra with people playing different parts "but together we create something meaningful".
Amikam Osem, who
has lived at Kibbutz Afikim for 50 years.
In the last two years, Afikim's membership has increased from 500 to 600, and
there is now a waiting list of people wanting to join. Many are the children of
members, wishing to raise their own families in a co-operative environment.
Others have never previously lived on a kibbutz.Afikim operates a progressive taxation system: the more you earn, the more you pay into the collective fund. There is a "safety net" minimum income for all, and the kibbutz subsidises healthcare, education, social needs and care for the elderly. The kibbutz owns and runs several successful businesses, plus dairy and fish farms, and grows dates, bananas, avocados and olives on its land. The heavily subsidised dining room – the heart of the kibbutz – is open every day for lunch, and twice a week in the evenings.
Before being accepted as members with full voting rights, candidates rent homes on the kibbutz. Most members now own their own homes, which can be bequeathed to their children or sold back to the collective. Occasionally a candidate family decides that kibbutz life is not for them; sometimes the kibbutz admissions committee rejects candidates as unsuitable.
"Now we could double the size of the kibbutz if we wanted to," said Yaniv Osem, 50, Amikam's son and the elected head of the kibbutz. "But we need to be careful." Those with criminal records, a history of financial mismanagement or antisocial behaviour were not invited to join.
There was no bar on unconventional family units, including same-sex couples, he said. "It's like an excellent country club, but with a safety net. It's the most secure place in the world."
"Here in the kibbutz, we're not neighbours – we're partners," said his father. "The kibbutz movement is in a process of change in which there are many different directions. But the thing that unites all kibbutzim is mutual responsibility."
Between forkfuls of subsidised salad at a window table in the vast dining room, Vered Ofir, 45, a fitness instructor and mother of four, reflected on her family's decision to embrace communal living.
Vered Ofir, 45,
whose family became members of Kibbutz Afikim last year.
"It was a big change for us, it took a while to adjust. But we wanted to live
in a community, among friends," she said. The standard of education attracted
her, plus the fact that "the babies had a great place to be while I was at
work". But, she added: "Not everything is easy. Sometimes everything is too
close; our business is everyone's business."
After three years of mutual sizing-up to see if the family and the kibbutz were a good fit, the Ofirs became full members of Afikim last year. A few weeks ago, Ofir's parents arrived with the hope of joining the community.
For Ofir, who was born and lived most of her life in Tel Aviv, mutualism outweighs the drawbacks of kibbutz life. "Cities can be very lonely places. Here I have my own life, I work outside the kibbutz, but there is a community. It's a very positive thing."
After three years of mutual sizing-up to see if the family and the kibbutz were a good fit, the Ofirs became full members of Afikim last year. A few weeks ago, Ofir's parents arrived with the hope of joining the community.
For Ofir, who was born and lived most of her life in Tel Aviv, mutualism outweighs the drawbacks of kibbutz life. "Cities can be very lonely places. Here I have my own life, I work outside the kibbutz, but there is a community. It's a very positive thing."
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