Israel Lishansky, the fourth generation to run the family’s boutique hotel, continues the legacy of his great-grandfather, who founded the lodgings in the 1930s after immigrating from Ukraine. The hotel, with its Italian tiles and blue windows imported decades ago, was damaged by the constant barrage of Hezbollah missiles launched at Metula during the first 18 months of the war.
The hotel blends into a battered landscape. Every house in Metula was damaged. “Do you live here?” I ask a teenager. “Well, technically; my house got blown up,” he replies casually. Some residents can’t return home without major repairs to their residences.
David Azulay, head of Metula Regional Council, attempted to protect civilian infrastructure during the war, but civilian needs were overshadowed by urgent military priorities. Metula and other border towns are now repairing roads, infrastructure, and homes.
Time to restore
It takes time to restore life to an abandoned place. This is no longer the same place; the return creates a new reality. Disappointment with the military leadership, which failed to act despite the clear threat to northern border communities before October 7, fuels unease.
This year, the school in Metula did not open. This represents a major blow for the town and for Lishansky personally.
“My aunt is 103 years old, and still completely lucid. She studied here at the school, as did my mother, and so did I,” he said.
“Now that it’s closed, she asks me why. How do I explain to her that out of a class of 20 children before the war, only five returned? The parents pressured not to open the school here because they preferred to send their children somewhere with more than five children in a grade.”
The school’s closure is not only historically significant but also deeply affects the community. I asked Lishansky why he chose to return in these conditions.
“I returned with a trembling heart,” he admits. “To think that every afternoon in September 2023, I would play with my child on the soccer field; a few meters away, in Kfar Kila, ammunition depots were just across the border, ready to kill.”
“Those who returned have roots or land, whose families are originally from here. I couldn’t be the one to break a 96-year tradition of operating the hotel. I will be here now, and my children will do what they want.”
Never the same river
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus argued that you can never step into the same river twice. Even if you enter again, the water is already different; the river changes each time. The return to border communities is gradual and takes time.
The war that already seems to have passed here is mainly evident in the extensive renovations on every corner, in the areas where trees have been burned, or on the sidewalks scraped by tanks that passed through the streets.
The roads here are still relatively empty, yet joy lights up every time a pair of eyes passes another.
Nothing is taken for granted; any hint of the blessed routine that once was is received with enthusiasm, like buds of renewal. In the squares, flower beds are blooming. There is something emotionally uplifting about this – the storm has passed, and in the air there’s a feeling of a new beginning.
Several border communities were severely damaged, including Kfar Yuval, Misgav Am, Manara, and Margaliot. In Metula, hundreds of houses were damaged – more than half of the town’s residences. In one incident, five people were killed, including a local farmer and four foreign workers.
In Kfar Yuval, a mother and son were killed by a direct anti-tank missile hit on their home. In another incident, four members of the local defense squad were injured. In Manara, more than half of the kibbutz houses were damaged. In Margaliot, direct hits were recorded on houses and public buildings, including the community center and a chicken coop.
In Misgav Am, dozens of homes were damaged, some directly from rockets, others due to blasts from shelling within the community. One structure belongs to the student village established at Kedma in 2018, the same year that a tunnel, dug into the heart of the kibbutz, was discovered.
The destruction from the war against Hezbollah has left its mark along the border and illustrates the long road to rehabilitation. On this borderline, where routine is broken time and time again, what needs rebuilding is not only the houses, but hope itself.
The writer is the founder and president of Kedma, an organization working for the benefit of Israel’s border communities.