There was something tragically symbolic about “Poshko’s” death in Kibbutz Misgav Am on March 22nd. “Poshko” was the nickname of Ofer Moskowitz, the ebullient, beloved 60-year-old avocado farmer and de facto kibbutz spokesman. Returning from his grandson’s brit in Pardes Hanna, he was struck and killed instantly by a shell in the heart of the kibbutz. Ironically, it was Israeli artillery — a botched barrage that felled this indomitable force of optimism.

The fact that friendly fire claimed the kibbutz’s most recognizable figure says a great deal about what this community and its neighbors endure: the very army — tasked with protecting them — unwittingly is putting them in harm’s way. The government, which should be prioritizing the survival of the country’s border community, has offered little more than lip service as the kibbutz absorbs the many dangers and daily hardships of yet another round of fighting.

Kibbutz Misgav Am (literally “the people’s fortress”) was established in 1945 by a small cadre of Palmach fighters marking the anniversary of the Balfour Declaration. Misgav Am was never meant to be just another rural village and its location was no accident. Perched nearly a kilometer above the Hula Valley, facing Mount Hermon and literally contiguous with Israel’s northern border – the kibbutz is surrounded on all sides by Lebanon. Misgav Am was part of a broader strategic effort to anchor Jewish presence in the Galilee. Its early members came from a Tel Aviv youth movement and were later joined by immigrants from Turkey, Bulgaria, and the former Soviet Union, who helped stabilize and expand the young settlement.

Misgav Am entered Israel’s national consciousness on April 7, 1980, when terrorists from the Arab Liberation Front infiltrated the community’s nursery at night. They murdered the kibbutz secretary and an infant, taking other children hostage. Although Sayeret Matkal, the crack Israeli command unit ultimately rescued the children, the kibbutz members would never forget the price it pays for being on Israel’s front lines.

Now, with a ceasefire on the Lebanese front, it is worth pausing to consider how Israel treats Misgav Am and the battered, but resilient neighboring communities along the Lebanese border.

Kibbutz chairman Erez Berman describes Misgav Am as “a civilian island surrounded on all sides by the IDF.” The army knows civilians remain here, but operational pressures are immense and mistakes happen. Four times during the past month, military vehicles have crushed the kibbutz’s main water lines, leaving residents without water for 12-hours.

Families with children occasionally leave for short “refresher” breaks, but daily life remains defined by constant tension. More than the sirens, it is the relentless booms of artillery, Apache helicopters, and fighter jets that shatter the other wise, rural serenity and eliminate any sense of normalcy. Yet the residents are remarkably resilient: after being evacuated for more than a year in 2023, all but two families returned.

Over the past months, as missiles rained down on the northern Galilee, nearly all communal life has moved into bomb shelters. With virtually no warning time, the children of Misgav Am study underground while volunteer tutors try to help them maintain a semblance of routine.

The objective reality of being the first line to face Hezbollah fire is hard enough. But what angers the kibbutz members is the way they are treated by the government and the ministries who are claim they are there to help. For instance, dozens of homes still lack proper safe rooms (mamadim – literally “protected apartment zones” ). Roughly 100 remain unbuilt. The kibbutz estimates they could all be completed within three months. But during the year and a half since the last cease fire with Lebanon, their construction was never prioritized. Contractors are reluctant to work in such a dangerous, remote location. The problem is that Hezbollah is not waiting for Israeli bureaucracy to catch up. And so, during the past month, many times a day, thirty residents typically had to crowd into outdated bombshelters, built for half that number.

While government policy promises compensation for wartime damage, reality is somewhat different. Property tax assessors are supposed to expedite claims, but they rarely are willing to come to Misgav Am, unless a building is directly hit. Residents must take time off work and navigate government northern offices and beyond to receive compensation, even for basic damage like shattered car windows.

Recently, an 82-year-old resident whose car was damaged was forced to traipse around Kiryat Shmona in search of assistance. Worse than the inconvenience is the attitude encountered when claims are finally submitted. As one resident put it: “They assume we are all thieves trying to steal public funds.” It is deeply insulting.

Nearby Moshav Margaliot has seen roughly 40% of its agricultural land damaged. Farmers are replanting, but orchards take years to become productive again. Three times over the years, terrorist crossed the Lebanese border in unsuccessful attempts to penetrate the Moshav. Many in the younger generation have decided that they want better for their families. In the community’s kindergarten there are only two Margoliot children. The rest are driven in from Kiryat Shmoneh.

Despite its precarious location on the edge of an intermittent war zone, Misgav Am has not only endured, but even thrived. Today it is home to about 400 residents, with plans to reach 1000. Students from nearby Tel Hai (soon to become the University of Kiryat Shmona) have long been drawn to its stunning views and cool mountain air, which offer clement weather even when the valley below swelters during summer months.

But they will not return without basic security. Nor will kindergarten teachers and the other professionals that the kibbutz hopes to attract.

The problem is that the kibbutz feels that nobody in the government really cares. Misgav Am, Menara, Metulah, Margaliot: these are towns too small to constitute a meaningful voter block. And anyhow, everyone knows how kibbutzim vote. (Spoiler alert: it’s not for Netanyahu’s party and his coalitional partners.) When I visited, Misgav Am, over six weeks after Hezbollah began pummeling the north yet again, not a single government minister had bothered to arrive in order to see the situation up close. One had promised to come ‘round that afternoon.

The intrepid Galilee citizens are not waiting for the government to save them. After all, their ideological DNA is based on self-reliance. When Tovalah, a Misgav member’s home was destroyed by a rocket one morning, neighbors arrived within minutes to clean debris and arrange temporary housing. By 1 pm she was set up in her new digs. A recent crowdfunding campaign raised 1.5 million shekels to reopen the kibbutz infirmary. Asked whether he was embarrassed to seek donations, Omri Sofer, the head of community security replied without a trace of hesitation: “No. The government should be embarrassed.”

The good people of Misgav Am aren’t going anywhere.

Rebuilding the physical damage will take time, but it will happen. Rebuilding trust in the state: its government and its army, may take much longer.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)