“The time in Jerusalem was the most beautiful and fascinating period of my life,” declares 73-year-old Meir Marciano.
A veteran volunteer and past recipient of the Presidential Award for Outstanding Volunteerism, Marciano is also a noted expert on Moroccan Jewry who has lectured widely over the past year and a half. He describes how his time in the capital opened horizons he never expected, exposing him to an intellectual richness that even surprised him.
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Meir Marciano in his Kiryat Shmona home
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
These were not the circumstances he envisioned when he was hastily evacuated from his home at the start of the war and relocated to a small hotel room in another city, with no clear sense of when he might return.
But returning to Kiryat Shmona, the home he longed for, revealed a different reality. “The walk to my sister’s house takes 20 minutes. This week I went, and I didn’t meet a soul… Before the war, such a walk could take an hour, filled with meetings and short conversations with acquaintances.”
Now, without the large audiences he encountered in Jerusalem, Marciano has returned to his research. His time in the capital deepened his understanding of Moroccan Jewish heritage, and he is now focusing on the first North African Jewish neighborhoods in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.
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Marciano in the hotel room he called home for nearly two years
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
His personal library has grown from 250 to 370 volumes, thanks to books collected in Jerusalem. Back in his study—where the volumes now line shelves instead of being stacked on a hotel bed, and where most of his cherished collection of Hanukkah menorahs survived intact—he finds comfort.
“The north is beautiful—what God gave is beautiful. Human hands destroy, but we will rise up and inherit it. We will overcome,” he says with a smile.
Marciano’s story is also the story of the city itself. Kiryat Shmona is slowly coming back to life. Some residents and businesses have already returned, and the effort to restore normalcy is visible on every corner. Bomb shelters dot the streets, painted in bright, hopeful colors. The fresh paint is comforting, even as the shelters remain a stark reminder of what happened—and what is not yet over.
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A ghost town. Kiryat Shmona in August 2024
(Photo: AP / Ohad Zwigenberg)
Seniors are among the first to return to the once-deserted town. The transition is jarring, the road to recovery long, and the scars still painful. Yet nothing replaces the feeling of home. Returning has not just closed one chapter—it has opened another, enriched with knowledge and connections gained during their time in Jerusalem. Those experiences now converge in a new exhibition, “Faces of a Journey, Faces of Home,” opening Sept. 15 at the Kiryat Shmona Cultural Center.
“We were privileged to support and accompany seniors in the Jerusalem hotels,” says Ayala Wohl, CEO of the Shefer nonprofit, which leads the project together with the Kiryat Shmona municipality and the community center network. “Now we continue strengthening their resilience and rebuilding their community fabric.”
Yaffa Yehezkeli, 82
The quiet in Yaffa Yehezkeli’s garden is the exact opposite of the intensity she experienced in Jerusalem. Her children ask how she manages with all the silence, but she savors every moment—after waiting so long to return to her own peaceful corner. For three months, she worked to put her house back in order and salvage what she could from her damaged garden.
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Yaffa Yehezkeli
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
The quiet outside her garden, however, troubles her. “Many people haven’t returned to the city. A lot of young people are looking for their future elsewhere, and the city is struggling to recover.” Despite the challenges, she is resolute: “My roots are in Kiryat Shmona, and I have things to do here—so here I stay.”
What sustains her is her work with a nonprofit that supports Kiryat Shmona and the Hula Valley, which runs programs for seniors. To her joy, and that of the many community members who have already come back, those activities have resumed. Group trips are still on hold, but everyone is eagerly awaiting their return.
Her time in Jerusalem changed her. She became more attentive, more open. When she saw that her advice was helping others, she began speaking up more. Now she organizes monthly meetings for a group that bonded in the hotel during the evacuation—a continuation of the community that formed in exile.
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Yaffa Yehezkeli
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
“If each of us, in our own corner of the world, does good and helps others, then we will succeed in lifting ourselves up.”
Gilbert Amsalem, 81
In the evenings, when Gilbert Amsalem looks out the window of his home at the buildings around him, he can count on one hand the lit windows. But even without checking which homes are bright and which remain dark, he knows that most of Kiryat Shmona’s residents still have not returned, and the streets are mostly empty.
He himself had longed to come back after a year and a half of wandering between Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and even abroad. But the first days back were not easy. “There were some security incidents—shelling from Lebanon—but nothing major,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, as though rocket fire from across the border were a perfectly normal experience that anyone might encounter in their lifetime.
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Gilbert Amsalem
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
Gilbert misses his regular walks with his partner, which have not resumed because of the security situation. His daily meetings with friends in the industrial zone have partly returned—at least with those who have come back to the city. In Jerusalem, he grew used to the hotel “parliament,” a daily gathering, but such meetings cannot yet be revived in Kiryat Shmona, since only a handful of participants have returned.
With his extensive security background, he is unsurprised by regional developments. He even foresaw the rising tensions with Iran and correctly guessed how events would unfold. What concerns him more are the disparities in quality of life between Jerusalem and Kiryat Shmona.
He worries about the future of the northern city’s younger generation—his children and grandchildren, who have also returned and are now closer to him than ever.
In his eyes, despite all the difficulties and the risks of living on the border, facing an enemy that has not been fully dismantled, the choice is clear: “This is Grandma’s house. This is the heart and the memories. It’s only natural to return home. But we must make sure they can live here in peace and security, without fear, so they can raise families with pride, grow and thrive just like people in other places not threatened by terror groups.”
Varda Yitzhak, 78
“My children want us to move closer to them, but I love Kiryat Shmona. As long as I can stand on my own two feet, I want to stay here,” says Varda Yitzhak. She returned home with deep gratitude for all she received during the year and a half she spent evacuated in Jerusalem.
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Varda Yitzhak
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
Memories of hotel life bring a smile: “We were a couple in a tiny room. We respected each other, gave each other space. But I still can’t believe we lived like that…” Her longing for her spacious ground-floor home in Kiryat Shmona overwhelmed her, and now she is focused on restoring the house and reviving the regular family gatherings she hosted before the war.
One small item links her two worlds: a simple mug she bought in Jerusalem, identical to the set she had at home. “Now the mug sits on the shelf and has found its place—and I am finding mine again too.”
Jerusalem also left her with changes—more inner strength, more attentiveness and a stronger desire to contribute to the community. Between repairing her home and trying to restore her prewar routine, she is also working to organize reunions with the group that bonded in the hotel. “Now I want to do what I please, in my own way! That’s the insight that comes with age and with spending so long away from home. Nobody will tell me what to do.”
Revital and Beni Chikutai, 75 and 80
“All day I do laundry and hang it out to dry,” says Revital, describing her new reality. She and her husband, Beni, returned to a home badly damaged in the war—not only by rockets, which left cracks in the walls, but also by rats and thieves who moved in during their absence.
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Revital and Beni Chikutai in their home in Kiryat Shmona
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
They are repairing the damage themselves, a task that will take time and add stress to their daily lives. Revital hopes the state will step in and take responsibility. For now, her children keep her motivated, helping her focus on the positives.
“I’m waiting for the house to be back in order so I can devote myself again to volunteering and to the activities I love—painting, music and singing,” she says with determination.
Beni, too, refuses to give in to despair. He remembers the trips he organized while they were in the hotel—outings that became a highlight for evacuees from the Galilee panhandle—and he eagerly looks forward to restarting them, this time from Kiryat Shmona.
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The Chikutais in the hotel room they called home for nearly two years
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
“My view is forward, not backward,” he says. “It’s like pregnancy—along the way there are contractions and discomfort, but in the end a beautiful baby is born and everyone is happy. That’s how it will be for us, too.”
Nurit and Moshe Amar, 66 and 68
“There’s nothing better than home—it’s your fortress,” says Nurit Amar, describing the relief of returning to Kiryat Shmona. “In the hotels, life together was too intense. Here you go to the club for two hours, laugh and talk, and then come home. Here you can return to a routine—eat and cook whatever you like.”
Still, coming home reveals new challenges daily. “There are things you only notice once you’re living in the house again—small damages that add up to a long list of repairs.” But her main concern is the future: when jobs will return, and whether young people will come back to the city.
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Moshe Amar in his home in Kiryat Shmona
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
For Nurit, reconnecting with neighbors makes up for the difficulties. “We hug people we barely knew before, and we’re so happy to meet again. The neighbors have become like sisters. The longing was so strong.”
Her husband Moshe listens from the balcony to the changes around him. The noise of drills and construction during their first weeks back has given way to the peaceful sound of birdsong. He retired while staying in the hotel, and now he is looking for new work “so I don’t go crazy at home.”
His current passion is reviving the hotel “parliament” in Kiryat Shmona. “Those social gatherings opened my soul. Before, I never spoke in public. The people from that group changed my perspective on life.”
“We experienced Jerusalem in a wonderful way, but nothing compares to home—to hearing the birds and enjoying the familiar view. Nothing is better than that,” he adds with a smile.
Menora Yeshayah, 74
“I was sitting in the kitchen when the siren went off on Holocaust Remembrance Day, and I immediately ran in panic to the shelter,” recalls Menora Yeshayah, describing the tension that shadows her return home. The reflex, shared by many of her friends, reflects the new reality. “The city still isn’t the same place I left on October 7—shops close early, and the streets empty by late afternoon.”
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Menora Yeshayah
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
The biggest challenge came at Passover, when hosting her family in a half-repaired house required tremendous effort. “It was important for me to host everyone—we had been waiting so long. It wasn’t easy, but everyone helped. It was a very happy Passover, and may Israel see many more joyful days.”
Yeshayah keeps busy. She meets old friends, surrounds herself with family and has even returned to supervising high school matriculation exams. At home, a small doll sits as a special keepsake from Jerusalem, a reminder of the donation drives she organized in the hotel. “My granddaughters play with it, but for me it’s a memory of a difficult time.”
“May we see better days, and may the city find its way forward. Kiryat Shmona is home, and I hope we won’t need to evacuate again… maybe to Jerusalem I’d agree,” she jokes. “I’m waiting for the city to recover and hoping everyone will unite for this important mission.”
Shulamit (Shula) Atiya, 75
“I already made jam! We didn’t miss strawberry season like last year. I’m restoring the tradition of summer fruit preserves,” says Shula Atiya, a woman full of energy who wastes no time. She arrives at the interview straight from her long-standing volunteer work at a local school, an activity she and her friends resumed as soon as they returned to Kiryat Shmona.
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Shula Atiya
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
Homecoming brought new responsibilities absent during hotel life. “There, the schedule was packed with activities, but we didn’t worry about cooking or shopping. Now I have to take care of everything again and restore the house.”
She is also overseeing repairs on another family home in the city that was badly damaged by Hezbollah fire, while tending her beloved garden outside her own house. “The flowers I’ve already planted give the place a completely different feeling. Everything is blooming.” She proudly calls her garden a “test farm,” where she plants seeds and pits of different kinds, including varieties she brought back from Jerusalem. Inside, souvenirs from her time in the capital hang on the walls.
Her stay in Jerusalem opened her eyes to the sharp gap between the availability of services and activities in central cities and those in the periphery. Her biggest concern now is how to close that gap. “Just because we’re in the third age doesn’t mean we should give in—on the contrary, we should rise up and act. This is our time.”
Galina Tabak, 77
“One chair alone is weak, but many chairs together are strong,” says Galina Tabak, recalling moments sitting on a bench outside the hotel in Jerusalem, searching for answers to questions that troubled her. “Where’s Cassandra to tell the future?” she asks with a sad smile, remembering a friend also evacuated to the capital.
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Galina Tabak
(Photo: Rafael Shahari)
The ongoing war weighs heavily on her. The hostages have not been freed, and the news bombards her daily with troubling updates. “I wish for one week without news at all. A chance to reflect on what we’ve been through, to process it, to find hope inside ourselves. Now, every time I start to feel optimistic, something in the news pulls me back to the beginning.”
Despite everything, Galina clings to optimism. She is glad to be back in Kiryat Shmona, working to repair her home and relishing spontaneous encounters on the street with neighbors and acquaintances. Her time in Jerusalem, she says, taught her to value community strength—the importance of being with others. Now she seeks those who “will share the same melody” with her, she says with a smile. “Everything will return. It will take time, but from the search for solutions something good will come.”
Renewal and loss, quiet and anxiety, memory and hope—these are the themes of the exhibition “Faces of a Journey, Faces of Home,” opening with a concert by Shuli Rand and a New Year’s toast, and running through Dec. 31.
The photography project is a direct continuation of last summer’s exhibition “Room 710,” which documented the stories of seniors evacuated from northern and southern Israel. Now, just months after returning home, the new exhibition reflects their reconnection with their houses and their city.
Admission is free. Tickets for the Sept. 15 opening event (30 shekels) are available here.