When I made Aliyah, I expected to fall in love with Israel’s history, its breathtaking landscapes, and its ancient stones.
What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with its people in an entirely new way.
Recently, my dear friend Galya from Jerusalem TasteBuds had two meetings in northern Israel and decided to turn the trip into a short getaway as well. She invited me to come along, and I happily accepted, looking forward to spending time together and exploring a part of Israel I had yet to discover.
When it came time for her meetings, I fully expected to find a nearby café, read a book, or simply keep myself occupied while she worked. After all, the meetings had nothing to do with me.
Instead, Galya invited me to join her.
I quietly sat in the room, simply listening and observing, never imagining those conversations would become the most meaningful part of the trip.
It was an unexpected privilege.
I found myself surrounded by extraordinary people whose lives are dedicated to lifting others up—not for recognition, prestige, or accolades, but because they genuinely believe in strengthening individuals, building communities, and creating opportunities where they are needed most.
By the time we drove home, I realized this hadn’t simply been a road trip through northern Israel.
It had given me the rare privilege of stepping inside organizations and meeting the people who quietly dedicate their lives to strengthening Israeli society.
I knew places like these existed.
What I had never experienced was seeing their work firsthand—listening to their stories, witnessing their passion, and understanding the profound impact they have on the lives of so many people.
For that, I felt incredibly grateful.
Our first stop was Beit Alon in Kiryat Ata, established in memory of lone soldier Alon Farkas z”l.
Waiting to greet us at the entrance were Bar and Orel.
Before we had even stepped inside, Bar smiled, opened her arms, and said, “I’m a hugger.”
That simple introduction said everything.
Within seconds, I no longer felt like a visitor. I felt as though I was being welcomed into a home.
As they guided us through the residences, it became clear that their warmth wasn’t simply part of their personalities—it was the very heartbeat of Beit Alon.
Before we learned about the residents, we learned about Alon himself. Through Bar and Orel’s stories, we came to know a young man whose life was defined by purity of heart, friendship, kindness, connection, and love. His legacy wasn’t measured by what he accomplished, but by the way he made people feel.
One story has stayed with me ever since.
Alon’s uncle shared that while he can visit Alon’s grave, he doesn’t necessarily feel his presence there. But when he walks into Beit Alon, he feels Alon everywhere.
His legacy lives within those walls.
Beit Alon is far more than a residence. It is a bridge between military or national service and civilian life, offering young adults community, purpose, guidance, and belonging during one of life’s most significant albeit often difficult transitions.
The property consists of two homes—one for men and one for women. Each resident has a private bedroom while sharing the kitchen, living room, bathrooms, and outdoor spaces. It creates the perfect balance between independence, friendship, and community.
Beit Alon welcomes both lone soldiers and Israeli soldiers who come from difficult family circumstances. Although their stories are very different, they share a common need: a place where they feel seen, supported, and valued.
Walking through the homes felt like walking into an oasis. Every detail reflected thoughtfulness and care. More than beautifully designed living spaces, they offered stability, friendship, encouragement, and the reassuring feeling that no one has to navigate life’s next chapter alone.
Every room quietly communicated the same message:
You belong here.
One former resident told us that arriving at Beit Alon felt like walking into a dream. Today, he serves as a coordinator, helping others navigate the same journey that once transformed his own life.
As our conversation continued, another quality stood out. Bar and Orel weren’t interested in protecting “their” project or keeping their work to themselves. In fact, Bar had reached out to Galya through LinkedIn because she believed that together they might create an even greater impact.
There was no competition.
No concern about who received the credit.
Only one question:
How can we help more people?
As we left Beit Alon, I remember thinking that surely this would be the highlight of our journey.
I was wrong.
Our next stop was Tulip Winery where we stopped for lunch. I knew the winery had something to do with creating opportunities for people with special needs, but I had no idea just how deeply that mission was woven into everything they did. It wasn’t until we arrived and learned their story that I truly understood the impact they were making.
At first glance, it seemed like just another stop on our itinerary.
One organization provides meaningful employment and inclusion.
The other provides a home and community.
Yet the more I listened, the more I realized they shared the exact same heartbeat.
Tulip Winery’s philosophy is beautifully captured in one sentence:
“We put labels on wine, not people.”
The winery creates meaningful employment opportunities for people with disabilities, demonstrating that every individual deserves dignity, purpose, and the opportunity to contribute.
Once again, it wasn’t really about the wine.
It was about people.
It was about believing that every individual has something meaningful to offer when someone is willing to see their potential instead of their limitations.
As we left Tulip Winery, I found myself reflecting on what we had experienced.
Two completely different organizations.
Two completely different missions.
Yet both were quietly asking the same question:
How can we help people flourish?
The following day, we continued our journey to Netanya, where Galya had another meeting—this time at Chef Factory.
Chef Factory is a nonprofit organization that uses food as a tool to bring people together, build confidence, and create community.
Initially, I assumed we would simply hear about baking and cooking.
Instead, we heard story after story about transforming lives.
By then, I had begun to notice a pattern.
Each organization we visited was completely different in its mission, yet remarkably similar in its purpose.
Each one asked the same simple question:
How can we help people thrive?
Like Beit Alon and Tulip Winery, Chef Factory isn’t defined by what it produces. It is defined by the lives it changes.
Their professional teaching kitchens welcome soldiers, young adults with special needs, widows, and others facing life’s challenges. Rather than focusing on a particular population, they focus on people. Wherever there is a need, they ask one simple question:
How can we help?
The goal isn’t to teach someone how to bake the perfect pastry.
The goal is to restore confidence.
To create community.
To help people discover abilities they may never have realized they possessed.
Food is simply the tool.
The masterpiece isn’t the beautiful pastry that comes out of the oven, worthy of any high-end pâtisserie.
The masterpiece is the person who created it.
I was equally struck by the leadership. Avi, an accomplished chef, and Talia, a young woman with the same passion for serving others, worked together with remarkable humility and purpose. What impressed me wasn’t the difference in their ages or backgrounds. It was how naturally they complemented one another, united by a shared vision.
Most of our conversation wasn’t about recipes.
It was about expanding to Jerusalem.
Reaching more people.
Creating more opportunities.
Building stronger communities.
Changing more lives.
Not once did they speak about recognition or success.
Their focus remained firmly on the people they served.
As our conversation unfolded, it became clear that success wasn’t measured by how many people walked through their doors.
It was measured by how many people walked out believing in themselves.
That, to me, is extraordinary.
As our journey came to an end, I realized that every stop had been telling the same story.
Beit Alon creates a home where young adults find belonging, stability, friendship, and purpose.
Tulip Winery reminds us that labels belong on bottles—not on people—and demonstrates the dignity that comes from meaningful employment and inclusion.
Chef Factory uses food as a tool to bring people together, restore confidence, and remind every participant that they have something valuable to contribute.
Three completely different organizations.
One shared philosophy.
None of them are really about housing.
Or wine.
Or food.
They are about people.
They are about seeing potential where others may only see obstacles.
They are about recognizing that every person deserves to be seen, valued, and given the opportunity to thrive.
When Galya invited me on this trip, I was excited for many reasons.
One of them was simple.
I knew we’d be spending time by the Mediterranean.
For as long as I can remember, the sea has been my place of peace. It quiets my thoughts, brings me clarity, and reminds me to breathe.
I set out looking for the peace that the sea has always given me.
And I found it.
I stood by the water.
I watched the waves.
I felt the serenity I had been longing for.
But I came home with something even greater.
The deepest sense of peace I experienced wasn’t found by the sea.
It was found in the people.
In Bar’s embrace before she even knew me.
In Orel’s quiet dedication.
In the legacy of Alon that continues to live through Beit Alon.
In Tulip Winery’s unwavering belief that labels belong on bottles—not on people.
In Avi and Talia’s commitment to helping others discover their own dignity, confidence, and potential.
I discovered that Israel’s greatest treasure isn’t a place.
It’s the people who choose to look beyond themselves.
The people who refuse to walk past a need without asking what they can do.
The people who measure success not by what they accomplish for themselves, but by the number of lives they help others rebuild, strengthen, and uplift.
Throughout our journey, every conversation—whether in Kiryat Ata, at Tulip Winery, or in Netanya—came back to the same simple question:
“How can we help people thrive?”
To me, that is Israel’s greatest treasure.
Not only its mountains.
Not only its sea.
But the extraordinary people who wake up every morning determined to leave someone else’s world better than they found it.