Avigail’s Story
My name is Avigail Sarah. I’m almost 70, from Bat Yam.
The events of October 7 shook me deeply, as they did for so many.
I couldn’t find the sense of purpose or contribution I longed for during such a painful time for our people. I volunteered several times in the Gaza Envelope and in central Israel, packing supplies, distributing food to evacuated families, but still felt that something in me was missing.
When I discovered the program, I registered immediately and waited eagerly for my placement.
In September 2025, I was assigned to the Eshkol Regional Council.
As a social worker and former director of a day centre for the elderly, I was asked to work four days a week in Neve Eshkol as an additional social worker, reinforcing the existing staff member.
I admit, making such a move at my age sounded almost romantic.
People told me I was brave to leave everything behind and embark on a year of service. Even the idea of living with roommates felt like a nostalgic return to youth.
But when I arrived, reality was much less romantic.
I understood quickly that I would need to reinvent myself in many ways:
- At work – long hours, intense pressure, and navigating an entirely new system.
- Professionally – rediscovering skills that had almost faded and slowly came back.
- At home – adjusting again to shared living.
- In the wider volunteer group – finding my place, becoming part of something larger.
- And in the Gaza Envelope altogether – acting with sensitivity, humility and care.
There was a period when I had to fill the role of the local social worker.
It made me doubt myself: Maybe this is too much for me? Maybe I made a mistake?
During those moments, I missed home terribly – my friends, my family, my familiar rhythms.
I tried reminding myself of the big things I had already accomplished in my life.
And still, I found myself “walking between the raindrops”:
What was appropriate to say professionally? What wasn’t? How could I adapt to the pace and needs of this unfamiliar place?
Then I told myself a sentence that gave me strength:
I agreed to break.
I allowed myself to feel, to sit inside the uncertainty, and, most importantly, to let go.
And from that place that had almost emptied out, I slowly began to fill back up.
Day after day, I heard my own voice returning.
I rediscovered what is most natural for me: to smile, to embrace, to be human with people, especially with older adults.
Gradually, people began telling me how much light and joy I bring with me.
It strengthened me profoundly.
With time, I found my colour again, both personally and professionally.
Among all the people I meet, there is one who has stayed with me in particular:
A clear-minded, intelligent man, yet caught in deep depression and a sense of meaninglessness. Disconnected from everyone, refusing to join activities or accept help.
From our very first meeting, something small shifted.
He began coming twice a week and eventually asked to add two more days.
His emotional state is still fragile, but I can see his effort, every single day.
I am often surprised to discover that after everything this community has endured, I still meet people who are joyful, creative and full of life.
I don’t walk around feeling that this is a “broken community.”
One of the beautiful things here is how much people seek a framework to belong to and you can sense it everywhere.
What moves me most is that the centre welcomes anyone who walks in.
The heart opens first.
At Neve Eshkol, everyone is accepted without preconditions and only afterwards do we assess needs or arrangements.
For me, it is truly a holistic place.
The warm, unique café… the gym that attracts students, soldiers, families and centre members… and the day centre with its diverse levels of functioning, together they create the feeling of a small community within a larger community.
