Question:
What are the lessons you have learned from living in Kibbutz Samar? What makes a community succeed, and what keeps you staying in this experiment?

Uriel:
I think you have to divide this into two parts. A kibbutz is first and foremost a community with economic partnership, and that is something that barely exists in the world. This kind of partnership forces you to be connected to people in an uncompromising way.

There was an ideology behind it. It all started with socialism in the 1920s, which itself began with Marx and Engels. The people who founded the kibbutzim came from Europe, full of belief, with fire in their eyes. They brought a vision that merged with the national need to establish and settle the country. There was a fusion of a practical idea and a strong vision, and that is what fueled this movement.

At the beginning, there was self-discipline, and the leaders had legitimacy to impose discipline. But once the state was already established, once the mission of settling the land was completed, the economic partnership lost its meaning. Why continue to be financially connected if there is no longer an external threat? The imposed equality in the kibbutzim was artificial. People are not equal in their needs, so giving everyone the exact same thing simply did not work.

Question:

How did Kibbutz Samar choose to do things differently?

Uriel:
In Samar, they decided to cancel forced equality but maintain the partnership. The question was how to create a kibbutz where people would enjoy living, where everyone could choose what they wanted to do, but with a sense of responsibility. Freedom must come with responsibility.

In the old kibbutzim, discipline was mandatory. Without it, the system would not have worked. In Russia and all the communist states, a dictatorship was necessary because once you take away personal incentives, you have to enforce order. And once the fear of external enemies disappeared, there was no motivation to maintain the system.

So we had to change our mindset. Instead of rewarding people with money, the kibbutz created a culture where the more someone worked, the more respect they earned. The "religion of labor" became central, but even that did not last. People do not work just for respect; they need to feel they have economic security.

Question:

How has your perspective on community changed over the years?

Uriel:
When I came here as a young man, I was looking for a place with true mutual responsibility. It captivated me. I saw it as something spiritual, a form of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world). A society where people care about the greater good, not just themselves.

It was also a great adventure, like being a cowboy settling the last frontier of the country. There was nothing here, and there was this feeling of excitement, of a shared vision. I wanted to raise a family in a place where children could roam freely in nature, surrounded by people who cared for them as if they were their own uncles.

But over the years, as life in the community continued, I saw things differently. At first, there is idealization, like a honeymoon. After ten or fifteen years, problems start accumulating. People get frustrated, they get hurt by each other. Some stop coming to communal meals, some avoid social gatherings. If there is no deeper foundation holding the community together, then when a crisis comes, there is nothing to lift you back up.

Question:

What does a community need to sustain itself in the long run?

Uriel:
A community needs something that connects people on a deeper level. If the ideology is temporary, the community will be temporary. If there is an eternal value holding people together—like love—then it can last.

When a crisis happens, when things get tough, you need something to lift you up. If there is nothing deeper binding you to the people around you, then what stops you from leaving? Living in a community is not easy. It requires giving up some privacy, giving up personal ownership. For example, your house is not really yours, you live knowing that you do not own things the way people do outside of the kibbutz.

It requires patience and the understanding that community life comes with challenges, not just benefits.

There was a study on intentional communities over the past 200 years, and they found that only 2% of them survive long-term. And what do all the successful ones have in common?

Faith in a higher power.

The only communities that truly lasted were religious communities, like the Amish. A community needs something greater than the individual to hold it together.

Question:

What is your role in the transformation that the kibbutz is undergoing today?

Uriel:
I feel that my role now is to dismantle the existing structure and build something new. Privatization is part of this process. I realized that a community cannot survive without adapting to today’s economic realities.

When the financial crisis hit, we understood that it was not just about money—it was about trust. No one could take on leadership roles because no one trusted them, and everything just kept deteriorating until it reached a breaking point.

So I jumped at the opportunity. I said, "Guys, we are dismantling the current system and building something new that fits today’s world."

Now I see how kibbutzim that have undergone change are thriving. People are buying houses, moving in because they want both community and security. But a community does not have to be an extreme economic partnership. It can be a supportive space where people feel connected but without the burdens that destroyed so many kibbutzim.

We need to stay true to ourselves, to be authentic. The idea that "everyone must be the same" no longer works. People need to maintain their individuality while also knowing how to live together, to respect each other, and to create a space of mutual trust.

The future of communities is not in returning to the past, but in deeply understanding how people can truly cooperate over time.