Thirty-One Years of Freedom Without a Rulebook

Details

Interviewee: Nirit and Yuval Ketner
Role: Community Members (Nirit lead of dates operations)
Community: Kibbutz Samar
Date: 2026-01-14
Language: en

Summary

Nirit and Yuval Ketner reflect on their thirty-one years living in the community of Samar, which they initially joined for a year of freedom. Over the decades, they found that the absence of rigid structures and centralized authority fostered a unique environment where freedom came with personal responsibility. This freedom has allowed them to raise children in a more liberated and trusting atmosphere, but they acknowledged the challenges that come with such a lifestyle, including conflicts and the potential for some community members to feel overwhelmed by the lack of boundaries. An important part of their experience has been the transparency in their economy, which was centered around agriculture, particularly date cultivation, forming both an economic and social backbone for their lives in the kibbutz.

Key quotes

Freedom can be as heavy as it is liberating.

Everyone knew everything. How much money came in, how much money went out. There was complete transparency.

The whole kibbutz turned around the dates. The dates gave work, gave income, gave togetherness. In the summer all the children worked in the groves. It was the center of life.

The fact that it continues, that it exists, is the strength.

At the base of partnership there must be some humanity, some compassion, goodwill and tolerance.

Transcript

**Sharon:** Tell me your name, where are we sitting now?
**Nirit:** I am Nirit. I'm at home, in Samar.
**Sharon:** What made you want to stay here?
**Nirit:** I can say two things. First of all, we came here for a year off. We called it a year of freedom, from a life that was clear to us and had a very clear direction. We built a house in the Galilee and it took us four years to build it, and life brought with it all sorts of other things in those years. We just needed a moment to breathe and rest, and Yuval wanted to change jobs too. So when he finished being a reader of the Tza, and before the next thing, he said: Now. Now we're going to visit Samar, that always interested him. So we came for a year. That year passed very quickly, without us noticing, so we said: Okay, we'll cherish the year off for another year. Thirty years have passed. Thirty-one have passed, just a moment.
I want to say two things about the 31 years that have passed. Right from the beginning, from the moment we decided that we were here, there were two things that accompanied us all the way. One, that we have a home to this day, we have a home somewhere else. A building that we built, a place that we love. So every morning, every day, every moment of dilemma – we were not helpless or had to stay here, because we always had the option. We have a home somewhere. There was always an option facing this question. And that's one thing. The second thing is related to it – our choice was almost daily. Sometimes it was because someone annoyed me, or something happened here. Always when the question arose – whether to stay here – the answer was faced with the feeling of freedom. The open garage, the open locksmith, the open opportunities, the tool lift, everything confirmed – just do it. That was part of the magic.
**Yuval:** I can testify for myself: What fascinated me was the idea that people can be partners, even though they are not equal. It was very unique. In a kibbutz, everyone is equal, everyone is a partner, the model is clear, it rapes people. It's a kind of Sodom bed – cutting off the legs of one, stretching the other to infinity. And suddenly you reach a place where each individual is a kibbutz in his own right. He has to create his own private narrative, take responsibility for his actions, his desires, his freedom, his expenses and income, his relationships. You are an autonomous unit. You are a small king among a hundred other kings.
There is anarchy here in a positive sense – there is no rule. Not that there weren’t people here, or that there aren’t people here who wanted to be rulers, but society in general didn’t allow them to do so. Anyone who raised their head above a certain height, with the intention of haughtiness over others – had their domineering ambitions cut off. And if you want to achieve things, you have to negotiate. That’s one of the hearts of this place. Do you want something? You have to negotiate, about almost everything.
You want something completely bizarre, strange – for example, one day we got up and went to India for a year. So we sat down in front of all the members in a big kibbutz conversation, explained our reasons and desires, and the members voted in favor.
**Sharon:** Can you explain how this value actually creates the management structure here?
**Yuval:** First of all, it was too good. It was so much too good that we overdid it. The structure is a partnership of different people, and the level of partnership is according to the choice of each partner. There are those who gave their all to infinity – super caring, investing time, physical effort, cooperation. And next to them, people are more indifferent, they care less. And they live in one fold. Not that there are no feelings – it is clear that if someone invests a lot and looks at someone who does not – feelings arise. But it stops there, within the emotion.
In most cases, it doesn't come down to battle. The wars in Samar were small over the years. I'm not saying there wasn't any distress, but it didn't come to battles, or to slander in the dining room. The community kept to itself. People understood that if you draw swords, they don't stop, they continue to reap – and they simply didn't draw swords.
The level of interpersonal violence was low. There were obviously difficulties, but it didn't explode. And that was also the case in Ochrano – we didn't develop ways to neutralize these mines.
**Nirit:** For example, our neighbors in Neot Smadar – at least at first, from what we understood of them – developed tools to share emotions all the time. They may not have had anything to eat, but they knew how to talk nicely to each other, explain, reconcile. With us, the distress was buried deep and ate people from the inside.
**Sharon:** How did it affect you, living in a place where there is no rigid structure but everything depends on choice?
**Nirit:** That's what kept us here. The freedom to choose, the freedom to move, to create, to raise children without restrictions. On the other hand, it can also break. Because there is no structure that holds you by force. If you don't want to – you're not in. There were people who were broken by it, who couldn't hold on.
**Yuval:** This freedom also creates a lot of responsibility. If something is important to you, you have to establish it, drive it, carry it. There is no body that provides it for you ready. If you want a certain education for your children – you initiate. If you want a different livelihood – you create. It is enormous freedom, but also a burden.
**Sharon:** And how is this reflected in Samar's economy?
**Yuval:** The economy was like a seesaw. There were very good years, especially when the date drying business was successful and there was a stable income. And there were weaker years, when we had to cut back. But it was always open – we knew what was happening. There was no management hiding data. Anyone could know what the cash position was.
**Nirit:** And it also created transparency, which was for better or worse. When there was success, everyone felt like a partner. When there was a decline, everyone felt that too. It strengthened the sense of partnership, but it also burdened.
**Sharon:** Agriculture – was that the basis of life here?
**Nirit:** The dates were central. All our seasons revolved around it – the flowering, the ripening, the marketing. The children grew up into it. During the summer holidays, everyone worked in the orchards. It was part of Samar’s identity.
**Yuval:** It was both an economic base and a community base. People met around the work, talking while picking or packing. It was a part of life, not just a livelihood.
**Sharon:** How did the children grow up in this?
**Nirit:** The children grew up with a lot of freedom. They ran around freely between the houses, knowing that there was someone watching them, someone who would guide them. It created a different kind of security. That's perhaps one of the things that held us here the strongest – seeing the children grow up in a way that is almost impossible anywhere else.
**Yuval:** I remember when we went on trips outside of Samar, our children were different from other children. More independent, more used to taking responsibility. This freedom educated them to be who they are.
**Sharon:** Were there also conflicts? What did they look like?
**Yuval:** Of course there were. We don't always agree, that's natural. There were arguments about money, about the nature of education, about how decisions were made. But something about Samar always kept the arguments from exploding. Maybe because there wasn't a large centralized power here, so it was impossible to "put someone down."
**Nirit:** But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. Many times people kept it inside. There was no permanent tool here to express emotions. Maybe that's what's missing. Maybe if we knew how to talk more, it would be easier.
**Sharon:** How were decisions made on the kibbutz?
**Yuval:** Through kibbutz discussions. Everyone could come, talk, make suggestions. Sometimes it was very messy, but that was also the power. Nothing was closed behind closed doors. If someone wanted to move something – they had to come, convince, listen.
**Nirit:** It was a school for democracy. The children saw us arguing, competing, voting. It educated both us and them.
**Sharon:** Were there moments when you thought about leaving?
**Nirit:** There were many. Each time for different reasons – sometimes fatigue, sometimes frustration. But we always came back to the same place – the freedom here is worth it. The fact that you can get up in the morning and shape your day, your own path, without anyone telling you how.
**Yuval:** And also the knowledge that we had another home, in the Galilee. It gave us the feeling that we were not imprisoned. The choice to be here was real, daily.
**Sharon:** How do you see Samar's future?
**Yuval:** This is a difficult question. Our generation is no longer young, and the children are choosing their own lives. The question is whether this place will be able to last for the next generation.
**Nirit:** I think Samar's strength has always been in its ability to make things possible. If the place continues to make things possible, people will continue to come here to support it.
**Sharon:** If you had to summarize – what is Samar for you?
**Nirit:** Samar for me is a land for a life of freedom and partnership. A place where I could raise children, try things, make mistakes, succeed. A place that sustained us for three decades.
**Yuval:** For me it was a laboratory. A laboratory to see if people could really live together without government, out of free choice. It worked, sometimes less, sometimes more – but it worked.
**Nirit:** And also family. With all the difficulties, with all the arguments – this is home.
**Sharon:** You talked about changes in other kibbutzim. What does it look like to you from there?
**Nirit:** It's been forty years since they started the change there. There's a community there today with a lot of culture. There was a lot of culture there before too – music, literature, a choir, plays, holidays, poets, musicians. Yes. So there's a community there now with a lot of culture, and that's very impressive to me. It's an attractive place, and young people with children come there and want to live there, and it's a privatized kibbutz.
So I think the change isn't so bad if you manage to get through it and hold on to the things that are important to you. Because a lot of things really changed there – the dining room, money – like language, like language. But if people succeeded… Oh, and another thing: that my mother, twenty years after the change, a little more even, she was already demented and needed help. This kibbutz, which seemed to have changed on me, she was born on this kibbutz, as if it had changed and as if it had been neglected and as if it had fallen apart and as if she experienced it as a failure – took care of her with the elders. Not just her. He took care of her in such a humane and beautiful way that I have no bad words to say about them.
They did, despite the change and despite the fact that the kibbutz was privatized, treat people compassionately. So I think maybe on the question you asked – I would say that there needs to be some kind of foundation of positive humanity between people, something related to friendship, some kind of compassion and goodwill and tolerance. Something that… that even if it’s no longer what it used to be, there’s still a possibility of continuing to maintain it if there’s tolerance and goodwill. So that was, I think, the basis of a life of partnership. The truth is that it also looks like that in relationships.