Finding Light in the Darkness
How art, community, and women’s resilience are helping Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak rebuild a sense of home
In times of profound darkness, the human spirit has an extraordinary ability to find light. Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak, one of the newest grantees of Healing Across the Divides (HATD), exemplifies this resilience. After the devastating October 7 attack, the community faced unimaginable loss and trauma. Yet, through the Healing Through Art: Women’s Therapy Program, supported by HATD and additional partners, they’ve created a sanctuary for healing and connection. This initiative, rooted in art therapy, empowers women and families to process their pain, rebuild trust, and strengthen communal bonds. Below, Shani Roditi shares her deeply personal journey of finding light in the darkness and the transformative power of art in rebuilding a sense of home.
Finding Light in the Darkness: Art, Healing, and the Making of Home
Even when everything feels dark, painful, and without a way out, it is sometimes possible to find a small spark of light. A spark that can lead to a journey. A complex and difficult journey, filled with challenges—yet also empowering, transformative, and deeply meaningful. This is my story.
In August 2022, my family and I—my husband and our three daughters—moved to Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak. I arrived as a freelance photographer, with a deep connection to art and to working with people, especially children. Shortly after our arrival, I joined the kibbutz’s early childhood education system. It was a time of beginnings—of slowly forming a sense of belonging, of building a home.
One year and two months later, on October 7th, everything collapsed. A brutal and violent attack struck the area. Terrorists infiltrated the kibbutz; beloved community members were murdered and abducted. We were trapped for long hours in our safe room, gripped by existential fear, without water or food. Only in the evening were we evacuated under military protection to the kibbutz’s educational buildings, where we remained for nearly two days—in pain, fear, and profound uncertainty.
When we were evacuated, we were forced to leave almost everything behind. My camera remained in the kibbutz. Within days, the five of us found ourselves sharing a small hotel room. We learned that we had lost friends and loved ones. The fate of others was still unknown. Reality was chaotic, painful, and saturated with uncertainty.
And yet, within this chaos, the community began trying to rebuild a sense of routine—improvised, fragile, but absolutely essential. Temporary educational frameworks emerged within the hotel spaces, offering an initial attempt to restore continuity and a sense of safety. In this new and imposed reality, I felt lost, but I understood that what would save me was action.
When I happened to meet Nirith, one of our wonderful kindergarten teachers who was then studying for a master’s degree in art therapy, I offered my help in any way needed. She shared her vision of creating an open, community-based therapeutic studio—one that could provide emotional support through art. I joined immediately, without knowing where the path would lead.
At first, we were given a small balcony near the hotel’s pool. Everything was improvised and rudimentary—we drew water from the pool to wash paintbrushes and gathered basic objects and art materials that allowed us to begin. Later, with the support of the hotel management, we were able to enclose the space and create something more intimate and protected—something like a closed tent. This is how the space received its name, a name that has accompanied us ever since: The Art Tent.
At the same time, the humanitarian organization IsraAID began supporting the space, helping to stabilize and deepen its work, and enabling its continued existence. Gradually, materials were gathered, therapists joined, and the space began offering emotional support to children, adolescents, adults, and seniors. It became a living, breathing place—a therapeutic space that allowed moments of pause and relief, expression and processing through art, and a sense of held quiet within a reality saturated with pain. For many, it was the first place where inner experiences could be expressed without words, where loss and trauma could be met gently and safely, and where a process of emotional processing and healing could begin within a communal holding.
Throughout this time, my husband Ohad and I were also required to hold our family—three young daughters—under difficult conditions of temporary living, far from home and from any familiar sense of stability. Motherhood during this period demanded strengths I did not know I possessed: to be an anchor for my children even when I myself felt as though the ground beneath my feet was giving way. From this challenge, a deep transformation emerged in me as a mother and as a woman. The knowledge, sensitivity, and tools I brought from the world of art became not only professional resources, but also a personal pathway for processing, healing, and coping with trauma—for myself and for my family.
One of the most formative moments for me occurred shortly after the establishment of the Art Tent. Without any prior planning, children and participants in the space began creating miniature models of houses using the materials available around them. Some built solid, protected homes; others created fragile, open, or collapsing structures. Through their hands, through the materials, and through the choices they made, stories of loss, longing, fear, and hope emerged—often without a single word being spoken.
It was in that moment that what was unfolding in the space became clear to me: art enabled deep emotional expression, processing, and access to places that language alone cannot always reach. From this experience, the understanding matured that art is not merely an act of creation, but a profound emotional and healing process. In December 2023, grounded in the practice itself, I made a clear decision to dedicate my life to therapeutic work through art.
Art had always been present in my life. My home was filled with materials, and creativity accompanied me throughout the years. But only then did I fully grasp its depth. What had always been a natural part of me became a way of life—a language that allows contact with pain, the processing of experience, and the opening of pathways toward healing and renewed growth.
Alongside managing the space, together with my dear partner Nirith and a remarkable team of therapists, I embarked on an academic journey of prerequisite studies. I completed courses in psychology and art—entirely online, from a hotel room. At the same time, we continued developing the Art Tent: first in Eilat, and later in Eilot, where the space operated five days a week, from morning until evening, serving diverse groups within the community.
Throughout this journey, we were accompanied by many questions: Would I be accepted into graduate studies? Would we return home—and if so, when? What would happen to us, to our kibbutz, to our hostages? Prolonged uncertainty and weighty decisions stood before us.
In the summer of 2024, when our stay in Eilot came to an end, the community split. Some families returned to the kibbutz, while others—including my own—relocated to Mashabei Sadeh, where we established an additional creative space. In effect, we managed two centers simultaneously—one in Nir Yitzhak and one in Mashabei Sadeh—with the support of a devoted team of therapists who accompanied us throughout this turbulent journey and became a true family.
In June 2025, under a complex security reality, we were forced to dismantle the active space in Mashabei Sadeh within just a few hours, following the outbreak of another round of fighting with Iran. It was the third time we had taken apart and rebuilt from scratch. It was not easy—but ultimately, we regrouped in one place: home, in Nir Yitzhak.
Throughout all of this, I continued my studies. After completing all required prerequisites, I applied to the Master’s program in Art Therapy at Sapir College—and to my great joy, I was accepted. Last November, I began my graduate studies. For me, this is a profound privilege: to learn theory from living practice—from a real field of action, pain, and hope.
The journey has not been easy, personally or professionally. Entering a new field—one that was not my “safe zone”—required courage. I was fortunate to be supported by extraordinary people who believed in me: dear partners, a professional team, and the community itself—Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak—which trusted me and supported my ability to lead this space even while I was still learning.
Today, Nirith and I lead a permanent, living, community-based therapeutic space. The kibbutz allocated a significant and beautiful facility, which underwent extensive renovation and upgrading thanks to the generous support of the Pittsburgh community. This is a place that continues to grow and deepen its work, offering wide-ranging support to the community—children, parents and children, adolescents, adults, and seniors. Guided by a vision of ongoing growth, we hope to continue expanding and providing emotional and community-based support to residents throughout the region.
This journey is still unfolding. And my hope is that we continue to grow, to learn, and to bring light—even from within the darkness.
Healing Across the Divides is honored to support grantees like Nir Yitzhak, whose innovative programs are fostering healing and resilience in the face of adversity. To learn more about the impactful work of our grantees and how you can support initiatives like the Healing Through Art: Women’s Therapy Program, visit Healing Across the Divides. Together, we can help communities find light, even in the darkest of times.
