Art was their life's work. Their galleries in the envelope farms were their pride, and the pride of the entire Negev. Israeli cultural splendor and spirit. Thousands of artists from all over the country exhibited sculptures, photographs, paintings, animation and works made of clay and ceramics.
On 7 October, everything was destroyed, arrested, vandalized. The Barry Gallery, of which Sophie was one of the directors, was set on fire on Black Saturday. Haim Menir Oz was kidnapped to Gaza, and it is still unclear what happened to the "White House," the kibbutz gallery that was his lifeblood. The doors of Shosh's Gallery in Kfar Gaza were also broken into, and miraculously only a small part of her works displayed there were damaged.
Decades of vibrant art, diverse exhibitions and lively cultural discourse, with the participation of thousands of cultural lovers who came to aspire to spirit and creativity, were lost in the murderous attack. They were silenced in one fell swoop, leaving immense pain in the heart.
But now they are confident that art will rise anew from the ashes and bereavement. "Where there is even one person, where the human spirit remains, there will always be art," Sophie says. "You can break, destroy and corrupt a home of culture and art, but you can't put the artist's spirit to death. After the great pain and sadness - we will pick up the pieces and get up again. No one will succeed in ruining our burst of creativity."
"Barry Gallery", before and after the attack (below). "I never imagined that the despicable murderers would burn her too,"
Photo: Tal Yellin,
Sophie Berzon Mackay: "I dream that we will establish the Bari Museum in the Eshkol Regional Council. A museum that will present exhibitions of every kind. Part of it will be dedicated to art, and the other part will commemorate the murdered. I hope that alongside the museum we will also live the gallery."
"I thought I was saying goodbye to life"
Two days after the inferno in Bari, Sophie Berzon Mackay, 39, a visual artist and curator, received a photograph that she found very difficult to view, along with the other horrifying scenes the kibbutz knew on the morning of the attack. The landscape captured in the photograph was almost empty: burnt wood, a small parking lot, a white parasol in the background. But the sooty remains of the "Barry Gallery" were evident.
"When I saw it, I got an arrow straight to my heart," says Sophie, who runs the gallery alongside artist, painter and curator Dr. Ziva Yellin, Haim Yellin's wife. "I couldn't stop crying. I was in severe heartbreak. It never occurred to me that the heinous murderers would burn down our gallery as well. But after I calmed down, I thought to myself: the gallery burned down, but the art will live forever."
Sophie Berzon Mackay at the hotel on the Dead Sea to which she was evacuated. "Having trouble recovering", photo: Dudu Greenspan
When she talks about the treasure that was completely lost in the flames, her voice breaks. "Along with all the immense pain for Barry, for our friends who were and are no more, there is also the pain for Ziva's and my life's work. A place of culture, love and so much life. A place of discourse, of appearance, of spirit."
Sophie is considered a gifted photographer, and in her works she often combines images to create unique visual collages. Her father Yishai is from the kibbutz, and her late mother Judy came as a volunteer from England. After Sophie was born, the family left for London. When she turned 7, she returned to Israel with her parents, and the family resettled in Bari.
Sophie: "You can break, destroy and corrupt a home of culture and art - but you can't put the artist's spirit to death. After the great pain and sadness, we will pick up the pieces and get up again. No one will succeed in ruining our burst of creativity."
She studied photography at the Camera Obscura, and 13 years ago exhibited her works in a kibbutz gallery. The connection with Ziva Yellin, who has been managing the gallery for 30 years, was quick and intense. Sophie joined the management of the gallery, and the two made the place highly sought after among artists from the surrounding area and the entire Negev, as well as among artists from around the country.
Sophie says that more than 400 different exhibitions were displayed in the kibbutz's old dining room, a beautiful wooden structure intended for preservation that was converted into a beautiful gallery with large deep spaces.
In its first form, the gallery was located in a small room below the dining room as part of the 40th anniversary of Bari's founding in 1946. The gallery was established by the late Orit Swirsky, who was murdered in the shocking terrorist attack.
The gallery used to host about ten exhibitions a year, and over the decades there have been exhibitions of photography, sculpture, painting, video art, animation and more. The last exhibition was "The Shadow of a Passing Bird", by photographer Osnat Ben Dov. Unfortunately, the photographs were all burned - with the structure of the gallery. Sophie says that there may be a small consolation in the fact that this is a photography exhibition, so it will be restored and displayed at the Janco Dada Museum in Ein Hod.
Sophie (right) at the Barry Gallery, next to one of the artists who exhibited there. "It's a pain for a lifetime's work,"
Since Black Saturday, Sophie has known no rest. At night, she takes half a pill, as she says, to get some sleep. She talks about panic attacks and crying every night, and only in the last few days has she begun to see some relief.
"On October 7, I was in the safe room with my three children, Anna (12), Thomas (9) and Danica (3), and my partner Tal. Inside our house, in the circle neighborhood in the center of the kibbutz, terrorists roamed. For hours, they fired at the wall of our safe room, at the walls of the house, and we lay down, hugged and crowded, inside the small safe room.
"We heard them all the time, even on the lawns next to us. For many hours I stood by the safe room door from the inside, with a knife. Tal held the handle, so they couldn't open it on the other side. We heard murmurs, they kept trying to break through the safe room.
"I thought I was saying goodbye to life, that I was going to die. I tried to activate the whole world, I even gave media interviews in the middle of the inferno and cried out for help. We had a massacre, there was lawlessness, and no one came to save us for hours. It was shocking. Real horror. The greatest failure in the history of the state. I am of the opinion that everyone above should go home, stand trial for what we went through.
"We kept whispering to the children to keep quiet. They were heroes. But what do you do with a 3-year-old toddler? After all, in a moment she will scream with hunger and thirst. In a rare moment of respite and silence, when the terrorists left for a moment, I slipped out of the safe room and sneaked into the refrigerator in the kitchen. I took a bottle of water, cornflakes and dates, and when I went back to the safe room, they ran out quickly."
At midnight, she was finally rescued with her family. "A miracle happened to us," she says, but immediately admits that she was struck by the survivor's guilt. "Our neighbors and good friends were murdered or kidnapped, entire families were destroyed – and my family emerged unharmed. I'm alive, but so many others aren't. The worst happened to them," her voice breaked. Once again.
"Breathing is an alter ego"
Since they were rescued from the kibbutz, Sophie and her family have been staying at a hotel on the Dead Sea. She is still sad, having a very hard time recovering. Her eyes are trotting.
She has not yet returned to artistic creation. Her last photograph, from a series called "The Nest," was taken in her living room about a week before that Shabbat. "The white soul I created, the collage, is my own alter ego. Animals have been in my work for years. I didn't have time to complete the series I was working on. I feel a deep pain the likes of which I have never known, and I write a lot now. I was always also involved in texts, reading, literature, poetry.
"I am very busy, together with Ziva, to rebuild the gallery now. I don't know where or when yet, but I'm sure she'll get up. I dream that we will establish the Be'eri Museum in the Eshkol Regional Council, which will present exhibitions of every kind of work. Part of it will be dedicated to art, and the other part will commemorate the murdered. Maybe we'll build both the museum and the gallery."
Sophie tells of the amazing mobilization of many organizations that have mobilized to help revitalize art and galleries in the Gaza Strip and Bari. "We're very busy with fundraisers, with various connections. We have help from the Ministry of Culture, the Tel Aviv Municipality and the Artists' Union, and we are in a combined effort to open the gallery in a location in Tel Aviv. We are also surrounded by museums, professionals and donors from abroad. We are allocated large spaces for additional exhibitions that we were about to present. I am very excited about this mobilization, and we are really working to find a temporary solution for ourselves, at least for the coming year."
Her children are already asking questions. Some want to return home, others express great fear of returning to Bari. Sophie knows that everyone has experienced trauma, like her, and tries to be by their side and hug as much as possible. "The days are not easy, and yet, I don't lose hope. As far as I'm concerned, something very dramatic needs to happen now in Gaza. They must be eliminated - until the last terrorist. The residents of the western Negev must be given real security. What was couldn't be more.
"Only in this way will we be able to return home, to Bari, and only then will art flourish there again, where there is life. I know it has to happen. The house that was mine was shattered, but it's standing in relatively good condition compared to houses that have been turned into stones or burnt skeleton. It's not my home anymore. It's an empty shell. My home is inside me, with me. Seeds of a future waiting to sprout. Goodbye, my beloved Negev. We'll meet again."
One statue remains intact
The fate of the "White House" gallery in Nir Oz is still unknown. A spacious gallery built in the area between the kibbutz and the neighboring Kibbutz Nirim, on the ruins of an old house. A beautiful place that hosted many exhibitions throughout the year, and which became famous as a home for artists from all over the country. The life's work of Haim Peri (79), who was abducted by Hamas terrorists from his home in Nir Oz.
As of this writing, Chaim's fate is unknown. The last piece of information about him came last week, on the day of the release of the abductees Nurit Cooper and Yocheved Lifshitz, when the latter testified that she saw him live in captivity. His children, who range from the Headquarters for the Release of the Abductees to the care of their mother, who survived the inferno, collect fragments of information about the abductees. The gallery itself was left behind.
"It was my father's life's work, and I very much hope that when he returns, he will also work in it," says his daughter, Ofri Perry. "This place is his true love. It was an old building that my father renovated about 20 years ago and turned into a bastion of art."
Haim came to Nir Oz with a Sabra nucleus in the 60s, and has not left since. He worked as a locksmith in the kibbutz garage, but Ofri tells of an artist who loved to work in a variety of fields. He studied and taught film at Sapir College, and over the years began to sculpt himself, mainly welding iron and wood. Alongside the "White House", the fruit of his cultivation, a wide sculpture garden was established. A temple of art, which in winter is always surrounded by ruby and anemone blossoms, a source of attraction for nature and art lovers alike.
Haim Perry, who was abducted to Gaza, while placing an exhibition in his gallery, "The White House", photo: Tamar Kedem Siman-Tov
"My father's goal was for the White House to be open to everyone. As a person who appreciates art, he never charged a fee for visiting the place. When there were exhibitions, he always sat and entertained the visitors, explained about the art and told about the history of the place.
"That's what was important to him, to promote art from all fields and to preserve the surrounding sculpture garden. The publication did not interest him, he did everything out of love and a desire to preserve the culture in the Negev. He even took part in a boutique winery established by a group from Nir Oz, and really connected with the joy of creation. He loved being surrounded by good people."
In addition to his many activities to promote friendship, brotherhood and tranquility, Perry volunteered with the organization "On the Road to Recovery", which transports patients from Gaza for medical treatment in Israel. Some of the sculptures he created were scattered throughout the kibbutz, which after the attack became a silent monument of terror and destruction. In one of the photos taken after the kibbutz was destroyed, Ofri was able to identify a statue made by her father that remained intact. She still doesn't know for sure what the fate of the other statues is.
Ofri Peri, whose father Chaim, founder of the White House Gallery in Nir Oz, was kidnapped to Gaza: "It was very important to him to preserve the sculpture garden next to the gallery. The publication did not interest him, he did everything out of love and a desire to preserve the culture in the Negev. Loved being surrounded by creators"
"Sometimes, in previous rounds, there was slight damage to the vicinity of the White House because of the larval grooves of IDF tanks. But my father always made sure to renovate and tidy up, so that the place would be accessible to everyone," she says. "Because of the special view, walking around the gallery and the sculpture garden next to it would give visitors a different experience compared to the galleries in the center of the country. My father did everything modestly and in a non-commercialized manner, and the refreshments served always included bottles of wine and fruit platters that people brought themselves. The main thing was the exposure to art."
Haim Perry outside the White House Gallery,
Over the years, many artists have exhibited sculptures and exhibitions in the gallery, and Haim is also supported with the help of other curators. In recent years, Ofri says, he was joined by the late Kibbutz member Tamar Kedem Siman-Tov, who helped him set up some of the exhibitions. Tamar was murdered on the kibbutz alongside her husband and three children.
"What they went through there is incomprehensible," says Ofri, who left Nir Oz and lives in the north. "On Black Saturday, he was with my mother in the safe room. In the morning, they wrote messages that there were missiles and that they were okay. Later, my mother wrote that residents in the area say they see terrorists, and only then did we begin to understand the real severity. At a certain point, we completely lost contact with them, because there was no reception, but we internalized that something very bad was happening.
"Around 11 a.m., my mother texted us that she was okay, but added that they had taken my father. It turned out that the terrorists tried to break into their safe room several times without success, and left the house for a few moments. My father understood that the terrorists were going to come back, told my mother to hide, and as soon as they got home again, he went out to them. They told him in English not to resist, and took him. The very fact that he went out to them on his own initiative - he saved my mother.
"We knew he had been kidnapped even before we got the official announcement, because my mother saw with her own eyes the terrorists taking him. At that point, we still didn't know how she was doing. She said the whole house was broken and shattered, and that she would have nowhere to go back."
Ofri: "We knew from the first moment that my father had been kidnapped, even before the official announcement, because my mother saw the terrorists taking him with them. From hiding, she told us that the whole house was shattered, and that she knew there would be nowhere to go back."
After more than a day of fighting to cleanse the kibbutz of terrorists, Ofri's mother was rescued safely. She is now staying with another daughter at Kibbutz Nachshonim, and occasionally travels to Eilat, the city to which the kibbutz survivors were evacuated.
"We want Dad to come home as soon as possible," cries Ofri. "I'd love him to know Mom is okay. Maybe he doesn't know what happened to her after he left with the terrorists. I want him to know that we're all waiting for him. The new information that he was seen alive in captivity has given us a lot of hope and increases our pressure to release him safe and sound."
"Now I feel blocked"
Shosh Segev Ofek, owner of Shosh's Gallery in Kibbutz Kfar Azza, knows that her gallery was broken into on Black Saturday, but also that most of the works remain intact.
"I still can't get to the gallery. Not now." Shosh Segev Ofek, Photo: Efrat Eshel
She still doesn't dare visit there herself. The pain, distance and danger overwhelmed her. But her husband, who drove with military approval to the kibbutz to bring their car and other belongings from home, also checked the condition of the gallery along the way. "He said the doors were broken down, and apart from a few jobs that fell to the floor, nothing was touched," she says.
"Shosh's Gallery", before the disaster,
"I assume that our army went in there, not the terrorists, otherwise much greater destruction would have been evident. I don't really know what happened. It's very fortunate that the terrorists didn't enter my gallery in order to barricade themselves. In that case, it is likely that an Air Force helicopter would have bombed the gallery and completely destroyed it. But even if it's complete, I still can't get there. Not now."
She is 70 years old, married with three children. Figurative and abstract painter, sculptor, multidisciplinary artist. "I usually just take the color and do whatever I feel like with it at that moment," she explains wistfully.
Shosh Segev Ofek, from Shosh's Gallery in Kfar Gaza: "How can I turn my emotion to a work after something like this? There is healing in creation, but for me it is always done wholeheartedly. And when my heart is shattered, I feel like I have to put it back together first."
She has lived in the village of Gaza for almost 50 years. Two of her children live in the kibbutz's Caravilla neighborhood, waiting to build a house on the farm. Now they are in Eilat, where they were evacuated from Kfar Gaza, while Shosh and her husband were evacuated to Shfayim. Her hands, which often work in clay, paint and papier-mâché, are now busy serving drinks and food to those mourning her murdered friends.
Shosh: "Over the years I have given many workshops to artists from all over the country. At first, they were afraid to write to me and ask how I was, because no one knew if I was even alive. Now I get a lot of messages of support, everyone wraps around us and hugs us."
"I breathe ceramics and paints, but in such situations I feel completely paralyzed," her voice is quiet. "From previous rounds of fighting, I always knew that after everything was over and after I returned to our wonderful reality, creativity burst out of me. I would go into the workshop and start working, working and working. The problem is that I can only work in a state of quiet, peace and calm. When it's the other way around, I get blocked and can't create anything. Now, with what happened, I'm blocked."
The gallery has been damaged in the past
The large space in which Shosh's Gallery is located used to be a children's home, and today it is divided into a gallery and workshop. Under Shosh's hands went canvas paintings and ceramic sculptures and papier-mâché that she created from scratch. A minute and a half walk separates her kibbutz residence from the gallery, and her heart is now divided between the two. "The truth is, I'm usually in the gallery more than at home," she says, smiling slightly.
When she recounts the stories of the terrible Shabbat, anxiety once again takes over. "We were in the safe room for 36 hours until they came to evacuate us. At some point, the electricity went out, and the water stopped. After a few hours, the batteries in our mobile ran out, and then we completely lost touch with the world. There were shots and explosions all the time, but we couldn't communicate with the outside. I heard the terrorists forcefully opening the windows of safe rooms in the young people's homes, firing into rooms and throwing grenades inside. They also came to our house, knocked on doors and started shooting from the kitchen window into the house. When they couldn't get in, they moved on. We went through a day and a half of nightmare."
Shosh: "The gallery doors were broken open, but apart from a few works that fell to the floor, nothing was touched. I assume that the army entered there, not the terrorists. Very lucky that they did not barricade themselves there. It is likely that a helicopter would have bombed the gallery and destroyed it."
Only later did Shosh discover that her son and his wife, who is nine months pregnant, had been evicted from their home shortly before her and transferred to Eilat. "It turned out that they were rescued in the middle of the night, literally fleeing the inferno. We managed to get out and the house stayed fine, but others burned the houses. This is an unimaginable monstrosity, which happened because someone fell asleep on guard duty. We lived in such a beautiful and pastoral kibbutz, and now there isn't much left of it.
"I don't know how we're going to get back to it, and I can't see myself living anywhere else. I've lived in the village of Gaza for almost half a century. That's where I got married, where my children were born. But right now we're all in a big fracture."
Israel's wars and the harsh routine of the communities near the Gaza Strip also made many marks in Shosh's artistic psyche. For quite a few years, she has been selling works to the San Diego-based nonprofit Adopt a Family, which sells the works onward, and the money collected is donated to families of terror victims.
This isn't the first time Shosh's Gallery has been hit hard. During Operation Protective Edge in 2014, a mortar fell on the gallery's asbestos roof, destroying part of it. Shosh was then asked to vacate the gallery, and spent four months working on its restoration. "A lot of my work was damaged by that mortar. When I came back, I didn't stop creating."
"Still in the nightmare"
Her phone is now ringing constantly. "Over the years I have given many workshops to people from all over the country, and these days they write to me and ask how I am. I know that at first they were afraid to write to me, because no one knew if I was even alive. But once they realize yes, I get a lot of messages of support. At Kibbutz Shefayim, too, they wrap us around us and give us a lot. We need to get stronger.
"How can I turn the emotion to creation after something like this? I know that there is healing in creation, but for me it is always done wholeheartedly. And when my heart is shattered, I feel like I need to put it together first. I now have a need to try to give my community here art workshops to relieve the tensions and pains we carry.
"It's frustrating to me that I can't come to my workshop and gallery, get materials out of there and find a suitable space to organize the workshops, and I need donations to sustain what I've been doing all my life. In the meantime, I feel like I've been in a nightmare, and I'm trying to wake up."
We ask Shosh to show a picture of one of the works she created on her smartphone. She pauses for a moment. "I look at the pictures from such a distance," she almost whispers. "Like it's not something close to me. It's something I'm familiar with, but it's still a long way off."
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