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Re'im my Home

On that Saturday, my mind never stopped racing. The messages and cries for help in the WhatsApp group were relentless. I had to let it all out, to transfer it onto paper. It felt like a blend of therapy and artistic expression. I just wrote and wrote, and in the midst of it all, in a secure space, I penned these words: 'Re'im, my home.' That's where the heart is, now more than ever. Only now, the heart aches and bears its wounds.



My shelter's door doesn't close all the way, and when there are missiles or a red alert, I simply move to the side.

We were confident that it would be ״normal״, even though it started with a strong boom. If I had known earlier, I would have gone straight to my mom because she is an old woman alone. My shelter is a creative space, and I thought maybe now is the opportunity to create something, but then WhatsApp messages started coming, and I realized it's different. Not "normal". And then I began to hear the explosions. My family was so worried about me. They told me  to secure the shelter door somehow, so I tied it with the strap I work with. Even though I knew that if the terorrists will enter the house, it's over. And I accepted it. There's nothing I can do about it. I just accepted it...

Having the phone with WhatsApp and friends is what saved me; they helped me not to sink into fear.

At some point, I wrote a farewell letter to my family because the terrorists were a few houses away, and I knew they could get to me, and there was nothing to stop them. I was so lucky that they passed through.

There were four young people who we didn't know what was happening to them; WhatsApp was flooded with messages like, "What's happening with them?". It was crazy. A real panic attack. And there is nothing you can do, just holding the phone like this is your link to life.


At a certain point, we stopped hearing from my mom on WhatsApp. I knew my mom had received a message that her best friend was killed and she was all by herself. I was so worried about her. I asked someone to check on her. My neighbor went to her house, risking his own life. Only in the afternoon I could come over, even though it was still dangerous, I went to her; I climbed through the window into her shelter, she wasn’t in a good condition, but she was alive.

Adi Drimer

I was born in Kibbutz Re'im , growing up with my classmates, this is how Kibbutzim used to be. You're always with another 10 children, always together.

After the army, I moved to Tel Aviv and started working in photography, ceramics, and delved into art. In 2011, I decided it's time to return to the Kibbutz, to my family, who were all here.

In the first years, I still commuted to Tel Aviv to work and simultaneously studied art education at the Kibbutzim's seminar. I began teaching art in the regional school, working with children of all ages. I greatly enjoyed it.

From my perspective, art is my entire life. In all sorts of mediums, the main thing is to create. I've been involved in art all my life, but I never thought of myself as an artist.

This document was my way to deal with the trauma and fear, I'm happy that it found it's way to people's hearts and souls helping them to deal with their trauma in some way. 


Art From The Shadow

©2023 by Lifeline - Art Fundraising

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