Settlement Activity in Contemporary Jewish National Projects

The deliberate establishment of communities and the execution of settlement projects have long been—and to some extent remain—integral to the strategies of various factions within the Jewish national movement. Moreover, this represents a unique characteristic of European Jewish nationalism, which remains a European-style national movement to this day, regardless of the specific territory it claims. Indeed, it is this focus on settlement that fundamentally distinguishes the movement from the self-determination struggles of other European nations. The strategic importance of these settlement programs was driven by a condition frequently termed "Jewish homelessness" in late 19th and early 20th-century Jewish commentary—the Jewish people's lack of a contiguous ethnic territory upon which to build their own statehood.

As an ethno-religious group, Jews might have remained content with the role of a minority, sustained by memories of a great past and hopes for messianic Redemption in an abstract future. However, conceiving of themselves as a nation claiming its place as an active subject of history inevitably pointed toward reclaiming or acquiring a Jewish Homeland by transforming it into a territory with a dominant Jewish majority, capable of determining its own destiny and that of its country. Among all modern and contemporary Jewish movements, Zionism achieved the most striking results in this regard. Unlike autonomism, or the now-defunct territorialism—which advocated for a Jewish state in any viable territory—Zionism succeeded in realizing its primary goal: securing contiguous Jewish settlement in at least part of its historic homeland, Eretz Yisrael ("the Land of Israel"), and subsequently restoring Jewish statehood upon it.

According to Zionist narrative, Petah Tikva, founded in 1878, is considered the "Mother of Jewish Settlements" ("Em HaMoshavot"). However, the ideology of the settlement's founders—often cited as the first in the modern history of the Land of Israel (though the settlement of Gai Oni on the site of modern Rosh Pinna was actually established a few weeks earlier)—was religious rather than national in the European sense. Petah Tikva was founded by five Jewish families from Jerusalem whose heads sought to fulfill the religious commandments linked to cultivating the soil of Eretz Yisrael[1].

The history of ideological settlement in Eretz Yisrael began in 1881 with the arrival of immigrant groups from the Russian Empire, collectively known as the First Aliyah. Notably, about 75% of this wave of repatriation, which lasted until the early 20th century and totaled approximately 30,000 people, settled in urban areas. The establishment of new agricultural settlements during this period was spearheaded by the BILU group, founded in the Russian Empire and ideologically linked to the Hibbat Zion movement ("Lovers of Zion"). In 1882, BILU members established Rishon LeZion, and they went on to found Zikhron Ya'akov, Ekron (now Mazkeret Batya), Gedera, and Rosh Pinna. Following the first Hibbat Zion conference in Katowice in 1884, where paths for settling the Land of Israel were discussed, the implementation of settlement projects intensified. By the end of the 19th century, a dozen more settlements had been established in Eretz Yisrael, primarily along the Coastal Plain ("from Hadera to Gedera") and in Eastern Galilee, though similar attempts were also made in Bashan (within modern-day Syria's Daraa Governorate)[2].

Following the First Zionist Congress in Basel in 1897 and the creation of the World Zionist Organization, the founding of new settlements became highly systematic, guided by a structured ideology aimed at creating a "national home" and ultimately an independent Jewish state in Eretz Yisrael. The settlement movement of the 1880s to the 1940s served as the primary basis for defining the borders of the future State of Israel. Its significance in this regard cannot be overstated; one notable example is the deliberate establishment of some twenty Jewish settlements in the Northern Negev between 1943 and 1947, which ultimately led to the inclusion of the entire Negev within Israel.

Following independence, the settlement process continued to expand. Today, Jewish communities exist across all regions within the "Green Line," representing the demographic majority in most areas.

The Second Generation and its "Russian Accent"

The "second generation" of the settlement movement emerged after the 1967 Six-Day War, manifested in several small towns and hundreds of communities built on territories that came under Israeli control. These areas in Judea, Samaria, and the Jordan Valley represent the historic heartland of Jewish ethnogenesis. Settlements were also established in the Gaza Strip, the Sinai Peninsula, and the Golan Heights.[3] Despite the evacuation of Jewish communities in Sinai, and later in the Gaza Strip and Northern Samaria, the settlement movement achieved significant results, turning the central and southern Golan Heights, as well as the northern Dead Sea coast, into predominantly Jewish areas. Furthermore, Jewish residents today constitute at least 20% of the population in Judea and Samaria, holding a numerical majority in several sub-districts.

With the resumption of mass aliyah from the USSR in the 1970s after a nearly 50-year hiatus, Soviet immigrants actively joined this process. For this and subsequent waves of immigration, communities in the territories liberated—or, from another perspective, occupied—by Israel in 1967 became a powerful, romanticized symbol and a core component of "Russian Neo-Zionist" values. As Tel Aviv University Professor Yaacov Ro'i observed, the immigrants' attitude toward the "disputed territories" was shaped by their capture during the Six-Day War, which served as a major emotional link to Israel for many Soviet Jews.[4]

Russian-speaking immigrants were the founders of settlements such as Barkan (1981), Hinanit (established in 1981 by Mountain Jews), and the Sa-Nur artists' village[5] (1988) in Samaria, Pri'el (1978) in the Sinai Peninsula, Givon HaHadashah (1980) northwest of Jerusalem, and Tal-El (1980) in the Galilee. Immigrants from the USSR also played a major role in founding and developing the communities of Tekoa, Nokdim, and the city of Ariel (whose first mayor was Yakov Faytelson, a 1972 immigrant and former Zionist "refusenik")[6]. However, their role during this period was far less prominent than during the "founding generation" era prior to Israel's statehood and its first decade, when Russian Jews made up the ideological core and driving force of the settlement movement. This shift was due not only to the smaller demographic weight of Soviet immigrants compared to earlier waves, but also to the cautious attitude of the Israeli and settlement establishment toward immigrant initiatives of that era.

Independent "communal" activities of Russian-speaking immigrants were largely confined to informal groups and centered around a few cultural and social projects. These initiatives of national significance typically lasted only a few years, sometimes collapsing in their infancy.[7] Consequently, the proposal to build a "Russian" city named Shomron-Aliyah in Samaria, which could have become the settlement symbol of 1970s immigration, failed to secure the backing of state leadership.

During these years, Soviet Jewry found itself at the center of the debate between the political right and left regarding the future of the territories. The right advocated for the annexation of Judea, Samaria, and Gaza, and the construction of settlements throughout the area west of the Jordan River. The left argued that such a step would require granting citizenship to the Arab inhabitants of these territories, which they claimed would compromise Israel's democratic character. This, in turn, would alter the demographic balance and, given high birth rates in the Arab sector, transform the country from a Jewish state to an Arab one within a generation or two. Even the left was temporarily open to the concept of a "Greater Land of Israel," but only on the condition of the arrival of "a million Soviet Jews"—an outlook that both right and left leaders then dismissed as highly improbable.

This dynamics might have shifted dramatically with the onset of the "Great Aliyah" from the former USSR, which brought approximately half a million immigrants to Israel by the mid-1990s, rising to nearly 900,000 Jews and their family members by the end of the decade. During this period, direct immigrant-led initiatives began to play an increasingly visible role alongside large-scale programs run by official bodies (such as the Ministry of Absorption, the Jewish Agency, and local municipalities). Nevertheless, a state-directed, systematic settlement of "Russian" Jews in territories beyond the Green Line did not materialize.

This outcome was prevented by the Likud government due to international commitments (though it did not oppose individual families or organized immigrant groups choosing to settle in specific towns in Judea, Samaria, and Gaza). It was even more strongly resisted by the Labor-led government that took power in 1992, whose leaders made a conscious ideological choice to decouple immigration from the settlement movement to prevent aligning immigration with one side of the political spectrum.

Consequently, no targeted government initiatives were launched to attract Soviet immigrants to communities beyond the Green Line, despite the hopes of certain immigrant and settlement groups—such as through establishing absorption centers there or extending the "First Home in the Homeland" kibbutz integration program to these settlements.

Nevertheless, regardless of official government policy, immigrants from the USSR and CIS settled in Judea and Samaria on their own initiative. By the late 1990s, Russian-speaking Israelis accounted for at least 10% of the Jewish population beyond the Green Line, and in the two largest Jewish cities in Judea and Samaria—Ariel and Ma'ale Adumim—they made up approximately half and a quarter of the population, respectively. A study on the motivations of Russian-speaking immigrants settling in Samaria, conducted in the early 2000s by Shlomo Sharlin and Victor Moin of the Ariel University Center, revealed that while the initial choice for most immigrants (especially urban settlers) was driven by pragmatic factors like quality of life and affordable housing, a positive or neutral attitude toward the concept of settling the territories eventually evolved into a strong emotional identification with the settlement movement itself[8].

However, it must be acknowledged that the overall presence of former Soviet immigrants in the "second generation" of the Zionist settlement movement fell short of the demographic, professional, and ideological potential of the Great Aliyah—even though polls indicate that Jewish settlement enjoys robust political support within this demographic.[9] Notably, both leading Israeli political parties representing the Russian-speaking community—the now-defunct Yisrael BaAliyah (IBA) and the active Yisrael Beiteinu (YND)—at one point proposed establishing their own settlement movements, though these initiatives did not materialize.

Independent "Russian" settlement projects, which were widely discussed within the immigrant community, were limited to a few highly symbolic initiatives. The most prominent was the Ma'ale Mahanaim neighborhood in the city of Ma'ale Adumim, settled by activists of "Mahanaim," a Russian religious-Zionist society founded in the Moscow underground in the 1980s. Other notable examples include Russian-speaking synagogue communities in the Samarian settlements of Kedumim and Beit El, the "Russian" core of the Kfar Eldad community in Eastern Gush Etzion, and the small settlement of Ma'ale Amos (home to about 50 families) in the same area. Founded in 1981 by American immigrants who graduated from the Aish HaTorah yeshiva, half of Ma'ale Amos's current population consists of Russian-speaking families who graduated from Litvak-style yeshivas. Additionally, in the early 1990s, immigrants from the USSR (primarily Subbotnik Jewish converts joined by other Russian-speaking Jewish groups) revived the abandoned Kibbutz Yitav in the Jordan Valley.[10]

Another notable effort was launched by graduates of the NAALE-16 program, who arrived in Israel as teenagers from various post-Soviet countries without their families. After completing high school, they enrolled in the Nir Army Yeshiva in Kiryat Arba. Following their military service, while studying at Ariel University, they decided to build a new community tailored for young couples and singles like themselves. Thus, in 2002, during the height of the Second Intifada, the new outpost of Nofei Nehemiah was established with the support of the Amana settlement organization on a hill near the settlement of Rehelim in Samaria, two kilometers from Ariel.

Although the land occupied by the group was state-owned, authorities repeatedly attempted to evict them. The outpost was dismantled several times, but the young settlers consistently returned. For years, the government withheld building permits, forcing growing families to seek housing elsewhere as they outgrew temporary mobile homes. Today, Nofei Nehemiah is home to approximately 50 families, many living in permanent housing, though the original Russian-speaking founders are no longer among them (http://myesha.org.il/?CategoryID=578).

Ultimately, the 1990s and 2000s can be characterized as an era of missed opportunities for both the Great Aliyah and the settlement movement beyond the Green Line.

Mass immigration from the former Soviet Union could have served as a critical asset for another major settlement objective: strengthening the Jewish presence in strategic, sparsely populated regions in the north and south, particularly the Galilee and the Negev. These areas stand in stark contrast to the central coastal strip, where over 40% of Israel's Jewish population resides on just 7% of the land. Over the past three decades—coinciding with the Great Aliyah—these two regions, which home over two-thirds of Israeli Arabs, saw a steady outflow of Jewish residents to the economically and culturally attractive Tel Aviv metropolis, with no significant counter-migration from the Central District.[11] This trend, aligned with global urbanization patterns, persisted despite efforts by both right- and left-wing governments to implement the state's early doctrine of dispersing the population to enhance strategic, socioeconomic, and military security.

According to the Central Bureau of Statistics, while Jews still held a majority in the Galilee in the early 1990s, they had become a distinct minority fifteen years later, with their share continuing to shrink as Arab-Muslim communities in the region grew. The number of districts in the Galilee and Negev with a Jewish demographic majority also declined. This shift bolstered arguments by scholars like Haifa University Professor Rasem Khamaisi, who publicly called on the state to accept this new reality, abandon the failed concept of the "Judaization" of the Galilee and Negev, and focus instead on "globalizing" these regions.[12]

With appropriate policies, mass immigration from the post-Soviet states could have reversed these negative trends affecting the strategic interests and identity of the Jewish state. During the 1990s, governments of both political alignments made concerted, largely successful efforts to direct Russian-speaking immigrants toward "development towns" and other communities in the Northern and Southern Districts. Today, according to the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration, about 60% of Russian immigrants who arrived between 1989 and 2019 still reside in these areas. However, the outcomes of this policy were mixed. While these immigrants significantly reinforced Israel's socioeconomic periphery,

the strategy would have been far more successful had it been accompanied by timely development of transportation, industrial, and cultural infrastructure. Because infrastructure lagged behind population growth, both new immigrants and native-born residents of the Negev and Galilee increasingly concentrated in a few large urban centers—Haifa in the north, Ashdod in the south, the Negev capital of Beer Sheva, and select regional centers. Concurrently, these centers also attracted residents from smaller Arab towns. (For example, according to Yozgof-Orbach and Soffer, while the overall Jewish population in the Galilee was 43.1% in 2015, in the central Galilee highlands—including Nazareth Illit [now Nof HaGalil], Misgav, and Karmiel—it stood at only about 20%).[13]

In recent years, national leadership and Zionist organizations have made significant efforts to correct the demographic balance in the Galilee and Negev, such as the World Zionist Organization's Settlement Division project aiming to bring 100,000 Jewish residents to the central Galilee by expanding existing urban communities and founding new ones.[14] However, the potential to draw on immigrants from the former Soviet Union is far more limited today than it was in the 1990s. More importantly, the opportunity to utilize the potential of Russian-speaking immigrants to reinforce collective agricultural communities—historically the primary instrument of securing state lands—was largely missed, and their presence in these communities remains minimal.

Consequently, the phenomenon of modern Russian-Jewish settlement in Eretz Yisrael could easily be viewed as a relic of the past, much like the settlement initiatives of Russian territorialists decades ago. While theoretical ideas on the subject continued to circulate within Russian-Jewish circles in Israel and the diaspora, they appeared to have little practical future. However, an initiative launched in mid-2014 suggests that this pessimistic conclusion may not be final.

"Russian" Settlement Zionism 3.0

This initiative involves a project to establish a new academic and technology-oriented community in the Upper Galilee. The concept, later named "Beiteinu BaGalil" ("Our Home in the Galilee"), was proposed by a group of young, Russian-speaking academics (graduate students, doctoral candidates, and recent PhDs) associated with the Technion – Israel Institute of Technology in Haifa.

Ideology and Everyday Life

The project was initiated by Igor Krylov, a 30-year-old doctoral candidate (now PhD), who, along with two colleagues, gathered two hundred signatures from Technion students and alumni petitioning government authorities to establish a new community in the Galilee. Nearly all potential participants were young families or couples planning to marry, living in university dormitories or rented apartments, and facing Israel's severe housing shortage. For others, despite better employment prospects in the center of the country, staying in the north was a priority due to more open space, natural surroundings, a better climate, and lower housing costs. On the surface, their motivations appeared purely practical.

However, their choice to establish an entirely new community on open land in the Galilee was not driven solely by pragmatism. A far greater role was played by the distinct ideological views of the organizers. The origins of this initiative lie in the fact that nearly all the founders of "Our Home in the Galilee" belong to the "1.5 generation" of Russian-speaking immigrants—a term used in migration sociology to describe individuals who left their country of birth as school-aged children, a critical period for forming cultural and linguistic identity. Studies show that while members of this group in Israel are highly integrated and comfortable in Hebrew-speaking environments, they generally maintain stable Russian-Hebrew bilingualism, and their cultural and behavioral patterns remain close to those of their parents.[15]

In recent years, many representatives of the 1.5 generation of immigrants from the former USSR have faced an understated dilemma. On one hand, they successfully fill key roles in the country's economic, technological, and intellectual sectors (such as high-tech, education, and digital media). On the other hand, the high level of social stratification in Israeli society, along with the lack of multi-generational wealth and social connections among Russian-speaking Israelis, sets limits on their upward mobility. Consequently, members of this generation, who make up about a quarter of the post-Soviet immigrant community in Israel (approximately 250,000 people), frequently encounter a "glass ceiling." This has led them to increasingly articulate both the specific interests of the Russian-speaking community and their own perspective on national priorities—ranging from housing and welfare to security and national identity.

Unsurprisingly, the core of the "Beiteinu BaGalil" group was 80% Russian-speaking, with native-born Israelis ("sabras") and immigrants from other countries joining only in later stages. Notably, most of the initiators, who typically completed high school in Israel, had not been involved in traditional Zionist youth movements (such as Bnei Akiva or Tzofim) known for their settlement initiatives from the 1930s to the 1970s. According to respondents interviewed for this article,[16] "Beiteinu BaGalil" grew out of informal discussions in the graduate and doctoral dormitories of the Technion. The desire to preserve this unique intellectual and social environment beyond the university walls quickly crystallized into the concept of a new community.

Information about the group spread rapidly through personal networks and online platforms. Soon, nearly all students at the university and many alumni—frequently working together in the same high-tech and industrial firms—were aware of the project. (A typical recruitment scenario was: "A friend called and invited me to join.") Later, the organizing committee promoted the project via Facebook and the Russian-language media. "Anyone looking for an apartment or house," members noted, "inevitably asked us about this option, and then decided if this model suited them."

From the outset, purchasing condominiums in a standard urban neighborhood was out of the question. According to one of the group's coordinators, Igor Demchenko, the primary driver was a Zionist ideal: "To truly live in Israel, one must connect to the land—that is an essential condition." As project founder Igor Krylov noted, these sentiments formed the core of the community's ideological outlook.

"It all started when my future wife and I heard that in 2014, in the community of Yavne'el near Tiberias, local Arab residents had stolen livestock from a Jewish farmer and illegally fenced off part of his land. We visited the site and saw a vast, sparsely populated area of the Eastern Galilee. I wondered: is this agricultural harassment, or is it simply that too few Jews live here, making them vulnerable? If there were more people here, they would be better organized, and this likely wouldn't have happened."

In discussing what forms of settlement are appropriate for the 21st century, the group concluded that traditional kibbutzim (designed for collective survival) and highly state-dependent moshavim (cooperative agricultural communities) did not align with their goals. Nevertheless, they believed it was essential to preserve the concept of being rooted in the land.

"I arrived in Israel at age 15 on the NAALE youth program and lived on a kibbutz," recalls Igor Krylov. "On a subconscious level, it was clear that Jews who live on the land possess a distinct character. They are more self-assured, more connected to the country, and more ideologically driven than someone living on the 15th floor of a high-rise in Haifa. Urban life is inherently cosmopolitan and material. Today city dwellers live here, tomorrow in Canada, the next day somewhere else. A committed Zionist is not someone living in a city center, but someone living in a community, on the land, with a plot of their own."

In their view, this connection does not necessarily require farming, which they see as less economically viable today. Instead, they envisioned communal villages of financially secure professionals who could commute to urban employment centers. "We have little expectation of romanticized state-sponsored Zionism in the 21st century," Krylov remarked. In his view, the settlement movement must adapt to market realities: "Affluent individuals must organize and invest their own capital, independent of state bureaucracy or public subsidies. Communal villages with minimal bureaucratic interference represent the most viable model."

While such an option might not appeal to most established urban professionals, the founders anticipated that because living costs in such communities would remain reasonable, they should seek partners among young, educated families poised for professional success. Settling in an affordable area and investing their intellectual and economic capital there would stimulate the development of the region, transforming it into an attractive, high-quality residential zone. Ultimately, they hope to foster a local "Silicon Valley" in the Galilee—a hub of technological startups integrated with modern Jewish communities. For them, building a home is not just a solution to a personal housing need, but the first step in a forward-looking industrial and residential Zionist project suited for the 21st century.

Inevitably, bureaucratic realities forced adjustments to this initial plan. The organizers approached the Jewish National Fund, the Government Settlement Division, the Ministry of Housing, the Ministry for the Development of the Negev and Galilee, and other relevant bodies. They quickly learned that establishing an entirely new, independent community requiring the state to build extensive transport, water, and power infrastructure is a process that takes at least 15 years.

The challenges were not only technical and bureaucratic. Many official bodies refused to discuss establishing new Jewish communities in the Galilee, citing environmental concerns (where "trees in the Galilee are treated as more important than people") and pressure from green lobbies, which had blocked a 2008 plan for five new Galilee communities. As an alternative, authorities suggested they join an existing Galilee community. "That did not suit us," Krylov recalls. "Establishing a new community puts a new point on the map. Joining an existing one and buying a small plot is simple, but it completely defeats our core objective."

Another suggestion from authorities was to commission a cooperative apartment building in established towns like Ma'alot or Shlomi, arguing that "it would be more cost-effective for the state and more convenient for you." To this, the group replied: "By that logic, it would be even cheaper and more convenient for us to live in California. Our goal is to reinforce the Jewish presence in the Land of Israel. If that is not understood, there is nothing to discuss."

The only realistic alternative aligned with the group's vision came from the Settlement Division of the World Zionist Organization (WZO), which proposed that the group settle collectively in a struggling, underpopulated community, of which there are many in the Galilee due to demographic decline. By building a new neighborhood or satellite extension ("arhavah"), the group could revitalize the community, with the Settlement Division handling the bureaucratic procedures. They were directed to "two isolated locations where very few residents remain. If you move there, you will essentially have a new community of your own." This approach of revitalizing struggling communities has historical precedent; as noted, immigrants from the former USSR previously restored Kibbutz Yitav in the Jordan Valley.

Another example is Kfar Eldad in Eastern Gush Etzion, established on the site of a mobile-home outpost abandoned by most residents during the Second Intifada in the early 2000s. Russian-speaking Israelis preserved and rebuilt the community, which has since become one of Jerusalem's fastest-growing suburbs. While in 2001 Kfar Eldad was home to fewer than 20 families, it now has about 200, with Russian-speaking immigrants constituting half the population and remaining the dominant group (holding three of the five seats on the local committee). Kfar Eldad continues to expand, with its population expected to reach 350–400 families in the coming years.

Although the community's growing popularity is gradually reducing the proportion of Russian speakers, a new wave of immigration from post-Soviet countries could sustain this demographic. The community features an ulpan, and the local committee has proposed an absorption center and plans to establish a museum of Russian Jewry, curated by Jerusalem art historian Hillel (Grigory) Kazovsky. Notably, the local committee continues to publish its announcements in both Hebrew and Russian.

Returning to the main subject, the WZO Settlement Division's proposal focused on Granot HaGalil, a community near Shlomi in the Northwestern Galilee originally planned as a regional hub with a local school. Rather than developing into a prominent center, Granot HaGalil remained a small, declining community where only 25 of the original 40 families from 1981 remained. The second option was Kibbutz Pelech, a struggling community between Acre and Karmiel in the Lower Galilee, founded in 1982 by activists of the Hashomer Hatzair youth movement.

After careful analysis, the group chose Granot HaGalil, despite its greater distance from Haifa's industrial zones compared to Pelech. Its primary advantage was an existing, uncompleted development plan for new residential plots. Furthermore, a planned extension of the Route 6 highway is set to run close to Granot HaGalil, whereas plans for a direct road to Pelech through neighboring Arab villages were blocked by environmental opposition.

The process proved challenging. Modifying the development plan to meet the group's needs required significant time. Once approved, plots were allocated, and members invested their own funds and bank loans to develop basic infrastructure (roads, water, sewage, electricity), which took another two years. "The WZO Settlement Division was highly supportive," Krylov noted, "but it operates within a slow bureaucratic framework. We urged progress by contacting regional ministry officials directly, maintaining regular communication for over a year. This persistent effort allowed us to complete the planning phase in just two and a half years."

Community Infrastructure

Currently, Granot HaGalil features 110 residential plots at various stages of readiness, with long-term plans to expand to 350. At present, the first satellite neighborhood includes a sports facility, a new synagogue, and ongoing construction of a school and several kindergartens to serve the wider district. Plans for a community center are complete, and the regional council intends to construct a local recreational club.

Despite its small size, the community's social structure is complex. The long-term residents of "old" Granot HaGalil are primarily middle-aged and older individuals who have transitioned from agriculture to local tourism (operating bed-and-breakfasts). This small group was initially hesitant about the arrival of young, active "Russian" residents and the modernization of their quiet neighborhood. However, the leadership of "Beiteinu BaGalil" believes that integrating the two groups and attracting the adult children of the original families back to the community is only a matter of time.

The demographic profile of the new residents consists primarily of professionals aged 25 to 35, mostly married with young children. The majority are immigrants who arrived in the 1990s and early 2000s and have lived in Israel for twenty years or more, alongside a few families of recent immigrants. Approximately 90% of the residents are secular, with the remainder identifying as traditional ("masoratim") or religious Zionists. The community maintains an attitude of mutual respect regarding religious practice.

The motivations of the new residents vary. Krylov estimates that many are "accidental settlers" who desired a suburban lifestyle but hesitated to move to communities where they had no social connections. Often, standard kibbutzim with strict admission processes or moshavim populated primarily by older generations of Sephardic Jews did not appeal to them. "Here, they found a group of young Russian-speaking professionals building a community where they felt culturally comfortable." Indeed, many respondents noted that a familiar cultural environment and the ability to raise bilingual children were significant factors in their decision to move to Granot HaGalil.

The project's leadership does not view the pragmatic motivations of some residents as a concern, as integration into the community's shared Zionist values occurs naturally—reflecting broader trends within the post-Soviet immigrant community. This view was shared by Maxim Dvoretsky, an engineer and entrepreneur in the group, who noted that while individuals living in isolation rarely focus on broader social goals, such goals emerge naturally when one becomes part of a cohesive group. "Settlement is an ideal that has gained wide acceptance among our members. It may not have been their initial goal, but it becomes meaningful through shared community life."

Similarly, the organizers are not concerned by the growing proportion of Hebrew-speaking Israelis, who now make up about half of the new residents, believing they either share these values or will adopt them through community integration.

The organizational hub remains a dedicated Facebook group, where the founders share updates and coordinate activities. This digital approach has proven highly effective. Over time, the distinction between the original initiators and newer members has gradually blurred, partly due to natural turnover; only a committed core has remained active throughout the multi-year process. Of the 200 individuals who signed the initial petition in 2014, only three remained by the time the first neighborhood opened in 2016. Among the 44 families currently residing in this neighborhood, 21 belong to the founding group. "Maintaining commitment through years of administrative delays is difficult," Krylov and Demchenko observed. "Many naturally lose hope and move on, while new members take their place. Only a small, highly dedicated group remains to guide the project."

The primary divisions within the community today are functional, resembling the structures observed during the early stages of Jewish communal revival in the former Soviet Union. For instance, researchers Gitelman, Chervyakov, and Shapiro, in their studies of Russian Jewry in the late 1990s, identified four distinct categories of community involvement: "activists" (formal leaders and organizers), "participants" (those who attend events occasionally but do not lead), "clients" (consumers of community services), and "interested observers" (those who do not participate directly but stay informed through personal networks or media).[17] Similar patterns have been observed in post-Soviet Jewish life in subsequent decades,[18] as well as within Soviet immigrant activism in Israel.[19] These models persist among Russian-speaking Israelis, including those currently residing abroad in cities like Moscow, Kyiv, Toronto, or Vienna.[20]

The "Our Home in the Galilee" movement fits neatly into this framework. Its core remains the founding generation and subsequent active members—consisting of 23 families who, four years into the project, are completing their permanent homes in the first neighborhood. The next circle includes 40 to 50 families planning to settle the second neighborhood (comprising about 65 plots), where building permits were issued in May 2020. Both groups consist of highly committed families who have navigated the complex development process.

The next tier consists of approximately 400 families who are currently renting or preparing to sell their urban apartments once construction begins. They maintain contact through online forums and regular community events, such as joint hikes and picnics in the Galilee. The outermost circle consists of about 600 families who have registered on the project's website to receive updates and event invitations. "We may never see many of these registered families," Krylov notes. "Some joined years ago, others recently, while actively searching for housing. If delays occur, they often purchase homes elsewhere. We also have students who register out of interest for their future planning."

Finally, the foundation of the community's social structure consists of informal groups of friends, colleagues, and former classmates who joined the project together. These groups often produce informal leaders who coordinate with the project's main organizers. Among them are Yana and Evgeny Shumak, young physicians who immigrated from Ukraine in late 2014. After validating their medical licenses and completing their residencies, they began looking to purchase a home.

Their decision to join the community was strongly influenced by Mark Glozman, a senior nurse and active member of "Beiteinu BaGalil" who had purchased a plot in the project and was recruiting like-minded colleagues. Evgeny Shumak recalls:

"When you start working in a new department, colleagues naturally ask where you are from, and you begin to socialize. Mark, who worked in my department, introduced us to the project. We visited the site together and found it highly appealing. Having grown up in smaller towns, a community near Nahariya suited our preferences. It offers a close-knit, welcoming neighborhood of peers."

These informal networks are expected to form the basis for future interest groups and community clubs.

Economically, the community will remain connected to Haifa and neighboring industrial centers, where most residents are currently employed. However, the founders retain their goal of developing local innovation. Among the 21 families in the first neighborhood are 20 engineers and seven PhDs in technical and natural sciences. The leadership anticipates that small teams of engineers will eventually establish local technology startups, utilizing a nearby underused industrial zone.

The organizers have never envisioned the community as a passive commuter suburb. Consequently, their focus remains on attracting the right members—young, educated families with strong professional prospects who seek to contribute to a collaborative, value-driven community. "These families are at the start of their professional paths, and they appreciate building a community alongside peers who share their outlook."

Can this be considered a distinct, third generation of "Russian" settlement Zionism in Eretz Yisrael? The founders believe so. "We differ significantly from both the pioneering settlers of the late 19th century and the ideological settlers of the 1970s and 1980s," Krylov and Demchenko observe.

"The early pioneers, whether in private agricultural colonies or collective kibtzim, arrived in an undeveloped land and relied heavily on external funding from philanthropists or national funds. The second generation consisted largely of religious Zionists who established outposts under difficult conditions, often with limited institutional backing. While we share ideological affinities with the latter, we operate differently. We have invested our own hard-earned capital directly into the land of Israel. In this sense, we have a personal stake in its success. Our movement represents self-organized, financially independent individuals pursuing a shared national vision. We believe this model represents the future of Zionism in the 21st century."

Conclusion

Several preliminary conclusions can be drawn regarding this modern settlement project led by Russian-speaking Israelis.

The initiative successfully aligns the practical housing needs of a specific demographic with a clear ideological framework. While it differs from classic historical settlement models, it represents an adaptation to a modern, multicultural society and a globalized, knowledge-based economy.

In both its concept and execution, "Beiteinu BaGalil" reflects the values of the 1.5 generation of post-Soviet immigrants, who are increasingly shaping the character of "Russian Israel." The project is driven by charismatic leaders who view administrative obstacles as creative challenges to be overcome.

While these young professionals must still navigate bureaucratic structures, they benefit from established state infrastructure and over a century of national settlement experience. Their relationship with state institutions is characterized by independence and financial self-sufficiency, differing from the patronage models of earlier immigration waves.

This development can be interpreted in two ways. It may represent a natural evolution of the Zionist settlement concept, adapted to modern realities. Alternatively, as St. Petersburg ethnographer Professor Valery Dymshits suggests,[21] it may represent an entirely new social phenomenon that utilizes historical terminology to establish a positive public image—a concept akin to scholar David G. Roskies' idea of creating a "usable past."[22]

The founders of "Beiteinu BaGalil" view their project as a model for addressing both the specific needs of their demographic and broader national challenges, such as regional development.

They also see the project as a venue for developing future community leadership, drawing inspiration from the late 19th-century immigration from Eastern Europe, where a small percentage of committed ideologists went on to form the country's political elite. "Those pioneers shaped the leadership of the state in the 1940s and 1950s. We hope our community will similarly produce individuals who contribute significantly to the country's future."

Economically, "Our Home in the Galilee" functions as an integrated part of the national economy rather than a self-sustaining agricultural unit. Unlike earlier pioneering waves, there is no focus on traditional farming; instead, residents are engaged in professional services and technology.

Whether this modern initiative will develop into a broader trend or remain an isolated project remains to be seen. Its long-term success will depend on sustaining the ideological commitment of its members.

Nonetheless, it represents a highly significant sociological development that warrants ongoing academic observation.

[1] For details on the founding of Petah Tikva, see: Yosef Lang, To Petah Tikva (Hebrew). Petah Tikva: Itai Bechor Publishing, 2012.

[2] On the history of Jewish settlement in the Daraa region, see: V. Chernin, "The Forgotten Lands of Bashan," Forward, New York, 1.11.2015 (Yiddish).

[3] For more on the settlement movement of this period, see: V. Chernin, The Middle Eastern Frontier. Israeli Settlement: History and Modernity. Jerusalem-Moscow: Gesharim, 2010.

[4] Cited in: Roni Sofer, "MK: Bill Clinton must apologize over remarks on Russian immigrants," Ynet, October 6, 2010.

[5] This community was dismantled in 2005 along with three other settlements in Northern Samaria under the Sharon government's disengagement plan.

[6] See: "First Mayor of Ariel Yakov Faytelson: 'I maintained excellent relations with local Arab leaders,'" Hadashot (Kyiv), No. 11, November 2018.

[7] V. Khanin, "Russians" and Power in Modern Israel: The Formation of the Soviet/CIS Immigrant Community and its Role in the Political Structure at the Turn of the Century. Moscow: Institute for Middle Eastern Studies, 2003, pp. 19-20.

[8] S. Sharlin and V. Moin, "Motivations of Immigrants and Veteran Residents in Choosing Samaria as a Place of Residence," Research Report. Ariel: Ariel University Center, 2008 (Hebrew).

[9] V. Khanin, The "Third Israel": The Russian-Speaking Community and Political Processes in the Jewish State in the Early 21st Century. Moscow: IMES, 2014, pp. 161-170.

[10] The core of the kibbutz consisted of descendants of Subbotnik Jewish families from the North Caucasus who established a religious community in the Adygea region in the late 1950s. After its dissolution by Soviet authorities, families began immigrating to Israel in the 1970s. See: V. Chernin, "Subbotnik Jews in Russia and Israel," Shavei Israel, June 5, 2013.

[11] See: Amit Efrati, "The Demographic Threat: Israelis Abandon the Negev and the Galilee," INSS Strategic Assessment, Vol. 20, No. 3, October 2017.

[12] Cited in: Ofer Petersburg, "Jewish population in Galilee declining," Ynet, December 12, 2007.

[13] N. Yozgof-Orbach and A. Soffer, Between Judaizing and Losing the Galilee, University of Haifa, 2016, p. 11.

[14] Z. Rinat, "WZO Pushing New Jewish Towns to 'Balance' Arab Population in Israel's North," Haaretz, December 1, 2013.

[15] On the 1.5 generation in Israel, see: M. Niznik, "Searching for a New Identity: The Acculturation of Russian-born Adolescents in Israel," in Proceedings of the 4th International Symposium on Bilingualism, 2005; L. Remennik and A. Prashizky, "Generation 1.5 of Russian Israelis: integrated but distinct," Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, Vol. 18, No. 3, 2019.

[16] Interviews for this section were compiled by Victoria Charochkina.

[17] Z. Gitelman, V. Chervyakov, and V. Shapiro, "National Identity of Russian Jews," Diasporas, Moscow, 2001, No. 1, pp. 228-232.

[18] Z. Khanin and V. Chernin, Identity, Assimilation and Revival: Ethnic Social Processes among the Jewish Population of the Former Soviet Union. Ramat Gan, 2007, pp. 96-99.

[19] Z. Khanin, "Russian-Speaking Volunteers in Israel." Report at the Tenth Stern Lectures, Tel Aviv, 2018. See also: N. Khvorostianov and L. Remennik, "'By Helping Others, We Helped Ourselves': Volunteering and Social Integration of ex-Soviet Immigrants in Israel," Voluntas, No. 28, June 2017.

[20] Z. Khanin, From Russia to Israel... And Back? Contemporary Transnational Russian-Israeli Diaspora. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2021.

[21] Correspondence with Prof. V. Dymshits, October 8, 2020.

[22] D. Roskies, The Jewish Search for a Usable Past. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999.