If you’ve passed through Tel Aviv in the last four years, you have probably heard of some activities related to Culture of Solidarity. The civil organization operates a wide array of volunteers to promote mutual aid for anyone who needs help or assistance, from all sectors or populations.
Founder Alma Beck says the organization was inspired by the Food Not Bombs project – a group of collectives founded in 1980, that offers free meals to anyone in need, made from rescued or donated food. Beck approached Danielle Cantor, whom she did not know personally, after hearing she had founded a similar food related venture: “But before we could meet, the rumors started about some virus circulating around… When the first COVID lockdown started, we thought ‘Well, we can start now'”.
Beck and Kantor turned to restaurants, offices and other institutions that were closed to the public, asking to collect food that was about to be thrown away. In a few hours “We were swimming in cars full of food”, as Beck describes it. In the blink of an eye, they organized a temporary packing point, gathered volunteers – mostly friends or social media followers – and started their first operation. “We first reached the asylum seeker community in Tel Aviv, and at the same time we connected with someone who organizes meals for the elderly and families in need. Our friends started calling and got addresses of people needing our help… It all started as some kind of ad-hoc operation”.
This one-off event turned out to be much needed. “We thought it was one and done, now we can use our free time to have a lockdown hobby. Learn Photoshop or bake sourdough bread, maybe” Beck laughs. “Without realizing it, we started something. Volunteers kept approaching us, wanting to help. Restaurants and farmers who were stuck with unwanted products contacted us, along with people asking for our assistance.
We realized that we have momentum and we have resources to keep going. So we continued, week to week. As we met more people who received food from us, we realized that there is also a great deal of loneliness, especially with the elderly, but not just them. We were exposed to some very difficult situations that were completely untreated, and heard of daycares closing with no alternatives. We had to continue and use the connections we made to find solutions. Additional needs kept rising. Again, in a very spontaneous and unplanned way, we started to set up systems related to food and other needs. This whole thing continued to unfold”.
Towards the end of the second lockdown, Beck and Kantor prepared to conclude the successful chapter and transfer the information – names, addresses and needs – to the welfare authorities. “We did our part, acted like good citizens during a crisis – now we will turn to the systems that are supposed to do this work,” Beck says. But then they went through what she calls “a 101 course on Israeli welfare”. Endless pursuit of authorities, lack of response and unwillingness, daily struggles. A broken system that cannot and does not want to respond. They realized that the community created around Culture of Solidarity is here to stay. At that moment, the organization not only changed its purpose, but was also radicalized.
The action began to take on a more political dimension. We realized it would be a mistake to continue doing all this without a social critique angle. After seeing the first fracture in the system – everything crumbled. It wasn’t just about food security or social rights anymore, it was all types of struggles. What it’s like to be an elderly person in Israel, or a single mother, a member of a marginalized community or a Palestinian… which leads us to the occupation”. This change in thinking also led to collaborations with other groups and activists in socio-political discourse (“It is important that activists talk to each other”).
Not long after, Culture of Solidarity got their own home base – a small space in the Teder complex called House of Solidarity. The space is used not only for the food distribution systems, but also for community events and what Beck calls “mind-expanding” discourse. It includes all kinds of socio-political content: Movie screenings, talks, performances, lectures, and everything that produces meaning, community and a call to action. On Fridays, the ‘radical library’ is open for reading and book lending. Events are all in a pay-as-you-can format, with proceeds from ticket sales going directly to food donation and other aid programs.
Today, all participants in the group’s activities are volunteers and contribute as much as they can. The organization does not receive funds from the authorities or municipalities, and they have no ongoing relationships with any corporations or companies. This allows them to operate in complete freedom, without aligning themselves with any political or economic statement dictated by another entity. It also means their donations and budget haven’t been disrupted because of the ongoing war.
Nevertheless, the events of October 7 did shake Culture of Solidarity and its activists. Beck describes a complex situation to operate as a community with Jewish-Palestinian partnerships. The situation required bigger commitment than ever, in an effort to help evacuees and Palestinians from the West Bank. It also required deep, meaningful dialogue between volunteers, who had a chance to express and share their feelings during weekly meetings.
“After 7/10 sayings like ‘you can’t say that at the moment,’ “you can’t do that right now’ became more and more common”, says Beck. “It can be very dangerous. When we reduce what can be said, we establish a new status quo. The House of Solidarity has a role: to continue to hold complex conversations, to keep saying things that are not in the Israeli consensus and that many would prefer not to touch on. We can’t be accomplices of the dangerous environment that takes over the public discourse, where calls to ‘flatten Gaza’ are more accepted than talks of peace or a political solution. We continue to talk about a future that is non-violent and focuses on human rights. That’s part of our mission now”.
Hope is the starting point of our conversation, which raises the question – what is the difference between hope and optimism? Culture of Solidarity’s actions are based upon hope. Hope in human beings, their kindness and their desire to do good. But optimism? That’s another story.
Beck explained: “I don’t know about the community, but for me personally it is very difficult to hold onto hope and optimism, even if sometimes it feels like that’s what is expected of me. The action of ‘solidarity’ in a violent space like this is almost survival for me. I have to resist, I need this community to be with me in order to survive on a daily level, to believe that there is good in the world. To know that I am not alone. This does not necessarily indicate hope.
I think a lot recently about the protester who stood in front of the capital during the Vietnam War. When he was asked if he wasn’t tired of protesting and seeing no change, he replied: ‘I don’t expect to change the system, I protest so that it doesn’t change me’. That’s what Solidarity is for me. It’s a lot of people who gather to live everyday life the way they believe it should be lived. To behave towards each other the way we believe a society should. It’s an island of sanity in a sinking reality. There are many voices in our community, some hold that hope and others keep working towards a better future even without it. We have friends with families who are still in Gaza, people we know there, Palestinians who live that terrible reality. Siblings, parents, friends who are fighting this war. This is a terrible situation that we must stop. We really don’t have the right not to continue resisting”.
Hope is also to continue doing what you believe in. Being a small light in some people’s life is a lot, even if it only lights one corner instead of the whole house.
“Yes, it’s a very philosophical period in this regard. When you look at the whole thing, it’s terribly discouraging. The grief, the failures. Sometimes you feel like your actions do nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I’ll end with a beautiful moment we had recently. We organize rallies led by women, where we all sit down somewhere as a group with signs about human rights. We did a sit-down in Jerusalem and there was this girl who happened to pass by. She stopped, sat down, looked and listened for half an hour, carefully reading the leaflet we handed out. And I thought to myself: ‘Wow. I feel like all these dozens of women came today just for her’. It’s some sort of practice, you have to stay present inside of it. It’s a lot of emotional work to do, but it’s important and worth it”.
