Since Hezbollah began raining daily fire in northern Israel, life close to the border has become a waking nightmare. Two restaurateurs have reacted very differently to the deadly situation in which they have found themselves in since October 7. 

Gal and Itai have had to relocate their family business

Itai and Gal met 12 years ago at the newly opened 300gram restaurant (Instagram: 300gramchef) in the moshav of Betzet in the Western Galilee.

Itai, owner and head chef, was looking to hire his first waitress, and Gal needed a job. “After three years, we got married, and after six years, our first child Benaya was born. Two years later our second child, Alma, was born” says Gal.

In 12 years, the restaurant, located just two kilometres from the border with Lebanon, grew into a roaring success, thanks to its family-orientated charm and hearty, 300-gram portions. Chef Itai’s smoked steak and veal became famous in the region, and the firm favourite with tourists craving a kosher pitstop during a hike to Rosh HaNikra.

But Hamas’ deadly attack on October 7 changed everything for communities like Betzet and restaurants like 300gram — perilously close Israel’s northern border.

A day after the invasion, Hezbollah — Iran’s terrorist proxy in Lebanon — joined the onslaught showering Israel’s north with rockets, missiles and drones.

Betzet — within five kilometres (3 miles) of the border — was one of 28 northern communities evacuated by the Israeli government in October. Once shaded woodlands, winding rivers and verdant hills are now a barren military zone.

But Itai, 41 and Gal, 35, refused to let their beloved business turn to dust and in June they successfully re-opened in Bustan HaGalil, a moshav close to Acre and the Mediterranean coast.

New home: 300gram's hearty meals have been forced to move

“We understood that it's going to take a long time, the war between us and Lebanon,” says Gal. “So, we decided to move on, to keep on going with our life.”

The eatery is enjoying a fresh lease of life in its new home among banana plantations.

“Much of [our menu] grows from the Galilee: spices, vegetables, even meat, and also the wine,” says Gal, who’s dedicated to keeping their trademark low prices and portions generous despite the hardship of re-opening a restaurant in wartime.

“We are living day-by-day, hour by hour. You'll hear something in the news, and you’ll know tonight will be a quiet evening, because something has happened. People are afraid to go out.

“Today, there were many people, but yesterday, because the government told everyone to stay close to their shelter, and many cancelled their reservations,” she said.

While 300gram has been salvaged and customers are returning, daily life in the western Galilee is still nightmarish. “We are used to living at war,” says Gal. “Because in 2006, we were at war with Lebanon. This is the story of our life: for the people of Israel, and the people of the north specifically.”

Fellow restaurateur, chef Shmuel Shaltiel Halevi knows this all too well. He tells me that on October 6 2023 his restaurant, Shefi, was filled with life, song and dance, as friends and family from Tel Aviv celebrated a 60th birthday.

“We had around 100 guests” he says. “I don’t know how to describe it, but everyone was so happy. It was a wonderful day — very clear, very nice weather. We were so happy, without knowing that the morning after we would wake up to the beginning of this terror attack and actually the beginning of war.”

Almost a year on, and Halevi, whose steakhouse is in the moshav of Manot is still waiting to re-open his business. Not because re-location isn’t an option but because he remains wedded to the land — unblinkingly dedicated to waiting out the war.

Even though it’s five kilometres from the northern border, Manot wasn’t evacuated by the government. Many residents fled Hezbollah’s relentless barrage of daily fire on their own accord, without government compensation.

But Shmuel, 57, refuses to jump ship and start again elsewhere. “The meaning of Shefi to live in the Galilee, and to host people among the hills and the green trees,” he said. “I’ve had a few proposals to open something in another place, but it's really not the same,” he said.

As newlyweds, Shmuel and wife Sigal were one of the 50 original families who founded the moshav of Manot in 1980 with assistance from the Jewish Agency.

They left Nahariya to help build their village from the ground up and 43 years later, Manot has a population of 525, and is home to Shmuel’s three children and 12 grandchildren.

Shmuel opened Shefi — named after his own nickname — in 2010, transforming his

passion for the working the land into a livelihood and using ingredients of the Western Galilee — its meat, grapes, legumes and spices — in every menu item.

Blending Mediterranean flavour with an American-barbeque style of smoking the meat, Shmuel combined tradition with novelty. He brewed his own beer and served his own wine — branded Monforya — from the grapes he still grows on his vineyard.

“The beautiful thing about Shefi is that my business is not just to make money. It's to make something that I love and share it with people that are traveling,” he said.

Guests would flock to the restaurant to sip Cabernet Sauvignon while soaking up panoramic views of the entire Galilee, “beginning in the Mediterranean shore from Nahariya, and going up to Rosh HaNikra and then all the border side”.

Shmuel also built cabins surrounding Shefi, giving tourists an opportunity to witness the splendid region under the stars. So when Hezbollah began its brutal attack and Shefi was forced to close, Shmuel didn’t consider relocating the business for a second.

“As a Zionist, we never, never leave house; we need to fight, we need to hold, and this is why we're here,” he said.

Now he is part of a voluntary group delivering dry food to other villages lying close to the border with Lebanon; making sure his fellow villagers had enough food, water and generators for electricity and providing free meals for soldiers.

And a year on is still committed to staying put and waiting out the war. Even if that wait for normality to return to the region is grating at the best and maddening at worst.

“Each day, we really think that something will happen, and it will be over, like an agreement in the south. So you live with the hope that soon it will be over. But then it takes another week, and another week, and another month, and another month. It's really frustrating.”

More info on Shefi here