For most Israelis, the past two years have been an endless struggle to catch their breath — between air raid sirens, reserve duty and attempts to maintain some semblance of routine.
But for Maya and Adir, a couple from Kibbutz Mefalsim near the Gaza border, that routine became impossible. They decided to do what many fantasize about in moments of despair — in traffic jams or inside a safe room: stop everything, pack only what truly matters and simply drive away.
We caught up with them for a conversation from their caravan somewhere in a frozen corner of Europe.
Maya, 30, and Adir, 32, were married last August and until recently lived in Kibbutz Mefalsim. Maya, originally from Tel Aviv, worked as an HR and operations manager at the cybersecurity startup Blast Security and made a sharp transition from an office on the 30th floor of the Tel Aviv Stock Exchange tower to life on the road.
Adir, originally from Rishon Lezion, is a dog trainer and canine-assisted therapy specialist who lives and breathes dogs. Joining them on their journey are Ollie, 8, and Patza, 2, their border collies, who are an inseparable part of the family and the reason this trip looks the way it does.
Not running away — choosing
The decision to leave behind stable lives and growing careers does not happen overnight. For Maya and Adir, it was born out of a combination of national trauma, personal burnout and an old dream waiting for the right moment to surface. They insist this is not about running away but about actively saving their souls.
Many Israelis throw around the phrase, “Let’s get out of here,” but the next morning, they show up at work. When did it click for you that this was really happening, that you were breaking the mold?
Maya: “‘Running away’ is a big word. First of all, because you can’t really run away, and the word makes it sound like there’s no choice involved. But if you’re asking when we decided to choose to fly, that was probably on our very first date. Adir told me about a yearlong trip he took to New Zealand that was ‘the best time of his life,’ and we always talked about how we had to do a van trip together with the girls,” she said, referring to their dogs.
“Almost four years ago, after two years together, we broke up for six months. It was very hard for me, and I decided to fly to Europe to clear my head — Portugal, Spain, Italy. Long story short, and very romantic — Adir joined me in Portugal, and we got back together. The moment we started talking about a joint trip, it was clear we’d do it in a van. I had to ‘taste’ that experience. And the taste was excellent, because from that moment it opened something up for us.”
“Life went on, and it no longer felt like it would happen again. Then Patza arrived. Adir was certain he wanted to travel to Europe to train and compete with her. The talk about professional dog training abroad merged with my own state after Oct. 7. I developed very complex anxiety. Every car ride became a battle. I was accompanied by daily fear of death. I would drive 10 minutes and imagine that at any moment there would be a terror attack, afraid I’d freeze in the car and die. Then I’d go up to the office, put on a smile and tell myself that in the evening drive, it probably wouldn’t happen again. But even deep therapy couldn’t completely release the feeling. I was afraid in Israel. Even my body signaled it, with psoriasis that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. As my doctor told me, ‘It seems your soul is signaling that you need to breathe — take some air.’
“So when Adir raised the idea that maybe after his reserve duty we would do another ‘post-army trip,’ and shared that all he dreams about is being in a caravan in Europe, combining agility training with the strongest trainers in the world and sleeping in nature — I couldn’t resist.”
Adir: “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have come back from New Zealand a decade ago. As a person, routine is very hard for me, but somehow you get pulled into this matrix. After Oct. 7 and hundreds of days in reserve duty, I felt I needed a bit of a break from Israel — not just from the challenging security, economic and social situation, but from the routine life we all experience. For me, it’s less about escape and more about choosing to live a little differently. After experiencing a year in a van in New Zealand and another two weeks with Maya almost four years ago, I knew that’s what would fulfill me. Combining the trip with the girls and the advanced dog-training experience in Europe — that’s the perfect mix for me.”
What kind of reactions did you get?
“The main reactions were: ‘For how long?’ ‘What will you do there?’ ‘What about the dogs?’ ‘What about work?’ And mostly people looked at us like we were the bravest people in the world. It seems crazy to everyone that at 30, a minute after the wedding, while everyone is talking about kids, we decide to fulfill a dream and break routine. For our parents and families, it was more complicated because they were worried about our careers. But in the end, they were supportive and had our backs.”
Maya: “The big story was my job. I started working at Blast Security in January 2025 in a position I really wanted. But when Adir received another reserve duty call-up in the summer, we understood that immediately afterward, we had to leave.
“It was difficult for me because I was in a great place career-wise at a growing startup. I scheduled a meeting with my manager, but I didn’t know how to open the conversation. So I simply wrote a ‘monologue’ in my iPhone Notes about what the company means to me and about my desire to fulfill this dream — and I read it to him for seven minutes.
“Luckily, my boss is an amazing person. His response was: ‘OK, that was very dramatic. First of all, living in a caravan with your husband and two dogs sounds like grounds for divorce. But in short, when are you flying?’ I received full backing to work remotely, remain part of the company and continue helping it grow. It’s proof that real innovation begins with trust in people.”
Turning off the lights in Rishon Lezion
Moving from a spacious permanent apartment to life on wheels requires the logistics of a military operation. It is not just buying a plane ticket, but dismantling an entire life, boxing up memories and learning from scratch how to live in a foreign country inside a vehicle.
How do you pack up a whole life? What did you do with the apartment and everything you accumulated?
“We had a huge to-do list: dogs, caravan, trip, apartment, jobs. We were living in a four-room apartment owned by Adir’s family in Rishon Lezion, and we decided to leave it. You can’t ignore that moment when an entire closet is reduced to piles of clothes and a full home of belongings shrinks to two suitcases, a backpack and two carry-ons. You think twice about every single item.
“The most significant and difficult preparation was figuring out how to buy the caravan, where the hell we actually wanted to travel and where the strongest and best agility fields and trainers in Europe are. We learned everything through European Facebook groups, because in Israel, there isn’t an abundance of information on the subject. That’s exactly why we invest heavily in our Instagram — to make this knowledge accessible and advise anyone who’s curious.”
Let’s talk practically about the route. Where do you stick the first pin in the map, and how does it unfold from there?
“We landed in Berlin on Sept. 14. Maya’s aunt and her partner live there and helped us tremendously with the German bureaucracy and buying the caravan — a Sisyphean process even for someone with a European passport. We combed through Germany until we found ‘the one’ near Munich, and in the first week of October, we hit the road.
“Since then, we’ve covered about 10,000 kilometers: Germany, the Netherlands, the Czech Republic, Austria and Slovakia. We’ve already spent two months in Slovakia near an innovative and incredible canine center, because Adir trains here four to five times a week for agility competitions with the dogs. In between, we spend time in Vienna and Bratislava. The next destination in March is Italy — Maya’s favorite place in the world — and we’re debating whether to drive through Austria for snowboarding or through Croatia and Slovenia.”
Life in seven square meters in Europe’s cold
While “van life” on Instagram looks like orange sunsets and coffee with a view, the winter reality in Europe is far rougher. When temperatures drop outside and the caravan turns into a refrigerator on wheels, romance is put to the test.
Most people imagine van life with sunshine and a beer outside. You chose the extreme version: a European winter in a caravan. Why do this to yourselves?
“It’s very hard. There are ways to warm up: an electric heater, a gas-powered climate system, a boiler for the shower, heating pads and an amazing duvet we brought from Israel. But when you step outside, it’s unreal cold — not something you get used to. We haven’t taken off our thermal clothing in a long time.
“In terms of van life, the parking areas are empty. We try to enjoy what winter has to offer — snowboarding, hikes in the snow without crowds of tourists and snowy landscapes. But showers become a challenge. Sometimes we find ourselves going to a public pool just to shower in hot water, or, when there’s no choice, spending a night at a fully equipped campsite, even though we try to avoid that and live more minimally.”
After several months on the road, was there a moment when you said to yourselves, “Maybe we made a mistake? Maybe we went too far”?
“Not at all. Even though it’s not sexy, glamorous or Instagram-worthy. It’s cleaning your own toilet every few days, fixing malfunctions at the garage when a light comes on here or a drawer breaks there. It’s daily planning about where we’ll sleep and whether we have enough water to wash dishes. If Maya washes her hair, that means Adir doesn’t shower.
“The caravan sounds spontaneous and fun, but it’s so planned, because otherwise you won’t have water, electricity or gas. But when we get through it together, we understand the power and magic of this choice.”
Four residents, two legs and eight paws
This journey would not have happened without Ollie and Patza. The dogs are not just accompanying cargo, but the center of their lives and the main consideration in every decision — from where they sleep to where they drive next.
Two dogs in a four-room apartment is standard. But two energetic border collies inside a cramped van?
“People are always afraid to get a dog because they say, ‘My home is too small.’ So I think this is proof that even in seven meters you can live with two dogs and meet all their needs. The power of the caravan is that every parking spot is a door to nature and shared energy release. Adir trains them 24/7, so they’re very comfortable. But yes, they’re definitely under our feet — and the number of times we say ‘move’ is crazy.”
Arguing — and making up — inside a tin can
When you are together 24 hours a day in a tiny space, every nuance becomes a drama and every bad habit turns into an environmental hazard. Maya and Adir’s relationship is put to a daily test, with nowhere to escape.
Has this journey strengthened you as a couple, or mainly put a magnifying glass on cracks you did not have time to see back home?
“It shines a light on everything. It has strengthened us a lot, but it’s really not simple. There’s a well-known saying that every couple always fights about one core issue, just in different contexts. So we know what our problems are, and this forces us to deal with them, because everything here is much more intense and there’s nowhere to run.
“Adir is someone who thinks a lot before every action, compared to Maya, who has already nearly closed the door on the dogs’ heads a few times because she didn’t notice they were glued to her legs. Overall, we’re proud of ourselves that we’re together all the time and truly manage to contain it.”
"There are moments when the caravan feels spacious, and moments when it feels like the most crowded place in the world. Suddenly you reduce your wardrobe to two pairs of jeans and two sweats, or your kitchen to two plates and two pots. We give things up because there’s simply no space"
What do you explode over when you live in a van?
“Everything. Every time Adir needs Maya to guide him while driving, it ends in a fight. Who gets up first from bed when it’s freezing and someone has to take the dogs out and start working. There’s one week a month when Adir is very annoying and Maya is perfect — and that also creates friction.
“Honestly, we decided to open an Instagram page, @The_Border_Van, to document the journey, and that also creates tension. We invest, edit and film, but the algorithm is annoying. Why does a video of filling up water in the caravan get tens of thousands of views and shares, while the essence of the trip gets less? It definitely creates short circuits.”
Were there things you discovered about each other only after moving onto wheels?
“It puts a magnifying glass on very positive things — like how well we know each other’s minds at the most basic level. For example, Adir will never eat in the morning and Maya has to eat. That becomes an anchor in the schedule.
“But mostly, we discovered that it’s not simple to be minimalists. There are moments when the caravan feels spacious, and moments when it feels like the most crowded place in the world. Suddenly you reduce your wardrobe to two pairs of jeans and two sweats, or your kitchen to two plates and two pots. We give things up because there’s simply no space, and we’re constantly asking: ‘Do we really need this item?’ We’re learning a completely different way of life from our previous routine of walking around the mall and filling up shopping bags.”
‘If it were only up to me, there would be no return date’
Beyond the stunning landscapes and sense of freedom, the journey also raises a complex issue familiar to many Israelis: What is it like to move through the world as Israelis during this period? Maya and Adir share moments of concealment and fear, a golden tip from a friend and one story that began with deep anxiety and ended in complete surprise.
When people ask you, “Where are you from?” do you say “Israel” or feel compelled to lie?
Maya: “First of all, I always hesitate. My biggest fear is that it will ‘land badly’ with someone that we’re from Israel. The truth is that with some people, we prefer to say Adir is from Portugal and I’m from Poland, and that’s why we’re speaking English.
“But before the flight, I consulted my best friend, Ariel, who has lived in Europe for several years and deals with this question all the time. She gave me her excellent answer: ‘We are not from the sexiest country at the moment, we are from Israel.’ So far that’s the best response. It makes people open up to us in a positive way.”
Give us one moment from the journey when your heart truly skipped a beat.
“On the day we bought the caravan, in a small town in Bavaria, we saw on Google Maps that there was a campsite four minutes from the vehicle registration office. It felt like a great place to begin before we ‘find ourselves.’ We stopped there, and I went down to ask if there was space for the night.
“During the conversation, the manager asked me twice where I was from. It was very early on in the trip, so I immediately said I was from Poland and Adir was from Portugal. He saved us a spot, but I felt very uncomfortable. I told Adir, ‘Why is he asking twice where we’re from?’ He said he probably wouldn’t be there when we returned and that he would leave the details outside reception.
“When we came back from the registration office, I saw he was still there. I asked Adir to come with me because I was afraid. We went in and said in English, ‘Hi, how are you?’ He looked at us and suddenly said, ‘Are you Hebrew? Shana Tova!’ It was right around the Jewish High Holidays.
“We were in shock. ‘What? What do you mean?’ we stammered. ‘Yes, hello.’ Then he asked in English, ‘Why didn’t you say you’re from Israel? I asked you at noon.’ I told him, ‘Yes, you asked twice and I was really scared.’ It turns out his wife is Israeli and had just flown home for the holidays. We laughed hysterically — in my head I had already imagined a terror attack, and in reality it was an innocent German married to an Israeli woman with a cool campsite.”
Do you have any idea when you will return to Israel?
Maya: “I’m in love with our life right now. But I’m very much a people person above all. It’s hard for me without family and friends. Life in a caravan is very lonely, and in Israel I never have a free evening — there’s nothing I love more than drinking wine and talking for hours.
“Even though there’s FaceTime, and family and friends have come to visit, every time the family gathers on Fridays, I feel a pinch. I feel like I can’t communicate with my friends the way I want to, and that’s hard. The second issue is what I told my manager: ‘I want to give birth at Ichilov and in Hebrew,’” she said, referring to Tel Aviv’s Ichilov Hospital.
“I’m not getting any younger, we’re truly thinking about children, and it’s hard for me to imagine giving birth somewhere that isn’t Israel. Fun fact: I was born in Italy myself, but I can’t imagine the situation without our families with us at the hospital and in the first period after birth. So if you’re asking me, there is a return date, it’s just not clear yet when.”
Adir: “If it were only up to me, there would be no return date. Visiting Israel once in a while sounds like a fun and indulgent solution, and I’d be satisfied with that. I think the world has so much to offer us. Right now, life in the caravan fulfills me very much, and I’d like to continue as long as it does us good. At the same time, I know I’ll also have to accept Maya’s wishes. But I won’t object if she says, ‘Let’s stay.’”
A tip for people reading this article and running wild thoughts about doing the same?
“Stop with the excuses — there will never be better timing than now. I believe there are many ways to find fulfillment in life, but to realize a dream, to stop a less healthy loop and choose differently — that’s enormous fulfillment.
“It sounds simple to listen to ourselves, but in practice, it requires courage. Don’t wait for the perfect timing, because it simply doesn’t exist. Dare to open new doors, because you don’t really know where they’ll lead you. It’s easiest to stay where you are, but it’s also very simple to say out loud what will do you good. Write to us and share your dilemmas. We’ve gained a lot of knowledge from life here and from various van-life communities, and we’d be very happy to help anyone whom this wild and brave idea is tickling.”