The final barcode has no ending.
Its black lines unravel into loose threads that dangle unfinished, inviting visitors to look a little closer. Using a mobile phone, they can scan each hand-stitched code, discovering a different piece of Israel’s story since October 7: a song, a diary entry, a photograph, a memory.
But the final code leads nowhere. The artist deliberately left it incomplete because, as she sees it, the story is still being written.
The installation hangs inside an unlikely gallery housed in the historic waiting room of the Valley Train station at Kfar Yehoshua, where passengers once sat waiting for trains that carried travelers from Haifa through the Jezreel Valley before joining the Ottoman Hejaz Railway on journeys toward Damascus in Syria and, ultimately, Medina in Saudi Arabia.
More than a century after the station was built, the room is once again filled with people reflecting and connecting. This time, however, it is art rather than rail travel that brings them together.
Significant story
Operated by the Society for Preservation of Israel Heritage Sites (SPIHS), the picturesque Valley Train Site tells the story of one of the country’s most significant railway lines.
From the early 20th century until the late 1940s, the railway carried people, goods, and ideas, linking communities across northern Israel with the wider region and shaping daily life along its route.
Several years ago, the site’s manager, Dikla Liani, began asking a simple question: could the station’s historic buildings continue serving the community rather than simply telling stories about the past?
“We wanted to give additional meaning to these beautiful spaces,” she said. “The waiting room shouldn’t only preserve history. It should continue creating it.”
The opportunity came through an unexpected partnership.
Before the war, a collective of local artists known as Yotzrim Min Haklal (Exceptional Creators), together with Ma’avarim Ba’Emek, an organization that promotes employment and community initiatives throughout the Jezreel Valley, approached the site with an idea: the station’s former waiting room would become a permanent gallery showcasing the work of artists from the region.
Museum staff would handle sales while visitors who came to learn about the Valley Train would also discover contemporary ceramics, textiles, paintings, glasswork, and sculpture created by artists from their own community.
The project required almost no financial investment, but it transformed the relationship between the heritage site and the surrounding community.
“It gave the artists a home,” Liani said. “And they brought new people to discover the heritage site.”
The Nekuda Gallery opened in the summer of 2023.
Just weeks later, everything changed with Hamas’s October 7 massacre.
Evolving gallery
Rather than closing, the Nekuda Gallery evolved. One room continued displaying permanent works, while the second became a rotating exhibition space responding to the country’s unfolding reality.
The first exhibition after the outbreak of the war, Seeing the Light, explored grief while searching for hope.
Among its most memorable works was an embroidered barcode installation by fiber artist Ravit Goldstein-Toledano. For Goldstein-Toledano, the war transformed not only her art but also her daily life.
At 53, she returned to reserve duty and today commands a northern district unit, which supports wounded soldiers and their families throughout the rehabilitation process.
“The beginning of the war touched everything I created,” she said. “There was the loss, the worry for my children who were serving in the army, and the enormous fracture our country experienced.”
Her installation became a stitched wartime diary. Each barcode unlocks a memory that touched her during the war: songs, photographs, videos, and personal reflections.
The unfinished final barcode acknowledges that neither her own story nor Israel’s has yet reached its conclusion. The war also inspired another project, one that has since reached hundreds of homes in Israel and abroad.
After her close friend, artist Talia Kutz, lost her brother, Aviv Kutz, his wife, Livnat, and their three children, Rotem, Yonatan, and Yiftach, who were murdered in the safe room of their home in Kibbutz Kfar Aza on October 7, Goldstein-Toledano began crocheting flowers.
Each brightly colored flower is mounted on a small cork base bearing the name of a soldier or civilian killed since the war began.
“My dream is that every home in Israel will have one,” Goldstein-Toledano said. “So that we never forget what happened here from October 7 until today.”
Memorial flower
The flowers do more than commemorate. Every sale supports Beit Melacha, the creative workshop founded by Livnat Kutz before she was murdered.
“It was important to me that the flower would become the memorial,” Goldstein-Toledano said, “but that the money would become hope, rehabilitation, and healing.”
The gallery is only one part of Goldstein-Toledano’s work.
Long before the war, she facilitated joint art workshops for Jewish and Arab women together with her longtime partner, artist Iman Baransa from the Arab village of Reineh.
After October 7, the workshops came to a halt. The pain and mistrust were simply too great. Nearly a year passed before the two women felt able to begin again.
Returning to those workshops became another act of healing. The conversations were not always easy, Goldstein-Toledano said, but creating together made them possible.
Serving in the reserves only reinforced her belief in their importance.
“In my military role, we accompany Jewish, Bedouin, Druze, Christian, and Muslim soldiers,” she said.
“They all fought. They all paid with their bodies and their souls so that all of us can have a better future together. Personal connection breaks down stereotypes and fear. Through art, those conversations become easier.”
Over the past three years, the Nekuda Gallery has continued to evolve.
New exhibitions rotate through the waiting room; artists lead workshops for visitors; wounded soldiers and evacuees have participated in respite and resilience activities; and the Nekuda Gallery has become a destination in its own right.
Some visitors arrive at the museum and discover contemporary art. Others come for the exhibitions and leave with a deeper appreciation of the Valley Train’s remarkable history.
For Liani, that was always the point.
“It was never an economic initiative,” she said. “It was about creating connections.”
Perhaps that is the Valley Train’s greatest legacy.
More than a century ago, the Valley Train connected towns and villages across the region. Today, inside the old waiting room, new connections are still being made.
Not by steam locomotives, but by artists helping people navigate grief, preserve memory, and imagine what healing might one day look like.
Like the unfinished barcode hanging from Goldstein-Toledano’s embroidered cloth, those connections remain works in progress.■