Bowls of Therapy
Stressed out Israelis seek refuge from daily life in ceramic studios

Courtesy Material Girlz

Courtesy Material Girlz
Courtesy Material Girlz
Courtesy Material Girlz
It’s a hot summer day in Tel Aviv. Allenby Street, one of the city’s major arteries, is in a state of upheaval due to ongoing light-rail construction. A few steps away, however, a quiet inner courtyard is filled with serene people—a small group here, a couple there—away from the dust and the blazing sun. This is the new Clay House TLV, and its guests, of all ages and genders, are concentrating on a single, simple task: painting a ceramic bowl, plate, or mug to their utmost satisfaction.
Everywhere you go in Tel Aviv—or elsewhere in Israel—these days, you’ll see studios where people gather to paint, sculpt, and throw objects made of clay. Ceramic studios have been popping up at dazzling speed, and filling up quickly. Even the country’s most recognizable supermodel, Bar Rafaeli, is at it, hard at work on a line of ceramic creations that launched last January. Ceramics and pottery are widespread international crazes, some might say—but in Israel, the trend runs much deeper, particularly now.
“This is exactly what our wounded country needs,” said Nastya Lisansky, who, together with two business partners, opened Clay House TLV last May. She welcomes the customers herself, ready to guide them to choose a pristine plate, tray, or vase and imagine the colors and patterns to adorn them with. Then, the dishes go into the kiln and are ready to be picked up in a couple of weeks. Similar businesses, like Clayla and Color Cafe, are operating in adjacent neighborhoods. For a city like Tel Aviv, which is not that big, the abundance of offerings is thought provoking.
Lisansky is a popular social media influencer, stylist, and fashion writer who, in recent years, had grown frustrated with Israel’s fickle political climate and unstable security situation—“every time something goes down, my field is the first to be paralyzed,” she said. She had been searching for a new direction for a while, and amid the war that began after Oct. 7, “in the peak of depression,” someone offered a ceramics-painting studio, and things clicked. Since opening the doors, Lisansky has been finding solace in the colorful, welcoming space, which she views as a destination for not only creativity, but also fun and socializing. Yet no matter the group, she says, from family gatherings to bachelorette parties, a certain quiet always hovers above the activity. “People say it’s like meditation,” Lisansky added. “To me, it’s therapy.”
This is exactly what our wounded country needs.
Both are very much in need as ongoing uncertainty, frustration, and hopelessness continue to rule the Israeli discourse. “At the beginning of the war we lost a family member: my father-in-law’s partner, who was killed by a missile,” said Efrat Pais-Aviram from Kidron, a moshav in central Israel. “Everyone in Israel knows someone that was killed or injured.” In December 2023, Pais-Aviram opened Hands and Fire, a ceramics and pottery studio not far from her home, and it’s been a source of oxygen since. “When I open my eyes in the morning, I get excited for the day,” she said, “and the responses truly give me the energy to function and deal, given the horrors we’re living in.”
An avid fan of pottery for years, Pais-Aviram has a background in occupational therapy and has mostly worked with children with developmental needs. After Oct. 7, she realized that adults need healing, too—“and nothing is more healing than working with clay,” she said. The courage to finally realize her dream of opening a large, well-appointed studio in the moshav came from the war, she explained, and from the need to offer people a safe space to feel empowered and present.
“It amazes me that you start by basically seeing a chunk of dirt, but within minutes you’re attached to it,” Pais-Aviram said, adding that the activity facilitates both a disconnect from outside noise and a deep connection with oneself. “Clay is such a primal material, the root of human existence.”
Among those who frequent Hands and Fire are people who had been uprooted and thrown into a limbo: mefunim, a word that’s become commonplace in the country’s news cycle, meaning “the evacuated.” Amit Davidpur hasn’t had a permanent home for the past nine months. Evacuated from kibbutz Misgav Am, right on the border with Lebanon, she’s been staying with friends and family members all over the country, finally settling—temporarily—in Giv’at Brener, near the moshav where Hands and Fire is located.
Courtesy Clay House TLV
“I was all up in the air, detached,” Davidpur explained, “and a friend suggested finding a studio where I’ll be able to do something with my hands.” She has been coming to Hands and Fire—she found it through a Facebook search—for some time now, saying it gives her the sense of home she’s been missing so badly. “Being evacuated is very lonely,” she said. “In ceramics, I found my quiet corner, a sense of contentment,” so much so that on her upcoming trip to Asia, Davidpur had already looked up ceramics studios so she can continue cultivating a peace of mind away from Israel.
Aviel Zvi, originally from Metzuba, another kibbutz on the Lebanese border, found himself—fresh off a rotation in the IDF reserves—in Kidron with a nine-month-pregnant spouse. The couple met Efrat Pais-Aviram through a project that connects young families with supportive volunteers, and Zvi got more than he bargained for: an invite to visit the ceramics studio. “Working with ceramics requires turning inwards, focus, softness, and sometimes even aggressiveness,” he reflected. “Paying close attention to all of these aspects gives me an escape from everyday worries.”
After a particularly turbulent time, which included fleeing from war and becoming a father, Zvi says, working with the pottery wheel has provided a very welcome weekly pause, quality time with small victories and teachable moments. “I’m so grateful for the decision to join classes,” he added.
Back in Tel Aviv, studios that had opened prior to the war are experiencing a heightened interest, too. At Material Girlz, which has been around since 2019, co-owner Adi Tal is comparing the peak in business to post-COVID days. “Just like with the pandemic, as soon as the war started we closed our doors, but when we reopened we experienced growing popularity,” she said.
Back in Tel Aviv, even people who, professionally, have had very little to do with clay or manual labor, are finding comfort in ceramics. Lawyer Miri Hirsch-Nimkovich fell in love with pottery while living abroad. After the war began, she felt an urgent need to open a place that would counter the wild reality of the country; last June, Urban Oasis was born. “Life here is so intense, full of threats and constant pressure from every direction,” she said. “You simply need escapism.” Tal offers another perspective: that working with clay strengthens your connection to a physical place, which, for many Israelis, has been fraught. “We live in a world where most of what we own is produced elsewhere, and everything is increasingly virtual,” she said. “Ceramic creations are here and now, they’re real.”
Hirsch-Nimkovich highlights the effort driven reward cycle that always awaits in the process of working with one’s hands; a circuit that changes the chemical balance in the brain and manifests a sense of pleasure, and—perhaps more importantly these days—agency and control. Those who regularly work with their hands, she says, build immunity against depression and lessen their anxiety. For the myriad Israelis who had fallen for the simple, messy magic of ceramics, this hits home. All those perfectly imperfect, hand-thrown bowls and blotchy painted mugs are a nice bonus.
Flora Tsapovsky is a San Francisco-based food and culture writer.