Tension Isn’t the Problem; It’s the Engine of Change

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 “What if tension isn’t a failure, but the first sign that change has already begun?”

My life has been shaped by roles that demand responsibility, long-term thinking, and comfort with uncertainty. As the founder of Biofeed and Dream Valley, I deal with innovation not as a slogan, but as a lived experience, being the first to act, the first to fail, and the first to learn. I also write a weekly column, raise five children with my partner, and devote what little free time I have to protecting Israel’s democracy. These roles may seem distinct: entrepreneur, writer, parent, and social activist, but they converge into one shared experience - living with tension, every single day.

Sometimes it builds quietly within; other times it surfaces between me and those around me. Over time, I’ve come to see that this tension is rarely random. It tends to emerge precisely when something meaningful is trying to take shape, when a process is in motion but unresolved, when the future is in flux but not yet secure.

This realization leads to deeper questions. Where does tension come from? Why does it arise even when life seems to be going well? Is it a sign that something is wrong, or an early indicator that something valuable is beginning to emerge? And how might this often uncomfortable force help us better understand larger structural challenges, from the persistent poverty that traps millions of farmers to the quiet disintegration of once-thriving communities?

Tension Is the Force That Moves Us

What if the very tension we try to avoid is the force that enables growth? Though we speak of progress, we often seek comfort and familiarity. We cling to what is known, even when it no longer serves us. For most of history, change came slowly, shaped by biology and the logic of survival. This legacy taught us to fear disruption and to equate stability with safety.

Even today, we hesitate to release the familiar. The unknown threatens not only discomfort or failure, but also the unsettling realization that everything is in motion and that nothing remains still. Yet all meaningful growth begins with movement, and every movement introduces friction. Friction is not a flaw in the process; it signals that transformation is underway, marking the disturbance of an old balance and the beginning of something new, even if we cannot yet define it.

We fear change because it unsettles our sense of order, yet we pursue it because it offers the promise of a better future. This contradiction lies at the heart of the human experience. Our longing for security and our need for advancement pull us in opposite directions. This tension is not incidental; it reflects a deeper truth about the universe, where the cosmos is not a static or finished reality, but constantly unfolding and becoming.

Tension does not vanish with comfort, nor does it fade once material needs are met. In fact, it often intensifies during periods of stability, when the gap between where we are and where we believe we could be becomes more visible and urgent. The Universal Law of Increasing Complexity helps explain this phenomenon. Tension is not an emotional flaw or modern inconvenience; it is what arises when energy meets resistance within a system. Whether that system is an individual, a society, or an idea, friction appears the moment movement begins. What we feel as tension is often the earliest indicator that change has begun.

The Jewish tradition teaches, “No man dies with even half his heart’s desires fulfilled.” This suggests that longing is not a weakness but a natural part of life. The Universal Law of Increasing Complexity supports this view, explaining why even those with power or abundance often remain restless. Fulfillment is not determined by how much one owns or controls, but by the distance between current reality and unrealized potential. When that distance grows, and no structure exists to process the tension it creates, the result is not progress but paralysis. The system does not stall due to a lack of energy; it stalls because it lacks the channels to direct it.

However, when a system contains a structure capable of absorbing tension and aligning it with energy, purpose, and coherence, something very different happens. Tension does not accumulate as frustration or diffuse into despair; instead, it becomes a catalyst for movement, progress, and growth.

A baseball game offers a vivid analogy for how tension drives movement. Each base represents a temporary zone of safety, a momentary pause in a larger journey. But safety alone does not win the game. To make progress, a player must eventually leave the security of one base and run toward the next, knowing that with every step, they enter a space of greater risk and exposure. In the early moments of that run, there is still the psychological comfort of retreat, of turning back if the path ahead feels too uncertain. However, once the player reaches a certain point, typically halfway, the tension of remaining in the open becomes unbearable. At that moment, the urge to complete the movement becomes stronger than the fear of failure, and the player pushes forward, no longer aiming for escape, but for completion.

This experience mirrors the broader pattern of human development. We often remain anchored to the familiar, not because it nourishes us, but because it protects us from the vulnerability of uncertainty. Yet over time, the very tension we try to avoid begins to build within us, making stillness more painful than risk. Like the player caught between bases, we begin to sense that moving forward, however uncertain, is less threatening than remaining suspended in a state of hesitation. Tension, in this light, is not simply the price we pay for growth, but the very force that sets it in motion. It is not a disturbance to be eliminated, but a signal that something within us is ready to evolve.

The question, then, is not how to rid ourselves of tension, but how to create structures that can hold it, guide it, and convert it into progress. This is where the design of our social and institutional systems becomes decisive. The Kibbutz offers a powerful illustration of such a design, one that does not try to suppress tension but channels it in ways that generate resilience and growth. Members often live on modest means, sometimes without individual salaries, yet report high levels of happiness and well-being. Their lives are anchored not in personal wealth but in social belonging, institutional stability, and shared direction. These communities do not eliminate pressure; instead, they organize and transform it. Risk is distributed, goals are coordinated, and structures are coherent enough to channel tension into innovation, productivity, and cohesion.

This approach is not exclusive to the Kibbutz; any system that manages to align energy, structure, and direction effectively can achieve the same results. What distinguishes such systems is not the absence of pressure, but their capacity to harness it. When people know that their effort matters, that their contribution serves a shared goal, and that their system supports that alignment, tension becomes less a weight and more a signal, an invitation to take part in something larger.

In this light, tension is not a defect; it is a structural sign that change is already in motion. When energy pushes against boundaries and resistance arises, the moment resembles birth; something new is trying to emerge. The real challenge is not to escape the tension, but to hold it with enough patience, care, and purpose for transformation to take shape..

Why We Are Talking About Tension

This perspective challenges many of our modern instincts. We are conditioned to see tension as a sign of dysfunction or failure, something to be resolved quickly or pushed aside. However, when we rush to restore comfort without understanding the source of discomfort, we may interrupt the very process that allows growth to occur. This is not only true for individuals or families but applies just as powerfully to communities, institutions, and nations.

The Universal Law of Increasing Complexity teaches us that no system grows simply by expanding; it grows by encountering resistance, reorganizing its organizational structure, and finding a new alignment that can sustain a higher level of function. Tension is the felt signal that this process has begun. It is the pressure that builds when old structures no longer fit the energy moving through them, when direction is present but cannot yet be expressed within the current design. In such moments, stagnation is not caused by a lack of energy, but by a lack of structural capacity to channel it.

Prosperity, then, is not defined by the absence of hardship, but by the presence of structures capable of absorbing pressure, aligning it with purpose, and translating it into emergent capabilities. This insight extends far beyond individual experience and provides a framework for understanding why some farming communities remain entrenched in persistent poverty, while others manage to rise above it; why certain democracies can navigate repeated cycles of internal friction and emerge more resilient, while others fracture under similar strains. The critical difference does not lie in the amount of pressure a system experiences, but in how effectively its structural design channels that pressure toward coherence, direction, and productive transformation.

Prosperity as a Structural Outcome

Prosperity, then, is not the absence of difficulty, but the presence of structures that can hold, direct, and translate pressure into purposeful capabilities. This insight has implications far beyond the personal. It helps us understand why some farming communities spiral into poverty while others rise; why some democracies endure cycles of internal tension and emerge stronger, while others fragment under similar strains. The difference lies not in the level of pressure, but in the design of the system through which that pressure flows.

As explored earlier, systems evolve not merely by growing in size, but by responding to the pressures that reveal their structural limits. Prosperity emerges when that pressure is not resisted or ignored, but channeled through structures capable of reconfiguration. Pressure, in this sense, is not an external disruption; it is the clearest signal that the existing form has reached its capacity. Without a framework to absorb and redirect this energy, systems stagnate or collapse. But when direction, coherence, and adaptability are present, pressure becomes the catalyst for structural transformation. It is through this process, not ease, but managed strain that a system gains the capacity to operate at a higher level.

This is why structure matters more than sentiment. Aspirations alone do not generate emergence. It is the capacity to hold energy through organized form that determines whether potential becomes performance, whether stress becomes collapse or creativity.

Designing for Tension, Not Against It

If tension is the first signal that change is underway, then the quality of a system is measured not by its ability to avoid tension, but by how well it is designed to hold and transform it. Resilient systems are not defined by the absence of friction; they are defined by the presence of structure that can absorb, redistribute, and repurpose energy without collapse.

This principle has practical consequences for how we live, lead, and build. The difference between a structure that fractures under pressure and one that evolves through it lies not in the pressure itself, but in the design of the system’s inner architecture. Strong structures expect strain and prepare for it. They embed coherence at every level, create buffers for overload, and offer channels for energy to move rather than accumulate destructively. They anticipate resistance not as failure, but as the raw material through which evolution operates and new capabilities emerge.

This is precisely why the Kibbutz remains such a valuable model. It does not manage pressure by lowering expectations or avoiding complexity. Rather, it transforms pressure by embedding each individual’s challenge within a broader institutional and social fabric. Tension is not left to accumulate within the individual; it is distributed across the system, channeled through shared responsibilities, and aligned with a common direction. Clear pathways for outward flow ensure that energy does not stagnate; instead, it moves purposefully toward the community’s mission. What might overwhelm an isolated individual becomes a source of propulsion within a collective engine, enabling resilience, creativity, and sustained contribution.

A Kibbutz Designed to Hold Tension

This principle was not an abstract theory; it was a practical reality. As a child growing up on the Kibbutz, I saw how tension was not only expected, but it was designed for. One of the most respected roles was the “work organizer” (in Hebrew, Sadran Avoda), whose task was to assign members to different workplaces according to the evolving needs of the community. Each evening, members would gather in the dining room to check the large bulletin board (Luach Modaot), where the “Work Schedule” (Sidur Avoda) listed their assignments for the following day, e.g., orchards, dairy, kitchen, and classrooms. The postings shifted regularly, reflecting the adaptive rhythm of collective life to work demands.

But what struck me even more was what happened when someone could no longer carry the weight of their responsibilities, whether in work, in life, or both. Every so often, a name would appear not under a task, but under a different heading, like “Growth Day” (Yom Gdila), or it would simply be missing from the list. It meant that the person was under pressure, exhausted, or overwhelmed, and the system had made space for them to pause. No justification was required; no stigma followed. It was understood that tension, like energy, must be managed, not denied or hidden, but held with care.

Designing to Grow Through Tension

The structure absorbed the pressure instead of magnifying it, and in doing so, it turned what might have become a collapse into a quiet form of renewal.

Compare this to the experience of smallholders in informal or hyper-individualistic systems, where tension builds quietly, privately, and without support. There is no structure to absorb or transform the strain; it simply settles onto individuals, compounding over time. Instead of being channeled into capability, the pressure leads to exhaustion, disconnection, and in too many cases, silent collapse. What might have become productive energy dissolves instead into depletion, burnout, breakdown, and sometimes even suicide.

A thriving system does not succeed by eliminating tension, but by reducing the energy lost in managing it, and by improving the structures that guide it. In human societies, this means refining the organizational frameworks through which energy and pressure flow. The more a structure aligns energy with purpose, the more it converts it into value, into growth, resilience, and meaning. Tension is not merely a burden; it is a diagnostic signal that reveals misalignment, blocked energy, and resisted potential. If we suppress these signals, we miss our chance to evolve. But when we listen and adapt, we grow by design. Tension is not a flaw, it is a message from the future.

==> Seeking a speaker to present innovative ideas in agriculture, economics, history, complexity, organizational structures, and the science of prosperity? WhatsApp me at +972-54-2523425

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See you soon,

Nimrod

Dr. Nimrod Israely is the CEO and Founder of Dream Valley and Biofeed companies and the Chairman and Co-founder of the IBMA conference. +972-54-2523425 (WhatsApp), or email nisraely@biofeed.co.il

P.S.

If you missed it, here is a link to last week's blog, “The Reflective Universe – How Societies Inherit Nature’s Design“.

P.P.S.

Here are ways we can work together to help your agro sector and rural communities step forward and shift from poverty into ongoing prosperity:

* Nova Kibbutz and consultancy on rural communities' models.

* Local & National programs related to agro-produce export models - Dream Valley global vertical value and supply chain business model and concept connects (a) input suppliers with farmers in developing economies and (b) those farmers with consumers in premium markets.

* Crop protection: Biofeed, an eco-friendly zero-spray control technology and protocol.

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*This article addresses general phenomena. The mention of a country/continent is used for illustration purposes only.