MAGAZINE
The Beauty of a Second Chance: Conversation with Esty Ahimeir
In a culture driven by the new, the polished, and the immediate, choosing something with a past can feel almost radical. Yet this is precisely where the quiet power of design begins: in objects that carry memory, texture, and time.
DI Catalogue met with Esty Ahimeir, co-founder of Just a Second, a Tel Aviv-based NGO, working at the intersection of urban renewal, circular economy, and contemporary design, about shifting perceptions of value, the emotional depth of secondhand pieces, and why a well-worn object can sometimes say more than a brand-new one, as well as the project’s deeper role as a space of restoration for both objects and people.
Esty, you come from the world of interiors and design, yet today you are creating entirely new design breakthroughs through reuse. How did it all begin?
I’ve been designing interiors for over 25 years. And like many architects and interior designers, whenever we renovate, our instinct is always to make everything new — to start from scratch, to paint the walls white, to begin again.
But every time apartments or buildings were being demolished, I felt a pang in my heart. I would see old carpentry details, unique design elements, special craftsmanship — all being thrown away. At first, I didn’t pay enough attention to it. But over time, especially seeing what has been happening in Tel Aviv, and now spreading across the entire country through urban renewal projects, I began to understand the scale of what was being lost.
Entire buildings are being torn down, with beautiful carpentry and design details that simply aren’t made anymore. Old techniques, old traditions of craftsmanship and design — they are disappearing.
At what point did this feeling turn into a conscious approach in your work?
That’s when I began, within my own work, trying to preserve special elements and incorporate them into new homes – to create something unique, while still carrying something from the past. And luckily, my clients embraced the idea.
They understood the value of taking an old piece and looking at it differently. Even when I had a clear vision for a new house, I would say: “Let’s see how we can integrate this special detail into the new space we’re designing for you.” And it worked beautifully.
Over time, I realized more and more that we are actually sitting on treasures. This is no longer a random case here and there – it has become an entire field, and a massive one. So instead of throwing things away, we can use them to create something new.
How do you see the role of design in changing the way people perceive objects?
I deeply believe in the power of design to create change. When things are aesthetic and thoughtfully organized – especially objects that are old, that many people might see as ugly, outdated, or meaningless – something shifts.
When these pieces are presented beautifully in a space, even before restoration, that accessibility opens people’s minds. From my professional background, I’ve learned how much presentation matters. When things are displayed in a certain way, people may not understand why, but they begin to see them differently.
How did you create this showroom so that it would become both a source of inspiration and a place that helps people make decisions?
People often walk into secondhand stores expecting chaos – clutter and piles of objects. Here, we work to create the opposite. Every detail is carefully considered: what goes on the wall, what doesn’t, how to avoid overload, how to build compositions, even how to use the full height of the space. People may not always understand why it feels good, but there is a lot of thought behind it.
As a designer, I bring my own visual language, but it’s important that others are involved too. We work with volunteers and designers, giving them space for personal expression. That’s why you see a mix of styles, not only in the styling, but in the pieces themselves, from 1960s furniture to older items and even repurposed IKEA. This mix creates the uniqueness of the place.
As a result, the space feels curated and visually clear. People come in, stay for a long time, and often return. Many say they pass by every day and only suddenly notice it, partly because the space is constantly changing. Every visit feels different.
What kind of response do you get from people when they spend time here?
The way we present things makes people look again and again. It helps them imagine these objects in their own homes. Suddenly they say, “My grandmother had something like this,” or “I remember this from somewhere.”
They begin to see differently — not only what’s here, but also what they already own. Changing perception through presentation is one of our main goals.
In your opinion, what makes an item valuable?
Great question! People often look at the items we collect and say, “What is this? Why are you taking it?” But seeing potential in something broken is the real wisdom.
What makes an item valuable is the thought and craftsmanship invested in it when it was first created. Then, when it comes to us, it goes through another journey: restoration, reuse, reinterpretation. That adds another layer of value.
In my view, every item here is one of a kind. Even similar pieces receive a different treatment. But often, what truly makes something valuable is its story – where it came from. We collect items from buildings before demolition, and sometimes people leave them for us with personal meaning. A cabinet made by a father, something that holds memory.
For me, that already gives it value. The story is as important as the object itself. It’s not only about appearance. Sometimes it’s not visually impressive at all. But the effort, the details, the traces of life, like small carvings inside a drawer, that’s what makes it truly valuable.
What brought you to create this project?
We started this initiative about two and a half years ago, in the middle of the war — and that context is essential to understanding what happens here and why people come.
Of course, many visitors are looking for unique pieces. They’re tired of entering homes and showrooms that all look the same. They want something personal, something different — and that’s a big part of it.
But there is another layer. From the beginning, this project has also been about people. Yes, we “save” furniture and materials, which matters from a sustainability perspective. But the process of restoring these pieces, and presenting them in the gallery-shop, also creates something meaningful on a human level.
Who works here, and how does this collaboration influence the space?
We work with reservists, volunteers, and people from different backgrounds. In the workshop, they work side by side. Often, older volunteers collaborate with younger reservists. That connection brings an emotional, even therapeutic dimension to the space and over time, it has become a central part of what we do.
What are people really looking for when they come here?
People often come first because of the story. They’re curious: how are these objects saved, who restores them, what is happening in the workshop? But they return because of what they see — the design, the atmosphere, the results. The showroom is constantly changing, almost like an exhibition, and each visit feels different.
In this period especially, people are searching for meaning, for community, for a sense of connection. You can’t separate this place from the reality we’ve all been living through.
So this is really much more than a store!
Exactly. This is a reuse complex, and design is what closes the circle. Without displaying and selling the pieces we collect from urban renewal projects, we would simply be a storage space. The gallery-shop is the visible front — it attracts designers, younger audiences, and a wider public, while keeping prices accessible.
At the same time, there is the workshop, the warehouses, and an active program of lectures, events, and collaborations with organizations. Upstairs, there is even an event space. All these layers work together to form one complete system.
At the beginning, everything was separated — the store in one place, the workshop and storage elsewhere — and it didn’t feel right. It was important to bring everything under one roof. Now, when people come in, they experience the full process and connect to the entire story.
That’s what gives the project continuity and allows it to grow. It’s a circular economy in action.
What are your plans for the future? How do you see this project a few steps ahead?
Before we started, my partner Yael and I visited similar places around the world. What they all shared was scale — huge hangars, much larger than what we have now. That’s our dream: a bigger space where we can collect more. Today, we have to be selective. People offer us doors, windows, sinks, entire interiors — but our capacity is limited.
The big dream is to grow into a large structure with an expanded workshop, working closely with developers and integrating our non-profit, Just a Second, into every demolition and renovation process. To take what would be discarded, restore it, and return it to the public at accessible prices.
We also want to create centers like this across the country: in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, the north and the south. The potential is enormous, and it’s already happening: municipalities are approaching us to replicate the model.
And beyond scale, there is a cultural shift. I hope that reuse becomes a natural part of design – that alongside major stores, people will also come here. And it’s already beginning.
Young people walk in and say, “This is my first apartment, I came to find my first piece of furniture.” For me, that means everything. That’s when I know it’s working.
More than a shop, Just a Second operates as a thoughtful curatorial project — one that invites us to slow down, look closer, and reconsider what it means to truly connect with the spaces we live in.
by Nadia Kraginsky and Olga Goldina
