A regenerative community on 400,000 m² of Lebanese mountain land, where people, purpose, and land begin to move in rhythm again.
قبيلة
ka·bee·la
It means tribe. But hidden inside the word is an older one: to face someone, and to take them in. A tribe was never about blood. It’s the people you accept, and who accept you.
Most people we know have an exit plan. A visa, a cousin abroad, a year they’ve quietly circled. It’s a reasonable answer to a hard country, and we’re not arguing with anyone who took it.
Some of us want to make the other case. That you can build something here worth staying for, out of soil and roofs and long dinners, and that it works far better when you don’t attempt it alone.
Lebanese villages knew how to do this. Houses raised together, harvests shared, a table that stayed set. We’re not inventing a way of living. We’re picking one back up.
And we’re a small group deciding to stay.
400,000 m² of terraced land at 1,550–1,650m in Qehmez/Lassa, with 13,000 grape vines, 690+ fruit and nut trees, and a working irrigation system.

A founding circle is forming around the land, people building a place to actually live in rather than a retreat or a resort. We’re putting our own time, money, and effort into making it real.

Come for a few days, apply to live here, or join as a founding co-creator. However you find your way in, it starts with a conversation.
No two days look quite the same, but most of them move something like this.

Most of us are up around sunrise, and the first hour of the day is yours, time for whatever practice grounds you before anything is asked of you. It’s how we tune in before the work begins.

Then the work begins: building, planting, designing what comes next, and hosting whoever’s come to visit. It’s the kind of work you can see the results of by the end of the day.

Afternoons open up and belong to you: a project of your own, sports, a swim, whatever keeps you well. It’s the part of the day to play with.

Everyone comes back together for dinner, mostly from what the land gave that week. The evenings run long, and they’re usually where the best conversations happen.
Some places you feel before you can name them. The moment you arrive, your whole system slows to meet the land, as if it had been waiting for you.
Kabeela is becoming one of those places. It’s early, and we’re honest about that, we’re building it in the open and inviting the people who feel the pull to come and see for themselves.
The people who belong here already sense something’s missing. We don’t have to name it for them, we just have to be findable.
Qehmez/Lassa, a mountain village one hour from Beirut, at 1,550–1,650m elevation. Mediterranean climate. Cool summers, snow in winter. The land sits in the liminal space between land and sky.
Everything we’ve planted is producing in season now, and we’re building the agricultural systems that anchor the whole project. The first communal spaces are taking shape alongside them, to welcome the members and co-creators who want to build and belong here. It’s still early, and we’re intentional about who we bring in.
The gardens are in full harvest. Tomatoes, greens, herbs and roots, cut to order the morning they're picked. Browse what's ready and we'll bring it to your door, or you collect from the land.
Shop the harvestThe land, the seasons, the harvest, in real time.
Some support it with time. Others with capital. What matters most is acting from passion.
We’re in the founding phase, which means the people who join now truly shape what Kabeela becomes, and carry that with them for the rest of their lives.
You won’t fully understand Kabeela from this page. At some point, you have to come see it.