He called me from the restaurant.
Not from an office, not from the construction site, from the restaurant where he was sitting with his partners after they had signed for the purchase of the land. “Ilan, we bought. Now we need to start selling.”
I knew that energy. I knew it well.
Oren is fifty-two, a veteran contractor from central Israel. Twenty years of building in Israel - private homes, two or three at the same time, always finished on time, always paid suppliers. A man who built a reputation brick by brick, in the most literal sense.
When he decided to go to Romania, he didn't act from a dream, he acted from calculation. He saw prices, saw demand, talked with several Israelis who had made money there. Found land on the outskirts of Bucharest, a good price, a location that seemed sensible, and with twenty years of experience behind him, he felt he understood construction.
And in construction he did indeed understand.
The problem was everything else.
I explained to him that in Israel, a developer starting a project leans on three legs: equity, bank financing, and presale. Each supports the other two. The bank brings in money because there are sales. The sales are possible because there is a bank backing them. And the equity shows both that the developer is serious.
He nodded. “That's exactly how I plan to work.”
I asked him: “How much equity does the project have?”
“The land,” he answered. “The land is worth the money. That's my equity.”
Here I needed to be very clear.
I explained to him that a Romanian bank does not finance a foreign Israeli developer on the basis of land value alone, certainly not in a first project, certainly not without local business history, and certainly not without liquid equity that shows there is money on the side beyond the property you purchased. The land is a necessary condition, but not a sufficient one.
He heard. But didn't really believe.
“I know contractors who did deals here. They say you sell in advance and build with the buyers' money.”
I told him that was true, and that was exactly the problem. And that it is no longer possible.
In December 2025 an amendment known as the “Nordis” law took effect, born of one of the biggest scandals in Romanian real estate in recent years. A large developer named Nordis raised money from buyers, used it for other projects, and eventually collapsed. Thousands of buyers were left with no apartments and no money.
The law changed the rules of the game from the ground up.
From now on, a developer in Romania may not receive more than 5% of the apartment price at the reservation stage. Not more than 25% until the building's frame is completed. Not more than 20% until the installation works are finished. The rest of the money, he receives only toward the end of the project. And all the funds collected from buyers? They are deposited in a separate bank account, dedicated to the project, and released to the developer only according to actual progress.
That is, the old model of “sell presale and finance construction with the buyers' money” simply no longer exists.
When I told Oren this, he was silent for a moment.
“So I can't finance construction with their money?”
“No. Not in the early stages, when you need the money most.”
“Then this doesn't work for me.”
We took a break.
Oren went to check bank financing options himself. Three banks, two that didn't get back to him at all and one that asked for documents that took him two months to gather and in the end refused. The reason was simple: insufficient liquid equity, no local history, the project too small for the bank to find it worthwhile.
He came back to me after four months.
The land was in his hands. The building license was in process. Several Israeli buyers he had spoken to: friends, acquaintances, family, waiting to see him start. And there was no money to start.
“What do I do?” he asked.
I told him about the real options: a local partner with capital and established bank relationships. An investment fund that finances projects of foreign developers in return for a percentage. Bringing in Israeli partners who contribute real equity, not as apartment buyers but as partners in the venture itself. Or, and I told him this directly, wait. Accumulate liquid capital, build a smaller project that can be financed on his own, and start from a place of stability.
He didn't like any of the answers.
The project stalled. The license expired. The land is still in his hands, but almost a year has gone, and some of the people who waited for him have already moved on to other projects.
I think of Oren when I hear experienced Israeli developers explaining to me that they “understand construction” and are therefore ready for a project abroad.
Construction they understand. But a project abroad is not only construction.
The Nordis law changed the rules in a way that many Israeli developers haven't yet internalized. What used to work, early sales, raising money from buyers, building with their money, is no longer the Romanian model. The law isn't bad. Quite the opposite, it is sensible and right. But it simply tells the developer: come with money. Come with financing. Don't come with land and hope.
The land is the beginning. Not the equity.
If you are developers planning a project in Romania, before you look for land, ask yourselves: how much liquid equity do I have? What is the source of financing for the construction itself? Because the buyers' money, under the law, will sit in a separate account and will reach you only after you have built.
If there is no clear answer to these questions - the land can wait.
Stories are based on real situations, with identifying details changed. Not legal advice.
Translated from the Hebrew original. עברית