The Land Was Only the Beginning

He called me from the restaurant.

Not from an office, not from the building site, from the restaurant where he was sitting with his partners after they had signed for the land. "Ilan, we bought it. 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 houses, two or three at a time, always finished on schedule, always paid his suppliers. A man who built his reputation brick by brick, in the most literal sense.

When he decided to go to Romania, he wasn't acting on a dream; he was acting on a calculation. He saw the prices, saw the demand, talked to a few Israelis who had made money there. He found land in a suburb of Bucharest, a good price, a location that seemed to make sense, and with twenty years of experience behind him, he felt he understood construction.

And construction he did understand.

The problem was everything else.

I explained to him that in Israel, a developer starting a project stands on three legs: equity, bank financing and pre-sales. Each one supports the other two. The bank puts in money because there are sales. The sales are possible because there's a bank backing the project. And the equity shows both of them 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."

This is where I had to be very clear.

I explained that a Romanian bank won't finance a foreign Israeli developer on the value of the land alone. Certainly not on a first project, certainly not without a local business track record, and certainly not without liquid equity that shows there's money on the side beyond the property you bought. The land is a necessary condition, but not a sufficient one.

He heard me. But he didn't really believe me.

"I know contractors who've done 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's no longer possible.

In December 2025, an amendment known as the "Nordis" law came into force. It was born out of one of the biggest scandals in Romanian real estate in recent years. A large developer called 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 cannot receive more than 5% of the apartment price at the reservation stage. No more than 25% until the building's frame is complete. No more than 20% until the fit-out works are finished. The rest of the money comes only toward the end of the project. And all the money collected from buyers? It's deposited in a separate bank account dedicated to the project and released to the developer only according to actual progress.

In other words, the old model of "sell off-plan and fund construction with the buyers' money" simply doesn't exist anymore.

When I told Oren this, he was silent for a moment.

"So I can't fund the construction with their money?"

"No. Not in the early stages, when you need the money most."

"Then it doesn't work for me."

We took a break.

Oren went out to look into bank financing himself. Three banks: two never got back to him at all, and one asked for documents that took him two months to collect and then turned him down. The reason was simple: not enough liquid equity, no local track record, and a project too small to be worth the bank's while.

He came back to me after four months.

He had the land. The building permit was in process. A few Israeli buyers he had talked to, friends, acquaintances, family, were 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 an established relationship with a bank. An investment fund that finances foreign developers' projects in exchange for a percentage. Bringing in Israeli partners who contribute real equity, not as apartment buyers but as partners in the development itself. Or, and I told him this directly, wait. Build up liquid capital, do a smaller project he could finance himself, and start from a place of stability.

He didn't like any of the answers.

The project stalled. The permit expired. The land is still his, but almost a year went by, and some of the people who were waiting for him have already moved on to other projects.

I think of Oren when I hear experienced Israeli developers explain to me that they "understand construction" and are therefore ready for a project abroad.

Construction they understand. But a project abroad isn't just construction.

The Nordis law changed the rules in a way many Israeli developers haven't yet absorbed. What used to work, selling early, raising money from buyers, building with their money, is no longer the Romanian model. The law isn't bad. On the contrary, it's 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 capital.

If you're a developer planning a project in Romania, before you look for land, ask yourself: how much liquid equity do I have? Where is the financing for the construction itself coming from? Because the buyers' money, by law, will sit in a separate account and reach you only after you've built.

If there's no clear answer to those questions, the land can wait.