By the 1950s, Ben Gurion had grown weary. Despite taking several vacations, including a three-week trip to Greece, England, and France, he remained fatigued. He concluded that he needed an extended break. In the spring of 1953, while driving back from Eilat, Ben Gurion encountered a cluster of shacks in the desert. Curious, he inquired about their purpose and learned they housed army veterans who had fought in the region and were now establishing a new settlement.

Intrigued by their mission and combined with his own exhaustion, Ben Gurion became captivated by the idea of beginning anew and assisting in the foundation of a new Kibbutz in the Negev. He had always envisioned the Negev as integral to Israel's future, and this presented an opportunity for him to personally contribute to that vision. Before stepping away from his responsibilities, he wanted to ensure the nation's defense was robust. He dedicated three months to inspecting army units, culminating in an 18-point plan for the military's enhancement. On November 2, 1953, he penned a letter to President Shazar, and by November 7, he had transitioned from the government to his new life in Sde Boker.

Ben Gurions Letter to Shazar

My Dear Mr. President:
I consider it my duty to advise you in writing, as I have already done in person, of the reasons that compel me, to my great and profound regret, to retire from my work in the Government in the near future.
For six years I have been working under extreme tension and with great effort, something I doubt anyone will understand even after I have explained it. Fateful problems crop up constantly and every difficult question has weighty arguments, both pro and con. Some think that for this it is sufficient to have a "line" that, if once drawn, will automatically lead along the straight and easy path. I must admit I have had no such "line." I have been guided rather by a "point," the point of the desired target. To the best of my knowledge there is no ready-paved road leading to a desired end, but amidst the endless fluctuations and changes of a reality that never repeats itself, one must continuously and unceasingly hew out a difficult pathway toward the target. There are steps that, though correct yesterday, may be disastrous tomorrow. I am not qualified to state whether I have succeeded in finding the proper path toward the target every step of the way, but this I can say: I have not spared mental, intuitive, or cognitive effort in each and every case to find the right step, and you can believe me if I tell you that all these years I have worked under supreme mental tension, knowing full well the gains and losses involved.
This crushing tension, however, did not begin six years ago. Ever since 1936, when as chairman of the Jewish Agency I met with the Peel Commission, I realized that the promise of the British Mandate, ie, aid by England for the creation of the "National Home," had come to an end and no legal or political claims of international obligation, even if justified, would change this fact or be of any avail, and henceforth the entire Zionist policy would have do be different. From that time on, a period of sixteen to seventeen I have been working under the greatest tension, as I have attempted to describe it to you. I need not tell you that I have done it out of love. Nor would I conceivably claim any credit for myself.
You know that in my world there is nothing dearer than the State of Israel, nor any privilege greater than to serve it faithfully. It is not only a privilege but a duty, and I am not afraid to say a sacred duty, a duty that must be done until one's last breath.