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For well over a year, we were part of the global movement known as Run For Their Lives— a grassroots effort to support the hostages held by Hamas and other groups. Each week, we gathered, walked one kilometer, and spoke about the situation. We could not change the world, but our work mattered. We know that because the families of hostages consistently mentioned the umbrella organization in their expressions of gratitude.

At its height, nearly 250 groups worldwide participated, with thousands of weekly walkers. There was momentum, community, and deep alignment around purpose.

The Israeli hostage tragedy ended in 2025, with the release of the remaining living hostages and the slow, painful recovery of the bodies of those who had been slain. Our group — like so many others — met a final time in acknowledgment of a mission completed. We thanked one another, embraced, and vowed to keep in touch.

Then came the harder question: what would become of the movement itself?

On a recent call, the movement’s leaders — Israeli-American volunteers from California — shared a wrap-up video and made a quiet, dignified announcement: Run for Their Lives was officially sunsetting. The mission was complete. It was time to close.

I believe they made exactly the right call. And I think it’s worth reflecting on why that kind of decision is so rare — and so admirable.

The Jewish community has faced this question before. The movement to free Soviet Jewry — which mobilized across decades, filled Madison Square Garden and Washington DC with rallies, and kept the cause of refuseniks alive in the conscience of the West — accomplished its mission when the Soviet Union collapsed and the gates opened. By the early 1990s, most of the councils and organizations that had powered the movement quietly wound down. The Student Struggle for Soviet Jewry disbanded. The Union of Councils stepped back. The work was done.

That graceful exit is, in retrospect, as much a part of the movement’s legacy as its advocacy.

Not every organization manages it so well. Instead of acknowledging that the world has changed, or that their original mission is complete, they keep trying to reinvent themselves. They make their case for relevancy. They wait out cultural shifts, hoping to return to an earlier moment. They stay past closing time.

The result is rarely graceful. It’s stagnation dressed up as perseverance.

When is the right time to close? How do you want to be remembered — for the dynamism of your best years, or for the long, slow fade of your last ones? Is there another organization doing similar work, where a merger might multiply impact rather than dilute it? Or is the most honest thing simply to declare victory, thank the people who showed up, and let go?

Run for Their Lives chose legacy over inertia. They looked at what they had built, recognized that the moment had passed, and chose to end with their integrity intact. That takes a particular kind of leadership courage — one that is quieter than launching something, but no less significant.

Sunrise. Sunset. And the wisdom to know the difference.

With my best wishes for a joyous and meaningful holiday week.

Fondly,

Kari