Community In Motion

I’ve always felt a strong sense of community. I have no issue going (mostly!) anywhere alone, because I can find connection—a moment of camaraderie, a shared bond. I’ve spent my professional life building community, because I want others to feel that same sense of belonging.

But I have never felt community as deeply as I have over the past two years—especially since my husband and I became involved with Run 4 Their Lives (R4TL).

R4TL was established shortly after the horrific Hamas attack on southern Israel that ignited a war that is now, thankfully, beginning to wind down. The tragedy of the 251 people taken hostage into Gaza on October 7, 2023 became the catalyst for this movement.

So much has been written (and will be written) about the shock, grief, and helplessness that washed over the global Jewish community in those early days—and the many ways people responded. Many of us were like leaves in the wind, searching for solace wherever we could find it. Around 300,000 of us gathered in Washington, D.C., for a rally (some more successfully than others). We attended lectures, listened to podcasts, and consumed endless news. We began wearing symbols of Jewish pride—and dog tags that read “BRING THEM HOME NOW” and “OUR HEARTS ARE IN GAZA.”

It helped—but it wasn’t enough.

Then we learned about Run 4 Their Lives. The premise was simple but profound: walk or run for about 18 minutes, once a week, to raise awareness for the hostages and show support for their families—families caught in the impossible tension between war and hope.

The Israeli government faced agonizing choices: too much military pressure could cost more innocent lives; too little could endanger all. For Jews, the idea of pidyon shvuyim—redeeming captives—is ancient and sacred. We even have a prayer for hostages in our liturgy. No one is to be left behind.

R4TL spread organically, through word of mouth. It wasn’t about politics. It was about people—ensuring that the families of the hostages knew they were not forgotten, that across the world, others were walking, running, and remembering with them.

So each Sunday, starting in early summer 2024, Eddie and I would walk out of our garage with our signs and flags and meet others in downtown Franklin. Some were close friends, others we met along the way. We came from different neighborhoods, but at 10:30 a.m. each week, we gathered.

We walked until about 11 each week, then regrouped to share updates and, most importantly, to say the hostages’ names aloud and share a story or two from the past week. Someone would take a photo and video, which the R4TL leadership compiled into monthly reels sent to families across the world. It reminded them—and us—that they were not alone.

It sounds simple, but it meant everything. We found strength in one another. We debated, we comforted, we listened. We built community one step at a time. We talked daily to the leaders of the other 250 groups around the world, sharing stories of hope, concern, and encouragement.

And yet—I’ve never been so ready for this part of my community-building life to be over. Zeh hu. Enough.

May the fallen hostages be brought home, and may their bodies be returned for a proper burial. May we all begin to heal and rebuild.

I’ll never stop being grateful for those who began this movement—and for the community it created in all of us.

As we move from crisis to rebuilding, I find myself asking:

What will be the legacy of this moment—and how will we honor it in the ways we continue to show up, for one another and for the world?

What do you think? Let me know.

With appreciation,