Entrepreneurship and Grief
These days have been harder than I ever imagined. Grief is thick, murky, and unpredictable. It comes in waves, hitting when I least expect it. The realization that he isn’t coming home, that so many families and circles of friends are forever changed, is a weight I carry every day.
Grief doesn’t follow rules. It doesn’t care about timing. It doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It just is—heavy, relentless, sometimes so consuming that it feels impossible to move. And yet, there’s no choice but to move. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of entrepreneurship, it’s that you don’t stop when things go wrong. You build through the chaos, even when the ground is unsteady.
Last Saturday, I spoke with Columbia Business School students. I was invited by Michal Olmert from Reichman University—my alma mater—to talk about the ADIR Challenge Foundation and our work. What started as a conversation about innovation turned into something else entirely—a discussion about entrepreneurship in the face of personal tragedy.
I never imagined that the skills I built over 15 years—thinking strategically, moving fast, making decisions under pressure—would be the same ones I’d rely on just to get through the day. But here I am, taking everything I know about building, leading, and adapting, and using it to push forward. Because when everything else is stripped away, the only real choice is to do something.
During the talk, a student asked about something I said—that competition exists even in the nonprofit world. It does. Just like in business, there are scarce resources—funding, attention, impact. My philosophy has always been to understand the landscape, identify what’s scarce, and then do the work. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about competition. It’s about making sure the work gets done. The same applies to grief. You don’t win by avoiding it. You move forward by confronting it, by showing up, by doing the work—no matter how impossible it feels.
I keep coming back to a few things that are helping me navigate this time. Grief is thick, murky, and unpredictable—but it can be a catalyst, not a conclusion. It doesn’t mean clarity or that purpose falls into place. It just means that even in the worst moments, there’s still movement. The only way through is to keep solving problems. Not everything can be fixed, but something can always be built. Loss presents a brutal kind of blank slate—what happens next is up to you. Most days, this is lonely work. People talk about the importance of community, but the truth is, I’ve stepped back from the day-to-day. Not intentionally, but because that’s what this work demands. The circle gets smaller, the trust gets sharper. Surround yourself with as many or as few as you need—just listen to yourself and don’t apologize for how you choose to process. Adapting isn’t just a business skill, it’s survival. The world doesn’t stop for grief. I wish it did, but it doesn’t. Some days, that means sprinting. Some days, it means barely crawling. But as long as there’s movement, you’re still in it. And sometimes, you just have to lean into the chaos. The speed, the intensity—it’s part of building something new. I know I’ve felt like an alien to many, moving at a different frequency. But it’s just radical acceptance and conviction. You can’t hesitate when you know the work is urgent. The people who get it will either keep up or step aside.
When I was leaving the lecture, a student stopped me. She said people kept asking her, How can you go to Columbia? The same way people asked me, How can you go lecture there? But the truth is, that’s exactly where we need to be showing up. It’s uncomfortable—but it’s necessary.
And just like grief, just like entrepreneurship, just like every moment when the ground shifts beneath you—we don’t wait until we’re ready. We step into the discomfort, we keep moving, and we build through the chaos. Because there is no other way forward.