I Was Never an Activist. Then People Showed up!

I was never an activist.

I cared about causes. I signed petitions, occasionally shared a social media post, and felt terrible when something awful happened in the world. But that was usually where my involvement ended. I had never organized a demonstration or felt compelled to do much more. Then October 7, 2023, happened.

I watched footage of people being taken from their homes in Israel, some still wearing their pajamas. Children. Elderly people. Families whose lives had been turned upside down in an instant. What I couldn’t comprehend was that Hamas had filmed these acts and shared the footage with the world. I remember wondering how anyone could be proud of something so horrific.

Then came the firsthand accounts of families desperately searching for their loved ones. Parents looking for children. Children looking for parents. People who had no idea whether those they loved were alive, injured, or being held hostage. I couldn’t stop watching.

My life was becoming consumed by social media. Every day brought another heartbreaking story, another video, another reason to be angry. I was spending hours scrolling, feeling increasingly helpless.

It was emotionally exhausting. I cared so deeply about what was happening, but I felt powerless to do anything about it.

I knew I couldn’t keep sitting there, scrolling through one heartbreaking story after another. I needed to find a way to channel those emotions into something positive. I wanted to help. I just had no idea how.

Then I came across a social media post about Run for Their Lives, a grassroots initiative organizing weekly walks and runs to raise awareness about the hostages being held in Gaza. I did some research and learned that the organization was looking for ordinary people to start local groups in their communities. So I jumped in.

I started Run for Their Lives Syosset/Plainview on Long Island, New York. At our first walk, seven people showed up. Three, were people I knew. The other three were complete strangers who had found me through social media. The following week, we had 18. And every week after that, more people came.

Those weekly walks became something I looked forward to. For a little while, I wasn’t sitting alone with my phone, overwhelmed by everything happening in the world. I was surrounded by people who cared, people who wanted to help, people who understood what I was feeling.

I had gone looking for a way to make a difference. What I found was a community.  As our group grew, I learned that one of the American hostages had a connection to our community. Captain Omer Neutra was an Israeli-American soldier from Long Island who had been taken into Gaza following the October 7 attacks.

Through our walks, I met his parents, Ronen and Orna Neutra and his brother Daniel. Over time, they became dear friends. I had been following the hostage families through news reports and social media, but sitting with Ronen and Orna, hearing firsthand what they were going through, was something entirely different.

I listened as they described the nightmare they were living through. The uncertainty. The endless efforts to get answers. The meetings with world leaders. The desperate hope that their son would come home. Whenever they weren’t traveling around the world advocating for the hostages, they would join our walks. I often thought about how they found the strength to keep going.

For more than a year, they believed Omer might still be alive. In December 2024, they learned that he had been killed on October 7 and that his body was being held in Gaza. His remains were finally returned in November 2025, allowing his family to give him a proper burial. Getting to know Ronen and Orna changed me. Their son wasn’t just a name on a poster anymore. He was the son of people I loved and cared about. Throughout this journey, I also met survivors, other hostage families, and people whose lives had been forever changed by October 7.

Meanwhile, Run for Their Lives was growing far beyond our little Long Island community. In November 2023, Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was being held hostage in Gaza, shared an Instagram reel about our initiative. And everything changed.

Suddenly, people from around the world wanted to start groups of their own. I began working closely with Shany Klein, the founder of Run for Their Lives, helping turn that overwhelming response into a global movement. I became the Global Director of Operations, onboarding new groups and helping Shany manage the initiative as it expanded.At our peak, we had more than 230 groups across all seven continents.

Sometimes I had to remind myself that just a few months earlier, I had never organized a single advocacy event. Now I was helping people halfway around the world do exactly that. But the most meaningful part wasn’t how big we became. It was the people. People from different backgrounds, religions, and political beliefs showed up week after week. Some had never been involved in advocacy before. Others had spent years supporting causes they believed in.

None of that mattered. We didn’t need to agree on politics. We didn’t need to practice the same religion. We were united by something much more fundamental: a belief in humanity. At a time when social media seemed determined to show me the worst of people, Run for Their Lives introduced me to some of the best.

One of the most unexpected parts of this journey came when filmmaker Michael Jolls encountered one of our groups in Chicago. He joined a walk and was moved by what he saw. He wanted to understand why ordinary people, many with no history of activism, felt compelled to become involved. What motivated them to organize groups? Why did people continue showing up week after week? Michael reached out to Shany and me to learn more about Run for Their Lives and the people behind it.

Those conversations became part of The Response, a documentary exploring the movement and the individuals who helped make it possible. I appear in the film and have also consulted on numerous aspects of its development. The Response explores what drove people like me, who had never been involved in advocacy, to step forward—and why we kept showing up.

On January 26, 2026, the remains of the last hostage held in Gaza were returned to Israel. After more than two years, every hostage had finally been brought home, some alive and others for burial. Run for Their Lives had fulfilled its mission. And just like that, something that had consumed so much of my life was coming to an end.

We decided to officially retire the initiative, leaving it up to individual group leaders to determine what came next. Some groups chose to continue meeting, shifting their focus to antisemitism or support for Israel. Others, including my own Syosset/Plainview group, decided it was time to stop.

For more than two years, Run for Their Lives gave me purpose. It was a huge part of my identity, and now that it’s over, I’m trying to figure out what comes next.

I still want to do something meaningful, but I also know I need time to reclaim the parts of my life that took a back seat. For the first time in more than two years, I’m allowing myself not to know what’s next.

For now, one of my priorities is helping bring attention to The Response. I want people to see the documentary, not simply because it tells the story of Run for Their Lives, but because it explores something I believe is universal: what happens when ordinary people find the courage to act.

When I look back on the person I was before October 7, I barely recognize the path my life has taken. I never imagined that a social media post would lead me to organize a weekly walk, develop friendships with hostage families, help lead a global movement, or become part of a documentary.

But when I think about what this experience gave me, it isn’t the title or the size of the movement that comes to mind. It’s the people. The strangers who became friends. The families who trusted me with their stories. These people came into my life during one of its darkest chapters. They reminded me that even when the world feels consumed by hate, there are still people choosing compassion, kindness, and humanity.

I began this journey overwhelmed by anger and helplessness. I came out of it with a renewed belief in humanity. What I do know is that you don’t need to be an activist to make a difference. You don’t need experience, a title, or a large platform. Sometimes all it takes is deciding to show up. I went looking for a way to help others.

What I never expected was how much they would change me.