Israel’s Best Memorial Is a Future

Three years after October 7, we carry the names of those we lost. The students who will never graduate. The couples who will never wed. The children whose laughter should still be filling their homes.

We cannot give them the years that were stolen. Yet we can dedicate ourselves to building the future they should have lived to see.

We remember the families murdered in their homes. The young people who simply wanted to dance. The soldiers, police officers, first responders, and neighbors who ran toward danger to save others.

For their loved ones, no anniversary ends the grief. No new home fills an empty chair.

Yet we have a responsibility which grows more urgent with every passing day. We must help rebuild communities worthy of their memory. Places filled with children, opportunity, and the stubborn, beautiful conviction that life here has a future. We have a future.

Our ambition for the Israel envelope is enormous: to make the communities terrorists sought to destroy among the most desirable places to live in our nation of Israel.

Think about what that promise means.

In the months after October 7, people asked: Can we raise our children here? Will they be safe at school? Can we find work? Will a doctor be nearby when we need one? And when our children grow up, will they want to stay?

Jewish National Fund-USA, together with the people of Israel, are answering each of those questions with a resounding “yes!”

And we are winning. The Western Negev’s population is now 10% larger than before October 7. People have returned. New residents have arrived.

Consider the faith and belief that moving here requires. Beyond unpacking boxes. Choosing a school. Beyond turning a key in a front door. Each decision carries a declaration: We believe in tomorrow, and we intend to be part of it.

I think of my dear friend Mayor Ofir Libstein, head of the Sha’ar HaNegev Regional Council, who was killed defending his community on October 7.

I miss my friend. And together with the donors of Jewish National Fund-USA, I feel a profound responsibility to the people and communities he served. His life’s work cannot be allowed to end where his life was taken.

Honoring Ofir means continuing to build, creating opportunities for children he will never meet, supporting families he would have welcomed, and helping the region he loved flourish for generations.

A stone memorial can preserve a name. A thriving community can create hope and propel a vision forward.

For decades, Jewish National Fund-USA, the organization I lead, has invested in southern Israel. Today, every philanthropic investment carries the weight of that responsibility.

When we help build a playground, imagine what we are working toward: a child calling, “Watch me!” from the top of a slide, and a parent able to smile without fear.

A resilience center holds the possibility of a quieter victory: someone finding the courage to ask for help, knowing care is close to home. A medical facility offers a family the reassurance that treatment is within reach. An innovation hub gives a young graduate a reason to bring talent home rather than looking abroad.

These are the moments that give construction its meaning.

A family needs more than a house. They need neighbors, schools, healthcare, work, and somewhere to gather on a Friday evening. They need confidence that the people investing in their future will remain long after the commemorative ceremonies have ended.

That is a promise we at Jewish National Fund-USA will keep.

And we must have the courage to look beyond recovery. Through initiatives such as the World Zionist Village, we are planning for our Jewish people’s next century. Even in grief, we have a responsibility to think that far ahead.

Our young people in America belong in that future, too.

They deserve to know an Israel alive with people who create, discover, teach, heal, and build. Through institutions such as Muss High School Israel and its semester, mini-mester, and summer study-abroad programs, they can encounter that country for themselves, deepen their understanding of its history, and discover their own responsibility for what comes next.

We owe them a connection to the people of Israel strong enough to hold both heartbreak and hope.

On October 7, we will bow our heads. We will say the names. We will stand beside families whose grief no words can ease.

Then we must carry this passion and drive into the work ahead, honoring our commitment to be there yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Let the communities marked by unimaginable loss become places of extraordinary possibility.

We cannot bring back the lives that were stolen. Yet we can help build an Israel where our hopes have room to grow.

We owe their memory our devotion. We owe the living our determination. And we owe the next generation a future worth believing in. Join us.