The Blessing and Burden of Money in the World of Advocacy

When Money Becomes More Important Than the Mission

Money is a strange phenomenon. It can open doors, create opportunities, save lives, build institutions and turn dreams into reality. Yet that very same money can destroy friendships, corrupt intentions, divide organizations and make people forget why they started doing something meaningful in the first place. I have often wondered whether money is truly a blessing or a curse, particularly in a world where people claim to dedicate themselves to a cause greater than their own personal interests. After more than twelve years of advocating for Israel, often working around the clock without financial compensation, I have come to realize that money is both, and perhaps nowhere is that contradiction more visible than in the world of advocacy.

I founded Time To Stand Up For Israel in 2014, not because I saw a business opportunity, not because I expected recognition or financial rewards, but because I believed, and still believe, that Israel deserves people who are prepared to stand up for it, particularly when doing so is unpopular, uncomfortable or personally demanding. I have spent countless hours researching, writing, organizing campaigns, confronting misinformation, building networks and defending a country that has been deeply embedded in my heart since childhood. I have the knowledge, the devotion, the experience, the contacts and, perhaps most importantly, an unconditional commitment that does not disappear when circumstances become difficult. What I do not have, however, is the business instinct that seems increasingly necessary to turn dedication into a financially sustainable organization.

And there lies my greatest frustration. Apparently, having the knowledge, experience and willingness to work day and night is not enough. You must also know how to raise money, attract sponsors, convince wealthy individuals to invest in your mission and transform goodwill into financial support. I can organize an event, write an article, conduct research, mobilize people and work tirelessly for something I believe in, but asking someone for money has never come naturally to me. Perhaps that is a weakness, perhaps it is simply my character, but I have always found it easier to give than to ask.

For me, money would be an extraordinary blessing, not because I dream of luxury, expensive cars, designer clothes or an impressive bank account, but because financial independence would allow me to dedicate my entire professional life to Israel. Imagine being able to leave a regular full time job and spend every working hour doing something that genuinely matters to you. Imagine being able to organize educational initiatives, bring people together, invite knowledgeable speakers, develop campaigns and travel to Israel not simply as a visitor, but as someone who can contribute something tangible to the people and communities there. That is what money represents to me. Not status, not power, but freedom. The freedom to do more good.

Unfortunately, money also reveals a side of advocacy that I find increasingly disappointing. I have long dreamed of bringing pro Israel organizations, activists and NGOs together, creating a stronger network in which knowledge, experience, resources and opportunities are shared rather than guarded. Surely, when organizations claim to work toward the same objective, cooperation should be the most natural thing in the world. Yet the reality is often very different. Organizations compete for donors, visibility, recognition, audiences and influence. Invitations are not always extended because someone else might receive attention. Contacts become valuable possessions rather than opportunities to strengthen a common cause. Even organizations that publicly speak about unity can become remarkably protective when financial interests enter the conversation.

I understand that organizations need money to survive. Employees must be paid, venues must be rented, websites must be maintained and professional campaigns cost money. I am not suggesting that people should work for free or that successful organizations should apologize for being financially stable. On the contrary, I wish more organizations dedicated to Israel had the resources to achieve their objectives. But I cannot help questioning what happens when protecting an organization’s income, reputation or individual position becomes more important than the mission it claims to serve. If we all believe that supporting Israel is essential, why is it sometimes so difficult to support one another?

The same contradiction appears when trying to organize conferences or educational events. There are extraordinary speakers, researchers, historians, journalists and experts whose knowledge could make a tremendous difference in confronting antisemitism and misinformation about Israel. Yet inviting an important speaker often requires a substantial budget. Travel expenses, accommodation, speaking fees and organizational costs can quickly turn a valuable educational initiative into something financially impossible. Again, I do not begrudge professionals their compensation. Their expertise has value, and their time deserves respect. But it is painful to realize that an important message may never reach an audience simply because the person organizing the event cannot afford to deliver it.

There is another side of money that fascinates me, one that has little to do with advocacy and everything to do with human relationships. I sometimes wonder whether people who possess enormous wealth can ever be completely certain why someone loves them. Is it their personality, their kindness, their intelligence, their humor or their character? Or is it the security, status, influence and lifestyle that accompany their bank account? Of course, wealthy people can experience genuine love, and many undoubtedly do. But money introduces a question that cannot always be answered easily. Would the same people still be standing beside you if tomorrow everything disappeared?

I have never envied people simply because they are wealthy. I can admire what they have achieved, particularly when their success is the result of intelligence, hard work and determination. But I am far more impressed by what someone does with their wealth than by how much they possess. A person who quietly helps others, supports meaningful initiatives or changes someone’s life without expecting public applause earns my respect far more easily than someone who measures success by possessions. Wealth can buy comfort, influence and opportunities, but it cannot guarantee loyalty, sincerity, affection or love. Those things have to be earned through character, and no amount of money can replace them.

One of my personal ambitions was to travel to Israel and raise money that could be used directly to do something meaningful there. I wanted to support projects, help people, contribute to communities and demonstrate that advocacy should not consist solely of words, articles and social media posts. I wanted to connect the commitment I have expressed for so many years with practical assistance on the ground. Unfortunately, despite my efforts, I have not succeeded in raising the funds I had hoped for. That disappointment hurts, not because I personally lost something, but because I know how much more could have been accomplished.

Perhaps I have been naive in believing that passion, dedication and an honest purpose should be sufficient to convince people to join forces. Perhaps I still underestimate the importance of financial strategy, professional fundraising and the business structures that allow charitable organizations to grow. I am certainly not too proud to acknowledge my limitations. In fact, I would welcome someone with the financial and business expertise that I lack, someone who understands that my strength lies in creating, organizing, communicating and advocating, while theirs might lie in making those efforts financially possible. There is no shame in needing help. The real tragedy would be allowing worthwhile initiatives to disappear because people with complementary talents never found one another.

And yet, despite all these frustrations, I refuse to believe that money should determine the value of a human being or the sincerity of a cause. I have seen people with very little give generously, while others with considerable resources remain indifferent. I have encountered individuals who offer their time, knowledge and friendship without expecting anything in return. Those gestures remind me that the most valuable contributions cannot always be measured in euros or dollars. Sometimes a simple act of kindness, a genuine connection or someone’s willingness to stand beside you is worth more than a substantial donation.

Israel itself has taught me something about this. My attachment to the country has never depended on what Israel could offer me financially or personally. It has survived disappointment, frustration, exhaustion and moments when walking away might have been easier. I do not support Israel because I expect a reward. I support Israel because of a connection that has shaped my life, my values and my sense of responsibility. Even when I disagree with decisions made by Israeli institutions, that commitment remains. Love, at least the kind of love I understand, is not a financial transaction.

Would money make my work easier? Absolutely. Would it allow Time To Stand Up For Israel to become more professional, more effective and more ambitious? Without question. Would I welcome the opportunity to leave my regular job and devote myself entirely to advocacy and humanitarian initiatives in Israel? In a heartbeat.

But would I exchange my integrity, my independence or my genuine affection for people for a large bank account? Never.

Perhaps that is the greatest paradox of money. We need it to accomplish many of the things that matter to us, yet the things that matter most cannot be purchased with it. Money can finance a conference, but it cannot manufacture conviction. It can pay for a campaign, but it cannot create genuine devotion. It can attract attention, but it cannot guarantee respect. And it can surround someone with people, but it cannot tell them which of those people would remain if the money were gone.

I will continue working for Israel, with or without financial success, because my commitment was never for sale. I will continue hoping that one day I can bring together people and organizations who understand that cooperation should be more important than competition, and that the purpose of advocacy should always be greater than the financial interests surrounding it.

I still dream of being able to do more, especially for the people of Israel. I still hope that someone will recognize the potential of what I have built and help me transform years of unpaid dedication into something with a greater practical impact.

But at the end of the day, after all the discussions about budgets, donations, influence and financial independence, I keep returning to one simple conclusion.

Money can make a mission possible, but only love gives that mission meaning.

And if I am ever forced to choose between being wealthy and being surrounded by genuine love, loyalty and people who care about me for who I am rather than what I possess, I know exactly what I would choose.

Because ultimately, I believe that love is worth more than money. And that includes my unconditional love for Israel.