We Are a People of Action

Three years after October 7, there are still no words big enough to hold the weight of what was lost.

We remember the lives taken that morning. The parents who lost children. The children who lost parents. The families whose lives were changed forever. The communities that woke up that morning and have never been quite the same. 

We remember the soldiers and first responders who ran toward danger, the people who protected their neighbors, their families, and complete strangers, and those who never made it home. And we remember not only the people we lost, but the lives they would have lived – the birthdays they would have celebrated, the children they would have raised, the ordinary moments that should have filled the years ahead.

There is a particular kind of grief that comes with knowing that three years have passed and the absence is still there. Time moves forward, but for the families who lost someone, there are moments when it can feel as though part of the world stopped that morning. We owe those who were taken – our memory, our respect, and our commitment to ensuring their lives are never reduced to a number or a moment in time.

But October 7 did not end on October 7.

For many Israelis, the years since have meant months away from home, disrupted childhoods, homes left behind, injuries that changed lives, and a level of uncertainty that is difficult to explain to anyone who has not lived it. For others, the wounds are less visible– carried quietly by a soldier returning from the front, a parent trying to help a child understand what happened, a first responder who continues to relive what they saw, or a family trying to rebuild a sense of normalcy after years of living with fear.

And yet, alongside the grief, there has been something else: action.

That day, ordinary people were forced to make extraordinary choices. Civilian security teams picked up their weapons and became the line of defense for their communities. First responders ran toward the places everyone else was trying to escape. People protected neighbors, searched for the missing, treated the wounded, and stayed with strangers when there was nowhere else to go.

Ilan, who led his community’s first-response team in Re’im, was trying to manage the attack as terrorists entered his community – while his own children were in danger. One called to tell him there were terrorists outside their home. Another texted him not to come closer because they were there. And still, he had a community to protect.

Doron and the civilian guard team in Nahal Oz stood between their community and the terrorists who had entered it. Lieutenant Colonel Broomer was shot twice on October 7 and returned to the field. Across the country, first responders, soldiers, civilian guards, doctors, volunteers, and ordinary citizens kept showing up – not because they were untouched by fear, but because someone needed them to act.

And that instinct did not end. It has continued in different forms, carried by people who understood that protecting Israel would also mean caring for the people left behind.

People like Naama HaLevi, who stepped forward for the 39 children who lost both parents on October 7. She has worked to make sure these children have more than immediate support – that they have people beside them as they grow, as they reach milestones, as difficult days come, and as they experience the moments their parents should have been there to share. It is a different kind of first response, but it comes from the same place: seeing a need and deciding that you cannot stand by.

This is what action has looked like in Israel. Sometimes it has meant standing at the gate of a community with a weapon. Sometimes it has meant running toward a wounded person. Sometimes it has meant returning to the battlefield after being wounded yourself. Sometimes it has meant answering a child’s phone call, helping a family rebuild, creating a safety net, or simply being there again tomorrow.

And it is what our founders did. It is what our community did. It is what thousands of people – in Israel and around the world – have done since that morning. They saw a need and moved toward it.

We are a people of action.

That does not mean we do not grieve. We do. We carry the names, faces, families, communities, and futures that were taken from us. But remembering cannot only mean looking backward. It has to mean asking what we owe the people who are still here.

Today, Israel needs more than emergency response. It needs recovery: accessible mental health care, support for soldiers and first responders carrying what they have experienced, and resources for families and communities rebuilding their lives. Because rebuilding does not stop when the cameras leave.

In the days and months after October 7, the needs were immediate. People needed medical supplies, protective equipment, and the resources to protect others. We helped meet those needs because there was no other choice. Today, the work is different, but no less urgent: helping a country heal while continuing to carry the weight of what happened.

At Israel Friends, this is the work we have chosen to be part of. But it is bigger than any one organization. It is about a country and its diaspora standing together to care for its people.

We can honor those we lost while fighting for those still here. We can carry grief and hope at the same time. We remember those who are no longer here while refusing to abandon those who are.

Three years later, we are still mourning. We are still remembering. But we are also still moving.

We cannot change what happened. But we can decide what we do because of it. We can honor those who stood up that morning by continuing to stand up for one another – protecting, healing, rebuilding, and giving people the strength to imagine a future again.

We are a people of action. We will always show up.