When an Act of Solidarity Becomes an Act of Defiance: Why showing up matters now more than ever!
Shortly after the October 7th massacre, a weekly rally began taking place in Central Park on Sunday mornings to raise awareness of the plight of the hostages. The “March for Their Lives” has continued for over 80 Sundays, through rain, snow, heat, and cold. Whenever my schedule allows, I make it a priority to be there. My motivation is simple: to show up for the families of the kidnapped and murdered. Each week, a different relative of a hostage—sometimes still alive, sometimes confirmed deceased—takes the microphone to tell their story. I go because I want them to have the largest audience possible. I go so they know they are not alone in their grief, their fear, or their fight for justice.
In the wake of the horrific act of violence in Boulder, Colorado, during their weekly march for the hostages, something has shifted. What was once a peaceful, powerful display of unity has become an act of defiance. Now I am also showing up for myself, for my integrity as a Jew, and for my resolve to stand with my people.
Attending the Sunday rallies used to be about standing shoulder to shoulder in solidarity with relatives of the hostages, with Israel, with the Jewish people worldwide. But after the recent violence in Boulder, simply showing up feels different. It is no longer just about unity, it is resistance. It is a declaration that intimidation will not work. That violence will not silence us. That we will not be afraid.
One of my earliest childhood memories is going to anti-Vietnam War demonstrations with my mother. I remember the noise, the energy, the sense of purpose—even though I didn’t yet understand the politics. What I did understand, and what stayed with me, was that when people believe in something deeply, they show up. Parents, children, neighbors, strangers. They march together. They speak up together. That’s how I learned, from the very beginning, that presence is power.
And now, at this moment, that lesson feels more urgent than ever. Because when we stay home out of fear or fatigue, we risk sending the message that intimidation works. When we stay silent, we risk being complicit in a culture where anti-Semitism is allowed to thrive, unchecked, unchallenged, and too often, unspoken.
We know, too well, from Jewish history that silence is not neutral. In times like these, silence becomes participation. It becomes the oxygen that allows hate to grow.
Marching now is not just about who we support. It is about what we refuse to accept. It’s a stand against hate, against the resurgence of anti-Semitism, and against the disturbing trend of normalizing violence in the face of peaceful assembly.
The Sunday rallies are no longer just symbolic gestures. They are essential statements. Every presence counts. Every voice matters.
So, we go. We march. We speak. Not just for ourselves, but for those who cannot. For those who are afraid. For those who are watching. For the generations who will look back and ask where we stood. Because history remembers those who spoke—and those who stayed silent.
I stand with Israel and the Jewish people. Am Yisrael Chai!