I stood in Nationals Park on November 10, 2024, gazing across the vast expanse of empty seats. While we hoped for a crowd of tens of thousands to gather in unity, the turnout of closer to 5,000 felt like a stark reminder of the challenges we face. The energy was markedly different from last year’s rally when hundreds of thousands came together after the October 7 attacks to unequivocally stand with Israel. This year, the stadium’s emptiness felt heavy, a reflection of waning engagement and attention.
The celebrity headliners, who had brought so much anticipation, gave heartfelt performances. Their presence was appreciated, but their voices could not fill the gaps in the stands—or the weariness in our hearts. Over a year later, the conflict with Hamas persists, and the yearning for resolution grows more desperate. Hostages remain in captivity, and the urgency for steadfast support from Israel’s allies is palpable.
Standing there, I felt a small measure of relief that my three young adult children were not with me. They are passionately fighting their own battles for Jewish identity and Israel on their college campuses and in their social circles. To see the empty seats and feel the muted energy of the rally would have been deflating and discouraging for them. They are already navigating a world that often feels unkind and unwelcoming to their voices. I want them to carry the hope and determination that sustain us, not the disillusionment that an event like this could invoke.
At the same time, here in the United States, we’re grappling with a troubling surge in antisemitism. Communities that once stood with us now feel distant. The silence of major organizations we have supported through decades of shared struggles is deafening. Many of us feel isolated, questioning who will stand with us as we continue this fight.
The Jewish community is weary—so deeply weary. We’re tired of fighting the same battles, decade after decade. We’re tired of witnessing history repeat itself in ways that strip us of our dignity, our safety, and our hope. And yet, as I stood there in that echoing stadium, one truth was clear: We cannot afford to stop standing.
We must stand, even when the world turns away. We must stand for our people, our homeland, and the principles that sustain us as a global community. We must stand because to sit down would be to give up, and giving up is not an option.
As we face these challenges, I am reminded of a truth that strengthens my resolve: securing the future of the Jewish community must remain at the forefront of our efforts. Securing assets for the Jewish community through legacy gifts is of paramount importance. These gifts demonstrate that we are standing together, not only for today but with those who will follow after us. By empowering future generations to live, thrive, and never give up, legacy giving becomes a powerful testament to our enduring commitment. It is our way of saying, We have not given up, and neither should you.
The fight is hard, but our resolve must be harder. Our history is one of resilience, and our future depends on that same unyielding strength. Weary as we may be, our survival—and our legacy—demand that we remain resolute.
We will not grow tired. We will stand.
Naomi Limor Sedek is president and CEO of Tidewater Jewish Foundation. She may be reached at 757-965-6109 or nsedek@tjfva.org.
Weary, yet resolute: Reflections from ‘Stand Together – an event of Unity, Strength, and Resilience’
