Hats off to Israel’s volunteer-heroes

Resilience is not just a national slogan, it is a lived tradition.

Just before I stepped into a guest lecture for a master’s class on innovation and entrepreneurship at the College of Management Academic Studies in Rishon LeZion, I made a short but unforgettable detour. A visit to the college’s food bank and coordination center for Oct. 7 victims. It was a modest room, stacked with donated supplies, yet it pulsed with love, loss, quiet determination and the unmistakable power of compassion Ten students from the college were murdered in the Oct. 7 massacre. Two others had loved ones taken hostage. And yet, out of that devastation, this space had become a sanctuary of service. Shelves of food and clothing lined the walls, each box carefully marked for army units, for grieving families, for displaced civilians. Some held handwritten notes of hope tucked between tins of tuna and packages of pasta. I was moved. Deeply. Humbled beyond words.

This is the Israel the world does not always see. The Israel that, in its most broken moments, becomes its most beautiful.
Here, resilience is not just a national slogan, it is a lived tradition. Renewal is not merely recovery; it is a reinvention, powered by an irrepressible will to help. Israelis do not wait for permission to care. They act. They show up. They bring soup and strollers, shade and shelter to the frontlines and to the brokenhearted.

Since Oct. 7, and again during the recent war with Iran, Israeli civil society has become something astonishing, an “emergency response empire,” built not by decree but by neighbors. By mothers and teachers and teenagers and retirees. By people who, despite everything, choose kindness.

Take, for example: In the wake of Iran’s missile barrage, 40,000 volunteers sprang into action. Forty thousand. They organized childcare for doctors on night shifts, built pop-up field kitchens, delivered resilience kits to frightened children, coordinated psychological support, and distributed food and essentials to tens of thousands. Nearly 214,000 people were directly helped, and countless more felt the ripple effects of their care.

One such volunteer is Orly Schwarz from Petah Tikva. A communications professional and mother, she transformed her home into a logistics command center. From her phone and laptop, and powered by sheer will, she orchestrated a civilian supply chain that fed thousands of soldiers each day. Five thousand meals daily. Plus mattresses. Plus field showers. Plus barbecues to boost morale. “Everything but the tanks,” she quipped.

Orly’s effort is just one of more than a thousand civic initiatives documented by Hebrew University and the Social Welfare Ministry. Seventy-eight percent of these sprang up since Oct. 7. And most were launched by ordinary individuals. No funding. No bureaucracy. Just heart.

When Iran fired more than 550 missiles into Israeli cities, these volunteers were ready, again. Ready with transport, with shelter, with love. What I saw at that college food bank was echoed all across the country. A quiet uprising of goodness. A refusal to give in to despair.

There is a reason Israel continues to astonish. It’s not just its military brilliance or tech innovation. It is moral imagination, the kind that stares catastrophe in the face and responds not with rage, but with resolve. With food boxes. With WhatsApp groups. With hope.

A recent study found that nearly half of all Israeli citizens volunteered in the first two weeks after Oct. 7. And 28% of them had never volunteered before. That is the alchemy of shared grief transformed into shared strength.

Volunteers crossed every boundary — secular and religious, young and old, Arab and Jew. Tech executives and bakers. Teachers and taxi drivers. One people, one purpose: How can I help?

That question echoes in every act of kindness. In every care package. In every soldier’s smile. In every child’s comforted tears.

And yes, while government response can be slow, the people lead. They do not wait for permission to heal. They build bridges in the rubble. They design solidarity in real time.

Let us not overlook what is happening here. Civil society in Israel is not playing a supporting role, it is headlining the story of national renewal. From grassroots WhatsApp networks to nationwide nonprofits, Israelis are building something extraordinary: a culture of showing up. An ecosystem of empathy. A network of hope.

We often call Israel the “startup nation.” But maybe the greatest startup of all is its courage. Its willingness to prototype empathy. To beta-test a better world, one package, one prayer, one person at a time.

What I saw in that small food bank was more than relief, it was love in motion.

This is not just a nation enduring.

This is a nation innovating the future with grit, grace, and great big hearts.

Let the world take note. PJC

James Ogunleye, PhD, is the convener of the upcoming “Resilience & Renewal: Innovating the Future of Israel” project. This first appeared on The Times of Israel.