On one of those 12 days, a rocket landed terrifyingly close to my home, a stark reminder of how much is left to chance, and how precious every quiet moment truly is. Those 12 days sharpened my sense of what matters: the small, everyday things we often overlook, and the profound importance of our shared destiny, as a nation, and as a global people. It deepened my conviction that Voice of the People, isn’t just a vision, it’s a necessity. In a reality that feels stranger than fiction, I feel incredibly fortunate to be building something that brings us together, strengthens our resilience, and gives voice to who we are and who we can become. This months VOP Newsletter showcases a piece written in collaboration with 6 council members, a sort of reflection of those 12 days, where ever they were in the world. This months piece is written as a collaboration by 6 of our council members – each sharing a reflection of those 12 days.
Over the past 12 days, I’ve been sitting with a quiet grief—the kind that doesn’t make headlines but still lingers. My long-anticipated trip to Israel, tied to my final university project and a rare chance to meet U.S. editors and open new career doors, was canceled. It was more than travel—it was meant to be a moment of purpose, discovery, and growth. In the Voice of the People’s Council, we’re reminded that we are expected to change the world—and in my eyes, part of changing the world is knowing it, experiencing its stories firsthand. If we are to truly shape a better future, we must create a world where grief is not measured to be dismissed, where knowledge comes through lived experience, and where empathy—deep, complicated, unranked—is how we lead. Because the voice of the People isn’t just powered by the presence of all people—it’s built by understanding each person, one by one.
Josh Aronson (Team 7) – U.K.
I am grateful for this moment, even if I may have to run for my life with my son in my arms once more. That may sound dramatic, but it’s our reality here in Israel. After nearly two weeks of sleepless nights with hundreds of missiles flying overhead, blaring sirens waking us and sending us racing to the shelter multiple times each day, missiles hitting nearby killing people and causing mass destruction, and unbelievably effective air defense systems intercepting the weapons sent by Iran to kill us with explosive booms overhead, my brain is spinning with too many thoughts, unknowns, headlines, tragedies, emotions, what ifs. I cannot begin to make sense of what is happening; no one can. Yet here I am in blessed stillness, with my feet on Israeli soil, my lungs taking in the farm air, the sun shining above in clear skies, a cup of necessary coffee in my hand, my son prancing barefoot and blissfully unaware in the corn fields.
Erin Schrode (Team 10) – USA Based, Israel during war
Am Yisrael Chai is more than a declaration, it is a call to action. The “chai” is not a staid adjective, a statement of fact that the people of Israel live. The “chai” is a vibrant noun, challenging us to live up to the blessings, to the dreams, of the people of Israel. When my grandfather landed on the Haifa shore in the 1930s, he could not have known he would be the only surviving branch of his family tree. He became a volunteer firefighter and he joined the Jewish Brigade. He was not a passive witness to history, he was an active participant. This is how I have always understood the expression. But during those twelve terrifying days in June, it felt like my feed was overtaken by influencers and institutions using Am Yisrael Chai as a euphoric – and empty – catch phrase. Even as friends were trying their best to help their kids navigate a traumatic experience, even as my cousin on reserve duty had no protected space and my brother had to run down nine flights of stairs night after night, there was no acknowledgment of what it meant for the people of Israel to live through another round of harrowing history. Triumphant tribalism is catchy, but it does not bring us closer to a better tomorrow. As we face the monumental task of rebuilding, let us remember: Am Yisrael Chai is more than a phrase, it is a sacred duty.
Roei Eisenberg (Team 6) – USA
How do you explain resilience to someone on the outside?
As someone responsible for supporting startups in Israel, I found myself juggling shelter runs with Zoom calls, coordinating babysitters while helping early-stage founders push forward, because they never stopped.
With both kids home and no kindergarten in sight, work became a blend of crisis management and colouring books-sometimes at the same time.
This time, we didn’t rely on chutzpah- we leaned on achva (brotherhood).
Israel Tech Delivers: startup founders stuck abroad used the situation to pitch to investors at global events; volunteers represented Israeli innovation at the HLTH Europe country booth since we couldn’t be there; teams worked from shelters still building, still solving, dreaming.
All of this happened alongside deep grief, for the 30 civilians killed during the two weeks and the 50 still held hostage. That pain doesn’t go away.
We kept going-with purpose, with quiet strength, and with the hope that our children will one day know peace without having to know war.
To the Voice of the People community, and to our friends across the diaspora- thank you.
Your support, your check-ins, and your virtual hugs carried us more than you know.
Inbar Blum (Team 2) – Israel
When the war erupted, it was as if a poorly stitched wound split open in the heart of the Jewish diaspora. For many of us, it wasn’t just news—it was a haunting echo, a cruel déjà vu of the grief and terror that followed October 7th. The images, the sirens, the funerals—they seeped across oceans and time zones, collapsing distance in an instant. Once again, we found ourselves suspended in helplessness, staring at our phones with trembling hands as our loved ones in Israel ran for shelter, waited for updates, prayed for dawn. The safety we had built abroad—always fragile—cracked under the weight of survivor’s guilt and ancestral memory. It felt like watching a house you love burn from behind glass, unable to reach through, unable to pull anyone out. And all the while, we gritted our teeth and carried on, performing the motions of normal life among colleagues and neighbors who had no notion of our suffering—no idea that we were breaking in real time, in silence.
Hadassah Slavin (Team 10) – USA
Down to the bomb shelter we go. We know the drill and can do it in our sleep. If only we were! We’ve done this so many times in the last few nights that I don’t know anymore what’s the nightmare I’m living and what’s the nightmares in my dreams.
Between the haze of wondering exactly what it is that my neighbor is wearing, thoughts of lucidity penetrate.
For instance, how would they fare in Venezuela, Oman or Panama if they had to do this? We don’t panic – sadly it’s not our first rodeo. While the technology may have changed over the millennia, us being persecuted is sadly a constant. It’s in our DNA to be the outsider – the wandering Jew who is never truly accepted anywhere until we had a country of our own. And then for the first time in so many people’s lives, Israel gave them, and gives us, a sense of belonging. This is part of the reason why when we meet a fellow Jew we feel an instant connection, there’s a real sense of familiarity and comfort. When you supercharge this to the nth-degree, you have the VOP council.
The gematria of wing (canaf) is 150. Together we can soar and I’m just so excited to see what we accomplish together.
I think we’re done here. Thank you Iron Dome!
My bed is calling my name.
Wake me up when it’s all over.
David Wiseman (Team 7) – Israel
Publish date: July 6th 2025
