Celebrating Life One Marathon At A Time

(originally published November 30, 2015. My original blog, on Wordpress, was hacked in early 2016. All of the original posts, through January 2016, have been re-posted here on Blogger.)

I'm grateful I can run. Truly grateful. 

That was driven home to me over the past week. Not because this past Thursday was Thanksgiving. Rather, because of something far deeper.

Not everyone can run. For some, physical disabilities or health issues pose significant hurdles – often not insurmountable, but challenging nonetheless. For others, running will never be in the cards. Nor standing. Nor sitting. Nor anything else.

I am referring to those who no longer walk this earth.

The Thursday before Thanksgiving, at a crowded intersection near my home in Israel, a Palestinian terrorist swept past the line of cars stuck in traffic, peppering them with gunfire like sitting ducks. Several were injured. Three were murdered – Rabbi Yakov Don, a beloved teacher who had had a life-changing impact on thousands of students; Ezra Schwartz, an American student just out of high school who was in Israel for the year and had just returned from delivering food to hungry soldiers; and Shadi Arafa, an innocent Palestinian bystander who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A few days later, while out for a run, I heard sirens screaming from the nearby highway. Only later did I learn that Hadar Buchris, a 21-year old college student, had been stabbed to death in almost the same spot.

It's strange, almost surreal. People are with us today. They raise families, teach students, give of themselves to others. And then, tomorrow comes and silence envelops the place where they once stood. One little turn of events and suddenly the families, the friends, the students, the recipients of goodwill all face a world where those people do not exist.

I'm not going to try to explain the unexplainable. I'm not going to try to understand it all. Some things are simply beyond human comprehension, and we can drive ourselves crazy trying.

On the macro-level, I can do whatever is in my power to oppose the terrorist madness that is sweeping across not only the Middle East, but the entire planet. One person is limited in their reach, but we all have an obligation to do whatever we can.

On the day-to-day micro-level, however, there is something that is fully within my power. I can remember. Not merely in my mind or in my words, but in how I live my life.

Because they are no longer living, I must do everything I can to live the life I've been given as fully as possible.  Even by doing something as mundane as running.

In one week, I will run the marathon in San Antonio, Texas – number four of my five marathons. All I'll be doing – for 26.2 long miles – is putting one foot in front of the other.  But that's not as mundane as it appears – it's a gift I've been given, part of the gift of being alive. I'm running this marathon, and the four others, to celebrate my turning 50. Rabbi Yakov Don was around 50. Ezra Schwartz and Hadar Buchris will never see 50, or 40, or even 30.

I must run for them. I must run simply because I can. I must celebrate the gift of being alive.

In 2013, a terrorist claimed three lives at the BostonMarathon finish line, including an eight year-old boy named Martin Richard, whose home was just around the corner from where I had lived in Boston years ago. As I wrote then, I ran here in Israel just a few weeks later, with Martin Richard on my mind the whole time.

Next week, when I run in the United States, in San Antonio, I want to run to remember those here in Israel who no longer can, who have been taken from us, whose loss is felt by so many.

I'm also running for those who are alive, but cannot so easily take for granted such routine activities as running. When I started my five-marathon journey, I knew this project needed to encompass something beyond myself. So I've been using the marathons to raise money for the awe-inspiring disabled athletes at the Israel Sport Center for the Disabled.

Many of the athletes at the Sport Center swim, despite missing limbs. Many play basketball, despite being confined to a wheelchair. Many excel at all kinds of sports without the benefit of physical abilities most of use unthinkingly every day and assume will always be there.

Some of these athletes were victims of terrorism just like Martin Richard or Ezra Schwartz – the difference is that they came out of it no longer physically whole, but alive nevertheless. And because they are still here, no matter their disabilities, they continue to strive, to improve, to excel.

I'm running for the dead, who no longer can. And I'm running for the living, who are transcending their disabilities and inspiring us all – and who need and deserve our support.

I'm still simply putting one foot in front of the other. But it's no mundane act. It's a celebration of life.

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I am running these five marathons for the amazing children and adults at the Israel Sport Center for the Disabled. We have set a goal of $5,000. Every donation of any amount makes a difference. Click here if you want to help us get to the finish line!