When I think back to the moments that cemented the bond I have with my brother, we were either rolling over in laughter or carrying each other through the most difficult of times. We have always been different from one another, but there’s no questioning our deep-rooted connection. The more we stuck together, the harder it was to break our brotherly bond. Perhaps that’s why, on my most recent visit to Israel, being called achi felt anything but strange.
There have been moments of national unity in the U.S., where Americans banded together after terrifying circumstances. Think of the kindness and care shown to one another after 9/11. Sadly, that grand-scale unity is more of a distant memory than the ubiquitous flags on everyone’s car window. That’s not the case for the Jewish people. For us, the feeling of achdut is ever-present, even when it’s difficult to see. While there may be discord in Israel, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who won’t run to help his fellow Jew. When there’s a simcha, we jump to join in celebration. All that separates us is overwhelmed by our unbreakable achdut.
May the turmoil our people are facing continue to be outmatched by our brotherly bond, our enduring achdut.
