There is a remarkable and almost mystical thread that ties Jews to one another, regardless of where we are in the world. We may come from different backgrounds, speak different languages, or live on opposite sides of the globe, but somehow, there exists a shared sense of familiarity, responsibility, and connection that transcends geography. This deep-rooted bond is not merely cultural or emotional; it is spiritual, ancient, and bound in Jewish tradition.
The Talmudic principle “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba’zeh” – All Jews are responsible for one another – is more than just a nice sentiment. It is a defining feature of Jewish life and identity. It’s what compels a Jew in New York to donate to a charity supporting families in Sderot, what motivates a Jew in Paris to advocate for the release of a prisoner in Iran, and what drives thousands of volunteers to mobilize within minutes when tragedy or need strikes anywhere in the world.
This sense of mutual responsibility is so ingrained in our peoplehood that even casual interactions between Jews often feel like reunions. My wife always says, “If two Jews are talking and haven’t found someone or something in common, they haven’t been talking long enough.” And time and time again, this proves true.
I recall a time we were flying back to Israel and got into a friendly conversation with a non-Jewish couple from Atlanta seated near us. Naturally, in our Jewish way, we asked: “Do you know the Cohens or the Rubins?” Their blank stares said it all. “How are we supposed to know them?” they asked, confused. “Do you know how large Atlanta is?”
We chuckled at their disbelief, but for us, the question made perfect sense. Because in the Jewish world, it is never far-fetched to assume that you might share a mutual friend, a cousin, a rabbi, a summer camp, or a synagogue, even if you’ve never met before. There is always a thread to follow.
Another time, we went to visit a woman we knew who had been admitted to the emergency room at Shaarei Tzedek Medical Center in Jerusalem. When we arrived, she was already chatting away with someone who turned out to be a distant cousin. Later, she recognized a nurse who had once attended a wedding with her years ago. By the time she was discharged, her tedious ER visit had turned into an unexpected mini-reunion. Only in the Jewish world do these things feel completely normal and expected.
Why does this happen? Why do Jews feel so inherently connected, so deeply responsible for one another? It is, in part, because Jewish identity has always been collective, not just individual. The Torah itself speaks to the Jewish people in the plural. Our covenant at Sinai was not with individuals, but with the entire nation. Rashi explains that this moment represented a mutual guarantee: Each Jew standing there accepted responsibility not just for themselves, but for one another. This collective responsibility became the foundation of our people’s moral and spiritual code.
Throughout Jewish history, this interconnectedness has been our strength. In times of persecution, Jews have banded together across continents to rescue, shelter, and support one another. In times of joy, such as weddings or holidays, we share customs, songs, and traditions that echo across generations and oceans. We daven together in synagogues that feel familiar whether we’re in Toronto or Tel Aviv. We mourn together when tragedy strikes and we celebrate together when a lost hostage comes home or an aliyah flight lands in Ben-Gurion Airport.
It is this deep, unshakable sense of peoplehood that sustains the Jewish world. We don’t have to know each other personally to feel obligated toward one another. A stranger at a Shabbat table becomes family by the second course. A WhatsApp group of Jews across the globe can raise money for a sick child in hours. When one of us is in pain, we all feel it. When one of us triumphs, we all rejoice. As Natan Sharansky once said: “The Jewish people are like one body. When an arm hurts the entire body is affected.”
In a fractured and often isolating modern world, this closeness is not something to take for granted. It’s an ancient gift, one passed down from generation to generation. And while no community is without its disagreements or divisions, the underlying truth remains: Kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba’zeh. We are one people, bound together by faith, fate, and responsibility.
So next time you meet a fellow Jew on a plane, at the supermarket, or in the emergency room, don’t be surprised if within five minutes you’ve found a cousin in common, shared a Shabbat table years ago, or know the same rabbi. It’s not coincidence, it’s connection. It’s not just culture; it is our very nature as a people.
And that is the beauty of the Jewish people. No matter where we are, we are never alone. We are part of something bigger, older, and stronger than any one of us: Am Yisrael – a family stretching across the globe, watching out for one another, lifting each other up, and forever linked by an unbreakable bond of love and concern.
