I noticed them as I was nearing my house after a pleasant walk a week ago on Saturday. They were walking in the middle of the street (EVERYONE does that here on shabbas (sat); there are no cars), and from the similarity of their faces, it was obvious that they were brothers. And they were laughing a lively only-we-understand–the-joke laugh. I guessed that the boys were about 9 or ten, or twelve. Both were dressed in the standard white shirts and black pants worn here by nearly everyone, although one of them still stood out. The younger sibling walked with a limping, twisted walk, and was slightly bent. And his face was slightly contorted.
But they were having a hell of a good time. But what I noticed most was the older, “normal” sibling. He was not looking around, glancing at others, or noticing that they were being “noticed”. Rather than hiding in normalcy, rather than trying to keep his brother quiet, the older sibling was enjoying time with his brother, and seemingly doing it with a “I’ll-be-damned-if –I-care” attitude.
I didn’t just see two brothers. I witnessed love.