July 28, 2026|י"ד אב ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Beyond the Circle at the Kotel: From Ahavat Yisrael to Achdut By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

On Motzaei Tisha B’Av, I saw a picture circulating online. Jews of every imaginable background – religious and secular, from different communities and with different hashkafot – standing together at the Kotel, singing and dancing in a circle.

It was beautiful.

After a day dedicated to remembering the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, after mourning the sinat chinam that our Sages teach contributed to the Churban, seeing Jews embrace one another felt deeply moving. It reminded us that beneath our disagreements, beneath the labels we use to define ourselves, we remain one people.

But as I looked at that picture, I found myself asking:

What exactly were we witnessing?

Was this achdut?

Or was it something else?

Perhaps it was ahavat Yisrael – the love and concern that every Jew should have for another Jew.

Perhaps it was shalom – the ability to stand together peacefully despite profound differences.

But perhaps achdut demands something even deeper.

Because achdut is not simply standing beside one another during a meaningful moment. It means building together. It means sharing institutions, communities, and a collective future even when we disagree about fundamental questions.

And that is much harder.

We often use the words ahavat Yisrael, shalom, and achdut interchangeably.

But they represent three different levels of Jewish connection.

Ahavat Yisrael: Loving Every Jew

Ahavat Yisrael means loving every Jew.

The Rambam writes that one is obligated to love another Jew as oneself. This includes speaking positively about others, protecting their dignity, caring for their welfare, and seeking their good. The Ramban explains that we should genuinely desire blessing for another Jew just as we desire blessing for ourselves.

That obligation does not disappear because someone has a different hashkafah or because we believe he is mistaken.

Indeed, although Chazal discuss circumstances in which one may distance oneself from someone who rejects Torah, those categories are far more limited than we sometimes assume. The Torah still commands us to help such a person. The Gemara teaches that God desires repentance, not destruction. The Tanya teaches that even when we reject someone's actions, we must recognize the Divine spark within him. And the Chafetz Chaim and Chazon Ish argue that in our generation, when many Jews are distant from Torah because of circumstance, upbringing, or lack of exposure rather than deliberate rejection, we must be extremely cautious before applying categories that would separate us from them.

Ahavat Yisrael therefore begins with a simple but profound commitment:

Every Jew matters.

A person who believes another Jew has a mistaken understanding of Judaism should still visit him when he is sick, celebrate his joys, help his family in difficult times, and pray for his success.

That is Ahavat Yisrael.

Love does not require agreement.

Shalom: Disagreeing Without Becoming Enemies

But then there is shalom.

Shalom is not agreement.

It is the ability to disagree without becoming enemies.

The Torah commands us not merely to avoid hatred but to confront conflict honestly: "Do not hate your brother in your heart; you shall surely rebuke your fellow." Judaism does not ask us to avoid difficult conversations. It asks us to have them with dignity.

Shalom means that disagreement does not destroy a relationship.

Rav Kook captured this beautifully when he contrasted shalom with emet. He noted that emet is described by Chazal as God's "seal," while shalom is one of God's "names." A seal is impressed all at once; if part of it is missing, the seal is incomplete. Truth often demands an immediate and uncompromising commitment. A name, however, is written one letter at a time. Peace is built gradually. It develops through countless conversations, acts of respect, and moments of trust. Shalom is rarely achieved in a single dramatic moment. It grows, slowly, as people who disagree choose to remain in relationship.

Two people may disagree passionately about Israeli politics, religious authority, or communal priorities. They may believe the other side is making serious mistakes. Yet they can still sit together at a Shabbat table, listen respectfully, help one another, and refuse to turn disagreement into personal hatred.

That is shalom.

Achdut: Becoming One

Achdut is something different.

The word itself comes from echad – one.

But Jewish tradition teaches that echad does not mean sameness.

When we proclaim, "Hashem Echad," we do not mean that all reality is identical. Rather, we affirm that all of existence, with all of its complexity and diversity, ultimately comes together under the unity of God.

The Maharal explains that true unity is not created by eliminating differences. It is an organic unity in which distinct parts remain distinct while becoming part of a greater whole. Rav Kook similarly teaches that authentic unity does not erase differences but harmonizes them into a larger Divine truth.

Achdut, therefore, is not everyone becoming the same.

It is discovering how different people can become part of one larger whole.

That is why achdut means more than love.

More than peace.

It means sharing a common life.

It means building together.

It means making room for one another despite profound disagreement.

A simple analogy can help illustrate the distinction.

Two people can genuinely love one another. They can care deeply about each other's welfare and sincerely want the best for one another. Yet they may recognize that they cannot build a life together as a married couple because their differences make that shared existence impossible.

The love is real.

The relationship is meaningful.

But they cannot become echad in the sense of creating one shared life.

The same distinction applies to the Jewish people.

The beauty of Jews dancing together at the Kotel is undeniable. It is a powerful expression of Ahavat Yisrael and perhaps of shalom.

But achdut asks a deeper question:

Can we continue dancing together when the music stops?

Can we build together when the disagreements return?

Can people who fundamentally disagree still create shared space?

Can we serve on the same communal board?

Can we build a school together?

Can we create institutions where different groups feel that they belong, even when neither side gets everything it wants?

That is the challenge of achdut.

Perhaps the distinction can be summarized this way:

Ahavat Yisrael asks: Do I love you?
Shalom asks: Can I live peacefully with you?
Achdut asks: Can we become one?

Ahavat Yisrael is about the love we owe every Jew.

Shalom is about maintaining a relationship despite disagreement.

Achdut is about transforming that relationship into a shared life.

Achdut Has Limits

But here is where we sometimes lose perspective.

Because achdut is such a profound Jewish value, we may be tempted to treat it as the highest value.

It is not.

We should pursue achdut as far as conscience and halacha permit. We should stretch ourselves to make room for one another and resist the temptation to retreat into separate worlds.

But achdut is not unity at any price.

There are moments when the demands of Torah and conscience place limits on how far shared life can go.

Sometimes creating shared space risks being understood not merely as cooperation, but as affirmation of ideas or practices that one sincerely believes are inconsistent with Torah values.

Sometimes what began as an accommodation to an imperfect reality can gradually become treated as an ideal – what was once viewed as bedi'eved becomes understood as lechatchilah.

And sometimes partnership can strengthen movements or ideologies that one believes ultimately weaken Torah values or the well-being of the Jewish people.

When those moments arise, preserving Torah principles may properly limit how much achdut is possible.

But recognizing limits on achdut does not mean abandoning our commitment to one another.

It does not mean that Jews with different beliefs cannot work together, support one another, or contribute to the shared needs of the Jewish people.

The question is not whether we can ever partner with those who disagree with us.

The question is whether a particular partnership allows us to work together with mutual respect, or whether it requires us to affirm something we believe we cannot affirm.

True achdut does not require us to surrender our deepest commitments.

It requires us to ask how we can remain connected even when those commitments lead us in different directions.

The goal is not unity at any price.

The goal is a unity that remains faithful to our deepest commitments.

Conclusion

The Jewish people have never been defined by sameness.

Our history is filled with debate, disagreement, and competing visions. The Beit Midrash itself is built upon the belief that truth can emerge through passionate disagreement.

But disagreement does not have to become division.

We should never compromise on Ahavat Yisrael.

Every Jew deserves our love, our concern, our prayers, and our sincere desire for his or her success.

We should strive for shalom.

We should continue listening, speaking, helping, and respecting one another even across deep ideological divides.

And we should seek achdut whenever possible – stretching ourselves to build a shared future.

But sometimes conviction places limits on complete unity.

The challenge is not to choose between love and truth.

It is to ensure that when conviction prevents complete unity, it never destroys love or peace.

Because the greatest test of Jewish unity is not whether we can come together in a moment of inspiration.

It is whether we can remain connected when the difficult work of living together begins.

Perhaps that is the deeper message of the circle at the Kotel.

The beauty was not only that Jews of different backgrounds could stand together for a moment.

The greater dream is that we continue to see one another as part of the same circle when the music fades, when disagreements return, and when building together requires patience, humility, and sacrifice.

That is the true challenge of achdut.

Not becoming identical.

Not erasing our differences.

But discovering how many different parts can still become one.