My name is Adi. I’m 16 years old, I live in Kibbutz Shamir, and I’m proud to be part of the amazing Kav Hazinuk leadership program. I have four siblings – two younger than me, and two older – Shachar and Gili.
Shachar isn’t just my brother – he’s my friend, my teacher in life, and my greatest source of inspiration. He’s also on the autism spectrum.
Living with a sibling on the spectrum has taught me so much. Not only about autism but about patience, acceptance, compassion, listening – and most of all, about what true love really means. But more than anything, it showed me how much the world still doesn’t understand, still judges, and still fears what it doesn’t know.
When I started thinking about my personal project for the Kav Hazinuk program, I debated between two topics that are close to my heart – the divide between religious and secular communities in our kibbutz, and the topic of disabilities. But very quickly, I realized my heart already knew the answer.
The topic of autism wasn’t just important to me – it was personal and deep. It’s something I live with, something I feel, and something I know brings fear, ignorance, and judgment – especially among children. I knew I couldn’t stay silent when I saw kids being afraid of, laughing at, or judging another child just because they’re different.
So I decided to give a talk to the seventh-grade students in our kibbutz about autism, about inclusion, and about Shachar. Not as a “special kid” but as a person. As a brother. As a friend.
Shachar is the most positive person I know. He connects with everyone, asks questions, smiles, shows genuine interest – and has the biggest heart. Sadly, though, he’s already experienced too many moments where people looked at him differently, spoke to him with disrespect, shouted at him, or simply didn’t try to understand. And those moments are etched into me as well.
While working on my project, I found myself diving deep – into my heart and into my bond with Shachar. It wasn’t just about organizing a talk. It was about trying to explain something that words often fail to capture. At every step – choosing who to talk about, what exactly to say, and how to get the kids to truly listen – I tried to stay true to my emotions. To my truth. To what Shachar means to me.
Visability of disabilities
I told them that sometimes disabilities are visible, and sometimes they’re not – but that doesn’t matter. Every one of us is unique. Every one of us is dealing with something. And every one of us deserves to be understood.
Shachar, for example, sometimes needs his quiet and alone time. He might make a strange sound or act in an unusual way – but that’s not something to laugh at. That’s something to listen to, understand, and accept.
The Kav Hazinuk program has given me so much – confidence, responsibility, maturity. It helped me stop being afraid of my fears, and more than anything, it helped me choose a path of hope, action, and positivity. Thanks to the program, I had the courage to turn Shachar’s story into my project – and myself into the brother who speaks out what Shachar sometimes can’t express in words.
This article is being published in honor of Autism Awareness Day – but for me, every day should be a day of awareness. Every day is an opportunity to stop for a moment, look around, and ask ourselves:
Are we truly seeing those who are different from us? Are we really making space for every child, teen, woman, or man living with a disability?
So here’s my request: Try to see. Look beyond the surface. Speak. Ask questions. Listen. You’ll discover a whole world. People like Shachar aren’t just “different” – they are fascinating, deep, and full of light.
And me? I’m lucky. Because Shachar is my brother. And he’s a champion. Every single day.
The writer is a participant in the Rothschild Partnerships’ Kav Hazinuk leadership program.