He was twelve years old and the room was filled with well-wishers celebrating his birthday. Shouts of excitement over meeting a friend or seeing a favourite cake being served filled the air of this happy occasion. And then it stopped. Silence. A young man with his wife stood in the doorway. It was him.

The guests stopped their conversation in mid-sentence while Marc’s parents rushed to the doorway to greet the new guests. All four cried. Marc stood nearby shyly waiting to be noticed. It was not long in coming. “This is Marc,” his father introduced him and Menashe embraced the young boy in a hug that only a brother could give. Because he was a brother. A blood brother.