UNITY WITHOUT UNIFORMITY
There is a question in this week’s parashah that belongs
at every family’s Shabbat table.
According to one teaching of our Sages, Adam and Ḥava
were originally created joined together. Hashem then separated them into two
individuals.
But why?
If He wanted them separate, why create them together? And
if He wanted them together, why separate them?
Let me share a little parable that can help us think
about the answer.
Imagine a couple who have been married for fifty years.
Every morning, the husband prepares breakfast. He takes a fresh roll, cuts it,
and places the soft middle portion on his wife’s plate. He keeps the crusty end
for himself.
For fifty years, that is their routine.
On their anniversary, as he prepares breakfast, his wife
says gently, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Today, would you mind giving me the crusty end?”
He looks at her in surprise.
“The crusty end? You want that?”
“Yes,” she says. “It has always been my favorite part.”
“Your favorite part? But the soft middle is the best
part! I have been giving it to you all these years because I wanted you to have
the best.”
She smiles.
“And I never said anything because I thought you loved
the crust. I didn’t want to take away the part you enjoyed.”
For fifty years, each had been trying to be kind. Each
had been willing to sacrifice. But neither had asked the other a simple
question:
“Which part do you like?”
That is the whole parable. But there is a great deal
inside it.
Sometimes we love people according to our own
preferences. We give them what we would want. We comfort them with the words
that would comfort us. We plan the evening that we would enjoy.
Our intentions may be wonderful. But the person we love
is a different person.
One wants advice; another wants us to listen. One enjoys
a surprise; another wants to know the plan. One needs company after a difficult
day; another needs a few quiet minutes.
We cannot discover those things by assuming. We have to
ask, and then listen to the answer.
Perhaps this helps us understand the creation of Adam and
Ḥava.
Their original unity teaches us connection. The other
person matters to us. Their happiness, their pain, and their needs belong
within our concern.
Their separation teaches us that the other person has a
life and a perspective of their own.
The Torah calls Ḥava an ezer kenegdo—a helper
corresponding to Adam, standing opposite him.
Someone standing opposite us can see what we cannot see.
They can bring something to our lives that we do not already possess.
But that requires humility. We have to make room for an
answer we did not expect—even something as simple as, “Actually, I like the
crust.”
Rabbi Abittan, alav hashalom, often taught us that the
Torah trains us in self-control. That lesson belongs especially in our homes.
Sometimes self-control means holding back a sharp reply.
Sometimes it means allowing someone to finish speaking. And sometimes it means
resisting the urge to say, “I know what you want,” long enough to ask what they
actually want.
Love needs generosity. It also needs attention.
So here is a question to bring to the table tonight:
When we try to make someone happy, how do we know what
will make them happy?
Let the children answer too. Ask them for an example of
something they enjoy that another person in the family does not. We may learn
something.
And perhaps ask a second question:
What is one small thing we could do this week that
someone in our family would appreciate?
Hashem gave Adam and Ḥava a shared beginning. He left
them the work of building a shared life.
We carry on that work through patience, kindness, and the
willingness to discover the person beside us.
Sometimes, after fifty years, that discovery begins with
a piece of bread.
Shabbat Shalom.
