When Hashem initially created man and woman as one body, it was no mistake — instead, it was the primal lesson of all human relationships

In Elul, each of us sought a path to teshuvah. As Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur drew near, we did all we could to repair our relations with others, and during Succos we experienced the unity of Klal Yisrael — our oneness as a people and our oneness with Hakadosh Baruch Hu. And now, once again, we dive into the “regular life” of a new year.

In order to preserve the spiritual gains we’ve made, we need not look further than a midrash that explains how the Creator formed the first couple on this earth, a blueprint for how He would like us to act toward one another.

Our Sages teach, in Maseches Eruvin 18, “Hakadosh Baruch Hu created two faces on Adam Harishon, as it says, ‘Front and back You have formed me’ ”(Tehillim 139). That is, Adam and Chavah were first created attached to each other as one body.

At first glance this seems a bit shocking: Why should man, the crown of creation, be created in a manner so different from all the other living creatures on earth? Why were they all made with their physical integrity complete, while the human species had to pass through this stage of duality before becoming man and woman, each occupying his own realm?

The Torah is teaching man something huge here, a lesson he took in with his very first breath — a lesson Hakadosh Baruch Hu sought to imprint in human nature on the threshold of life, before he even took his first step on this earth.

It reminds me of an interview I read recently with a pair of 13-year-old conjoined twins whom the doctors were unable to separate. They spoke of the togetherness they had been forced to live with throughout their childhood, the difficulty they both experienced, neither being able to do whatever she liked, whenever she wished. If one was feeling tired, for example, and wanted to take a nap while the other felt like jumping rope, friction between the two was inevitable. Anger, resentment, and frustration caused additional suffering in lives that were intrinsically mega-challenged in the first place.

Gradually, though, the sisters discovered the secret to their survival: They would have to learn consideration for each other’s needs, and that meant constantly yielding to each other. But instead of it adding additional burdens to their already complicated lives, each of the girls discovered that there was a pleasant consequence to this new behavior: Each time one gave way, she would find the other reciprocating by giving way to her next time. Life became much easier once they mastered the use of this vital survival tool.

And Hakadosh Baruch Hu Himself implanted this secret in the foundation of the world. He wished to teach man and wife the art of survival: Let Adam and Chavah actually feel the necessity of yielding one to the other, before they set out on their long independent, yet interdependent, journey through this world. Let them live as Siamese twins, thus getting a full taste of their individual limitations and comprehend that consideration for the other is a necessity of life. Once they had internalized this great Divine truth, they were separated, and the principle of giving way to another’s needs — not only to one’s spouse, but to every person one encounters — was imprinted in their genes forever.

They learned that yielding to others is not weakness, but wholeness of spirit. They learned that if a person refuses to give in, it means that he has barricaded himself in a shell of pride and sealed his heart to the needs of his fellow man. In other words, he is missing all spiritual contact with others, and certainly with HaKadosh Baruch Hu as well. In contrast, one who knows the secret of yielding, who recognizes the needs of others and is responsive, has removed the barrier that separates him from his fellow man, enabling free flow between his heart and theirs.

And, contrary to the idea that giving away means having less, that giving is just a ruse for getting something in exchange, this is really a strategy for gaining greatness of soul, which encompasses not just himself, but his friends, his community, and beyond.

From the story of Korach’s rebellion we can see just how great is the requirement to give way. In the ensuing machlokes, longtime troublemakers Dasan and Aviram acted brazenly towards Moshe, yet the pasuk tells us that “Moshe arose and went to Dasan and Aviram.” After all the insults he had taken from these iniquitous men, he got up and went to their tents to allow them one last chance. Perhaps they would repent their actions and be saved from perdition.

Seemingly, this was an act of extreme righteousness on Moshe’s part. But it is only our superficial view that makes us see this as stemming from Moshe Rabbeinu’s exaltedness of spirit and nobility. Our Sages looked at it differently: According to Reish Lakish, “From here we learn that we may not sustain machlokes” (Sanhedrin 100). That means that Moshe Rabbeinu didn’t have a choice — he was required to muster up all his humility in order to avoid machlokes.

It sounds shocking, this bending over backward, but in fact, the secret of human survival lies in the capacity to yield, to open the doors of the heart to others by eradicating ego and stubbornness — anything that can bring about divisiveness. Moshe Rabbeinu, the humblest of men, demanded of himself even in the moments of greatest opposition to go meet his nemesis halfway.

Unfortunately, mankind as a whole has not been wise enough to take this path of success, although it was imprinted on his soul from the moment our primordial parents were fused together. The evil inclination overpowers man; pride and arrogance whisper in his ear that yielding is a sign of weakness rather than a necessity of life.

We see it, like a malignant cancer, in families fighting over an inheritance that has fallen at their feet, for example. No one will give in, and therefore no one gets any benefit from the inheritance. Instead, they spend their lives in pain, bitterness, and suffering. Some families pass the fight down to the next generation, and those young people, out of the wish to “honor their parents,” keep the flames burning and even fan them, receiving no enjoyment over the very thing they’re fighting over, because of their obstinacy.

It’s the great truth that Rav Chaim of Volozhin bequeathed to his children: “By mildness you will gain more than by all the aggressiveness in the world.”

We were born as Siamese twins, and we must remember that in our minds, souls, and all that we do. Right now, after the Yamim Noraim and Succos, when we’ve tasted how good unity can be, this should be easy for us to remember.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 782)