Separation is extremely complicated and highly dangerous in most cases — often one or both twins doesn’t make it.

A friend of mine made aliyah about twenty years ago. Her family lived far from civilization, at the time, without regular transportation. So it was only when she was three weeks overdue that she went to a doctor to see if something was wrong.

The doctor did a sonogram, and during the procedure, he spoke across the table to a colleague, in broken, Russian-accented Hebrew.

“It has four legs,” one doctor commented.

“Four arms,” the other added.

“Two hearts,” one said excitedly.

“Two heads … ”

My friend was almost fainting.

“It’s twins,” the two doctors informed her, smiling simultaneously.

“Twins?” she said. “Twins?”

She traveled back to her far-off town to tell her husband — but she was very nervous. “What kind of twins?” was the question that plagued her. She searched frantically for any information pertaining to twins.

One of the options that she read about was conjoined (“Siamese”) twins, chas v’shalom, with two minds, two wills — but one body.

There have been Siamese twins attached at the back of their heads or the base of their spines, some who shared the same liver or kidneys, and some who shared the same heart.

Imagine how hard it must be for two wills to share one body. If one side moves, the other side has to bend their way. If one sneezes, they both feel it.

One twin is usually dominant, but each movement would need to be agreed on, verbally or non-verbally. What level of humility, patience, and flexibility must be learned in order to function!

There are conjoined twin girls who graduated a regular high school in the United States and have started college. There are a few film clips about how they manage. Their teachers say it’s a challenge to know which one to concentrate on. One is extremely active and social and the other more reserved. Some real questions arise, like — do they take one math test or two?

Separation is extremely complicated and highly dangerous in most cases — often one or both twins doesn’t make it.

I read about a pair of such twins who were successfully separated — but although their bodies were separated, they continued to feel a sense of connection. They continued to feel each other’s pain as their own.

There’s a famous story about Rav Aryeh Levine, ztz”l, who once took his wife to the doctor. “What’s the problem?” the doctor asked, and Rav Aryeh Levine answered, “Our leg hurts us.”

That’s a marriage that shares one heart.

We don’t always really realize it, but a married couple is one soul that was once whole, was separated, and then reconnected. Any attempt at separation is, as with conjoined twins, very dangerous and often fatal.

I recently consulted a gadol about enrolling someone in a particular school though the person didn’t wish to keep exactly to the rules of its framework. The person had been asked to write out an agreement, a contract that he would abide by all the rules.

What I got most out of the consultation was that if a person wants to enter and stay inside any given framework, he has to respect and follow its rules.

Some frameworks we’re able to choose, like jobs, and sometimes schools — but even these chosen commitments have rules, regulations. Being a conjoined twin is not one of those chosen frameworks — although it’s said that before we come down to this world, we’re shown our whole lives, and we’re asked if we agree to the tests that will be presented to us. If we’re here, it’s a sign that we agreed to the framework, which means we have to fit ourselves to the rules and regulations.

According to this, we agreed to who our parents would be, who our children would be, and who our partner in life would be. Marriage is a framework, binding husband and wife, and binding each of them to certain rules. As with conjoined twins, if one veers sharply to one side without warning, against the rules of the framework that binds them, the other will suffer. Yet any attempt to separate them can result in diminished quality of life for each or can even be fatal to both. Instead, they must learn how to live in harmony, as one.

One of the things this gadol said was, “Why don’t we get married and start raising children at age fifty or sixty, when we’re so much wiser, more patient, and mature?” He answered his own question: “Because when we’re older — it’s harder to bind.”

A healthy life for our married “Siamese soul” depends on this.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 292)