Parsha with Rabbi David Bibi

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.

BEFORE THE FIRST MITZVAH — Why the Torah Begins with People

If the Torah is our book of mitzvot, why does it begin with stories? The first
Rashi explains why we need the account of creation—but why not then jump
straight to “Haḥodesh hazeh lakhem,” the first commandment given to the Jewish people as a nation? In Wednesday morning’s Breakfast & Class, we explore a beautiful question and insight shared by Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky in our conversation Tuesday night: perhaps understanding Who created the world is only the beginning. We also need to learn how to live in it.

Through the lives of Avraham, Yitzḥak, and Yaakov, we discover why Bereshit is called Sefer HaYashar—the Book of the Upright. Avraham pleads for Sedom, Yitzḥak makes room for peace, and Yaakov works honestly for a dishonest employer. Their stories bring the lesson into our own homes, businesses, and relationships: devotion to Hashem must shape how we treat people, especially when honesty, compassion, and restraint are difficult.

In our Tuesday morning Safra Class, three years after October 7, we step
back from the individual headlines and ask a larger question: What happens
when we stop looking at each event separately and begin looking at the pattern?
From the extraordinary turns in Israel’s war to Rav Yosef Zvi Rimon’s idea of
the “Divine puzzle,” we explore a world in which every individual event may
have a perfectly reasonable natural explanation—and yet, when the pieces are
placed beside one another, we are left asking: Who is holding the string?

But Bereishit reminds us that Hashem created man be-tzelem Elokim,
with genuine beḥirah,
and therefore history can never be a simple story of puppets and miracles.
Drawing on the Rambam, the story of Kayin, Rabbi Asher Abittan’s unforgettable
teaching of the “50/50 world,” and the contrasting responses of Yitro
and Amalek, we ask how Divine Providence and human freedom can exist
together—and why two people can witness the same events and see completely
different realities. Ultimately, the question is not only whether we can
recognize Hashem in the story, but whether, after everything we have lived
through, we can recognize one another again.

This morning at
Breakfast & Class, we went back to the very beginning—to the first two
verses of the Torah. God creates heaven and earth, and yet almost immediately
we encounter tohu vavohu:
chaos and emptiness, darkness and an unfathomable abyss. Why would a perfect
Creator begin His world this way? Our Sages reveal something remarkable: hidden
within these words is not only the story of Creation, but the entire story of
Jewish history—our exiles, our darkness, and ultimately our redemption.

BERESHIT — THE LIGHT HIDDEN IN THE
DARKNESS explores the
sparks of holiness concealed within a broken world, the astonishing secret
hidden in the word meraḥefet,
and the Midrash’s teaching that even while darkness covers the abyss, the
spirit of Mashiaḥ is already hovering above it. Perhaps Bereshit is teaching us
one of life’s most important lessons: darkness does not mean that God has
disappeared. Sometimes the light is already there, waiting for us to uncover
it—one mitzvah, one act of ḥesed, one page of Torah, and one spark at a time.