ראה בנים אתם

The Mishna in Pirkei Avos [פ״ג] states it is wondrous to be man since we were made in the image of G-d, and it is wondrous to be part of the Jewish people so we are called children of G-d. What does it mean that we are children of G-d, and why are the other nations, who are also created in the image of G-d, not called his children?

In Sefer Lev Eliyahu, Rabbi Eliyahu Lopian explains the Gemara in Bava Batra (58a) regarding a dying man who overheard his wife telling their daughter to hide her misdeeds, boasting that while she had ten sons, only one was actually fathered by her husband. Overhearing this, the husband declared on his deathbed that his entire estate should go to "my one true son," without saying which one was his real son, since he himself had no way of knowing which of the ten was legitimately his.

Following his death, the ten sons brought the case before Rav Bana'ah to determine the rightful heir. Rav Bana'ah instructed them to go to their father's grave and beat upon it until the father revealed from the grave who should inherit the property. Nine of the sons went and struck the grave, but received no response. Upon their return, Rav Bana'ah questioned whether every single one of them had complied. One son spoke up, admitting that he could not bring himself to hit the grave. Rav Bana'ah immediately ruled that this individual was the true biological son and awarded him the entirety of the inheritance.

Rav Lopian explains the psychological mechanism behind Rav Bana'ah’s ruling. The legitimate son possessed an innate, instinct of connection to his father that made it physically and emotionally impossible for him to strike his father's resting place, even for financial gain.

Rav Lopian brings down a second story. A remarkable account was published in the press a few years after the establishment of the State of Israel regarding a Holocaust survivor who boarded a bus and sat directly behind the driver. Throughout the entire journey, the driver kept watching her in the rearview mirror, and she, in turn, kept her eyes fixed on him.

When the bus reached the final station and all other passengers departed, the driver turned to her and asked why she had not gotten off. Confused and emotional, she explained that her mind was racing, thinking about how her entire family was murdered during the war while she survived the camps.

She shared that before being taken, she had hidden her young son in a monastery. When she returned after the liberation, she was told that a delegation from Eretz Yisrael had already collected the Jewish children and brought them with them. She made Aliyah and spent years searching through every kibbutz across the country, but could never find him.

Hearing her story, the driver began asking which specific monastery he had been in, how old he was at the time, and whether he had any unique birthmarks or physical identifying features. As the details aligned, the driver embraced her and declared, "I am your son."

Even across years of total separation and trauma, there exists a deep, innate instinct that enables a parent and child to recognize one another.

The שפת אמת asks, how is it possible that we are commanded “ואהבת את ה׳ אלוקיך” if that is an inner emotion, not something we can control? He answers, if the Torah commands us to love it must be that the natural innate thing is for us to love our heavenly Father.

While this natural love between us and our Father is beautiful in and of itself, I would like to take it one step further. If we all have a natural instinct to love Hashem our Father, wouldn’t we have a natural instinct to love our siblings as well?

The פסוק commands us בָּנִ֣ים אַתֶּ֔ם לַיהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶ֑ם לֹ֣א תִתְגֹּֽדְד֗וּ וְלֹֽא־תָשִׂ֧ימוּ קׇרְחָ֛ה בֵּ֥ין עֵינֵיכֶ֖ם לָמֵֽת׃

Explains רש״י, The fact that we are Hashem's children, is an introduction and a reason to the command of לֹ֣א תִתְגֹּֽדְד֗וּ. However, asks the נצי״ב, if that is the case, why does the Torah then give another reason in the next pasuk when it states כִּ֣י עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙ אַתָּ֔ה לַיהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ וּבְךָ֞ בָּחַ֣ר יְהֹוָ֗ה לִֽהְי֥וֹת לוֹ֙ לְעַ֣ם סְגֻלָּ֔ה מִכֹּל֙ הָֽעַמִּ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֖ר עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הָאֲדָמָֽה׃

Answers the נצי״ב, it must be that the warning of לֹ֣א תִתְגֹּֽדְד֗וּ actually contains 2 different commandments like the Gemara in יבמות teaches. One is that we shouldn't cut our skin when mourning over a lost loved one, and the second is that we shouldn't make ourselves into אגודות אגודות, small groups. Meaning if one community has one practice, you should not go ahead and have another practice. We shouldn’t have half a community follow בית שמאי and the other half follow בית הלל even if they are both true valid Halachic opinions. The נצי״ב points out that the רמב״ם actually brings both of these applications down מדאורייתא in Hilchot Avodat Kochavim (12:14), teaching them side by side. So explains the נצי״ב, the intro of בָּנִ֣ים אַתֶּ֔ם לַיהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶ֑ם is the intro to לא תעשו אגודות אגודות. It is not fit for us to have different ways, since it is the way of children of one father to go in the same direction.

As we depart from the mourning of Tisha B'Av and journey toward Rosh Chodesh Elul and the Yamim Noraim, this fundamental understanding serves as an essential introduction to this time of year. The Churban of the Beis HaMikdash was caused by sinat chinam. A disconnection where we looked at fellow Jews and failed to recognize our common Father. However, the shofar of Elul wakes us up to remember Ani L'Dodi V'Dodi Li. Our teshuvah and return to Hashem is actually innate. It is our natural instinct to be connected to our family. When we perceive every Jew not through the prism of ideology or social friction, but as a sibling born of the same Parent, we uproot the foundation of our galus, arriving at Rosh Hashanah as a single, unified, and whole family.