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In this story, the question is answered at Passover

Posted Apr. 18, 2008

By Mark Binder

ABRAHAM and Adam are identical twins - born in the village of Chelm and confused from birth

So, when did Abraham and Adam Schlemiel begin to realize that they weren’t the same person in two identical bodies? On the surface it seems like a foolish question (although in Chelm no question is considered too foolish to be asked), but from the time of their birth the twins themselves hadn’t been too sure.

They were identical in every way. Their eyes, their lips, their ears, even the moles on their left elbows were in exactly the same place. They ate the same food, wore interchangeable clothes, and slept in the same crib because the moment their father tried to separate them they began to scream.

Not even their mother could tell them apart. When they were babies, she tried to keep Abraham on the left and Adam on the right.

That might have worked, except Rebecca Schlemiel had an impossible time telling right from left. She’d set them down, turn around for a moment, and by the time she looked back, she felt certain that some impish demon must have switched the two boys.

When they were a year old, their grandmother Ruth suggested tying a piece of string around one boy’s wrist. If only they’d thought of that sooner! It was decided that, as the oldest, Abraham would have the honor of wearing the bracelet. But have you ever tried to tie a string to a wriggling toddler? And five minutes after the string was secured, somehow it was gone. A new string was tied, but even in his sleep, Abraham managed to slip loose. That project was abandoned the morning that Jacob went to the crib and found both boys giggling happily with strings on all four wrists.

As they learned to walk they were inseparable. They stood up together, took three steps together, and fell down together. If one bumped his head, both howled. And they loved to climb. Everyone in Chelm got in the habit of saying, “Abraham, Adam, get down from that table . . . that chair . . . that book shelf!”

Every so often, Rabbi Kibbitz would pull one or the other aside, and ask, “Are you Adam or Abraham?”

“Yes,” the boy would smile. “I am.”

It wasn’t until the Passover after their fifth birthday that the boys themselves realized that they had something of a problem. You see, at the Passover seder it is traditional for the youngest child to recite the Four Questions. Abraham’s and Adam’s befuddled parents assumed that the boys would sing together. But everyone in Chelm, including the boys themselves, knew that Adam Schlemiel was 12 hours younger than Abraham – and therefore only he was entitled to ask the questions.

About a week before Passover, the arguments began.

“I think that I should say the four questions,” said one boy.

“Me too,” replied his brother.

“You think I should say them?” said the first. “Good!”

“No,” answered the second. “I think I should say them.”

“But I’m Adam!”

“I thought you were Abraham.”

“You’re Abraham.”

“No, I’m Adam!”

It was the first time that they actually came to blows. Their mother hurried over to pull them apart.

“Abraham, Adam, stop that!” she said.

“I’m Adam!” both boys shouted simultaneously.

“You’re Adam?” Rebecca asked the boy on her left. He nodded.

“What about you?” she asked the other. “Are you Adam?” This boy nodded as well.

“Then where is Abraham?” Rebecca Schlemiel shouted in a panic.

“I’ve lost my oldest child!”

Anywhere else such a reaction would have brought healing laughter into the room. In Chelm, however, such remarks are taken seriously. A search party was organized, and it was only after Adam and Adam had gone to bed that Jacob and Rebecca Schlemiel were relieved to count two sleeping boys instead of just one.

And the next morning, the search parties went out again as both boys denied being Abraham. This wasn’t just malicious mischief. The truth was that neither boy was certain who he was.

On one level, they had always heard their names spoken together as “Abrahamandadam.” On another level, they had sometimes answered to the individual names whimsically and indiscriminately. If Grandmother Esther offered Adam a treat, both shot forward, but if Grandfather Shmuel had a chore for Adam, neither responded. And sometimes, when neither punishment nor reward was offered, whichever boy was closest replied.

Even when they talked it was often simultaneous, both boys speaking like a Greek chorus, or with one finishing the other’s sentence, as if they knew each other’s thoughts completely. It has often been asked, “When does identity begin? When does the child recognize that it is an individual and not an extension of its mother?” For the brothers Schlemiel, individuality came on the eve of that Passover Seder.

The feast was held at Grandfather Shmuel and Grandmother Esther’s house. Only four of Rebecca’s six sisters and their families were coming this year, so there was a little bit of elbow room at the table. Still, Rebecca and Jacob thought that it was best if the twins were separated on opposite sides of the table, to prevent kicks, elbows, and pinches from disrupting the service.

For his part, Jacob hoped that Rebecca’s newest nephew, Moishe, who was by all reports a “remarkable and intelligent boy,” would be able to recite the questions and thus avoid the impending conflict.

Unfortunately, even if the boy was a one-year-old linguistic genius, Moishe was fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

Rebecca was worried for a different reason. If both boys really thought that they were Adam, then might they not both grow up as Adam? Then what would happen to her oldest son, Abraham? Would he simply vanish as if he had never existed?

The early blessings and songs went smoothly. Hands were washed, wine was drunk, and the tale of the Exodus from Egypt began to unfold.

Grandfather Shmuel, as the leader of the service, was seriously considering skipping the Four Questions entirely. The last thing that he wanted was a long and drawn-out argument that made dinner come even later. He came to the page in the Haggadah and said, “Let’s speed this up a bit and move along to . . . OUCH!”

Grandmother Esther had kicked him under the table. He looked at her, she stared him down, and he said, “All right. Fine. Who’s going to read the Four Questions?”

All eyes turned to the twins.

“Maybe they both can read them together,” said Grandmother Ruth.

“Or take turns,” added Grandmother Esther.

“No!” both boys stood up. “Only one. The youngest reads the Four Questions.”

Grandfather Shmuel rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. Oy!

He felt a headache coming on.

The room fell quiet. No one dared even to breathe. The two brothers looked at each other across the table, their faces carved in impassive stone. The candles flickered. The roast in the oven grew drier.

And then . . . without them saying a word to each other, it was decided.

Abraham sat down, and Adam remained standing.

They looked at each other again. A feeling of sadness filled

their eyes with tears.

Abraham nodded at his brother, and in a voice sweet enough for two, Adam began to chant the Hebrew, “Mah nishtannah ha-lailah hazeh. . .”

In his seat, Abraham mouthed the words, but his voice was silent.

Mark Binder is an author, a storyteller and a former editor

of The Rhode Island Jewish Herald. His novel, The Brothers Schlemiel, has just been released and is available at Books on the Square, Barrington Books, and A Novel Idea.