Sermon: Bereshit (Cain and Abel and the failure of speech)
Written by Rabbi Elliott Karstadt — 19 October 2020
In the book he wrote with his daughter Fania, Amos Oz (z”l) describes Judaism as ‘not a bloodline, but a text line’. They write:
‘Jewish continuity has always hinged on uttered and written words, on an expanding maze of interpretations, debates, and disagreements, and on a unique human rapport. In synagogue, at school, and most of all in the home, it has always involved two or three generations deep in conversation’ (Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salzberger, Jews and Words)
The great historian and Talmud scholar, Daniel Boyarin, describes our textual tradition – the stories and laws of our Torah, the disputations and examples of the Talmud – as a ‘travelling homeland’ – arguing that, in the absence of a physical place to call home, the Jewish exiles in Babylonia made the Talmud into their home (Daniel Boyarin, Travelling Homeland).
Indeed, the stereotype of Jews being very talkative – very wordy – is perhaps the one we mind the least (though I’m sure we could have a long and wordy debate about that as well!)
According to Jewish mysticism, the creation of the world was preceded by the creation of the alphabet. And many of us will know the story of the child who is unable to pray because he doesn’t know the words, but is able, nonetheless, to communicate with God simply by reciting the aleph bet.
The Medieval Jewish philosopher and commentator, Moses Maimonides, argued that although Jews continued to prayer for the restoration of Zion, they should not desire the restarting of animal sacrifice in the Temple. His explanation of sacrifice was that it was the first of three stages of human beings’ interaction with God – each of which was an improvement on the last:
- Animal sacrifice
- Prayer with words
- Wordless Contemplation of God
Whether we will ever achieve this final and (for Maimonides) perfect interaction with God is debatable – but for the moment we are still in the prayer paradigm. Prayer and words are the way we seek interaction with God (however we might understand God). Maimonides was arguing that the Temples were destroyed in order to move us on to the next level!
This preoccupation with the spoken word is reflected in our traditional morning service: mah nomar lefanecha, ADONAI Eloheynu? What shall we say before you, Eternal, our God?
The Hebrew word for repentence is teshuvah – which also means answering. The most powerful method we have for redemption is not animal sacrifice, but returning with a good answer. And if we give a good answer on Yom Kippur (i.e. if we truly repent) then we are written in a book! In language, with words.
This week we begin the Torah again, having come to the end at Simchat Torah. I do not think it is any accident that the final book of the Torah, towards which we are now progressing, week-to-week, is entitled Devarim, which itself means ‘words’. So, the journey of Torah is towards speech, talking, words.
But in the episode Aviva has read to us today, we encounter a failure of communication; a failure of words. Cain and Abel are two brothers who (according to the biblical narrative) never speak to each other – never engage each other except in one fatal act of violence. The first thing we are told about them is that they each offer sacrifices to God. Abel offers livestock, which God receives enthusiastically, while Cain offers the fruit of the earth, which God is less keen on.
We can only imagine how much hurt, shame, and resentment this stirs in Cain. Interestingly, Cain feels the ability to complain to God that his sacrifice was not accepted, but he is unable to speak to Abel, his own brother, about the feelings it arouses in him.
After the two brothers have made their respective offerings to God, the Torah tells us, vayomer Kayin el Hevel achiv, and Cain said to his brother Abel, and then, without skipping a beat, the Torah’s description moves to the field in which Cain rises up to kill his brother.
Other versions of the Bible (the Greek version of the Septuagint, for example) fill this gap in the text, telling us that Cain said ‘let us go out into the field’, as though to explain that the speech is a ploy to commit pre-meditated fratricide. Our own Jewish midrashic sources provide a number of interpretations of what Cain and Abel argued about (as we heard in our haftarah). But, in some ways, the idea that they said absolutely nothing to one another, is perhaps the most powerful. It is almost as though Cain is on the verge of saying something important, but then fails to speak. The text draws attention to the fact that there were words that needed to be spoken, but which were left unsaid. And the effect of those words being left unspoken is murder.
What were the words that Cain opened his mouth to say to his brother, but which never escaped his lips? And what fruitful dialogue might such words have led to? Even the expression of negative emotions like jealousy or resentment or recrimination can be the beginning of a conversation – a conversation that might end very differently. Words have the ability to open possibilities. But so often we struggle to find words in which to articulate our negative emotions.
Men are particularly bad at articulating and communicating our feelings. This is part of the reason why three quarters of suicides in the UK every year are by men. This is partly because of the way we are socialised – we are told often and from a young age that masculinity is associated with being brave, suffering silently and not articulating negative feelings. Feelings like loneliness and isolation are only likely to increase as we head back into more stringent restrictions on our social interactions in the next few weeks and months.
In a couple of weeks, many people will be growing a moustache as part of Movember, which has become a regular fixture of our annual calendar in November. Movember is a movement that aims to create conversation and raise awareness of men’s health issues (both physical and mental).
Not only do many men struggle to find the words with which to articulate their inner torments. We often find it just as difficult, if not more, to ask our friends how they are, and express our concern. Part of the Movember website is now dedicated to helping men find ways in which to check-in with their friends about their mental health.
Another source of suffering that is taboo, and which people often struggle to talk about openly is that around fertility and baby loss. Thursday saw the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week, another national week designed to break the silence about an issue that affects thousands – thousands of expectant mothers and fathers who often suffer alone and in silence because of the difficulty of talking.
Because it is not as easy to talk as we think, and although we might think of ourselves as a wordy and talkative people, in the Jewish community we are just as guilty of remaining silent and leaving important words unspoken, problems bottled-up and unshared. Thus, the emphasis placed on words and talking in our tradition is more of a challenge than a description – we are more like Cain and Abel than often we would be prepared to admit.
Last night was a last opportunity to see friends outside our household in each other’s homes, at least for the next two weeks. But the fact that we cannot be together physically does not mean that we cannot continue to talk, whether it is on the phone, video call, text, watsapp, wrapping up and going for walks. There will be many of us who feel the need to curl up into a ball and push the world away, not wanting these interactions. But talking is so important – it is what makes us human, and what helps us survive, not just as a Jewish people, but as a species and as individuals.
May we find the strength in the next weeks and months to reach out to one another, to check in, to ask how our family and friends are doing – and not just hoping for the usual answer of ‘all is fine’. May our hearts be open to listening and hearing the pain of others and may we find the strength to start difficult conversations, to say the words that should not remain unspoken. And finally, may our community help us in this – help us to be that ideal of the ‘text line’ that Amos Oz wrote about.