Two brothers, and a brotherhood of holy texts
“Rabbi, what do Jews believe about accountability, the day of judgment and paradise?”
This question during a Q and A about Judaism stunned me because the person who asked it was a 15-year-old religious Muslim.
Her question came at the end of an extraordinary teaching journey I recently took with a group of 30 high school students who attend the local Islamic day school, Annur (“Light”). Having previously published a book about the biblical Cain and Abel story, I was interested in studying Islam’s version of the world’s tragic first murder and how Muslims understand it. The school’s principal, Sohaib Chekima, and I decided it would be a good experience for his students
and for me to learn from a teacher of a different religion. Our goal would be to compare the two versions of the story, along with our respective traditions about the brothers’ fatal encounter that have grown out of centuries of interpretation.
Recognizing how easy it is for me to fall into lecture mode, I began our discussion by asking them to teach me what the Quran says about Qabil and Habil, Arabic for Cain and Abel, deriving from their ancient Hebrew names, Qayyin and Hevel. They first read the story in Arabic, translated it, then responded to my questions and offered their insights. We compared passages from the Quran, Sura 5 and the Torah, Genesis 4, to better understand our traditions’ different perspectives on the relationships and dialogues between Cain, Abel, and God. (The boys’ parents, Adam and Eve, are conspicuously absent from these narratives.) Though in both versions Cain’s offering is rejected by God/allah while Abel’s is accepted, the similarities end there:
In Al Maida (“The Table”) — Sura 5, Cain and Abel argue while God is silent:
Cain said, “I will surely kill you.” His brother replied, “Allah accepts offerings only from the righteous. If you stretch your hand to kill me, I shall not lift mine to slay you; for I fear Allah, the Lord of creation. (Dawood Translation)
In Genesis 4, Abel (Hevel, literally “vapor” in Hebrew) is silent, while God and Cain argue, though a tantalizing ellipsis in the Hebrew text alludes to a now lost conversation that the brothers possibly had:
Cain said to his brother Abel…and when they were in the field, Cain set upon his brother Abel and killed him. God said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” And he said, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” Then God said, “What have you done? Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground!” (Jewish Publication Society Translation)
Comparisons like this one allowed my students and me to think about how our different “takes” on the story can be synthesized to create a richer conversation. Both biblical traditions offer many ways of understanding sibling rivalry, family conflict and fratricide, human violence and the imperative to respond to the perennial question: Am I my brother’s and sister’s keeper?
This is a group of bright kids who live in families with siblings, and like all of us, work hard to avoid acting on those rawest emotions of anger, jealousy, and at times, hatred. We explored how both stories are paradigms for “fraternal” responsibility within our concentric nuclear, extended, communal, national and global circles of family.
Encounters between Jews and Muslims in the increasingly pluralistic environment of America are still relatively new, at least they are for me. Sitting with these terrific kids recently, I felt blessed to cross a few natural and artificial boundaries between our two communities and to have them join me on that journey. We hopefully added something small but beautiful to both stories: the ancient one of human beings’ mutual responsibilities and the contemporary one of how Jews and Muslims can be leaders in being our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers.
And what of my young student’s provocative question, “Rabbi, what do Jews believe about accountability, the day of judgment and paradise?” Perhaps
my answer was too cliched, but I told her this:
“That is a great question. Judaism says a lot of different, complicated things about accountability, the day of judgment and paradise. You and I can’t know for sure what paradise and the afterlife are all about because we haven’t died and after we die, we likely won’t be returning to this life to report back to anyone. So, let me suggest that we focus on something more tangible: How can we, good Jews and good Muslims, good Americans, good global citizens, build paradise here on Earth through how we live and behave?”
If that cliché inspires her and her generation to redeem Cain and Abel’s dark legacy, it is worth my having taught it to her.
Dan Ornstein is the rabbi of Congregation Ohav Shalom and a writer living with his family in Albany. He is the author of “Cain v Abel: A Jewish Courtroom Drama” (2020, The Jewish Publication Society). He also contributes to several journals and online news sites, including WAMC Northeast Public Radio.