Cain & Abel

Genesis 4:1-16

I wrote this piece quite a while back, after learning about some of the meanings attached to the names of Cain and Abel; and also reflecting on the ancient hostility between herding nomads and settled farmers.

I was able to verify that one of the meanings of Cain is ‘to make’—{(The root-verb קנה (qana) means to acquire or create. It's the regular verb for a commercial purchase, which extends into the financed redemption of slaves (Nehemiah 5:8). It's probably this line of thought that describes God as redeeming Israel from Egypt (Exodus 15:13).

In a small minority of instances this verb may mean to create: Psalm 139:13, Deuteronomy 32:6, Genesis 14:19). Our verb is also the one exclaimed by Eve when she says, "I have gotten/made a man-child with the Lord," after giving birth to Cain (Genesis 4:1).}

and one of the meanings of Abel is vanity or waste— {It's not quite clear what came first, the verb or the noun, but the verb הבל (habal), means to act emptily or become vain, and the noun הבל (hebel) means vapor, breath, in the negative sense of having no substance and being something very close to nothing.}

{citations in italics from: http://www.abarim-publications.com/}

Cain and Abel

I’ll tell you the name my mother gave me; ask me my name, I’ll tell you “Make.”

I dig in the dirt and run it through my fingers; I thin the seedlings and pull the weeds.

I built a house to sleep in at night; I raised a barn to hold my yield.

My brother walks the hinterland; back and forth he goes like the weather’s changing and his bones ache.

He whistles to his dogs as they run after the sheep; he sits by the fire and spits pomegranate seeds.

My mother named him “Waste” and good riddance; he won’t pay to share the common field.

He breaks her heart with his roaming; she never knows when he’ll be home or how long he’ll stay.

He won’t say what he does for a living; he hangs out at the tinker’s camp and drinks too much.

He sells his fleeces and the new lambs for the sacrifice; he smells of lanolin and tallow.

His tents are threadbare, but his knife is sharp; he brags that trouble comes his way.

He fought off a wolf by himself and ate its heart; but travelers all say that he’s an easy touch.

He says lions lurk by the fold, but sheep are stupid; the way they’ve gone is how they always go.

With me it’s rain or no rain; birds and gophers.

With him it’s landslides or wolves; lions and poachers.

I’m not jealous:  No; at least I have more to offer a wife for her comfort.

Every day it’s hoe the weeds, drag the plow, cut the turf.

If it isn’t aphids, it’s locusts; either root-blight or scurf.

I’m so tired I don’t sleep; the cock’s crow makes my head hurt.

So why is he so smug with the grease running down his chin

and laughing tinker girls hanging on his sleeve?

Why did he look sorry for me when I said he’s a disgrace to his kin

but God might accept him if he’d only believe?

What does he actually think he’s good for?

What did he mean about the wolf crouching at my door?

Wolves don’t bother farmers.