Though born on the same day, according to the Midrash, Cain was the older of the two. When he was born, his mother boasted: Kaniti ish et adoshem, which literally means: I bought a man with God. Figuratively, it could mean something else: for the first time there was human collaboration in the creation of a man; for the first time a human being was entirely human, that is to say, man’s work and also man’s responsibility. Cain was the exclusive concern of his parents; God was not involved. This may explain his temperament: demanding, arrogant, distrustful, prone to abrupt changes in mood. He was a doer who considered himself free to do whatever he chose. A strange, misunderstood man, yearning for conquests and honors, he had to affirm himself, he had to win; otherwise he was unhappy, resentful, hating the whole world, himself most of all.

Abel, his poor younger brother, was more appealing. He is pictured as a romantic shepherd, gentle and timid, a dreamer of kind and peaceful dreams. A tireless pilgrim, a lover of roads and wind who felt at home nowhere; indeed, had no home, nor wanted one. He roamed through the world in wonder, marveling at the rustling of leaves or simply at being alive, at being capable of giving and receiving. The very epitome of the man-child.

One day the two brothers, for different reasons no doubt, brought offerings to God. And God, for reasons unknown, accepted those of Abel but rejected those of Cain. Cain flew into a rage, and instead of quarreling with God, turned against his brother and slew him.

In the next scene we find God in the role of prosecutor. He did not accuse Cain of murder, not yet. Good investigator that He is, He used kindness to snare His suspect, asking an innocent question in a rather friendly tone: Would you, by any chance, know where your brother might be? As though He did not know. Or as though He did not want Cain to know that He knew. And Cain, who had not yet understood that God is God and that He is silence and secret, fell into the trap and answered: My brother? No idea; am I supposed to be his keeper? Only then did God lay his cards on the table: Kol dmei akhiha tzoakim elai min haadama—I hear thy brother’s voice howling from the depths of the earth. The French call this coup de théâtre, the dramatic, unexpected moment that changes the direction and tone of a play and the axis around which it revolves. Suddenly Cain’s arrogance was gone; he was caught and he knew it. He became very humble and accepted his fate with contrition: My sin is too great, too great to be borne . . . Shall I hide before Thy face . . . ?

The epilogue? Cursed but alive, Cain turned into a wanderer like his slain brother before him and, like his brother, he was murdered by a blood relative. Having removed Abel, Cain became Abel and inherited his fate though not his innocence.