Cain! Murderer. Traitor. Progenitor of true depravity.
Jealous of his brother’s burnt offering
(and dull, too! he should have known his fresh fruit would only sputter and smoke).
We are not told why his offering was disregarded by G-d
only because we surmise the cause readily enough:
greed, rage, long-harbored fraternal resentment,
in short, all the sins which bring fallen man to new depths.
G-d, however, diagnoses Cain less confidently than we.
Chasing Cain mere moments after the worshiper’s face fell,
he goes as far as to warn Cain against anger,
an undeserved gesture of which Cain could not possibly be worthy.
Because we already know that Cain will lure Abel
and strike him down in cold blood, in anticipation of
war, abuse, and all the violence which has since marred human history.
G-d doesn’t know this yet, of course,
and intervenes too late. Abel is dead.
Still too trusting, G-d inquires as to Abel’s whereabouts.
Cain responds, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”,
which we know could never be sincere,
so we add impertinent sarcasm
to his long list of failings.
And when G-d, as surprised as Cain to learn that humans could kill,
announces reluctantly the consequences of Cain’s sin,
we gladly supply an accusatory, pointing finger,
arms conveniently outstretched to cover the next verse:
Cain begs G-d for mercy, and the Creator listens to
a murderer.
As if G-d implicitly has affirmed Cain’s desperate query,
keeping Cain as Abel should have been kept,
Creator and murderer together learning to till bloody earth.