“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.”

So here we are again, at the beginning of our annual cycle, which is a cycle of not only the Biblical texts in the portion and its haftarah but also all the rabbinic midrashim and commentaries associated with them. And, as Ben Bag Bag is quoted as saying in the Avot, presumably referring to both the oral and written Torah, “Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it.”

How are we to turn all this material around in our mind, and assimilate it, in a manner that does not compromise either our respect for tradition or our contemporary sense of reason and morality? The easiest problem to illustrate is where the tradition appears to contradict modern scientific knowledge and reason, so I’ll start with that. The harder problem is the clash of moral imperatives.

I

What existed before the creation? Six things according to Genesis Rabbah: the Torah, the Throne of Glory, the Patriarchs, Israel, the Temple, and the name of the Messiah.

Is this tradition compatible with the Big Bang theory of the creation of the universe? The only acceptable answer if we are to conserve the tradition, and the only answer of the slightest exegetical or midrashic interest, is, “Yes, they’re completely compatible.” And now all I have to do is prove it.

In addressing this question of what existed prior to the creation, the anonymous redactor of Genesis Rabbah distinguished between things actually created and those “already contemplated” by God or, to use secular terminology, already present in potential. Rabbi Doctor H. Freedman, B.A., PhD, the editor and translator of the Soncino edition of Genesis Rabbah, has a footnote to this passage in which he says “And, generally speaking, contemplation and decision are identical and simultaneous with God.” I find the phrase “generally speaking” intimidating. The good Rabbi Doctor is apparently on intimate terms with the habits of the Creator of Heaven and Earth, unlike, for example, Job, or myself. But who am I to doubt someone with this level of authority? I assume he is right and I take this equivalence to mean that if I could show these six things were present in potential at the moment of the Big Bang then I would have demonstrated compatibility with the traditional midrash.

The Big Bang theory implies all the universe that now exists came from the dense ball of mass-energy present at the moment of the explosion. It follows immediately that everything that came into existence after the Big Bang was present in potential at the moment of the explosion. Consequently, all the stars and galaxies were there in potential, and all planetary systems, including ours. And so the Earth was present in potential at the moment of the explosion. The dense ball of mass-energy held in potential the possibility of life, and of conscious life. And it held in potential all the human history and traditions that came, after a few hundred million years or so of evolution, out of the first primitive consciousness. It held in potential the first Temple and the second Temple and the whole of the Torah and all the Midrash and Talmud. If you believe the Patriarchs were actual historical persons then they existed in potential as actual persons at the moment of the Big Bang. And if you believe that they are constructs of the tradition, then they existed in potential as constructs of the tradition. All six things Genesis Rabbah says existed prior to the creation existed in potential at the moment of the Big Bang. Of course, the name of the Messiah, while already present in potential back then, has not yet been revealed.

Among the other implications of the Big Bang theory which we are led to see by applying a question from the tradition is that creatures who were capable of believing in God, or, if your prefer the formulation, creatures who were capable of receiving revelation, were present in potential in the dense ball of inanimate material at the moment of the Big Bang.

To my mind, any apparent clash between the tradition and scientific knowledge is almost certainly a misunderstanding of one or both, and the most fruitful method of dealing with such apparent contradictions is to set yourself the task of finding a way to reconcile them without compromising either.


II

The clash of moral imperatives is a much more serious problem. In Genesis 4:1-15, Cain and Abel present God with their sacrifices.

And the Lord had respect for Abel and his offering but for Cain and his offering He had no respect. And Cain was very angry and his face fell. And the Lord said to Cain, ‘Why are you so angry? Why has your face fallen? If you do well, it will be lifted up. And if you do not do well, sin crouches at the door, and its desire is toward you, but you can rule over it.

The Hebrew word, yisha, translated politely as “had regard for” means “to gaze at.” Rashi glosses the negative, lo sha’a, by saying that God turned away from Cain’s offering. So an idiomatic modern translation might read: “God loved to look at” Abel’s offering, but “couldn’t bear to look at” Cain’s offering. The rejection is portrayed as brutal, and God makes no attempt to justify it.

In order to show the clash between the action of God described in this passage and the contemporary understanding of how a sensitive father should act, I will make use of an explanatory parable.

“And Cain’s face fell.” To what may this be compared? A parable. The matter is like a father who has two six year old sons, Cain and Abel.

And Cain and Abel worked with their crayons for an hour and then brought drawings to their father to bask in his approval. And the father said to Abel, “What a brilliant drawing, Abel. I’m so proud of you. The subject matter you have chosen, the sacrifice of lambs, is very dramatic, and your line-quality and composition are superb. I love the way the curvature of the spurt of blood from the victim’s cut throat is echoed by the arched back of the terrified lamb waiting to have his throat cut. You’ve caught the whole drama of the subject. I’m going to frame your drawing and put it on the wall so we can look at it every day.”

The father then looked at Cain’s drawing, and said, “What’s this? Fruit and vegetables? This drawing is as repulsive as you are. I can’t bear to look at it. I’m going to rip it up so no one else has to see it.”

And little Cain’s face fell. And his father said to him, “So you’re crestfallen and angry, eh? Don’t try bursting into tears or throwing a tantrum. You can control yourself, so exercise this capacity, and if you do the gloom you now feel as a result of my rejection will lift in a day or two and you’ll begin to feel better.”

As you can see, neither the father here, nor the God of Genesis 4:1-15, is behaving as a kind sensitive modern father should. If the God of this passage in the Torah had been a kind sensitive contemporary father, it would have gone something like this:

God loved Abel and his offering. And as for Cain and his offering, God said, “I really love you and your offering too, Cain. I’ve always adored fruit and vegetables and yours are just superb. How did you get the broccoli to be such an intense green? I couldn’t possibly choose between your offering and Abel’s. But, as William Blake said somewhere, ‘There is no competition in the Kingdom of Heaven,’ and we’re living in heaven, aren’t we?”

No they’re not. Their parents were kicked out of Paradise a few verses back and they were born into the real world of thorns and thistles. And so, unfortunately, apart from misquoting Blake, this version destroys the meaning of the text, which requires the rejection to be harsh and unjustified.

The text presents a paradigmatic moral situation of wide applicability, as we should expect in a passage coming this early in the Torah, and a moral standard suited to the situation. The moral situation involves two people, one of whom is treated well and the other is treated, for no apparent reason, harshly. The moral standard is this: as a result of the situation, the sins of rage and hatred and despair are crouching in the victim’s mind and their repetitive urgings are in him. But he has the capacity to control them, and if he does so the reward will be that his spirits will eventually lift again. And if he doesn’t, if he gives in to them, this will lead to a cursed existence. The focus is completely subjective: there is an inner danger that will always be present and active when any human being is placed in the paradigmatic situation, and an inner capacity that will permit this person to dissipate the danger.

This model or paradigm obviously applies to any situation in which someone is the victim of what insurance companies call an Act of God. When I gave a drash on this passage a couple of years ago I used a series of explanatory parables involving two brothers who both wanted to be artists. One, whom I called Abel, had more talent than the other, whose face fell when he was confronted with this fact at various times in his life. Then, when they are in the middle of their careers, they go to their doctor for an annual check-up and the fortunate brother is told he was well, and the unfortunate one is told he had cancer. Clearly the paradigm applies to any case of discrepancies of God-given talent or intelligence, or good looks or mental and physical health, or country and decade of birth or social level of birth.

The situation doesn’t need two brothers, it can be any two persons. Even the existence of a second person is not needed; Abel, in the passage I’m examining, is just a literary stand-in for the rest of the world, which is not suffering in the way inflicted on the unfortunate. Similarly, it is not necessary for the harm to be an Act of God. The harm just has to be felt as overwhelming and arbitrary, with no connection to the actions of the victim.

For example, Cain and Abel are two brothers and they both had grown daughters who worked in the World Trade Center. And Abel’s daughter was working on the 40th floor and Cain’s on the 100th floor on the morning of September 11 2001. And when he understood what had happened to his daughter, Cain’s face fell. Clearly, anyone who lost a friend or child or parent or spouse in the terrorist attack is in the paradigmatic situation; it happened to them and others, whose loved ones were working elsewhere, were spared.

Another example of the model situation: Cain and Abel are fathers and their children go to the same high school in the US suburbs. A student brings a gun to school and kills some other students. The parents are called to the school and Abel’s child is safe but Cain’s child is one of those killed. And Cain’s face falls when he hears the news.

Another application: Cain and Abel are Israelis and the bus on which their children are riding is attacked by terrorists, and Abel’s child is lightly injured and Cain’s child is killed.

The inner task is the same whether it is an Act of God or not. The surviving victims must control the natural urges of rage and hatred and despair that will of course erupt repeatedly, repetitively, in their minds, and allow grief to run its course. And, if they do control their minds in this way, then an inbuilt human capacity will insure that the gloom in their spirits will eventually lift. By this I don’t mean they will have ‘closure,’ or forget the people they loved, or resume life as though nothing had happened, only that they will eventually be able to resume normal life and enjoy whatever is enjoyable. And if they don’t do this, if they give in to fantasies of rage and hatred and despair, they will live a cursed existence within themselves. And if they act on rage and hatred and despair they will end up doing unjustified harm to others.

Of course there appears to be a huge difference between acts of God and acts of human agents. In one case you can’t pursue justice or take revenge and in the other case this is possible. But this difference is more apparent than real. Even if it is an Act of God in the form of a flood or forest fire that causes the harm, there are always responsibilities of human agents that could be, and in many cases have to be, investigated. In both cases, action that grapples with the logic of the situation may have to be taken. But this is a separate problem. No moral paradigm, or fable or parable can be applied directly to social or political situations. Their intended application is always the inner life of the individual.

It is clear from my examples that only an interpretation which accepts that God’s rejection of Cain’s offering is portrayed in the Torah as harsh and unexplained, and so unjustified in the victim’s eyes, will yield realistic applications. The temptation to dilute the Torah with apologetic interpretations or to ignore the harshness portrayed because it seems to contradict contemporary moral assumptions should be avoided. Nor should harsh passages be ignored; on the contrary, their meaning and applications should be sought out on the assumption that they are realistic. It’s up to us to search out the moral reality the text represents, and understand its lessons in contemporary terms.

As a final point I want to say the same thing in another more contentious way. Nahum Sarna, in the JPS commentary on Genesis, follows a long tradition of apologetics by arguing that Abel’s intent and offering were superior to Cain’s and that’s why God had regard for Abel and his offering. He draws the following conclusion: “Thus the narrative conveys the fundamental principle of Judaism that the act of worship must be informed by genuine devotion of the heart.” My objection to this is not, of course, that the interpretation is wrong. It is as grounded in the text as mine, and, like mine, it ignores certain aspects of the text, specifically the aspects I have chosen to focus on. My objection to Sarna and the tradition of apologetics he is following is that it takes one of the most powerful passages in the Torah, one that can be interpreted as having direct application to very difficult aspects of adult life, and reduces the meaning of the passage to mush, to ready-made infant formula spooned out of some little jar of pieties.
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I have presented a disparate range of material in this drash. How I can summarize what I’ve been trying to say? I’ll do it by quoting what Ben Bag Bag should have said. Or perhaps what he did say but was misquoted. Or perhaps what he meant but thought the point too obvious to make explicit. Speaking of the written and oral Torah, Ben Bag Bag meant us to understand that we must “Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it … in potential.”