By Rabbi Moishe New
We have just emerged from an extraordinary month. Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah have carried us through weeks of prayer, holiness and celebration. And now, almost abruptly, we arrive at Shabbat Bereishit. We begin the Torah again and read of the creation of the world.
The timing itself contains a message. After so many weeks of spiritual elevation, one might imagine that the goal is to hold on to that experience — to remain somehow in the atmosphere of Yom Kippur, the Sukkah and Simchat Torah, and avoid returning too quickly to ordinary life. Bereishit tells us otherwise. There is a world out there, and the purpose of all those elevated moments is that we return to that world and transform it.
One of the earliest stories in the Torah reveals just how fundamental this idea is.
THE FIRST OFFERINGS
Cain and Abel, the sons of Adam and Eve, each brought an offering to G-d. Cain, who worked the soil, brought from the produce of the earth. Abel, a shepherd, brought from the firstborn of his flock, from the choicest ones. G-d accepted Abel’s offering but did not accept Cain’s.
At first glance, the reason seems straightforward. Abel brought the choicest of what he had, while Cain did not. Rashi tells us that Cain’s offering was of inferior quality. But that immediately raises a question. Nobody had commanded Cain to bring an offering. It was entirely voluntary. He himself decided that he wished to express gratitude to G-d. Why, then, would he deliberately bring something inferior? And why was he so astonished and upset when his offering was not accepted?
Rashi gives us an important detail: Cain brought flax.
Earlier, the Torah describes the river that flowed out of Eden and divided into four branches. One was called Pishon, and Rashi explains that it was associated with pishtan — flax. The very fact that a river was identified by the flax growing along its banks indicates the prominence of flax. Later in the Torah, Joseph is dressed in linen when he is elevated before Pharaoh. Linen, made from flax, was clearly a prestigious material.
Cain, then, could argue that he had indeed brought something significant. Perhaps he had not selected the finest specimen within the flax crop, but he had chosen from an elevated category. Abel, by contrast, brought the finest sheep — but sheep themselves were not the highest class of livestock. Cattle would have represented a more valuable category.
Cain brought an inferior example of the higher category. Abel brought the finest example of the lower category.
This was not simply a disagreement over the quality of an offering. It reflected two very different philosophies. Is it better to be associated with the highest category, even if what you offer within that category is not the finest? Or is it better to use something from a lower category and make it the very best it can be? Cain believed that status mattered most. Abel’s offering expressed that the opposite idea — make the most of whatever you have. And G-d chose Abel.
WHICH PART OF LIFE BELONGS TO G-D?
The disagreement between Cain and Abel was really about the meaning of serving G-d.
A human being contains higher and lower dimensions. We have a mind capable of contemplating profound ideas and a heart capable of spiritual emotion. We can pray, study Torah and experience moments of genuine transcendence. But we also have a body. We eat, sleep, work, earn a living and deal with the countless practical details of everyday existence.
Cain’s philosophy was that our relationship with G-d belongs primarily to the higher realm. Give G-d the mind, the heart, prayer and spiritual experience. Those are the elevated parts of life, and therefore those are the parts worthy of becoming an offering. Eating, drinking, business and the physical necessities of life belong to a lower world. They may be unavoidable, but they are not where the real relationship with G-d takes place.
Cain’s flax embodied that outlook, and the connection becomes even more striking when we consider Yom Kippur. When the Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur wearing linen garments. Yom Kippur is perhaps the most transcendent day of the year. We do not eat or drink. We spend the day in prayer. As much as possible, we withdraw from physical life and enter an almost completely spiritual existence.
That is Cain’s ideal: linen, Yom Kippur, transcendence. Surely, he might argue, this is what serving G-d really looks like.
But G-d’s acceptance of Abel’s offering teaches otherwise. G-d certainly wants our elevated moments, but a genuine relationship with Him must also enter the lower dimensions of life.
We must take eating, drinking, working, doing business and interacting with other people and make those ordinary experiences themselves G-dly.
Abel did not bring the highest category of livestock. He took what might be considered a lower category and made it the choicest offering possible. Spiritually, that means taking the ordinary parts of life and elevating them. The objective is not merely to rise above the world, but to bring G-d into the world.
YACHID AND ECHAD
The Kabbalah expresses this distinction through two Hebrew words for oneness: yachid and echad.
Yachid means singular, unique and incomparable — one and alone. Echad simply means one, implying the existence of even many other entities as well.
We say in the Shema, “Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad” — G-d is one. Why do we say echad rather than yachid? Surely yachid would seem more appropriate. G-d is absolutely unique. Nothing can be compared to Him. His existence is infinite, while all of creation is utterly insignificant before Him.
That is true, but it is not the full purpose. Yachid describes G-d beyond the world. It directs our gaze upward, to the truth that G-d is infinite, singular and incomparable. But if we remain only with that awareness, then we have transcended the world without transforming it.
Echad means that the one G-d is revealed within the many.
The Hebrew word echad consists of three letters: alef, chet and dalet. Their numerical values are one, eight and four. The alef represents the one G-d; the chet, eight, represents the seven heavens and the earth; and the dalet, four, represents the four directions of the world. Echad means that the One permeates the eight and the four. G-d’s oneness is revealed not by denying creation, but by entering it and uniting it with Him.
Interestingly, echad has the numerical value of thirteen. So does the Hebrew word ahavah, love. Love is the power through which separate things become one. In the same way, echad expresses a oneness that does not erase the many, but embraces them and unites them with their source.
Cain pursued yachid. His vision was of G-d’s absolute singularity, the world of the linen garment and the Holy of Holies. Abel embodied echad. He understood that the purpose is to take that oneness and draw it into the physical world, into all the many details of ordinary life.
WHAT IS THE QUINTESSENTIAL JEWISH MOMENT?
What is the quintessential Jewish moment?
Is it Neilah at the conclusion of Yom Kippur, when we have spent an entire day fasting and praying and reach the spiritual climax of the holiest day of the year? Or could it be breakfast on an ordinary Wednesday morning?
How do you eat that breakfast? Do you recognize G-d in the food? Do you make a blessing? Is the food kosher? Do you thank G-d afterwards? The moment itself may appear completely ordinary, but it can become an expression of our relationship with G-d.
The same is true of business. How does a Jew conduct a business transaction? Is it done with absolute honesty? Is Shabbat or Yom Tov ever compromised? Is there an awareness that part of what we earn is to be given to charity? If G-d is present in the way the transaction is conducted, then the business deal itself has become a place where G-dliness is revealed.
Which moment defines Jewish life — Neilah or the business deal?
Cain would say Neilah, unquestionably. If one could spend one’s life studying, praying and remaining removed from the complications of the world, that would seem to him to be the highest ideal. Rise above the world and live in the realm of pure spirituality.
Abel says something far more demanding. Take the ordinary Wednesday morning and bring G-d into it. Take breakfast and make it holy. Take marriage, family, money, conversation, work and every ordinary part of existence, and conduct it the way G-d wants.
That is the offering G-d desires.
The greatness of Yom Kippur, therefore, is not that we remain on Yom Kippur forever. Its greatness is that we take something of Yom Kippur back with us into the rest of the year.
WHY WE NEED BOTH
This does not mean that moments of transcendence are unnecessary. Quite the opposite. We need yachid before we can properly reveal echad.
There must be moments when we withdraw from the noise of ordinary existence and contemplate the truth that G-d is utterly beyond everything. We need Yom Kippur. We need prayer. We need Torah study. We need moments when we rise above the world and experience something higher than ourselves.
But those moments are not the destination. They give us the strength and clarity to return to ordinary life differently.
First we recognize that G-d is yachid — singular, absolute and incomparable. Then we take that truth and reveal that He is echad, present within every dimension of creation. Cain therefore had something essential to contribute. His mistake was believing that transcendence itself was the ultimate objective. Abel understood that the purpose of reaching upward is to bring that awareness back down.
SHABBAT BEREISHIT
And that is precisely where we find ourselves on Shabbat Bereishit.
We have just come from Yom Kippur. We have spent Sukkot surrounded by a mitzvah. We danced on Simchat Torah with the Torah itself. For almost a month we have lived in an atmosphere of extraordinary holiness. Then comes Bereishit, and we are reminded that G-d created a world and placed us within it.
The ordinary encounter matters. You meet someone in line at the supermarket. It may appear to be a completely insignificant moment, but you can greet that person warmly. Perhaps you can share a word of Torah, invite someone to a class or a Shabbat dinner, or simply treat another person with the dignity that comes from recognizing that they, too, were created by G-d. An ordinary encounter can become a choice one.
That is Abel’s offering.
As we leave the holidays and enter the long stretch of the year, the world can feel darker and colder, both literally and spiritually. The instinct may be to resist it and retreat into the warmth of the holy days we have just experienced. But Shabbat Bereishit tells us that this is precisely the moment to enter the world fully and bring that warmth with us.
We need the Cain moments — the moments of pure transcendence in which we become aware of G-d as yachid. But the ultimate purpose is Abel: to reveal G-d as echad, to bring the inspiration into the weekday, into the ordinary encounter and into the minutiae of our lives.