Right in the middle of Parashat Bereishis lies one of the most tragic stories in human history: the story of the first two brothers, Kayin and Hevel.
Both bring a korban to Hashem. Kayin, in fact, has the idea first. Yet when Hashem accepts Hevel’s offering and rejects his own, Kayin becomes enraged, and jealousy drives him to commit the unthinkable. He kills his brother.
How could this happen? Kayin knew Hashem! He had spoken directly with Him. He was raised by Adam and Chavah who surely told him about Gan Eden, and about the greatness they once had and the fall that came from a single misstep. So how could he fall so far, so fast?
The answer, as simple as it sounds, is kinah, jealousy.
Jealousy destroys. It destroys relationships, it destroys marriages, it destroys lives. And in this story, we see that jealousy can even destroy the world’s first family.
But where does jealousy really come from? The root of jealousy is a lack of emunah.
Because if a person truly believes that everything they have comes from Hashem, and that everything someone else has also comes from Hashem, then there’s simply no space for jealousy. If I needed what you have, Hashem would have given it to me. And if you have it, then it’s because you need it for your mission; not mine.
When you understand that, you begin to live with peace. You stop fighting for someone else’s role and start embracing your own. That’s why Moshe Rabbeinu and Aharon HaKohen are the perfect model of brotherly love. When Moshe was chosen to redeem the Jewish people, he worried that his older brother might feel hurt. But Hashem reassured him: “V’ra’acha v’samach b’libo—Aharon will see you, and he will rejoice in his heart.”
Aharon wasn’t jealous. He was genuinely happy for Moshe. And because of that lev tov, that pure heart, Hashem gave him the Choshen to wear over his heart forever.
That’s what happens when we’re free of jealousy: our hearts become vessels of blessing. And when we allow jealousy to rule us, the opposite occurs: we shrink.
Perhaps that’s one reason we follow the cycle of the moon and not the sun. From the very beginning of creation, Hashem made “two great luminaries,” the sun and the moon. But the moon complained: “Can two kings share one crown?” Hashem said, “If so, make yourself smaller.”
The moon’s jealousy caused it to shrink, and every month, when we look up at that thin crescent in the sky, we’re reminded of the same lesson: jealousy never enlarges you; it only makes you smaller. True joy comes from sameach b’chelko—being content with what Hashem has given you—and rejoicing in the blessings of others.
There’s a story told about two men who grew up together, constantly jealous of each other. As children, as adults, no matter what one had, the other always wanted it too.
The king of their country grew weary of their rivalry and decided to teach them a lesson. He summoned one of them and said: “I will grant you anything you ask for, anything at all. But know this: whatever you receive, your friend will receive double.” The man thought long and hard. Finally, he said, “Your Majesty, please... take out one of my eyes.”
Better to lose everything, he thought, than to see his friend blessed with more. That is the power, and the poison, of jealousy.
The antidote is faith: the calm, steady knowledge that Hashem runs the world and gives each person precisely what they need to fulfill their mission.
When we remember that, we stop competing and start connecting. We stop shrinking like the jealous moon and begin to shine like Aharon with a heart that’s full, not of envy, but of joy.
So as we begin Sefer Bereishis, the story of all beginnings, let’s remember this: Be happy with what you have. Be happy for what others have. Because while jealousy takes away your light, faith restores it.
