by Dan Ornstein

Launch­ing on Tu B’sh­vat of 5775, the Jew­ish Book Coun­cil is delight­ed to pub­lish orig­i­nal works of poet­ry, short fic­tion, and cre­ative non­fic­tion in part­ner­ship with the Jew­ish Lit­er­ary Jour­nal.

Then God said, ​“What have you done? Hark! Your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground!” (Gen­e­sis 4:10)
Abel’s blood was dashed all over the trees and stones. (Tal­mud, Trac­tate San­hedrin 37a)

The hor­ror: brother’s blood on stones and trees,
Though Cain’s one thought is clear­ing evi­dence.
He turns away with time­less cruelty.

Their God laments that He has made him free
To cry, ​“I’m not his keep­er”, his defense.
The hor­ror: brother’s blood on stones and trees.

Our God, appalled, for He can plain­ly see
Cain doesn’t hear the plaint at his offense
And turns away with time­less cruelty.

“From earth your brother’s blood cries out to Me.
From this first mur­der will you learn to sense
The hor­ror: brother’s blood on stones and trees?”

Now, in the Fall, the rud­dy maple trees
Recall Cain’s mark and our inher­i­tance:
We turn away with time­less cruelty.

The crim­son leaves, they wave Cain’s tale at me.
First crime and all its bru­tal con­se­quence.
The hor­ror: brother’s blood on stones and trees.
We turn away with time­less cruelty.

Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished by the Jew­ish Lit­er­ary Jour­nal, Decem­ber 2014. 

Relat­ed content:

• Nat Bern­stein: A Tu B’sh­vat Post in the Dead of Winter
• Cain by José Saramago
• All the Trees of the For­est: Israel’s Wood­lands from the Bible to the Present by Alon Tal