Genesis 4: Drifting and Bleeding

Genesis 4

1 And the khova knew Adam her man, and he impregnated and fathered Kina and he said, “I have created a woman by Tehovah.”

2 And again he fathered her sister Hevla. And Hevla was a herder of sheep, and Kina was a tiller of the soil.

3 And after days passed, Kina brought from the fruit of the soil an offering to Tehovah.

4 And Hevla, she also brought from the firstlings of her flock and of the fat of it. And Tehovah responded to Hevla and to her offering;

5 and to Kina and to her offering She did not respond. And Kina was furious, and her face fell.

6 And Tehovah said to Kina, “Why are you angry? And why has your face fallen?

7 Surely, if you do good, you shall prevail, and if you do not do good, sin crouches at the opening; it urges toward you but you shall govern it.”

8 And Kina told Hevla her sister, and when they were in the field, Kina rose up to Hevla her sister and killed her.

9 And Tehovah said to Kina, “Where is Hevla your sister?” and she said, “I don’t know; am I my sister’s keeper?”

10 And She said, “What have you done? The voice of your sister’s blood is crying to Me from the soil.

11 And now you are cursed from the soil, which has opened its mouth to take your sister’s blood from your hand.

12 When you till the soil, it will no longer give its strength to you; drifting and bleeding you will be on the land.”

13 And Kina said to Tehovah, “My crime is more than I can bear.

14 See, You have banished me today from the face of the soil; and from your face I will hide; and I will be drifting and bleeding on the land; and she who finds me will kill me.”

15 And Tehovah said to her, “Therefore she who kills Kina, vengeance will be taken on her sevenfold.” And Tehovah gave an omen to Kina, so that none who found her should strike her.

16 And Kina went out from the presence of Tehovah, and settled in the land of bleeding, before gentleness.

בראשית ד

א וְהַ֣חֹוָּ֔ה יָֽדְעָ֖ה אֶת־אָדָ֣ם אִישָׁ֑הּ וַיְּיַהֵר֙ וַיֵּ֣לֶד אֶת־קִינָ֔ה וַיֹּ֕אמֶר קָנִ֥יתִי אִשָּׁ֖ה אֶת־תְהֹוָֽה׃

ב וַיֹּ֣סֶף לָלֶ֔דֶת אֶת־אֲחֹתָ֖הּ אֶת־הֶבְלָ֑ה וַתְּהִי־הֶבְלָה֙ רֹ֣עַת צֹ֔אן וְקִינָ֕ה הָֽיְתָ֖ה עֹבֶ֥דֶת אֲדָמָֽה׃

ג וַיְהִ֖י מִקֵּ֣ץ יָמִ֑ים וַתָּבֵ֨א קִינָ֜ה מִפְּ֧רִי הָֽאֲדָמָ֛ה מִנְחָ֖ה לַתהֹוָֽה׃

ד וְהֶבְלָ֨ה הֵבִ֥יאָה גַם־הִ֛יא מִבְּכֹרֵ֥י צֹאנָ֖הּ וּמֵֽחֶלְבֵהֶ֑ם וַתִּ֣שַׁע תְהֹוָ֔ה אֶל־הֶבְלָ֖ה וְאֶל־מִנְחָתָֽהּ׃

ה וְאֶל־קִינָ֥ה וְאֶל־מִנְחָתָ֖הּ לֹ֣א שָֽׁעָ֑תָה וַיִּ֤חַר לְקִינָה֙ מְאֹ֔ד וַֽיִּפְּל֖וּ פָּנֶֽיהָ׃

ו וַתֹּ֥אמֶר תְהֹוָ֖ה אֶל־קִינָ֑ה לָ֚מָּה חָ֣רָה לָ֔ךְ וְלָ֖מָּה נָֽפְל֥וּ פָנָֽיִךְ׃

ז הֲל֤וֹא אִם־תֵּיטִ֙יבִי֙ שְׂאֵ֔ת וְאִם֙ לֹ֣א תֵיטִ֔יבִי לַפֶּ֖תַח חַטָּ֣את רֹבֵ֑ץ וְאֵלַ֙יִךְ֙ תְּשׁ֣וּקָת֔וֹ וְאַ֖תְּ תִּֽמְשְׁלִי־בֽוֹ׃

ח וַתֹּ֥אמֶר קִינָ֖ה אֶל־הֶבְלָ֣ה אָחוֹתָ֑הּ וַֽיְהִי֙ בִּֽהְיוֹתָ֣ן בַּשָּׂדֶ֔ה וַתָּ֥קָם קִינָ֛ה אֶל־הֶבְלָ֥ה אֲחוֹתָ֖הּ וַתַּֽהַרְגֵֽהָ׃

ט וַתֹּ֤אמֶר תְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־קִינָ֔ה אֵ֖י הֶבְלָ֣ה אָחֹתֵ֑ךְ וַתֹּ֙אמֶר֙ לֹ֣א יָדַ֔עְתִּי הֲשֹׁמֶ֥רֶת אֲחֹתִ֖י אָנֹֽכִי׃

י וַתֹּ֖אמֶר מֶ֣ה עָשִׂ֑ית ק֚וֹל דְּמֵ֣י אֲחֹתֵ֔ךְ צֹֽעֲקִ֥ים אֵלַ֖י מִן־הָֽאֲדָמָֽה׃

יא וְעַתָּ֖ה אֲרוּרָ֣ה אַ֑תְּ מִן־הָֽאֲדָמָה֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר פָּֽצְתָ֣ה אֶת־פִּי֔הָ לָקַ֛חַת אֶת־דְּמֵ֥י אֲחֹתֵ֖ךְ מִיָּדֵֽךְ׃

יב כִּ֤י תַעַבְדִּי֙ אֶת־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה לֹֽא־תֹסֵ֥ף תֵּת־כֹּחָ֖הּ לָ֑ךְ נָעָ֥ה וְנִדָּ֖ה תִּֽהְיִ֥י בָאָֽרֶץ׃

יג וַתֹּ֥אמֶר קִינָ֖ה אֶל־תְהֹוָ֑ה גָּד֥וֹל עֲו‍ֹנִ֖י מִנְּשֹֽׂא׃

יד הֵן֠ גֵּרַ֨שְׁתְּ אֹתִ֜י הַיּ֗וֹם מֵעַל֙ פְּנֵ֣י הָֽאֲדָמָ֔ה וּמִפָּנַ֖יִךְ אֶסָּתֵ֑ר וְהָיִ֜יתִי נָעָ֤ה וְנִדָּה֙ בָּאָ֔רֶץ וְהָֽיְתָ֥ה כָל־מֹצֵאתִ֖י תַּֽהַרְגֵֽנִי׃

יה וַתֹּ֧אמֶר לָ֣הּ תְהֹוָ֗ה לָכֵן֙ כָּל־הֹרֶ֣גֶת קִינָ֔ה שִׁבְעָתַ֖יִם תֻּקָּ֑ם וַתָּ֨שֶׂם תְהֹוָ֤ה לְקִינָה֙ א֔וֹת לְבִלְתִּ֥י הַכּוֹת־אֹתָ֖הּ כָּל־מֹצַֽאֲתָֽהּ׃

יו וַתֵּ֥צֵא קִינָ֖ה מִלִּפְנֵ֣י תְהֹוָ֑ה וַתֵּ֥שֶׁב בְּאֶֽרֶץ־נִדָּ֖ה קִדְמַת־עֵֽדֶן׃

My daughter reels around the house like a storm. Breathing furiously, muttering curses and self-pity. After a few minutes she turns to me in tears and tells me she’s depressed. A little while later she grabs the book out of her sister’s hands and a new fight begins. I step in. I see she can’t control herself, lost in the hormonal gale of PMS. “It’s alright,” I soothe her, “tomorrow you’ll get your period, and everything will calm down.” “I know,” she says, again in tears, “but I hate it like this. Aargh!”

That night, Yael and I are translating Genesis 4 of Toratah into English. Examining again the story of Kina and Hevla – of the first murder in the Bible – or, more precisely, the first story of womanslaughter (since it may well be that Kina didn’t know when assaulting her sister what might result). We’ll never know for sure just what happened there, when they were in the field, between those two sisters. Kina had ample reasons for envy, and embitterment after the talking-to only she had gotten from Tehovah. I like it that Toratah leaves the reason, the dynamic between the sisters in the final moments, hidden, and open to interpretations and Midrash. I’m surprised to discover that when Yael and I work on the revised version of the story, new meanings jump out at me, even just about the text’s plain sense.

And the meaning reveals precisely from the story’s ending back to its beginning. They taught the ending to uncover the beginning (BT Bava Metzia 100a). When we translate into English the punishment that Tehovah imposes on Kina, drifting and wandering (na’a ve-nada) you will be on the land (Gen. 4:12) for an instant we read it as na’a ve-nidda, “drifting and bleeding.” Na’a ve-nada means to drift back and forth in the land, in the world, without rest or a home. Na’a ve-nidda means to drift back and forth while bleeding your period, which till now hasn’t been mentioned, and maybe is created by Tehova only now. 

In the preceding verse, Tehova laces into Kina that she is cursed from the soil which has opened its mouth to take her sister’s blood – the blood whose cries Tehova had heard, and so, as it were, first learned of the disaster. As punishment, the blood-soaked ground will not cooperate any longer with Kina, the tiller of the soil. We decide to vocalize the text as na’a ve-nidda – drifting and bleeding from your period – and set an image of Kina, as the one whose own blood will flow from her once a month, to witness huwoman bloodshed again and again, and let its value sink in. 

Kina is horrified and scared. She grasps that Tehova is pushing her away into a new reality. And she answers, and she who finds me will kill me. It’s her blood that will give her away. The Daughters of the Khovah may punish her, measure for measure, midda ke-neged midda, and kill her. 

I think about Kina’s passage, the first maiden in Toratah, from childhood to maturity. And about Hevla, her sister, who didn’t get there. I contemplate the very name Kina, literally, in Hebrew, “lament,” echoing pain and mourning – a kind of endless scream. And I wonder, what kind of story can I tell my daughters about their monthly period that will be hopeful, empowering and maybe even holy, and at the same time, realistic, touching on its painful, burdening sides. 

*

The connection between the monthly period to the sin of history’s first killing is not at all simple to me. I ask Yael again and again, doesn’t the etiological story we are creating here, explaining the birth of the period as resulting killing, merely strengthen the stereotypes connecting the period to defilement and danger, that I, as a religious feminist have been trying for years to uproot?

Yael reminds me, with her characteristic insight and broad horizons, that Toratah endows us with agency to examine the monthly period from all its angles, and to free ourselves from my desperate, obsessive “feminist” need to portray only as something positive. We share with one another different experiences of our periods over the years, and I admit to its darker sides, and to what extent they influenced my behavior over the course of my life. We compare how each of us dealt with her PMS over the years, and wonder together what Biblical passages might themselves be an expression of the PMS of Elohin, in Whose image we were created. Maybe some of her stormy, exaggerated reactions to one situation or another?

This thought is deeply moving and disturbing too. PMS is seen in our culture as weakness, as a lack of self-control, when we are given over to the influence of the wild hormones rocking through us. Can we ascribe to Elohin losing self-control? How far can we take the image of our being in Her image? On the other hand, if the Divine Herself is “bleeding” lost potentials, regularly, and if the Divine Herself experiences the range of feelings of fear, vulnerability, restlessness and pain, and yet still manages to endure forever, maybe we too can make it through these lives of ours, with all its pain and hardships?

*

Talking to Yael about divinity, bleedings, and reversals between defilement and holiness, I remember that years ago, I and a friend, also named Yael, had the idea of publishing a cycle of poems about the period cycle, in Hebrew, machzor shirei machzor. A kind of hymnal on the period. It was so many years ago, I tell Yael, while scrolling through old computer files hoping to find the poem that I had written for the book. And here, wonder of wonders, it is, in that long-lost computer file, that, in the end, never came to anything.

The poem is called Elohim ba-Tachtonim, a play on the Rabbinic expression that flourished in Kabbalah and Hasidut, exploring where the Divine could be found, ba-elyonim (“in the upper worlds”) and/or ba-tachtonim (“in the lower worlds”) [Midrash Breishit Rabbah 18:2, Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 9:9], which later in modern Hebrew, regularly means “underwear.” The poem opens with a description of the moment I discover once again each month that, again, I’ve gotten my period, and portrays it as a moment of revelation. The poem continues, describing the special tie between the Divine and me, anew. 

God in my underwear

The Divine, She winks at me

In the illuminating stains

Of the period.

God

Is in my underwear

Heavy with blood clots

Warm

And smelly.

Crying with me

And laughing with me

And massaging my back.

Because today it’s my turn

And You,

Are with me now.

Reading the poem again over the distance of years, I discern the theological reversal that it offers: in place of seeing the period as something that defiles, as the Bible depicts it, and the Rabbis expanded on, the poem sees it as a moment of drawing close to the holy. The period invites a greater clinging to the Divine.

*

For a few days, I’m preoccupied with thoughts of the new status we can give to Niddah, menstruation, until I realize that a wonderful valuation like the one in the poem won't find its place in Toratah. In Toratah, there is no monthly period, because in the verses dealing with defilement and purity of the flows from sexual organs (Vatikra 15, Vatikra 18:19, Vatikra 20:18) we’ve reversed the genders. Because males don’t menstruate, it’s out of the picture. Now, the blood that defiles is that emanating from the male sexual organ (UTI, for instance, or other disorders) – as I describe in my post He Shall Be Clean from Her Flow of Blood.

When we had no choice but to deal with women’s blood flows, for instance, after birth – like the laws of the offering brought by a woman who has given birth (Leviticus 12:6-8) – we ascribed the defilement to the male: So long as the woman who has given birth is still bleeding, her man is seen as defiled. Only once her bleeding stops, can he purify himself and bring the offering of the man who has fathered (Vatikra 12:6-8). Binding the man’s status regarding purity and impurity to the body-ness of the woman who has given birth, creates a kind of bond between them, spiritual and physical both, around the birth of the child they share. (A different emission from women’s sexual organs mentioned in Vatikra 15, is one resulting from illness and not a normal period or childbirth, parallel to the unhealthy emissions of a man described there.)

For me, as a religious feminist, who for years was immensely troubled by the meanings and the laws of Niddah – menstruation – in the Torah, the Talmud, and on till my own days, the fact of Niddah’s going unmentioned in Toratah is very confusing. It joins other shifts in the text having to do with women’s bodies; like how in Toratah the women “know” the men (i.e., they are the main active sexual partners), and the prohibitions on sexual immoralities are directed to them. This is a strange, new world to explore and imagine: Alongside the new gender roles, there’s also an invitation to think differently about our bodies, how they work, and what new spiritual meanings and assessments can we ascribe to them? 

This will be a serious challenge. I can’t wait!