It’s a question that echoes through the ages, right back to the very beginning.
In the Book of Genesis (4:17), we read: “Cain was intimate with his wife and she conceived, and gave birth to Ḥanokh; he was the builder of a city, and he called the name of the city after the name of his son Ḥanokh.” A simple statement, but laden with implications. What was Cain trying to achieve here? Bereshit Rabbah, a classical collection of Rabbinic interpretations on Genesis, delves into this verse, drawing out some fascinating, and somewhat chilling, insights.
The Rabbis, ever masters of weaving together seemingly disparate threads of scripture, connect this act of city-building to a verse from Psalms (49:12): “Their houses will endure in their midst forever.” It’s a verse that speaks of the vanity of the wicked, their belief that their material possessions and achievements will grant them immortality.
Rabbi Yudan, in Bereshit Rabbah, offers a stark interpretation. What, he asks, do the wicked truly believe? It's that their houses will endure forever, and that they can essentially buy themselves a legacy. He then provides examples: “Tiberias after Tiberius, Alexandria after Alexander, Antioch after Antiochus.” Cities named after powerful rulers, monuments to their egos, attempts to cheat death through earthly fame.
But Rabbi Pinḥas offers a counterpoint, a darker, more ironic twist. He focuses on the Hebrew word kirbam ("in their midst") in the verse from Psalms. He cleverly transforms it, suggesting that “their houses will endure in their midst (kirbam) forever” will become “tomorrow their house will become their graves (kivram).” In other words, their grand houses, their cities, will ultimately become nothing more than their tombs. A stark reminder of mortality's ultimate victory.
And the verse continues, "Their abodes will remain for all generations" (Psalms 49:12), because, as the Rabbis interpret, they will neither live nor be judged at the resurrection. Their grave will be their “abode for all generations.”
The Bereshit Rabbah underlines the futility of seeking immortality through earthly achievements. Cain built a city and named it after his son, attempting to ensure his lineage would be remembered. But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it truly mean?
Is it wrong to want to leave a legacy? To build something that will outlast us? Perhaps not inherently. But the Rabbis in Bereshit Rabbah seem to be warning us against misplaced priorities. Against believing that material possessions or earthly fame can truly conquer death. They remind us that true meaning, perhaps, lies not in the monuments we build, but in the lives we touch, and the values we embody.