It’s a story we all know, but sometimes the details – the why behind the drama – get lost. Let’s pull back the curtain a little, shall we?

The book of Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating collection of stories and interpretations from around the 8th century, gives us a particularly interesting take on this foundational story. It paints a picture of two brothers, each with a passion. Cain, you see, was a lover of the earth, a farmer at heart, eager to sow seeds and coax life from the soil. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd, devoted to his flock.

They each provided for the other, a kind of brotherly bartering system. Cain shared his produce, and Abel gave of his flock. A mutually beneficial setup. So where did things go wrong?

Well, according to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, things shifted with the arrival of Passover – Pesach. Adam, their father, called his sons together. He told them that in the future, the children of Israel would offer the Paschal offering (the Passover sacrifice). And so he instructed his sons to bring offerings before their Creator.

This is where the differences become stark. Cain brought "the remnants of his meal of roasted grain, (and) the seed of flax." In other words, leftovers. Scraps. Abel, however, brought "of the firstlings of his sheep, and of their fat, he-lambs, which had not been shorn of their wool." He brought the best of what he had. The first, the choicest.

The result? "The offering of Cain was precluded, and the offering of Abel was acceptable, as it is said, 'And the Lord had respect unto Abel and to his offering' (Genesis 4:4)."

Why? Was it simply the type of offering? Or was it the intention behind it?

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer doesn’t explicitly say, but it strongly implies that it was the quality of the offering that mattered. Abel offered his very best, a symbol of gratitude and devotion. Cain, it seems, offered what was convenient, what was left over.

The story, as we know, doesn't end there. The rejection of Cain’s offering leads to jealousy, anger, and ultimately, tragedy. But before all that, it's a potent reminder: What do we bring to the table, so to speak, when we seek to connect with something greater than ourselves? Is it our best? Or just our leftovers?

It's a question worth pondering, isn't it?