Post by Rabbi Neil on Oct 29, 2021 15:19:24 GMT
In this week’s Torah portion of Chayyei Sarah, Abraham turns to Eliezer his servant and instructs him to find a wife for Isaac. He gives him no specific instructions as to what kind of woman he wants for his son, other than she has to be someone willing to follow Eliezer. Eliezer decides on a test, and it’s a very interesting test. He takes his camels and makes them kneel by the city well as evening draws in, which is the time that women go out to draw water. He decides to ask the women whether he could drink from their pitcher. The woman he will choose for Isaac will not only give him something to drink but also all his came also. Rebecca passes the test. She not only gives him drink but adds “I will draw water for your camels as well, until they have had enough to drink.” Did she hear Eliezer as he considered his own plan out loud? Did she sense that there was a test involved? Or was she so generous that she just happened in the right place at the right time to pass Eliezer’s test? Certainly the sense of Torah is that the last perspective is accurate… Rebecca was generous not just to Eliezer but also to his animals, and this was exactly how Eliezer considered a suitable wife should be.
Tzaar ba’alei chayyim means “the suffering of living animals.” In Judaism, we are required to be incredibly cognizant of tzaar ba’alei chayyim. It is a mitzvah d’oreitah – a Torah law – and therefore even more important than a mitzvah d’rabanan – a Rabbinically-derived mitzvah. It’s not something that tends to be at the forefront of Jewish dialogue but it is something of real importance to the Rabbis. They note that the Torah instructs us to shoo the mother bird away from the nest in order that she not be caused the emotional pain of seeing her eggs be stolen (Deut. 22:6-7). Although the underlying theological reason for not mixing animals together (Deut. 22:9) was almost certainly based in the belief that Divinity can be found in mixture while things in the human realm must be separated, for the Rabbis the simple reason that we do not muzzle an ox with an ass is because it’s cruel to the ass. They were so concerned with animal welfare that Talmud (Berachot 40a) says that a person should feed their beasts before they themselves eat. Interestingly, this is the exact opposite of what all good dog trainers tell you to do because if you give your dog food first then it quickly believes that it’s the top dog in the family pack and tends to then behave accordingly. The Rabbis, of course, wouldn’t have known that because no Jews kept dogs at the time because they were believed to be filthy animals. What they were concerned about was that the owner of the animal understands that if there is little food, it goes to the domesticated animal, which is dependent on the person, not to the person. Interestingly, we are permitted to drink before giving an animal a drink, and that’s based on the actions of Rebecca in this week’s Torah portion.
We even find in our tradition the extraordinary consideration in Talmud, (Shabbat 128b) of what happens when an animal falls into a ditch on Shabbat. Animals are usually considered muktzeh (see commentary on Shabbat 128b, Shulchan Arukh 308:39) – something we avoid touching on Shabbat for fear that it leads us to do work. Carrying in a public place is definitely one of the 39 melachot – the categories of work forbidden on Shabbat. And yet according to Rav Yudah in the name of Rav, “If an animal falls into a pit, we bring pillows and bedding and place them under the animal, and if it ascends, it ascends.” So, if an animal is suffering on Shabbat, we are, according to Rav Yudah, obliged to break Shabbat in order to relieve it of pain. An anonymous Rabbi objects to this and says that we should bring the animal food but certainly not pillows and bedding. Talmud suggests that there is no difficulty here – if food can be brought then it is brought but if no food can be brought, pillows and bedding is brought instead. Happy with that compromise, Talmud then brings another objection – that putting bedding under an animal robs a utensil of its real use. To which Talmud replies, “[The avoidance of] suffering of animals is a Biblical [law], so the Biblical law comes and supersedes the law of the Rabbis.” In other words, the laws of Shabbat are Rabbinically derived even if they are based on Torah, whereas care for animals is fully Torah law and so it takes precedence. Let me rephrase and repeat that because of how important it is. If one has to choose between observing Shabbat and between taking care of an animal, the animal takes precedence. That’s extraordinary, and yet we hardly ever talk about the religious commitment to animals.
Back in England, I had an article in the Jewish Chronicle suggesting that palm oil should be declared unkosher because it comes from rainforests which are chopped down, thereby destroying the habitats of orang-utans in particular. But that’s not really animal welfare, that’s environmentalism. What’s extraordinary is that when we stop and think about it, there are so many examples of animal welfare in the Bible that it’s a clear theological and practical thread and yet we hardly ever talk about it – it’s a fringe issue.
And yet, for Torah and for the Rabbis, though, it wasn’t fringe. It was part of an extremely devout mindset. We see this brought out very clearly in the Talmudic story (Bava Metzia 85a) of Rabbi Judah HaNasi. A calf on its way to slaughter breaks free and hides under his robe. According to the story, the calf tries to hide under Judah haNasi's robes, bellowing with terror, but he pushes the animal away, saying: "Go — for this purpose you were created." For this, Heaven inflicted upon him kidney stones, painful flatulence, and other gastric problems, saying, "Since he showed no pity, let us bring suffering upon him". The story remarks that when Judah haNasi prayed for relief, the prayers were ignored, just as he had ignored the pleas of the calf. Later, he prevented his maid from violently expelling baby weasels from his house, on the basis that "It is written (Ps. 145:9): 'God’s Mercy is upon all God’s works.'" For this, Heaven removed the gastric problems from him, saying, "Since he has shown compassion, let us be compassionate with him.”
For us, then, it might seem like Eliezer’s test of Rebecca is a fairly frivolous one, perhaps cute at best. We think that she’s a nice woman because she thinks of the animals, but I’m pretty certain that’s not what Torah is trying to say here. I think that Eliezer is looking for a yiddische neshama – a Jewish soul. He uses the test that Judah HaNasi fails and that Rebecca passes. He’s looking for someone who gets it – someone who understands that all life, all of creation, attests to the glory of God. He’s looking for someone who understands that all life is connected with God. That level of understanding is what makes Rebecca so important as a matriarch – it’s not just kindness but a deep and profound awareness of the divine energy that flows through all life. Our Torah portion, Rebecca in particular, teach us that all living beings praise God and that we have a religious duty to protect them all, not as part of a fad, not just to be kind, but because in caring for creation we ultimately come to meet God.
So, may we learn not just to be kind to animals but to protect all life as an expression of Jewish spirituality. May we guard it because it speaks of the varied Creation and because every element of creation is precious, and let us say, Amen.
Tzaar ba’alei chayyim means “the suffering of living animals.” In Judaism, we are required to be incredibly cognizant of tzaar ba’alei chayyim. It is a mitzvah d’oreitah – a Torah law – and therefore even more important than a mitzvah d’rabanan – a Rabbinically-derived mitzvah. It’s not something that tends to be at the forefront of Jewish dialogue but it is something of real importance to the Rabbis. They note that the Torah instructs us to shoo the mother bird away from the nest in order that she not be caused the emotional pain of seeing her eggs be stolen (Deut. 22:6-7). Although the underlying theological reason for not mixing animals together (Deut. 22:9) was almost certainly based in the belief that Divinity can be found in mixture while things in the human realm must be separated, for the Rabbis the simple reason that we do not muzzle an ox with an ass is because it’s cruel to the ass. They were so concerned with animal welfare that Talmud (Berachot 40a) says that a person should feed their beasts before they themselves eat. Interestingly, this is the exact opposite of what all good dog trainers tell you to do because if you give your dog food first then it quickly believes that it’s the top dog in the family pack and tends to then behave accordingly. The Rabbis, of course, wouldn’t have known that because no Jews kept dogs at the time because they were believed to be filthy animals. What they were concerned about was that the owner of the animal understands that if there is little food, it goes to the domesticated animal, which is dependent on the person, not to the person. Interestingly, we are permitted to drink before giving an animal a drink, and that’s based on the actions of Rebecca in this week’s Torah portion.
We even find in our tradition the extraordinary consideration in Talmud, (Shabbat 128b) of what happens when an animal falls into a ditch on Shabbat. Animals are usually considered muktzeh (see commentary on Shabbat 128b, Shulchan Arukh 308:39) – something we avoid touching on Shabbat for fear that it leads us to do work. Carrying in a public place is definitely one of the 39 melachot – the categories of work forbidden on Shabbat. And yet according to Rav Yudah in the name of Rav, “If an animal falls into a pit, we bring pillows and bedding and place them under the animal, and if it ascends, it ascends.” So, if an animal is suffering on Shabbat, we are, according to Rav Yudah, obliged to break Shabbat in order to relieve it of pain. An anonymous Rabbi objects to this and says that we should bring the animal food but certainly not pillows and bedding. Talmud suggests that there is no difficulty here – if food can be brought then it is brought but if no food can be brought, pillows and bedding is brought instead. Happy with that compromise, Talmud then brings another objection – that putting bedding under an animal robs a utensil of its real use. To which Talmud replies, “[The avoidance of] suffering of animals is a Biblical [law], so the Biblical law comes and supersedes the law of the Rabbis.” In other words, the laws of Shabbat are Rabbinically derived even if they are based on Torah, whereas care for animals is fully Torah law and so it takes precedence. Let me rephrase and repeat that because of how important it is. If one has to choose between observing Shabbat and between taking care of an animal, the animal takes precedence. That’s extraordinary, and yet we hardly ever talk about the religious commitment to animals.
Back in England, I had an article in the Jewish Chronicle suggesting that palm oil should be declared unkosher because it comes from rainforests which are chopped down, thereby destroying the habitats of orang-utans in particular. But that’s not really animal welfare, that’s environmentalism. What’s extraordinary is that when we stop and think about it, there are so many examples of animal welfare in the Bible that it’s a clear theological and practical thread and yet we hardly ever talk about it – it’s a fringe issue.
And yet, for Torah and for the Rabbis, though, it wasn’t fringe. It was part of an extremely devout mindset. We see this brought out very clearly in the Talmudic story (Bava Metzia 85a) of Rabbi Judah HaNasi. A calf on its way to slaughter breaks free and hides under his robe. According to the story, the calf tries to hide under Judah haNasi's robes, bellowing with terror, but he pushes the animal away, saying: "Go — for this purpose you were created." For this, Heaven inflicted upon him kidney stones, painful flatulence, and other gastric problems, saying, "Since he showed no pity, let us bring suffering upon him". The story remarks that when Judah haNasi prayed for relief, the prayers were ignored, just as he had ignored the pleas of the calf. Later, he prevented his maid from violently expelling baby weasels from his house, on the basis that "It is written (Ps. 145:9): 'God’s Mercy is upon all God’s works.'" For this, Heaven removed the gastric problems from him, saying, "Since he has shown compassion, let us be compassionate with him.”
For us, then, it might seem like Eliezer’s test of Rebecca is a fairly frivolous one, perhaps cute at best. We think that she’s a nice woman because she thinks of the animals, but I’m pretty certain that’s not what Torah is trying to say here. I think that Eliezer is looking for a yiddische neshama – a Jewish soul. He uses the test that Judah HaNasi fails and that Rebecca passes. He’s looking for someone who gets it – someone who understands that all life, all of creation, attests to the glory of God. He’s looking for someone who understands that all life is connected with God. That level of understanding is what makes Rebecca so important as a matriarch – it’s not just kindness but a deep and profound awareness of the divine energy that flows through all life. Our Torah portion, Rebecca in particular, teach us that all living beings praise God and that we have a religious duty to protect them all, not as part of a fad, not just to be kind, but because in caring for creation we ultimately come to meet God.
So, may we learn not just to be kind to animals but to protect all life as an expression of Jewish spirituality. May we guard it because it speaks of the varied Creation and because every element of creation is precious, and let us say, Amen.