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We must accept that, on one level or another, whether we understand it or not, God has good reason for giving the Jewish people the mitzvot. Lessons for Today
If, along the road, you chance upon a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or on the eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life. (Deuteronomy 22:6-7)
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The Sefas Emes, Rabbi Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger, comments:
The Midrash says: “Just as God shows compassion for humans, so does God show compassion for beasts and birds.” But an objection is raised from the Mishnah, which teaches that if [a prayer leader should] say, “Your mercies reach even the bird’s nest,” he should be silenced. The Talmud explains that, “he is making God’s qualities into mercies, when they are really only decrees.”
The meaning of the Midrash is that God has placed His mercies in all creatures, as it says, “His mercies are upon all His works” (Psalm 145:9). Humans have mercy upon humans, but not upon animals; humans do not grasp or comprehend the animal mind at all. We humans do not understand either animal consciousness or animal compassion. In the same way, angels do not understand the human mind; we are like animals to them. Only God, who knows all, comprehends at once the minds of angels, humans, beasts, and all the rest of Creation. That is why it says, “His mercies are over all his works.” God understands the feelings of the mother bird sitting over her chicks, if she should be taken together with them. God similarly understands [the animal’s feelings if] “both he and his son are slaughtered on the same day” (Lev. 22:28).
In truth God placed this measure of compassion into the nature of each species; it is due to these commandments found with regard to animals and birds that compassion is to be found in them. The whole existence of Creation is through mercy; “He conducts His world with grace and His creatures through mercy.” Thus compassion is to be found throughout Creation.
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Sforno comments:
Behold, by sending away the mother bird from the nest, one performs an act of loving-kindness benefiting the masses, (namely) the preservation of the birds of the field who are ownerless property. This is (accomplished) by sending forth the mother (bird). Even for such a minor act of loving-kindness, (one will be rewarded) by enjoying the fruits thereof in this world, while the principal remains intact in the world to come.
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In our commentary this week, the Sefas Emes introduces us to a rabbinic disputation which extends over both time and various forms of rabbinic literature. The question is really about the difference between divine mercy and human compassion, exemplified in the mitzvah that comes from our text. Stated simply, the text tells us that if one come upon a nest in which a bird is sitting upon eggs (or chicks), we are allowed to remove the nestlings, but first we must shoo the mother bird away. This act is a mitzvah, and it is emphasized by being one of the very few mitzvot in the Torah which has associated with it a reward: if you fulfill this mitzvah, you will live a long life.
Our tradition has often demonstrated a fascination with this commandment, especially since it is related to the somewhat tragic story of one of the greatest first century sages, Elisha Ben Abuyya, called Aher – “the Other” – since he lost his faith and became an apostate from Judaism. Elisha watched a father send his son to climb a tree to fulfill the commandment of chasing away the mother bird before taking her eggs. The boy was fulfilling two mitzvot here: honouring one's parents, and sending away the mother bird, both of which, the Torah promises, will be rewarded with long life. Elisha’s faith was shaken when, after fulfilling both of these precepts, he witnessed the boy fall from the tree and die.
Elisha’s story open’s up all kinds of thorny theological issues, but the mitzvah itself, as stated in the Torah, presents all kinds of issues of its own, and this is what concerns the Sefas Emes. By his time, the Sefas Emes knew, many commentators has posited all kinds of theories as to why this mitzvah existed. The prevalent line of thought suggested that we send the mother away as an act of compassion for the bird, so she not have to watch as her offspring are removed. This school of thought often uses the similar reward of a long life as a hook connecting the commandment of the bird with the commandment to honour parents, both of which are seen as a gesture of respect for parenthood.
But the Sefas Emes is not interested in this type of rationalization. In the end, he reminds us, we do not fulfill mitzvot out of a sense of compassion or mercy or understanding or for any other kind of rational or moral reasoning. We fulfill the mitzvot because God has commanded it of us, and we have committed ourselves to fulfilling God’s command through the covenant at Sinai.
The Sefas Emes takes it one step further though. He tries to demonstrate how absurd it would be for us to consider that we even could act out of mercy for animals. He refers to the Talmud where it teaches that God has mercy for all of creation, yet humans are not capable of such divine mercy for all. True mercy or compassion involves a complete understanding of the other, knowing what how they feel and most particularly what causes them pain. This reminds me of the story of the two drunken patrons in a tavern, one of whom puts his arm around the other and asks, “My friend, do you love me?” His friend responds with a great hug and the pronouncement, “Of course I love you!” The first patron then asks another question: “Do you know what causes me pain?” The second patron responds with a question of his own: “How could I know what causes you pain?” And the first answers, “Then how can you love me?”
True compassion does require a certain amount of understanding, in order to be able to relate to what the other is feeling. The Talmud suggests that angels, humans, and animals, while all created by God, are very different types of creatures, and are not able to truly understand the mind and the feelings of the others. While we as Jews fulfill the commandment of Tza'ar Ba'alei Hayyim - compassion to animals – we should not fool ourselves that we do so out of real mercy or compassion. We do so because the Torah teaches us that this is what God desires of us as humans living in this world of creation along with the animals. We seek to emulate God’s attribute of mercy in order to bring more godliness and holiness into this world.
Lessons for Today
I think there are two distinct lessons for us that are relevant to our lives in this world today, both of which are ancient Jewish wisdom and appropriate modern behaviour at the same time. First, the message of consideration and caring for animals and all the other elements of creation speaks to us more now then at any time in history. We can never forget that we, as humans, are simply part of creation, and, even though we may not make our way through the world in the same way as animals, as we may consider ourselves as a “higher” species, certainly caring for the environment and all of creation benefits us as creatures and as humans. Just as we may not think like animals, we don’t think like angels either. We have a far way to go before we can presuppose what God intended with creation. Thinking we can destroy it, or even try to replicate it, is human arrogance at its worst.
The other, quite distinct lesson is that we can understand the mitzvot. I think we as modern humans have the inclination to think we can understand everything, as long as we break it down into rational little chunks. Throughout Jewish history people have always tried to rationalize the mitzvot, explaining that, for example, keeping kosher is a healthier way to eat or is more compassionate to the animals that are being slaughtered, that circumcision is cleaner for the male or healthier for his sexual partner, or that having a day of no labour on Shabbat makes the work force more productive the rest of the week. But, no matter how much these rationalizations make sense, in the end, we as a Jewish people do not do these or other things for those reasons. We do them because God has asked it of us, and we have committed ourselves to walking in the way of the Eternal. We must accept that, on one level or another, whether we understand it or not, God has good reason for giving the Jewish people the mitzvot.
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