An Animal’s Right to the Pursuit of Happiness…. in Poland

    This month Poland’s parliament rejected a government-backed bill that would permit slaughterhouses to ritualistically slaughter (shechitah) livestock. Lawmakers who opposed the bill said that shechitah is cruel to animals. This stance proved interesting for the wider Jewish world for several reasons: first, it singles out Jews (and other co-religionist minorities) who will only eat meat that is killed in a specific way, and second, as the stance ostensibly was made in the name of morality, indirectly the Polish government was rejecting Jewish morality.  Of course, governments limiting the rights of Jews to practice their own religion are commonplace; but, one of the reasons that this headline was so special is because of its location: Poland. Since the Holocaust, world Jewry, rightfully so, has been extra sensitive to anything that can even be construed as anti-Semitic from the former largest hub in the world of Jews. Many feel that Poland has lost the right to single out Jews, even if said hounding fits within the country’s present moral compass. Putting aside the feelings of anti-Semitism Jews experience throughout Europe by their European brethren (according to many recent polls), the Polish Parliament insists it is acting out of a sense of moral responsibility. They believe one ought inflict as little pain upon the animal victim as possible. To an outsider, this viewpoint sounds down right righteous. It could even lead ethically minded Jews to assert that Jews should also ban shechitah if it is deemed immoral. ‘Morality over choice of food’ has to be a mantra somewhere. In fact, even according to Jewish law, there is a proscription to unnecessarily pain an animal (Tza’ar Ba’al Chaim), so for the traditional community, there is also reason to fret. Israel even proposed a ban on the import of foie gras because of the force-feedings geese endure to produce these large livers. Similarly, one can may make the argument that shechitah should be banned even according to Jewish law and that the Polish government are acting righteously (as in fact they believe).

Several years ago, I watched a video of some Philippine locals, who happened to live in a forest, killing a cow at a festival. As I watched, I realized how hard it is to kill a cow. This is something that most Westerners do not appreciate. Cows are big and don’t want to die. The aborigines group repeatedly stabbed at the cow with spears, but only after piercing it several dozen times did it finally die (or at least fall to the ground). When Jews started slicing at a cow’s jugular and letting it bleed out several thousand years ago, I promise that was an improvement from what many other Ancient peoples were doing to kill their dinner (or their children). By far, it was the most humane, and safest way (for humans) to kill the cow. Today, the world believes that it has found the next stage of evolution in the most ethical method of killing animals, namely stunning. Just as Jews all switched to shechitah several thousand years ago, perhaps Jews should get with the times and, at least add stunning to the shechitah process.

There are several types of stunning that, depending on the type and size of the animal are used throughout slaughterhouses today. A) The pneumatic stunner delivers a blow to the animal’s head. B) The captive bolt pistol shatters the brain of the animal. C) The electric water trough delivers an electric shock to poultry. D) The electric brain stunner is generally used on sheep. The actual act of killing the animal usually takes place after one of these actions has been carried out on the animal. The animal may be passed out, or on the verge of death anyways when it is killed. Accordingly, it will not feel the pain of death.

Unfortunately, stunning has been met with halachic concern from rabbis worldwide. For the purposes of shechitah, one of the key factors that must be taken into consideration is whether the stunning process is reversible; in other words, if we were to leave the animal alone after it has been stunned, would it recoup from the blow/shock or would it eventually succumb. When the process is irreversible, the animal becomes a treifa, and even if the neck is slit subsequently according to Jewish Law, it still remains un-kosher. As many stunning processes are irreversible, it has proved a sticky moral area for Jews living in countries that mandate stunning. While we are not here to question the moral center of these countries with stunning legislation, let’s take a step back and figure out why stunning became the political norm for livestock and poultry.

Even Jews know the best way to cook a lobster is to drop it live into boiling water. In fact, crustaceans can develop bacteria that would be dangerous for human consumption soon after its death. So, for health reasons (and in the name of freshness), this has long been the desired method of killing lobsters and crabs. Many of us have heard rumors (or possibly high pitch whispers) that lobsters scream when they are lowered into the boiling pot, but as they have no vocal cords, this appears reasonably impossible (even if we do hear something). On the other hand, some have tried to show that lobsters do not feel pain when put directly into boiling water. Indeed, a 2005 study financed by the Norwegian government concluded as much. Others have concludes that they do feel pain (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pain_in_animals ). Interestingly however, it appears that the only area of debate for most political institutions is whether these animals feel pain. But when we speak of treating animals justly, I believe we can list several additional issues that we might take into consideration, aside from causing unnecessary pain.

1. Freedom: Impinging on the animal’s right to life, to be happy, to prosper.
2. Fear: Scaring the bujeezes out of the animal by allowing it to watch other members of its species executed right before its own death.
3. Egalitarianism: why do cows have special rules for a fun execution that lobsters, fish and millions of other species do not. Ought we not take the same care and consideration when we kill a small animal with that when we kill a large animal? Does size (or pain receptors) dictate how we treat others. If a human had no pain receptors, would that direct us in the way that we deal with that person, or execute that person?
4. Heroism: some would prefer to look death in the face; live those extra last seconds with pride and contemplation of the present reality; stunning the animal pilfer this right.
5. Dignity: Stunning an animal is not a dignified death. Defending its own life as a leopard or lion tries to rip out its jugular: that’s a dignified death. Some would rather take their chances on nature’s circle of life instead of mankind’s ego of commercialism.
6. Individuality: a specific reason (aside from freshness) why one animal is killed instead of another
7. Respect: should we not regulate the way that the carcass is dealt much in the same way that do for humans; it is unbecoming to just toss or disregard certain parts of the carcass; maybe, if a piece of the carcass is not used, it ought to be buried.
8. Unnatural: the cow is not naturally part of the human’s food chain

Was this exercise ridiculous? Did you feel I should’ve stopped already by #2? Did you feel that you’re wasting your time as you read about caring for animals a bit more than usual? Indeed, some may feel I’m anthropomorphizing the animal victims’ situation; after all, animals don’t have the same exact feelings as humans! They don’t complain about rights or demand justice. Well that’s myopic of you, to care only about your perspective. Nonetheless, this biased starting point – that animals feel pain like humans, and therefore they should die in the way that a human would want to die if s/he was going to be eaten by someone higher on the food chain – is the reason, and the sole reason for the Polish legislation and much of the animal legislation worldwide. Simply put, according to most governments, animals have no rights. Humans have rights, and when animals remind us of humans, then those animals have rights as extensions of human rights. Animal pain reminds us of human pain; therefore, we must care about it. But, a pack of wolves roaming a forest freely do not remind us of a group’s right to self-determination, so that pack lacks the ability to determine its own sovereignty. Or, to speak of an animal’s rights of equality or pursuit of happiness, in and of itself, appears silly. But, when we speak about the way that an animal ought to experience death, politicians immediately assume a parallel to humanity: humans would prefer being stunned before death (or at least politicians would); humans would prefer pain-free deaths; therefore, that consideration is what we must take into account when slaughtering animals. Similarly, humans don’t like small houses, or limiting our range of motion. Hence, California’s 2008 proposition 2 legislated the minimum cage size for chickens. Nonetheless, regarding the basic underlying issues, we remain silent and uncaring for any other rights animals might be thought to enjoy.

Judaism never endorsed this ‘most pain-free’ model. In no Rabbinic text is it ever claimed that ritualistic slaughter is the most pain-free method of killing an animal. Recently, many Rabbis and Imams have spilled way too much ink trying to justify Judaism or Islam in the eyes of Western values on this topic. In fact, there’s a surprising, little known rule in Judaism that demonstrates Judaism’s unique perspective. If a calf fetus is found in an already slaughtered cow, the fetus has the status of ‘already slaughter.’ It does not need to be ritualistically killed again to be eaten and can be killed however one chooses, even though that calf is technically 100% alive, just not halachicly alive. In such a case, the Rabbis added that one must kill the animal in a spectacular way so that onlookers know that this is a special case, a case in that shechitah is unnecessary. The Talmud recounts that, in such a situation, a Rabbi once decapitated two cows (who had ‘already slaughtered status’) in one fell swoop of his arms. Apparently, this Rabbi (still bound by the proscription of not unnecessarily paining animals) deemed decapitation a fine way to end livestock’s life. Indeed, given the option to kill the animal however he wanted, he chose decapitation over countless other ways of killing the cows. From this account, we can conclude that shechitah is not necessarily the best way to kill an animal. Shechitah was chosen, I believe, because it is the method that kills the animal in a safe way for the human, in a reasonably pain-free way for the animal that appears dignified and shows respect for the victim and its blood.

At the function, given the status of the two cows (that need not shechitah), the Rabbis legislated that respect is not the most important function of killing these animals. Instead, making people aware that the animals have a special halachic status was paramount. The fact that the Sages chose to redefine the parameters of the how to halachicly kill an animal given some situation itself shows the subjective nature of these laws and that Judaism was not specifically overly preoccupied with the most pain free death. (And we should note that the Rabbis had no problem positing lo ploogs – that we do not differentiate a case even though some of the variables are different – thereby they could have madated that shechitah is still necessary on these two calves.)

Where Poland goes wrong, where the world goes wrong is in not dignifying the animals’ death. Everyone must die: every animal, every plant, every living thing. All we ought to wish for those deaths is a dignified death, one that shows respect for the sacrifice that living organism has made towards the circle of life. But, when we speak of rights, we simply speak of the way that humans would want other humans to deal with him. There is no reason that this should be the litmus test for the treatment of animals. It is certainly not how other animals treat each other, yet the Polish government sees no reason to infringe upon the way that one animal mutilates another.

Balaam’s Talking Donkey: What Did We Just Read?

Yesterday, in Orthodox shuls, we read the Parsha of Balak (Num. 22:2-25:15), which includes the famous story of Balaam’s talking donkey. What exactly is the meaning of this story, and what does the Torah wish to teach us by bringing it? For anyone who needs a short review, the story goes something like this:

Balaam has just received some messengers who represent Balak, king of the Moabites. These messengers have been sent to hire Balaam to curse Israelites, so that Balak and the Moabites may defeat them and drive them out of the land.

However, God tells Balaam not to go with the Moabite messengers and not to curse the Jews, “for they are blessed” (22:12).

So, Balaam tells them he can’t do it.

But Balak really wanted Balaam to come, so he decided to send even more important messengers to hire the powerful magician. This time, God tells Balaam that he “may go with them”, but that Balaam must do whatever God commands him to do (22:20).

Presumably excited that God has (inexplicably) changed his mind, Balaam decides to go with the messengers to the camp of Balak, where he will think up a good curse for the Israelites.

So, Balaam saddles up his donkey, and goes with the Moabite dignitaries, intent on cursing the Jews.  This of course goes completely against God’s explicit instruction for him not to do so earlier, but hasn’t God changed His mind?

And this is where the story gets interesting.

On the road, Balaam’s donkey sees an angel of God with a drawn sword, standing in front of them. Not being a complete fool, donkey swerves to avoid the deathly angel, until Balaam hits her to turn her back onto the road. Two more times the donkey sees the angel in front of them with its sword drawn, and stops to avoid death. Two more times Balaam beats her.

Finally, God “opens” the Donkey’s mouth, and she berates Balaam for hitting her. “What have I done to you that you have beaten me these three times?!”

“You have made a mockery of me! If I had a sword with me, I’d kill you!” Balaam replies angrily.

The Donkey points out that she has always served Balaam well, and asks “Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?”

“No”, he admits.

Then God comes to reveal the dangerous angel to Balaam, and likewise berates him for beating the donkey. God tells Balaam he sent the angel to “come out as an adversary, for the errand (of cursing the Jews) is obnoxious to me.”

“If you still disapprove, I will turn back.” Balaam offers.

But the angel of the Lord said to Balaam “Go with the men. But you must say nothing except what I tell you.”

So Balaam continued with Balak’s dignitaries, still intent on cursing the Israelites (Num. 22:21-31).

Story Explained:

In order to understand the meaning of this story, we must first look at Balaam himself, and examine how he sees the world1.

Balaam most likely sees the world as a pagan, and his relationship with God reflects this. In the Pagan worldview, God is not completely in control, like in the Jewish view. Rather, He and all gods are to be viewed as subject to fate, magic, and the influence of the world around them, so that God, or the many gods, may be beaten in a confrontation if the circumstances are right. Perhaps Balaam may use magic, or perhaps he may outsmart the gods, but he believes they can be beaten.

When we read the story with this in mind, we can now understand each step. God tells Balaam not to go, before saying later that he may go. God threatens to kill Balaam, but does not do so.

God is fickle like the other gods; Balaam may think to himself, so who knows why He contradicted Himself? Maybe it was magic, or fate.

In each step, Balaam assumes he may escape from God, that God is not all powerful, and that eventually he may outsmart God, and successfully curse the Israelites.

However, God wishes to inform Balaam that the world is not this way, and that in fact, He has not contradicted Himself. God tells Balaam not to go, but also allows him the free will to make his own decision2. This is misunderstood by Balaam as a sort of victory in his contest against God. Somehow, he has fooled God into thinking he will not curse the Jews.

God then allows the donkey to act with more insight then Balaam. There is a dangerous angel in the road, but Balaam is oblivious to it. God grants the donkey the ability to see the angel in order to mock Balaam. “You think you can outsmart me? You are not even as smart as your donkey!” Balaam should have understood that he had not beaten God, but rather God has granted him the free will to continue on his way.

The fact that there had been an entirely different view point from Balaam’s from the beginning (in the form of the deathly angel) should have tipped Balaam off to the fact that he was completely misunderstanding the situation. However, he does not get the hint3, and continues to view himself as being in a struggle with God. He may believe he faces an uphill battle, but still thinks he can win.

Why include the Story?

Now that we see the story of the donkey is brought to mock Balaam (and it does so well), we may wonder why it is brought in the Bible. Why is it relevant to us if Balaam’s an idiot?

However, with our explanation in mind, we may argue that the story is included in the Torah as a polemic against the worldview of Balaam and the pagans. While Balaam thinks he may compete with God in a contest, the Jewish reading of each of God’s encounters with Balaam is obvious. God is in control as He has always been, and He instructs Balaam not to go with the dignitaries. However, God has also granted free will, so if Balaam wants to go, God will let him.  Balaam misunderstands his freewill as the possibility to “beat” God.

When we sin, it is not because we have “beaten” God, but rather because the Almighty allows us to sin. To believe that we may contest the will of God is so foolish, the Bible tell us, that even a donkey knows better.  This then, is the lesson of the story of Balaam’s talking donkey4.

1. The following explanation of the pagan worldview comes from “The Religion of Israel”,by Yehezkel Kaufmann (translated and abridged by Moshe Greenberg) pp. 21-59 (Schocken Books,1972).  See also JPS Torah Commentary to Numbers, by Jacob Milgraum, on this passage, in particular on Num. 22:19 “what else” and verse 23 “Balaam beat the ass”. Relevant as well may be his comments on verse 28, “The Lord opened the ass’s mouth”.

2. However, see R. Samson Rafael Hirsch on Num.22:20 for a different interpretation of God’s words here. He

holds not that God has instructed Balaam not to go, and then seemingly given permission, but rather that God

has really give Balaam permission to go, but not to curse the Israelites.

3. In fact, Balaam acts throughout this process as though nothing strange has occurred at all, and donkeys accuse

him of things all the time. His stubbornness is key to his ability to continue on his mission.

Lithuanian Kabbalah Conference – Bar Ilan University – Chassidic Ethics vs. Misnagdic Ethics

By Avi Kallenbach

Last week I had the pleasure of attending the first conference organized by Bar Ilan University’s Moussaief Center for the Study of Kabbalah. The topic of the conference was Lithuanian Kabbalah. This was such an interesting topic because the title already raises questions. Lithuanian Kabbalah? As the first lecturer Raphael Shochet said “Aren’t Lithuanians those grumpy guys with glasses who learn Talmud all day?” Of course this assumption is not true. Andmany lectures went on to prove that Kabbalah was an important element of the Lithuanian Torah learning.

One of the most interesting lectures, in my opinion, was that of Shlomo Kasirer. He discussed two conceptions of man’s relationship to God the Misnagdic – (represented by the Mussar movement of Yisrael Salanter) and the Chassidic. These two conception in turn influence how the Misnagdim and Chassidim understand man’s relationship to another man. In other words one’s conception of man to God is similar to one’s conception of man to man. 

[In the picture below the two non-closed circles in God on the Chassidic side represent non-absolute identities as opposed to the full dark circles which represent absolute identities]

The Misnagdic conception of God believes in a complete separation between God and the world. God and man are two separate entities who “meet”, as it were without either one losing their individual identities. God is completely transcendent.Chassidim on the other hand tend to view God as encompassing the entire world. The separation between man and the world from God is merely an illusion, an illusion which can and should be overcome. Man strives to be nullified in the great light of God and lose his identity. “The soul of man… desires to be separate and leave the body and to cleave to its root and and source – to God the life of lives even though [the soul] will be nothing and will be nullified completely and will have nothing left of its original essence or identity” (Tanya Chapter 19)These two conceptions of man’s relationship to God also influence how the different schools understand ethical obligations between man and man!

We will just look at the attribute of humility.

Look at these two conceptions of humility:

Rav Yisroel Salanter:

“The commandment of humility is usually against reason, because one who realizes his deficiencies is not yet called humble, unless he realizes all the amazing qualities he has… and yet he forces his inclination, and goes against his reasoning [and tells himself] that he is nothing. Like Moshe Rabenu who was the most complete member of the human species and yet he saw himself as the worst of them all!” (כתבי רב ישראל סלאנטר, מהדורת פכטר, עמ’ 78)

Rabbi Shalom Dovber Shneirson:

“[Describing the proud man:] … Because of his feeling of “being” he does not leave room for the “other”, the “other” takes away from his existence and he cannot stand it! The main cause [of his pride] is his strong feeling of being which forces him to see the other as an opponent. However the side of holiness [the way of the humble man] is to annul himself completely… and thus leave room for the “other”. And “leaving room” means he accepts the “other” and becomes one with him.” (הרש”ב מאמר החלצו שנת רנ”ט)

In the Misnagdic world of separate identities (God and man) there are only two ways to relate to an other (man and man): I’m greater than you (Pride) or you are greater than me (Humility). However in the Chasidic world there is a third choice “I” does not exist at all and therefore there is no need for a comparison of who is greater than whom.

According to Salanter (above) a humble man is one who sees someone else as greater than him. The humble man is stuck in a paradox, if he knows he is greater than his friend then how can he be humble? Salanter answers that one must force oneself to think the irrational. The humble man finds the one area in which his friend is greater than him and forces himself to focus on that point and forget all the ways his friend is actually worse than him. This need to create an illogical and paradoxical contrast is part and parcel of the Salanterian conception of a duality in relationships between man and God and man and man. Man defines himself according to his meeting with the other (very Buber – like) and as a result of this he must define his humility as a relationship between him and the “other” leading to the above paradox.

Chassidut on the other hand equates humility with the understanding of one’s own “nothingness”. The humble man does not define himself or anybody else but actually reaches his humility by failing to define himself. Humility has nothing to do with comparison as per Salanter but rather sees himself as nothing at all. His humility derives from the realization that he is actually nothing. Ultimately the humble man engages in an “anti-contrast” where he realizes that he and the “other” are actually the same! This has to do with the Chassidic conception of God and man all ultimately being one.

Kasirer went on to use this paradigm to understand forgiveness and mercy. But that’s all for now.

Chussidus and Modern Day Orthodoxy

By Avi Bieler

See what I did with the title there? I don’t like the term “Modern Orthodoxy”. Others learnt philosophy before Rav Soloveitchik and they too incorporated it into their theology. “Modern Orthodoxy”?  That’s just a new name for a type of Orthodoxy that has existed for hundreds of years.

The argument about “Grecian Wisdom” dates back to Talmudic times and has continued throughout the proverbial ages. Only at some point along the way those of us who had heard of Aristotle deemed ourselves to be especially modern. It’s as if the 2400 year old writings of a guy who wore a toga outside of his frat parties are the arbiters of who is hip. You see, I know of a certain “yeshivish/charedi” Rosh Yeshiva who receives translations of Artie’s works so he can better understand the RaMBaM. Does he lose modern status because of proclivity to wear hats when he prays? No one is “Modern Orthodox”; people are “modern Orthodox”, or perhaps “Grecian Orthodox”. Torah conscious Jews throughout history live in different permutations of the “Grecian Wisdom” argument. Like the Matrix.

Why do I start with this other than to be obnoxious? In today’s modern environment (Jewish and otherwise), the pro-Greece lobbyists are haunted and hunted by the idea of being “irrational” and therefore “immodern”. So much so that I dare say it places them in many uncomfortable positions with regards to religion. I once ate Shabbat lunch with a family whom I deeply respect. At one point the father and son told a story about a poor man who approached them at the Kotel. The man said that if you give me charity and the name of a sick person I will pray for him. O how the father and son laughed at the concept of prayer (Tefilla) and charity (Tzdaka) removing the evil decree. The family is very pious and I have no doubt that they pray very hard on Yom Kippur, but they struggled with one of the most basic concepts of that Day and of Judaism in general. Why is that?

The wise Hillel Mansfield once suggested this brilliant theory. The RaMBaM’s religious thought is based on Apophatic Theology, a word I only use to make myself sound smart. In English that means that Maimonides only discussed what G-d is not. In the Jewish tradition, this goes back to a gemara in Brachot where one rabbi says many wonderful things about G-d and upon finishing his fellow rabbi asks him “can you possibly be done”? It’s a very sound idea with a major weakness. When you only talk about what G-d is not, you can eventually conclude that G-d is not anything.  Eventually, you may decide (perhaps only in your subconscious) that He/She/Zee has no effect upon this world. Simply put, G-d becomes so transcendent that He ceases to meaningfully exist.

Rav Soloveitchik once said “my students understand my brain, but not my heart”. The biggest threat to modern Orthodoxy is the tin man problem. I would like to propose that one of the causes of this quandary is our insistence on the word “modern”. The word carries with it a suggestion of subservience to current ideas of what is scientific even though many aspects of religion necessarily fail the rationality test. G-d cannot be completely understood with the head no matter how hard we try.

Worry not though; the Good Lord creates no disease without first creating its antidote. One solution is to look to the past. The heroes of “Grecian Wisdom” in Jewish history did indeed believe in the irrational (as did Grecian Wisdom itself) while incorporating rational ideas into their theology. We should be able to as well. It is my belief that chassidus (combined with Grecian Orthodoxy) holds the power to synthesize rational thought with spirituality.  In these blog posts I hope to demonstrate that one can bathe in kabbalistic waters without drifting off into the deep sea and that ideas in chassidus can sometimes be best understood by the intellectual mind.

Until next week, (showing how the main principle of chussidus and Grecian Orthodoxy are related), raise a glass and sing a niggun.