Ki Tetzee Animal Texts

Rabbi Melanie Aron

August 18, 2002

This past Tuesday, just after I realized that my purse was either misplaced, or even more upsetting, possibly stolen, I was standing in a parking lot just south of Crescent City with a ranger, when a majestic elk with a large rack of antlers passed within 6 feet of the two of us. Even in my state of anxiety and aggravation, the elk made me pause. The ranger and I stood there for a few minutes silently watching it watch us, and then it walked on and we had to return to the matter at hand. I don't actually usually have that much contact with animals, being allergic to both feathers and fur, and yet animals can sometimes teach us a lot about life and ourselves.

This week's Torah portion has three texts about animals that seem at first reading to have little relevance to contemporary life.

The first and the one most distant from our modern experience is the mitzvah: You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together. Not a likely problem in my everyday life.

Looking at the commentary I found something interesting. I had always assumed this commandment was because an ox was much stronger than a donkey and that it would hurt the donkey to be dragged along. But the rabbis interpret this commandment differently; their primary concern was not physical pain but psychological anguish. The ox chews its cud and the donkey does not. So? Well that makes a big difference. The ox is chewing all day long. The donkey chews only after it is fed. Pulling alongside an ox that is chewing all day, the donkey will feel deprived. The rabbis say the donkey will think:" why does he have something to eat and I don't", and thus feel psychological anguish. That interpretation made me consider this commandment in a very different way.

Rabbi Bradley Artson notes that we Americans pride ourselves on our individualism but actually in our communities people who are different are often viewed as eccentric, or worse. We often try and force everyone into one mold. Particularly with children, we try and make an ox and a donkey pull together, when we try and teach everyone in the same way or insist they progress at the same time. As a teacher and not a farmer, I find something important for me in this mitzvah in remembering to respect individual differences and not to expect the same thing from everyone.

The second commandment concerns finding a lost ox and taking it home until it can be returned to its owner. In today's world, I might find a lost pet, but I think the Torah's concern here was with lost livelihood, not the psychological loss of a cat or a dog. Looking carefully at the text, it includes the words; lo tuchal lehitalem, you shall not hide yourself from it, or perhaps you shall not go on pretending not to see it. Perhaps that's more related to our work lives than we would have admitted to ourselves several months ago. Certainly we are experiencing the consequences of people allowing themselves not to see or not to speak up about dishonesty around them.

The final animal text I'd like to talk about is about not taking the mother and baby bird together, the text reads: "if a bird's nest chances to be before you in the way". The commentators note that the word yekareh, chances to be or happen upon, is missing the letter hey, in which case it might be read instead "calls out to you". The text is telling us to pay attention, really pay attention to what happens on our way. We think we just came upon the nest by happenstance, yet the Hebrew word tells us that the nest is calling to us, calling us to develop compassion. We need to keep an open eye in everyday life, to see what else is calling to us, what other opportunities exist for character growth.

When I stood in Crescent City, watching that majestic elk I was able to escape for a moment from my own concerns, and see a larger picture.

These three animals related mitzvoth in this weeks Torah portion push us to a broader perspective, to great sensitivity and to the development of character.

As we move through this month of Elul, let's not be so rushed or preoccupied that we can't see what's before our eyes. We must strive to remain open to the opportunities for moral and spiritual growth.