וְהַשְּׁבִיעִת תִּשְׁמְטֶנָּה וּנְטַשְׁתָּהּ וְאָכְלוּ אֶבְיֹנֵי עַמֶּךָ וְיִתְרָם תֹּאכַל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה כֵּן תַּעֲשֶׂה לְכַרְמְךָ לְזֵיתֶךָ: (כג:יא)
And in the seventh year, you shall let it go and leave it alone, and the destitute of your people shall eat, and their remnant the beast of the field shall eat, so shall you do to your vineyard and to your olive grove. (23:11)
In this passage, the Torah assigns value to the lives of animals and instructs us to be considerate of them. Just as there is a mitzvah to give to the poor, so too, there is a mitzvah of giving to animals. As long as they have not yet received their portion, a person is forbidden to gather what remains in his field for himself. This virtue is not widely known among the masses, and we often fail to pay attention to the needs and suffering of animals. However, we must understand that according to the Torah’s perspective, we are obligated to consider them and be careful not to cause them suffering.
Chazal (Bava Metzia 85a) tell us about the severe afflictions of Rebbe Yehuda HaNasi, who suffered for thirteen years. For half of that period, he endured pain from a stone lodged in his intestines, and for the other half, he suffered from a severe oral disease. His afflictions were unbearable, and when he would go to relieve himself, he would cry out in agony. To prevent others from hearing his cries, Rebbe’s horsekeeper would feed his animals at the same time that Rebbe relieved himself. Rebbe owned countless horses, and when they were fed, their sounds could be heard for three miles. The horsekeeper hoped that this noise would drown out Rebbe’s cries, but in reality, his screams intensified and could be heard even by those at sea.
The Gemara recounts that all of Rebbe Yehuda HaNasi’s suffering came as a result of tzar ba‘alei chayim (the suffering of animals). This is how it happened: There was a young calf being led to slaughter. Refusing to go, it hid itself under Rebbe Yehuda HaNasi’s cloak. When Rebbe noticed it and understood its intention, he instructed it to accept its fate and surrender itself to slaughter, saying, “For this you were created.” When this was heard in Heaven, they were astonished at how he disregarded the suffering of an animal. Because of this wrongdoing, he was punished with severe afflictions.
Just as his suffering came due to tzar ba‘alei chayim, so too did his healing come through compassion for animals. One day, Rebbe saw his maid sweeping the house and chasing away two young weasels. He told her, ’מעשיו כל על ורחמיו‘ - ’His mercy is upon all His creations’ (Psalms 145:9). Upon hearing this, the Heavenly Court declared, “Since he has shown mercy to animals, we shall have mercy on him as well,” and his suffering ceased.
From this story, we see how careful one must be regarding the suffering of animals. Rebbe Yehuda HaNasi did not physically harm the calf— he merely instructed it to accept its destined purpose—yet even so, he was subjected to bitter and severe suffering. [And although there was also an element of his own desire for afflictions, as mentioned in the Gemara, we still see that the justification for his suffering was this seemingly minor transgression, which led to his intense punishment.]
We must understand that halacha dictates that a person is forbidden to eat before feeding the animals under his care. Only after ensuring their needs are met, may he set his table and nourish himself. This means that, to some extent, the Torah is even more stringent regarding the suffering of animals than that of humans. Even if a person is hungry and his hunger causes him distress, he is not permitted to ease his own suffering until he has addressed the suffering of the animals that depend on him.
My father, my teacher, was exceedingly careful about this matter. At times, he would even lose sleep in order to alleviate the suffering of a cat he noticed in distress. Not only that, but he also saw it as his duty to provide for the needs of animals. He would place jugs of water in specific locations to quench the thirst of stray cats in the streets. His reasoning was that while we are not obligated to feed them— since they can usually find food in the garbage—water is not available to them in the trash, and therefore, it is proper for us to provide them with drinking water.
It pains me deeply that in recent times, several towns in the country have installed deep garbage bins, preventing animals from accessing food from the trash. No one seems to take notice of the fact that this causes suffering to the animals and deprives them of sustenance. Those responsible for public welfare should pay attention and rectify this wrongdoing.
When I was a child, before modern cleaning products existed, lice were commonly found in the air, on beds, and on clothing. My father was extremely cautious and would warn us not to kill them. Instead, he would gently pick them up with his hands and throw them onto the ground, saying that they, too, are creations of Hashem Yisbarach, and we are forbidden to take their lives.
I heard from the renowned chassid, Rebbe Eliyahu Roth, who served in holiness alongside the holy Rebbe Shlemka of Zvill, that Rebbe Shlemka refused to be served by others. Anything he was capable of doing himself, he would not allow anyone else to do for him.
Rebbe Shlemka had a practice that upon lying down in bed, he would study a specific sefer. One time, after getting into bed, he realized that the sefer was not beside him. He called his attendant, Rebbe Elya, and asked him to bring the sefer. Rebbe Elya was astonished, as he knew that Rebbe Shlemka avoided relying on others. He became concerned that perhaps Rebbe Shlemka was unwell and unable to get out of bed.
Sensing his attendant’s confusion, Rebbe Shlemka showed him the reason: immediately upon getting into bed, a cat had sought shelter to sleep and had chosen to crawl under his blanket. Fearing that it had already fallen asleep, he refrained from getting up in order not to disturb it.
I also heard another story about this tzaddik: One time, in the middle of his sacred Shabbos table on Friday night, Rebbe Shlemka turned to his attendant and instructed him to go to the home of the gabbai of the Beis Yaakov shul and the shtiblach there. He was to ask the gabbai to unlock the door of one of the shtiblach, because a cat had hidden itself beneath the Aron Kodesh. The cat, fearing to come out while people were still present, had waited until all the congregants had left, hoping to exit safely. However, when it finally attempted to leave, it was dismayed to find the door locked. Now it was trapped and in distress. Rebbe Shlemka, perceiving its suffering, requested that the door be opened so that the cat could go free.
When I once related this story, one of the listeners remarked to me that the fact that Rebbe Shlemka possessed Ruach Hakodesh (divine inspiration) was not the most astonishing part of the story. Rather, the truly remarkable thing was that at such an exalted moment— while the saintly tzaddik sat at his Shabbos meal, a meal considered to be Hashem‘s own banquet—he still concerned himself with the plight of an impure creature trapped in distress...
