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Liam Neeson has always been one of my favorite actors in Hollywood. His films have often been stimulating, entertaining, and often contemplative. His latest film, “The Grey,” disturbs me for many reasons. It is surprising to see Hollywood produce a movie that portrays animals in their natural habitat as the villain.

“The Grey” is not the kind of film anyone who loves animals and nature would want to see. In an age where we are finally starting to understand the importance of stewardship, movies like “The Grey” are a retrogressive trend that threatens one of nature’s magnificent creatures.  One is reminded of some wonderful wisdom our Sages taught centuries ago,

• When the Holy Blessed One created the first man, He took him and led him round all the trees of the Garden of Eden, and said to him, “Look at my handiwork, see how beautiful and excellent they are! Everything I have created, I created for you!  Be careful that you don’t corrupt and destroy My world, for if you corrupt it there is no one to repair it after you.[1]

Imagine a world without the elephant or the rhino, [2] or the grey wolf . . .

Here is the main reason why “The Grey” is an irresponsible film. Given the ecological attitude that we have seen in numerous films coming from Hollywood, warning us about the dangers of global warming, and other sundry ecological hazards, it is shocking to see Hollywood produce a film depicting an endangered species such as the Grey Wolf as the enemy!

With this thought in mind, let us examine briefly summarize the film’s plot.   A group of men suddenly find themselves stranded in the Alaskan wilderness following a plane crash. Soon, as they attempt to find their way back to civilization, they run into a pack of wolves, which gleefully look upon the stranded group as their next happy meal.

Neeson plays a protagonist named John Ottway, whose occupation as a marksman and leadership skills makes him a formidable foe to the wolves.  Feeling depressed because of his estranged wife, Ottway feels as though he has lost his will to live; he contemplates suicide. Then suddenly, his plane goes down. He and six other men survive, but they are literally in the middle of nowhere. He assumes a leadership role and finds himself combating God, the elements, and a pack of hungry man-eating wolves.

One by one, each of the characters falls prey to a well-orchestrated wolverine assault. In one scene, one of the survivors named Diaz, captures and decapitates an attacking wolf. They eat the wolf’s carcass for dinner, and later throw the head of the wolf back at the wolf pack. Undeterred, the wolves continue picking each of the survivors until an angry Ottway confronts the alpha wolf with a knife in his hand, and broken beer bottles tied to his hand. In his final assault, the movie comes to an abrupt ending. The outcome remains a mystery. However, after the credits are shown, a short clip reveals a badly wounded alpha wolf, near death. Did Ottway survive? The movie leaves that question to the viewer’s imagination to answer.

Based on what I have read about the storyline behind the film, the actors did not actually eat wolf-meat during the filming, but ate lamb instead. However, the producer Joe Carnahan did purchase some wolf-meat, which he had the actors eat off the set so that they might really use the experience to help them play their roles more effectively.

How dangerous are the Grey Wolves? Consider this tidbit of wisdom. The Wolf Conservation Center states that you have a better chance of “being hit by lightning, dying of a bee sting or being killed in a vehicle collision with a deer” than being attacked by a wolf. So what do you do if you meet a hungry Grey Wolf? Look threatening and scary, throw a baseball or a rock at it—but don’t run because animals know when you are afraid. Actually, they are more afraid of you than you are of them.

As the trapper Carter Niemeyer noted, “They’re not exactly advocating for animal rights, but hunters are howling over The Grey’s bloodthirsty wolves, too.  “Wolves have never been aggressive toward me in the 25 years I’ve worked with them close up!” exclaims a retired professional trapper and author of The Wolfer. “From my experience, they’re curious, they’re cautious, they’re aloof, and they really don’t want anything to do with you.” Still, he doesn’t advise camping out in their den, let alone cooking up a wolf carcass and feasting on the meat on their turf, as Ottway and the rig workers do in one stomach-turning scene. [3]

It is a pity that the film’s appearance came at a time when the grey wolf had just been removed from the Endangered Species lists in several western states. Hunting wolves just became legal again, and it was the propagation of horror stories and myths (along with some tempting bounties) that caused the near eradication of the grey wolf in North America in the first place.

Endangered Species Act (ESA): wolves throughout the Lower 48 United States are listed as endangered except in Montana, Idaho and portions of Oregon, Washington and Utah where they have been delisted through congressional action. Currently, the delisting of wolves in Wyoming has been approved in principle by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

January 9^th, 2009, on his first day in office, Obama put a freeze on a number of federal regulations adopted by the Bush administration in its final days, including the delisting of grey wolves under the Endangered Species Act. This gave the wolves a temporary reprieve, and gave animal advocates hope. Obama’s choice of legislation seems to stem more from his animus toward Bush, rather than for his concern for the Grey Wolf. Just weeks after giving hope to animal advocates, the Obama administration delisted wolves under the Endangered Species Act in the Northern Rockies. Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar, a hunter and rancher himself, permitted individual states to begin killing wolves in order to protect animal agribusiness interests.

People interested in defending and protecting the Grey Wolf in North America must let your Congressmen know that the wolves are an integral part of an ecosystem as a top tier predator. The Midrashic wisdom cited above ought to serve as a practical and grim reminder that other ways must be explored to protect natures’ beautiful creations.

Postscript:

The animal world has a remarkable array of characteristics and social habits that impressed human societies since the beginning of time. People have looked at the wolf with awe, wonder, fear and respect. Notwithstanding its reputation as a savage predator, the wolf’s parental instincts are exceptionally refined and well developed in the animal world.  As a dedicated parent, relatives of the wolf share in the caring of the young; they also help older and weaker members of its group.  Each member of the wolf-clan has a special place in terms of its social standing among the clan. The wolf’s survival skills have enabled the wolf to thrive in some of the most inhospitable places of the earth.  Wolves often demonstrate deep affection for their family and may even sacrifice themselves to protect the family unit. Ancient legend teaches how the infants Romulus and Remus, the mythic builders of Rome, were discovered by a she-wolf, who instead of killing them, protected them and fed them with her milk. As animals, wolves were sacred to the Roman worship of Mars. Apollo was said to appear from time to time in the form of a wolf.

Yet, despite the Western fear of wolves, native peoples of history often regarded the wolf as a protective spirit. Native American Indians venerated the wolf and prayed to the gods that the wolf’s hunting skills and courage would be instilled in their tribal warriors. Warriors often hoped that their tribe happened to be descendants of the wolf spirit.

The history  of civilization reveals how respected and beloved the wolf has been since the beginning of the human species. All dogs are descendants of the wolf. If you love your dog, do not disrespect your dog’s ancestors! Hollywood movie producers ought to be making films explaining why the preservation of the wolf is important for all of us who share the same planet together. There are plenty of villains to invent, but making the Grey Wolf into a villain should not be one of them.

Continue Reading

Shepherding is inextricably related to the wilderness. In its broadest sense, the wilderness represents a realm of chaos that threatens human civilization and consciousness. In psychological terms, the wilderness may be found in the depths of the unconscious; it is a region that leaves one feeling helpless, alone, and out of control, which threatens all orderly existence. This pattern occurs again and again throughout the Tanakh. Yet, despite the dangers one faces in the wilderness, it is always the place of revelation and transformation. As a result, the wilderness frequently functions as a vehicle for conversion.

Since wilderness imagery figures prominently in the narratives of the Israelites found in the Pentateuch and later in the life experiences of King David, it is important to examine why the wilderness metaphor became one of the enduring root metaphors of ancient Israel, as well as in numerous prophetical passages. One might further assert that wilderness and shepherding connote a spiritual and psychological nexus that is often ignored by biblical theologians. Five general themes emerge out the wilderness imagery: abandonment, revelation, covenant, miraculous provision, and judgment.

To begin with, the Hebrew word מִדְבַּר (midbar) is usually rendered as either “wilderness”[1] or “desert.” Several translations render מִדְבַּר as “wilderness,” while other translations prefer “desert.”[2] Although both terms are similar, there are some distinctive connotative differences. Among the definitions of the word “wilderness,” the American Heritage Dictionary states:

1. An unsettled, uncultivated region left in its natural condition, especially:

a. A large wild tract of land covered with dense vegetation or forests.

b. An extensive area, such as a desert or ocean that is barren or empty; a waste.

c. A piece of land set aside to grow wild.

2. Something characterized by bewildering vastness, perilousness, or unchecked profusion: the wilderness of the city; the wilderness of counterespionage; a wilderness of voices.

In contrast, “desert” means:

1. A barren or desolate area, especially:

a. A dry, often sandy region of little rainfall, extreme temperatures, and sparse vegetation.

b. A region of permanent cold that is largely or entirely devoid of life.

c. An apparently lifeless area of water.

2. An empty or forsaken place; a wasteland: a cultural desert.

3. Archaic A wild, uncultivated, and uninhabited region.

[ME , OFr. < LL. desertum, neut. p. part of deserete, to desert.

In Hebrew, the noun   מִדְבַּר includes both definitions. According to a number of modern scholars, the Sinai technically is not a desert. Professor Jacob Milgrom notes, “Although its scant rainfall cannot support cultivation, it can provide adequate pasturage for the flock.”[3] While the term מִדְבַּר can mean a wilderness, uninhabited land[4], pastureland[5], and sometimes it can denote a desert. When used as a geographical term, the מִדְבַּר is the opposite of the settled life characterized by urban or semi-urban existence.

One modern Biblical Hebrew lexicon explains, “The wilderness is often described negatively as without grapes, fountains, pools of water, rivers, pleasant places—or as in a notable statement: ‘Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?’” (Ps 78:19).[6] Regardless which definition one prefers, the wilderness, as its English etymology indicates, is a place of bewilderment, peril, isolation, detachment, wandering, desolation, and homelessness.  In the מִדְבַּר we feel cut off from the world; it is a place of loneliness and desertion. For the Israelites the wilderness is the place where they discover God’s capacity to support and sustain amidst harsh living conditions. For the Israelites, foraging through the wilderness involved making a journey into the unknown.

Elsewhere in the Tanakh, the wilderness metaphor is sometimes used to connote the realm of chaos and nothingness (cf. Deut. 32:10, Job 6:18). Understandably, the ancients regarded it as a place of demons, confusion, and wild creatures that prey on its helpless victims.

For the unwary traveler, danger lurked whenever one may passage through the wilderness—especially since there are no short-cuts and ready-made paths. Earlier, one of the definitions for wilderness was “profusion,” since it was commonly feared that the wilderness might invade and threaten their ancestral land.

No wonder it was regarded as a symbol of chaos and disorder! It is easy to lose a sense of time in the wilderness. Yet, in terms of shepherding, shepherding is inseparably related to the wilderness. In a spiritual and metaphorical sense, the wilderness represents the feeling of homelessness and confusion.

Throughout the Tanakh, the Torah narratives dealing with the wilderness are often contrasted with the memories of life in Egypt. Surprisingly, the members of the Israelite nation often preferred the fleshpots, the free fish, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic to the manna of the wilderness. Being a slave in meant that Egypt would guarantee the Israelite three meals a day but only at the cost of their human dignity and their spiritual well-being.

For many, security—even if it meant living a life of bondage— seemed more  preferable to the insecurity of freedom. Confronted with a choice, the Israelites could either accept their special destiny as God’s people, or bravely face whatever challenges this would entail, or else they could forfeit their spiritual destiny by submitting to a totalitarian regime that guarantees food.

The wilderness experience serves as a paradigm for all subsequent experiences dealing with the trauma of destruction and exile. The imagery of the Exodus served as a symbol that out of the ashes of  destruction, God will orchestrate a new future that would restore the Jewish people back to their ancestral home—despite the prevailing political conditions and realities.

Over three thousand years later, the images of the wilderness still remain vivid and real. In today’s terms, the wilderness can serve as a metaphor for those who have experience loss, sickness, homelessness, loneliness, divorce, transition, substance abuse, and especially of life of meaninglessness.

Viktor Frankl, the founder of logotherapy, believes that the central human need, more basic than the drive for pleasure, food, or power, is the need for meaning. Human beings require a pattern and purpose that will make sense of our experiences and of the world around us. Meaninglessness threatens not only the inner world of the individual, but also threatens the identity of a society.

Rabbi Samuel offers wide-ranging religious discussion in ‘Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis’

Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation, Vol. 1: Genesis 1-3 by Rabbi Michael L. Samuel, CreateSpace, ISBN-13: 978-1456301712; ©2011 p. 495, including excursuses, bibliography, and index.

By Fred Reiss, Ed.D.

Fred Reiss, Ed.D

WINCHESTER, California – The biblical narrator of the first three chapters of Genesis, whoever he may be: Moses at God’s direction, a divinely inspired priest, or even a scribe recording the most ancient mythology of the Hebrew people, begins with a simple, yet profound sentence, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” But, what does this sentence imply and what does it mean? The implication is that there is a creator, whose name is God, and who worked alone to fashion all that there is. And, when was the beginning? What did God use to build the heavens and earth? Were the heavens and earth created from the same thing? Explanations about the allusions and applications of the Torah, the Five Books of Moses, if the Talmudic sages are to be believed, go back to Mt. Sinai in the form of a God-given oral law. Written comments about the Torah’s meaning began about the time of Philo, in the latter part of the first century BCE. Since then hundreds of thousands of pages have been written to explain what the Torah “really” means.

Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis written by Rabbi Michael L. Samuel, a pulpit Rabbi who is descended from a long line of distinguished Rabbis and a graduate of an Orthodox seminary, is not another commentary on the Torah, but rather a meta-analysis of commentaries that offer comprehension and insight on the first three chapters of the Book of Genesis, which cover from creation through the Expulsion from the Garden of Eden.

Judging from Rabbi Samuel’s background, one would expect to read a series of explanations only from main-line orthodoxy, but this is not the case. In Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis’ lengthy introduction, Rabbi Samuel examines the Genesis stories as myth, comparing them to other similar stories found in the Middle East and explores and analyzes the Genesis stories from the perspective of the four-level of interpretation suggested by the rabbinic sages by presenting a wide spectrum of Jewish and non-Jewish sources, covering the earliest interpretations through the modern and post-modern critical approaches of Torah criticism. In the middle section, which examines the passages of Genesis 1-3, Rabbi Samuel draws from his extensive knowledge of biblical commentaries to provide the reader with extensive and comprehensive understandings about these passages. The reader is just as likely to find an interpretation by a Hasidic master as a quote from a Hindu text or a quote from the Zohar or Friedrich Nietzsche. In the final section, an appendix, which he calls, Excursus, Rabbi Samuel provides the reader with additional thought-provoking material, which sometimes offers more interpretations and sometimes asks deep and fundamental questions about the biblical text.

Readers of Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis are treated to a superb variety of interpretations, perspectives, and analyses, all of which shows why the Bible is still the most widely-read, yet among the least comprehended books.

**

Dr. Fred Reiss is a retired public and Hebrew school teacher and administrator. He is the author of The Standard Guide to the Jewish and Civil Calendars;  Ancient Secrets of Creation: Sepher Yetzira, the Book that Started Kabbalah, Revealed; and Reclaiming the Messiah.  He may be contacted at fred.reiss@sdjewishworld.com

• R. Yochanan observed, “If the Torah had not been given we could have learnt modesty from the cat, honesty from the ant, fidelity from the dove, and good manners from the cock which first coaxes and then mates.”– BT Eruvin 100b

“Had the Torah never been given,” say the Sages, “humanity could have learned its values from the animal world.” Jewish tradition has long recognized the importance of animals as companions to humankind. According to the early chapters of Genesis, Adam named all the animals (Gen. 2:19). The act of naming—whether it be our children after they come into this world, or whether it be naming a pet, or even the “pet” name we give to our significant Other, says something intensely personal about our identities and existential predicament. In our aloneness, we crave somebody or something to help us get in touch with the feelings that make us feel human. The melodic sound of cat’s meowing at our presence, or the exciting barking of a dog that senses our presence—these simple pleasures remind us that someone really cares about us, even when the whole world seems as though it has turned against us.

An animal’s capacity to show love teaches us on a visceral level that animals have moral standing in our tradition. Whenever I hear a Jewish intellectual or a rabbi claim that animals do not possess a soul, I like to remind the person of the biblical verse, “The just man knows the soul of his beast, but the heart of the wicked is merciless” (Prov. 12:10).

The author of Proverbs stresses an important ethical lesson: a humane person considers the needs of his animals and acts kindly towards them. The world of Creation is full of sentient beings, which also experience many of the joys and blessings that people commonly enjoy: like humankind, these creatures also experience pain. Suffering is also a common language that links humanity with other species of animal life.

Therefore, Jewish ethics take sharp issue with French philosopher Rene Descartes (ca. 1596–1650), who compares animals to machines that service people, stating that their suffering “means nothing more than the creaking of a wheel.” In physiological terms, according to Descartes, what human beings and animals share are that their bodies function by the laws of mechanics. One might respond: How then do human beings differ from animals? Descartes argues that the Creator endows human beings with a divine soul and a moral conscience. “These qualities,” he argued, “are lacking in animals.” In addition, unlike animals, human beings possess the ability to conceptualize and verbalize ideas. Most importantly, only human beings are capable of conscious and rational thought since they are uniquely endowed with the ability to be self-reflective. Only a human being is capable of exclaiming, “Cogito ergo sum” (“I think therefore, I am.”).

However, humanity is not just defined by its cognitive processes. Perhaps a greater quality than our capacity to think is our capacity to feel empathy and sympathy toward those who are suffering. However, do not delude yourself into thinking this quality is limited to only human beings. Animals often show an emotional intelligence that sometimes dwarfs our own as an intelligent species.

Consider the following comparison.

Where would we be without friends? Leo Buscaglia once said, “A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.” Yet, how many times have we seen friends become estranged? One of the uniquely human characteristics that many of us know, is the painful experience when a friend becomes an enemy. Sometimes we begrudge others the gift of success;  there is a jealous or envious part of our psyche that wishes them either ill-will. It’s not a thought or a feeling we would ever admit, but we live in an age of envy. On some pre-verbal level, we say to ourselves, “If I cannot be successful, then I hope you will not be successful either”—just ask Martha Stewart.

And then there are children . . . Oscar Wilde once said, “Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.” How many times have we seen children turn against an aged parent, steal a parent’s money and income with no remorse whatsoever? Fair-weather friends are another good example. Someone once defined friendship as “a ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul.”

But there is one friend who will never abandon you. There is one friend who will never act treacherously or betray you for another.

Who am I referring to? I am referring to your dog. Whether in good times or bad times, whether sickness or in health, your dog will love you.

A dog’s memory baffles me at times. Dogs seem so much more sentient than most human beings I know. There are countless stories from all over the world about how a dog visits its master’s grave, even though both master and dog are separated by an ocean of time. One story I found on the Internet speaks about a dog named Greyfriars Bobby, who visited his master’s grave for fourteen years.

A similar story appeared in the Huffington Post (Nov. 22, 2011). Somewhere in China, a man named Lao Pan died. He had no family, but he did have a loyal dog. After dying at age 68, Lao Pan’s dog stayed by his master’s graveside; it refused to eat for seven days. The townspeople finally brought food and water to the animal, and some are planning to build a kennel for the dog to sleep in.

It’s a pity Rabbi Yochanan forgot to include, “Man would have learned loyalty from the dog . . .”

And let’s not forget cats!!

Cats also possess some of these same characteristics found with dogs. I recall how one cat nearly starved herself to death because her mate had suddenly died. The veterinarian had to put her on a special diet to regain the seven pounds she had lost.

The philosopher Emanuel Lévinas felt that the human face obliges us to respond in an ethical manner. Martin Buber and more recently, the postmodernist thinker Jacques Derrida took umbrage with Lévinas. They contend that the face of a faithful pet also commands an ethical response from us, as human beings and as God’s stewards of Creation. When the eyes of our pet look at us, how can we not reciprocate with love? Continue Reading

Biblical commentators love to portray Noah as a man who truly loved God for saving his family, even though the rest of the world perished. However, one could argue that Noah is not motivated by love, but by fear—and for good reason.

8:20 וַיִּבֶן נֹחַ מִזְבֵּחַ  – Then Noah built an altar — Without delay, Noah immediately builds an altar after reaching dry-land. The Torah did not disclose what may have been the motivation behind Noah’s sacrifice.

Noah does not offer a sin offering, nor does he sacrifice a thanksgiving offering as one might expect. At this point, let us ask a relevant question: What is the psychology that prompts the desire to offer a sacrifice? The giving of a gift, even between human beings, is not a purely external transaction; at the same time it establishes a personal relationship between giver and recipient.  Giving a gift creates a bond of friendship, which on some psychological level bounds the person receiving the gift to the giver.

Gift giving may be based on a desire to “buy” the affection of another. Anthropology teaches that archaic man often offered sacrifices as a bribe to the gods for personal enrichment or to placate the gods so they would not harm the worshiper.

While Noah may have felt compelled to offer thanksgiving for his miraculous deliverance from danger, it is also possible that Noah chose to “bribe” God because of his anxiety. Would God someday unleash another disaster to destroy the world and his future descendants?

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Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation — Vol. 2 Genesis 4-11.

The material of all my articles are copyrighted and send me an email if you wish to print any of the material.

The story of Noah disturbs me for many reasons . . .

For now, I will focus on the passage,  “I will never again curse the ground for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth. . .” (Gen. 8:21).

Is evil something innate to the human condition? Theologians have been debating this for over 1700 years.  After everything has been said and done, one may still wonder: Was Augustine’s cynical view of human nature accurate? Are the traits of ruthlessness, selfishness, and cruelty an inherited condition? The history of genocide in the 20^th century alone might give one pause to wonder whether Pelagius and Kant might have been overly optimistic about the human condition.  The verse would seem to intimate, that to some degree, it is. Are we to assume that children are prenatally programmed with some of these less-than-desirable traits?  What about God’s role in a world that suffers from evil? Is God also responsible to some degree?

As the biologist Lyall Watson strikes at the heart of our problem:

• I am conscious at this delicate point of circumventing all the long arguments of theodicy in a somewhat cavalier way.  Saint Augustine, Irenaeus the Bishop of Lyons, and more recently the theologian John Hick, have all labored to produce a standard Christian answer to the existence of evil in a universe designed and presided over by a good God.  Their musings, to my mind, have been superseded by  events in Nazi Germany, Chile, Cambodia, Uganda, Vietnam, Serbia, and Rwanda, to mention but a few: which makes it clear that we, and we alone, bear the blame.  History, even in this century, has confronted us squarely with our own demonic capacities. We have, like Faust finally coming face to face with Mephistopheles, been forced to concede that the mask he wears bears features very much like our own. He is us, and neither evil nor can we be redeemed. We just are; and we clearly are the products, for good and evil, of our biological evolution.[1][1]

While these ignoble traits are what our species began with, this does not necessarily mean that human beings cannot learn to transcend their natural tendencies for mere biological survival. The Torah itself will later attest to a profound theological and psychological truth that has withstood the test of time: “[O]ne does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deut. 8:3). If a man was nothing more than an animal, the product of blind and relentless evolutionary forces that are beyond his control, bread would satisfy his fundamental needs, but this is not the case.

For reasons we believe to be rooted in the divine ontology and mystery of our being, we hunger for something more fulfilling than bread alone can provide. Our individual and collective capacity for discovering spiritual meaning and purpose beckons us and allows us to re-design our moral nature anew. As Maslow has forcefully argued, human beings require certain “meta-needs” that enable the spirit to thrive and expand. When these spiritual impulses are frustrated, the deprivation of these spiritual needs leads us to developing unhealthy states such as alienation, anguish, apathy, and cynicism.[2]

The psychologist Victor Frankl arrives at the same conclusion based on his experiences in the concentration camps. He discovers that whenever a person fails to find meaning to one’s life, or the purpose to life, “a person will tend to drift aimlessly like a ship without a rudder.” Frankl believes that people need something to live for, something to look forward to, something that transcends themselves to which they can give themselves. Discovering meaning to life must be found in cultivating creative values (such as experiencing the achievement of a task that establishes a person in the world), experiential values (experienced through the appreciation of the good and beautiful in the world and in the loving of another person), and in attitudinal values (experienced through dealing with one’s suffering).

In biblical terms, nature does not have the final say; humankind can rise above its destructive impulses.

The presence of evil may be seen as a deficiency disease. When people fail to instill the values of compassion and respect for life, children can develop into monstrous adults. Thoughtfulness, consideration, empathy are  some of the important  values that enabled  our prehistoric ancestors to survive as a species.  Living with a reverence for life can enable people to rise above any situation. Religion can play an important role in the healing of the human spirit–provided people embrace and emulate a God that loves and respects life.

This may well be the most important message of the Flood story as well.

The other day, I came across an interesting story, worthy of a Sherlock Holmes tale based on this past week’s Torah parsha.

The time:  Feb 12, 2010.

The place: Somewhere in Brooklyn.

Lubavitcher women sponsored a special collection for Shaarei Zedek Hospital in Jerusalem. Deena Yellin writes, “The herd of brightly-colored stuffed animals filled our front porch with all the panache of an overblown Muppets production. They arrived by the dozens in gargantuan bags and boxes – Elmo, Kermit, Big Bird, Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh, and enough Beanie Babies to strike envy in collectors everywhere. The cuddly creatures soon covered so much of our home that the cleaning lady surmised we were opening a toy store. In fact, we planned to give them out for free.”[1]

There is more to this story than what meets the eye. Acts of kindness are always appreciated, whether altruistically motivated or not. In this case, the collection conceals an attitude that is not apparent to a bystander reading this story. The real reason the ladies made this collection has more to do with a taboo regarding the depiction of unclean animals.

Now you will hear the rest of the story . . .

Mickey Mouse has been a friend of children for many generations. However, for the Lubavitcher Rebbe  and his Hasidim, Mickey and Minnie are persona non grata.

Mickey is not alone; Goofy, Porky Pig, Road-runner, Tweedy Bird, Kermit the Frog, Winnie the Pooh, Big Bird, are also forbidden to enter your typical Lubavitcher home. In fact, the Rebbe encouraged his followers to use only kosher animals in all their educational materials and play-toys.

At first blush, most of us reading this are probably wondering: What’s the matter with Mickey? Why did the Rebbe come out against many of the Disney characters? At first I thought it might be due to the fact that some people claim Walt Disney was an anti-Semitic. The evidence is inconclusive. For the record, Walt Disney received the B’nai Brith Award in 1955.

Admittedly, Disney sometimes got carried away with some of his caricatures. In his original version of “The Three Little Pigs,” the Big Bad Wolf comes to the door dressed as a stereotypical Jewish peddler. Disney changed the scene after Jewish groups expressed their criticism. In his short 1929 film, “The Opry House,” Disney portrays Mickey Mouse dressed and dancing as a Hasidic Jew.

Portraying Mickey as a Hasid probably irked Rabbi Schnersohn. The Rebbe cites “Halachic” reasons for ruling that Mickey is unkosher for young children. The Rebbe felt that cartoons about impure animals had a spiritually damaging affect upon a young child’s psyche. If you ask most Lubavitchers Hasidim, you will find that most of them feel uneasy about this ruling. Unfortunately, none of the blogs I have read on this topic seems to deal with the wider ecological implications of the Rebbe’s messianic vision of a world without impurity. This is also the one of the reasons why Lubavitchers do not have dogs or cats in their homes either. Impure animals “spiritually” harm the child.[2]

In one passage, the Rebbe introduces his rationale:

“Concerning the Days of Moshiach (of the Messiah) it is written, ‘I shall remove the spirit of impurity from the earth.’ As the footsteps of Moshiach approach ever closer, we should now enjoy a foretaste of the revelations which will be ours in future time, just as concerning Shabbat it is written, ‘Those who savor it shall merit eternal life,’ a phrase which inspired the Friday afternoon custom of tasting the delicacies prepared for Shabbat. Accordingly, it would be advisable to use illustrations only of pure subjects. When choosing toys for infants, buy only representations of kosher animals. Children illustrations and booklets must have only kosher animals, and so on.”[3]

The Rebbe’s exposition raises an important question: Does the Rebbe seriously envision a time when all unclean animals will cease to exist on the planet? Does this mean we have to say farewell to Flipper and Lassie too? Are they also doomed to extinction once the Messiah arrives? What about all the countless insects that are ritually unclean, not to mention the unclean fish? This is a bizarre scenario, one that is alarming for most people concerned with the preservation of endangered species.

There is some evidence the Rebbe subscribed to such an idea, “Why is the pig called ‘chazir’? For in the end-times, the swine shall return to a pure state (le’ha’chazir‘) to us.” Rabbi Schnersohn writes, “In the Messianic Era, when the true Divine nature of every creature will be openly revealed, the pig will be vindicated as a kosher animal.”[4] Possible antecedents for this idea derive from a variety of Midrashic texts. There is a famous verse from the Psalms (146:7) “The Lord sets the prisoners free (matir assurim).” With the help of a pun, God will permit dietary prohibitions (matir issurim). One Midrashic text even notes that the pig will someday become kosher.[4]

Based on this reading, the good news is Porky Pig will someday become kosher. But what about Mickey and Minnie Mouse? What about the Lion King? Biblical and rabbinical literature suggests otherwise.

More seriously, will all animals undergo a physical rebirth to become kosher for the Messianic era? Hardy. No matter how one looks at the Rebbe’s idiosyncratic theology, all of us who love our dogs, cats, hamsters, birds, and fish—may have a serious problem living in a Messianic world without such delightful creatures—all because they are “impure.”

The Rebbe neglects to explain that the terms “pure,” or “impure” are not necessarily a moral indictment on the animal. These terms are only relevant in terms of what is ceremonially permitted as a sacrifice, or for human consumption. Where would we be without bees playing an important role in our planet’s ecology, besides making just honey? In addition, the corpse of an animal only defiles for one day, whereas the corpse of a human being lasts seven days (Mishnah Kelim 1:1). The Mishnah’s logic is compelling. Human beings defile nature more than animals, and this is obvious to anyone who is familiar with the ecological problems of our time.

One of the most beautiful ancient works is the Perek Shira—“The Chapter of Song,” which celebrates the song of Creation, where every creature—clean and unclean—join in melodic harmony. There is a lovely story about how an unclean frog once taught King David a lesson in humility. The story goes something like this:

He exclaimed to God, “Master of the universe, is there any other creature in Your world that utters more songs and paeans of praise than I? In that instant a frog appears and meets him. The frog then says to David, “Don’t act so boastfully. I utter more songs and paeans of praise than you.”[5]

Even if one subscribes to such a peculiar view, where in rabbinical tradition does it state that all animals, including Mickey Mouse’s relatives will become kosher?

Toward the end of Genesis, in Jacob’s blessings, the aged patriarch compares four of his sons to unclean beasts, e.g., “Judah is a lion’s whelp . . .” (Gen. 49:9); “Issachar is a strong donkey, lying down between the sheepfolds” (Gen 49:14); “Dan shall be a snake by the roadside, a viper along the path that bites the horse’s heels so that its rider falls backward” (Gen. 49:17); “Benjamin is a ravenous wolf, in the morning devouring the prey, and at evening dividing the spoil” (Gen. 49:27). Of all the sons,  Naphtali is compared to a doe, which is a clean animal, “let loose that bears lovely fawns” (Gen. 49:21).

In light of the Rebbe’s disdain for unkosher animals, it would seem his legions of followers ought to ask themselves why the Torah has no problem using unclean animals to represent the tribes. Why doesn’t Jacob use only kosher animals instead? Ironically, the Messiah himself is destined to ride a donkey, “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zec. 9:9). Of course there is the famous passage from Isaiah 11:6-8, which foresees a peaceful arrangement for all of God’s creatures–pure and impure alike!

The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp . . .

Historically, the Hassidic movement followed the teachings of Rabbi Dov Ber of Mezeritch (דוב בער ממזריטש‎) (1700- 1772). His name, “Baer,” means “bear,” in English. [6]

Lastly, with respect to pets, animals provide us with many wonderful things, e.g., companionship, love, devotion, happiness, laughter. Most importantly, they teach us how to care for living beings. One must feel great sorrow for generations of Lubavitcher children who have never experienced a loving response from a beloved pet. Children–whether Jewish or otherwise–can learn many wonderful social skills from having “unkosher” pets; animals greatly contribute toward the development of compassion and respect toward all of God’s creatures.[7]

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Q. Why is there a tradition to say chapters of Tehillim  (the Psalms) when someone is ill?

A. Certain psalms give expression to our deepest yearnings that God is attentive to our prayers. Jewish mystics seem to believe that the psalms act as spiritual conduits, providing the worshiper with a language of prayer, since not everyone is articulate!

When the ancient psalmists gazed into the heavens, they did not behold an endless abyss of cosmic nothingness; rather, they beheld a God with whom they could audaciously and personally address as “You.” All these sundry personal pronouns and anthropomorphic metaphors serve to convey something profound about the mystery of God’s Presence and closeness to the world, without which God could not be known. Martin Buber notes that in addition, anthropomorphic language reflects.

• Our need to preserve the concrete quality is evidenced in the encounter. . . .It is in the encounter itself that we are confronted with something compellingly anthropomorphic, something demanding reciprocity, a primary You. This is true of those moments of our daily life in which we become aware of the reality that is absolutely independent of us, whether it be as power or as glory, no less than of the hours of great revelation of which only a halting record has been handed down to us. [1]

When viewed from this perspective, the God we encounter in the Psalms is not the God of the philosophers who often conceived God as the Creator of the Cosmos. In the Psalms, God is also a Redeemer Who takes cognizance of human prayer and the heart that suffers. In the final analysis, to the Psalmists of old, God is a relational Being Who seeks to heal the shattered human heart (Psalm 147:2). The psalmists believe in a concept that is sometimes better described as “cosmic personalism.”

Psalm 8:5-10 really captures the beauty of this theological and spiritual concept in a way that captures the fragility and potential greatness of the human condition.

What are humans that you are mindful of them,

mere mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them little less than a god,

crowned them with glory and honor.

You have given them rule over the works of your hands,  

put all things at their feet:

All sheep and oxen, even the beasts of the field,

The birds of the air, the fish of the sea,

and whatever swims the paths of the seas.

O LORD, our Lord,

How awesome is your name through all the earth!

Not all Psalms are the same; the Psalter (i.e., the composer) expresses feelings of doom and gloom, sickness, homelessness, birth and rebirth, death, joy, reflections, gratitude—a cacophony of emotions that even the most common worshiper in a synagogue or church can readily identify and understand.

Jewish tradition has long encouraged Jews of all generations to see their personal narrative as something that is embedded in the words of the Psalms. The Psalmist in essence created a liturgical template for all Jews to use regardless of their spiritual circumstances.

Psalms of healing vary from community to community; Chabad is fond of saying Pss. 20, 6, 9, 13, 16, 17, 18, 22, 23, 28, 30, 31, 32, 33, 37, 38, 39, 41, 49, 55, 56, 69, 86, 88, 89, 90, 91, 102, 103, 104, 107, 116, 118, 142, 143, and 148—a total number of 36, which equals 2 x 18 (chai, “life”). Bratzlav Hassidim are fond of saying Psalms 16, 32, 41, 42, 59, 77, 90, 105, 137, 150 during their midnight prayers that mourn for the loss of the Temple.

Sephardic and many Kabbalistic  Jews are accustomed to  recite Psalm 119, which is an acrostic psalm that contains all the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. It is apropos to say out loud the verses letters of the verses corresponding to each of the sick person’s—or deceased person’s Hebrew name (i.e., the latter would apply on a Yahrzeit). Continue Reading

The biblical story of Creation is often criticized for endorsing an attitude that promotes the exploitation of the environment. During the 1960’s and throughout the next decade, biblical scholars of all different stripes have claimed that Genesis 1:28 is   largely responsible for many of the ecological problems currently facing our planet: the extinction of numerous species, ongoing deforestation, and potentially dangerous global climate changes are just a few of the controversial issues. Some intellectuals continue to criticize the “Judaeo-Christian” tradition (conveniently, but incorrectly conflating these two different faiths) as being “anti-Nature” and by extension, even “anti-female,” since man’s domination of woman is viewed within the context of man’s domination over nature (Gen. 3:17).

Mythologist and philosopher Joseph Campbell, as well as his admirers, contend that patriarchal religions tend to be violent and out of control. In contrast, the female goddess religions, regarded as paragons of civility, are characterized as violence-free, and evoking an aura of peacefulnes. Campbell further asserts that the Eastern religious perspective of nature is infinitely more advanced and spiritual than views proposed by the West. In one book, Campbell nostalgically recollects a conversation he once shared with the popular Buddhist apologist and missionary, D. T. Suzuki:

• I remember a vivid talk by the Japanese Zen philosopher Dr. Daisetz T. Suzuki, which opened with an unforgettable contrast of the Occidental and Oriental understandings of the God-man-nature mystery. Commenting first on the Biblical view of the state of man following the Fall in Eden, “Man,” he observed, “is against God, and Man, and Nature, are against each other. God’s own likeness, (Man), God’s own creation (Nature) and God himself—all three are at war. [1]

Similar attitudes are also expressed by the 20^th century historian of medieval history, Lynn White, Jr., who also blames humanity’s ecological woes on the old biblical notion of dominion. White believes that this Scriptural passage entitles and empowers people with the right to utilize the natural world however they see fit. Furthermore, he alleges that Genesis 1:26-28 teaches that man has a right to dominate, subdue, and control nature with no regard for the welfare of the environment. [2]

White believes that primitive and Eastern religions show more sensitivity toward the welfare of the environment than Christianity, and in much the same way are better sources for environmental ethics. Unlike the ancient Oriental and Greco-Roman religions, or Native American Indian faiths that venerate animals, trees, rivers, and mountains in the belief that all entities are endowed with guardian spirits which need to be placated—biblical religion was very different. White asserts that once Judaism and Christianity overcame primitive animism, these religions made it possible to exploit nature with an attitude of indifference toward all natural objects. As a solution White suggests:

• Since the roots of our trouble are so largely religious, the remedy must also be essentially religious, whether we call it that or not. We must rethink and re-feel our nature and destiny. The profoundly religious, but heretical, sense of the primitive Franciscans for the spiritual autonomy of all parts of nature may point out a direction. I propose Francis as the patron saint for ecologists.[3]

The models of Franciscan and Dominican stewardship that the Catholic Church promotes are indeed excellent models, as White wisely recommends. However, White’s analysis makes a number of unproven assumptions that are suspect and questionable. When speaking about Judaism’s ethos, reference must also be made to the entire corpus of religious beliefs—especially those found in classical rabbinic texts, which contain some of the most detailed expositions of stewardship found in the ancient world.

As a case in point, theologian Louis Jacobs presents a clear summary of how Judaism follows a philosophy that is “eco-sensitive”:

• Waste-disposal, for instance, was a major concern in rabbinic times. Care was to be taken, the Rabbis urged, that bits of broken glass should not be scattered on public land where they could cause injury. Saintly men, the Talmud (Bava Kama 30a) remarks, would bury their broken glassware deep down in their own fields. Other rubbish could be deposited on public land, but only during the winter months when, in any event, the roads were a morass of mud because of the rains. In the Mishnah (Bava Batra 2), rabbinic concern for a peaceful and clean environment was given expression in definite laws. . . . Carcasses, graves, and tanneries must be kept at a distance of at least 50 cubits from the city. A tannery must not be set up in such a way that the prevailing winds waft the unpleasant odor to the town. A prohibition known as bal tashḥit, ‘do not destroy’ is based by the Rabbis on the biblical injunction not to destroy fruit-bearing trees (Deuteronomy 20:19), but it is extended by them to include wasting anything that can be used for the benefit of mankind. For instance, while it was the custom to rend the garments on hearing of the death of a near relative), to tear too much or too many garments violates this rule (Bava Kama 91b). Maimonides formulates this as: “It is not only forbidden to destroy fruit-bearing trees but whoever breaks vessels, tears clothes, demolishes a building, stops up a fountain or wastes food, in a destructive way, offends against the law of “thou shalt not destroy”. Maimonides’ qualification, “in a destructive way” is intended to convey the thought that if, say, a fruit-bearing tree is causing damage to other trees, it may be cut down since then the act is constructive. A Midrashic homily has it that the reason why the wood used for the Tabernacle in the wilderness was not from fruit-bearing trees, was to teach human beings that when they build their own homes they should use wood from other than fruit-bearing trees.[4]

The gaps in Lynn White’s critique of the Judeo-Christian faiths are alarming and his article is a good example of someone who utilizes a straw man for making what is truly a specious and one-sided argument. One of the best responses to the allegation these men raise can be found in a seminal work, written by a man who is often described as the “father of environmentalism,” René Dubos (1901-1981). Dubos offers a number of pointed criticisms aimed at White’s article and to D. T. Suzuki (whom he credits with originating this polemic back in the 1950’s).

• In my opinion, the theory that the Judeo-Christian attitudes are responsible for the development of technology and for the ecological crisis is at best a historical half-truth. Erosion of the land, destruction of animal and plant species, excessive exploitation of natural resources, and ecological disasters are not peculiar to the Judeo-Christian tradition and to scientific technology. At all times, and all over the world, man’s thoughtless interventions in nature have had a variety of disastrous consequences or at least have changed profoundly the complexion of nature  . . .[5]

Dubos also shows how even Oriental societies treated the environment with recklessness and indifference. He notes that China was ahead of the West in science and technology which in turn caused massive ecological damage to their region. The barren hills of central and northern China were once heavily forested. Dubos added that human ecological problems were not just limited to the Occidental countries, but were also felt throughout other communities in Asia as well.

• Even the Buddhists contributed largely to the deforestation of Asia in order to build their temples; it has been estimated that in some areas they have been responsible for more than half of the timber consumption. The Chinese attitude of respect for nature probably arose, in fact, as a response to the damage done in antiquity. . . . In Japan also, the beautifully artificial gardens and oddly shaped pined trees could hardly be regarded as direct expressions of nature; they constitute rather a symbolic interpretation of an intellectual attitude towards scenery. Wildlife has been so severely reduced in modern Japan that sparrows are the only kind of birds remaining of the dozens of species that used to pass through Tokyo a century ago.[6]

Many of the ecological problems occurred when early Neolithic man struggled mightily for survival, and killed any animal that posed a threat to his existence. In ancient Egypt, the Pharaohs and their Assyrian neighbors killed large numbers of wild animals just for the pleasure of the sport as is well-documented on many ancient drawings. Even in the farthest regions of the world such as Australia, the native Aborigines’ penchant for setting off fires contributed toward its semi-arid climate.  If anything, Dubos notes that “the Judeo-Christian peoples were probably the first to develop a pervasive concern for land management and an ethic for nature.”[7]

Dubos, of course, is referring to the institutions such as the sabbatical year and the Jubilee Year that treat the earth similar to that of a sentient being, which is entitled to the benefits of “rest” and cessation from human hands (Exod. 23:11; Lev. 25:4; 25:49). It is remarkable that each ecological-based precept exerts profound sociological ramifications for the entire faith community as well. During the Sabbatical year, debts are cancelled (Deut. 15:1–9); the Jubilee Year provides release for Hebrews who had become servants through poverty (Lev. 25:39–41, 54). During these festivals the poor are free to eat the produce from all of the fields (Exod. 23:11; Lev. 25:6–7, 12). Likewise, the Torah aims at curtailing human violence against the environment—notably during a time of war (Deut. 20:19-20); as well as the laws restricting the co-mingling of different seeds when sowing a field (Deut. 22:9-11), and the law against mixing meat and milk together. (Exod. 23:19). Continue Reading