Musar and Jewish Veganism

1 Musar and Jewish Veganism Geoffrey D. Claussen Elon University For a final version of this paper, please see Jewish Veganism and Vegetarianism: Studies and New Directions, ed. Jacob Labendz and Shmuly Yanklowitz (Albany: SUNY Press, 2019), 195–216. I am a rabbi, professor, and longtime vegetarian who committed myself to a vegan diet while I was immersed in research on the ideas and practices of the nineteenth-century Musar movement, a Lithuanian Jewish pietistic movement focused on the cultivation of moral virtue. My engagement with the literature of the movement and my adoption of practices that it recommended played and continues to play an important role in inspiring my veganism. This chapter explores some of the sources of that inspiration, focusing on approaches to lovingkindness, compassion, empathy, and self-restraint found in the writings of some of the most prominent figures in the early generations of the Musar movement. I give particular attention to the work of Rabbi Simchah Zissel Ziv of Kelm (1824–1898), founder of the first Musar movement yeshiva,1 and I also consider some of the writings of Simchah Zissel’s influential students Rabbi Natan Tzevi Finkel of Slobodka (1849–1927)2 and Rabbi Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz of Mir (1873?–1936).3 Divine Love for All Creatures and the Prohibition on Causing Suffering The Musar movement was characterized by its relentless efforts to encourage Jews to focus on the cultivation of virtues such as reverence for and fear of God, equanimity and self-restraint, humility and honesty, and generosity and loving-kindness. Its leaders sought to develop innovative practices of musar (moral discipline) that might help strengthen such virtues, rejecting the idea favored by the Lithuanian rabbinic elite that dedicating oneself solely to the intellectual study of Talmudic law was sufficient for guaranteeing a scholar’s virtue. Musar movement leaders instead stressed the importance of other sorts of activities, including techniques of meditation, visualization, and emotionally charged chanting. They required students at Musar movement yeshivas not only to study Talmudic law but also to spend time contemplating biblical and rabbinic stories and developing “mental images” that would keep those stories and their key messages vivid in their imaginations; and they urged Jews to cultivate empathy and to seek out opportunities to perform deeds of loving-kindness far beyond the requirements of Jewish law.4 2 Musar movement rabbis were far more concerned with kindness to human beings than kindness to nonhuman animals. They clearly viewed humans as having a higher moral status than animals, and they followed the principle found in standard accounts of Jewish law that prohibits causing needless suffering to animals (tza’ar ba’alei chayim) but permits causing suffering to animals when justified by necessity. Their writings, however, also speak of the importance of treating all creatures with love and compassion and offer guided meditations to inspire the cultivation of such virtues. The themes of love and compassion are particularly prominent in the writings of Simchah Zissel Ziv, who often speaks of the human obligation to strive toward an ideal of perfect, divine love. In one passage, he speaks of emulating divine love for all creatures by seeking to satisfy their needs and preventing needless suffering: The [fundamental] quality of God is that He loves all creatures; were it not so, they could not exist in the world. And we find that loving God’s creatures is closeness to the Blessed One. . . . Our sages, in their holy way, have taught us (BT Sotah 14a): how can a person draw close to the Blessed One? By cleaving to [God’s] attributes. And there are no character traits of the Blessed Lord more apparent to us than love of [God’s] creatures. “You open up your hand and satisfy the desire of all that lives” (Psalms 145:16)—we see that every single creature receives pleasure and satisfaction for its desire, and this is simply God’s love for [God’s] creatures. And consequently we find that the prohibition on causing [needless] suffering to animals [tza’ar ba’alei chayim] comes from the Torah (BT Bava Metzia 32b).5 Simchah Zissel sees divine love as making life possible and satisfying the desires (or, as he would understand it, the needs) of all animals on Earth; in line with the Talmud’s injunction to “cleave to God’s attributes,” he sees humans as required to emulate these qualities. While human beings cannot provide sustenance for all other creatures as God does, he indicates, we can emulate divine love by providing for animal needs in crucial ways, above all by not causing unnecessary suffering to God’s creatures. The Talmud does not link this prohibition to any particular character trait, but Simchah Zissel sees it as a law that follows from the obligation to emulate divine love. Cultivating love must involve preventing the suffering of animals. Emulating Noah’s Constant Concern Simchah Zissel did not issue any legal rulings on exactly how far the prohibition on causing needless suffering should extend. He did, however, point out that the prohibition applies to every animal species, which he explained in one of his discourses on the biblical character of Noah. Noah was commanded to preserve every species, he notes, each of which has significance for God’s creation and deserves protection, such that “for each and every one of them [our sages] 3 decreed that it is a Torah commandment to prevent [needless] suffering to animals.”6 One should learn from Noah that there is no species whose suffering can be ignored; one should also seek to be like Noah by being mindful of the needs of all species. Simchah Zissel builds on the midrashic tradition that Noah did not sleep during the year he spent on his ark, as he dedicated himself to caring for the needs of every species, feeding each one at the hour they needed to eat, even throughout the night. In Simchah Zissel’s account, Noah possessed the equanimity that allowed him to be bothered by any need that might be unmet: “Behold, how anxious he was, for he habituated himself to the trait of equanimity, more than sufficiently.”7 We should all possess equanimity of this sort, in Simchah Zissel’s view—not the sort of equanimity that allows us to feel calm and free from anxiety, but the sort that allows us to see the needs that exist in the world and to be anxious to respond to them.8 Simchah Zissel’s student R. Natan Tzevi Finkel, founder of the Slobodka yeshiva, describes Noah as in fact successfully emulating the divine love that provides sustenance to all living beings. Building on midrashic tradition,9 Finkel explains that Noah was like one who was appointed as Sustainer10 of the world in [God’s] place, for he was tested in terms of how he related to the animals, and how he discerned the needs and requirements of each one of them. Our sages have told that Noah did not let himself sleep during the whole twelve months, but rather would deliver the food that was fit for each one, at the set time. . . . Because of how Noah related to the animals, his character trait of loving-kindness and compassion was tested, and it was found to be like the character traits of the Holy Blessed One, and he was found to be fit to stand in [God’s] place, to be the Sustainer of the world.11 As Finkel sees it, Noah met the test of being like God—neither slumbering nor sleeping, but acting with boundless love and compassion to meet the particular needs of every animal. Finkel asks his students to meditate on Noah’s loving-kindness, holding a “mental image” of Noah before their eyes. After all, Finkel asks, “could we find a mental image of acting with lovingkindness that is more vivid than this—than serving animals with such great care for twelve months, not satisfying himself with the taste of sleep, sustaining them with great mercy and wisdom?”12 Finkel clearly sets the bar very high. Following a principle that was central to Simchah Zissel Ziv, he demands that human beings do all that they are capable of doing to meet such ideals of utter devotion, and he sees them as liable to punishment if they do not do so.13 Finkel is guided in part by the midrash that points out that even Noah failed to do all that he was capable of in tending to the animals on his ark. According to the midrash, Noah was once late in feeding the lion on his ark, and the lion was justified in punishing him with a severe bite. Finkel understands the justice of this punishment in terms of the rabbinic tradition that the most righteous of people should be held to the strictest of standards. As he explains it, the most righteous have the ability to be people 4 of true loving-kindness, focusing all of one’s deeds, activities, movements, meditations, thoughts, innovations, and creations on the singular goal of lovingkindness. This is how a human being is obligated to resemble the Creator. But if one does not fulfill this obligation, one has damaged oneself, negating one’s greatness and glory. . . . Even if one is immersed in loving-kindness and only loving-kindness day and night, and does not stop for even a moment . . . but one finds any blemish at all within that loving-kindness, that is a punishable sin, and one will be punished for this with a bitter punishment. . . . [Thus, in the case of Noah] when a blemish was found within [Noah’s] amazing loving-kindness, when his mind was distracted for a brief moment and he was late in feeding the lion, he was bitten. . . . The matter is amazing, showing how far the obligtion of lovingkindness extends, even when it has not been [directly] commanded.14 Although I have little sympathy for praise for vicious punishments in response to momentary lapses of judgment, I agree with Finkel that “the matter is amazing.” Even though none of us may ever be capable of reaching the saintly level of Noah as he is depicted here, I think that this story can inspire us to consider how far our loving-kindness can go and how we fail to tend appropriately to the legitimate needs of animals. While no human beings should forgo sleep entirely to tend to such needs, I think that there is power in challenging our complacency, even by meditating on incredible ideals, holding the image of Noah’s constant wakefulness and loving-kindness before our eyes. Our responsibility to the animals in our care is such that, were we as alone as Noah was, we would be responsible to seek to act as he acted; called by hundreds of animals who have no one else to care for them, our responsibility to show loving-kindness would be never-ending. “Once the other has called us, once we have fallen in love, we are enjoined to a life of never-ending responsibility,” contemporary musar teacher Rabbi Ira Stone has written. “This love has taken away from us the ever-present luxury of infancy: the freedom to fall asleep at will. As adults, we must be wakeful and on guard; we must sleep with one eye open, as parents learn to do in the presence of their children.” We should ideally be able to form communities, though, “so that the demands of infinite commitment, the demand of sleeplessness can be shared,” for “without such a community the sleeplessness required by love would be unbearable.”15 Noah did not have a community and thus needed to stay awake all night; but his example can remind us of the constant need for our responsibility and care. And while in Noah’s case the animals needed particular attention because the death of any of them would eliminate the species, we might be reminded of how our failures of compassion can still be very serious even when there is no such risk. This seems to have been the conclusion of R. Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz, who, like Finkel, marveled at Noah’s compassion and God’s judgment, and then added that God judges those who fail to respond to the pain of animals in other circumstances. As Levovitz points out, the story of Noah’s punishment resembles a Talmudic story in which the editor of the Mishnah, Rabbi Judah the Patriarch, is 5 punished for his own lack of attentiveness to the needs of animals (BT Bava Metzia 85a).16 When a calf bound for slaughter escaped and, weeping, sought refuge with Judah, “[Judah] did not have compassion for it, but said to it: ‘You were created for this.’”17 For this, he was punished by God with thirteen years of suffering. Judah’s suffering only ends when he protects a group of young rats who are about to be swept away by his maidservant, and he proclaims that “[God’s] compassion is for all of [God’s] works” (Psalms 145:9).18 “If a person is lacking compassion for any of ‘[God’s] works,’ he is lacking in full righteousness” and is justly punished, Levovitz concludes, as Noah was.19 Even the common act of slaughtering a calf so that humans may eat it is here presented as a failure to respond to the needs of animals and a failure of responsibility to protect those whom one can protect. Animals under the control of human beings deserve all the compassion that humans can offer them, even when they are hungry in the night, and especially when they are seeking to be saved from human brutality. Shepherds and the Power of Empathy Simchah Zissel Ziv and his students taught, moreover, that the greatest human beings should be able to empathize with nonhuman animals: to seek to experience the world from their perspective and to feel their pain. Simchah Zissel saw Moses, in particular, as characterized by his empathy for others, building on traditions about how Moses empathetically identified with the Hebrew slaves in Egypt and also with the animals under his care when he worked as a shepherd in Midian. Simchah Zissel describes the disposition of seeing the needs of others, empathetically identifying with those in need, and responding with compassion as “sharing the burden of one’s fellow” (nosei be-ol im chaveiro), and he sees this quality as the highest level of virtue demanded by the Torah.20 In Simchah Zissel’s understanding, Moses shared the burden of the slaves, for example, when he formed mental images of their suffering that remained before his eyes at all times, “until he felt their pain as if he himself was in such pain,” and proceeded to act on their behalf.21 Simchah Zissel’s reflections on Moses as a shepherd who feels the pain of his flock in this way build on the midrash that imagines God testing Moses and later David for their fitness to lead the people of Israel by testing their compassion for animals: “God tests the righteous” (Psalms 11:5). And how does [God] test them?—by shepherding flocks. [God] tested David with the flock and found him to be a good shepherd, as it is written: “[God] took him from the sheepfolds” (Ps. 78:70). . . . He would restrain the adults for the sake of the lambs, [first] bringing out the lambs to graze so that they could graze on the tender grass, and afterwards bringing out the old so that they could graze on the moderate grass, and afterwards bringing out the [strong] young so that they could eat the tough grass. The Holy Blessed One said: one who knows how to shepherd a flock, each according to their strength, let that one come and shepherd My people. . . . 6 And the Holy Blessed One also tested Moses, only by the flock. Our rabbis have said that when Moses our rabbi, peace be upon him, was shepherding the flock of Jethro in the wilderness, a kid escaped. He ran after it until he reached a shady place. When he reached the shady place, he happened upon a pool of water where the kid was standing, drinking. When Moses reached it he said, “I had not known that you had run away because of thirst. You must be tired.” He placed it on his shoulder and walked back. The Holy Blessed One said: “You have shown compassion in guiding a flock belonging to a mortal; so, by your life, you should shepherd my flock, Israel.”22 Simchah Zissel sees “sharing the burden” at work here. Though he admits that some might see this midrash as foolish, perhaps as a story only for children, he sees it as teaching the centrality of “sharing the burden” of all who are in need, including animals: Our forefathers—our father Jacob, peace be upon him, and David, and also our rabbi Moses the shepherd, peace be upon them—concerned themselves with livestock as shepherds for this reason: they wanted to habituate themselves even to share the burdens of animals, and all the more so to share the burdens of people of their generation. . . . My brothers and teachers, contemplate the wonders in this midrash, to learn such lofty teachings from one midrashic text. See the simple things that people scorn, as they are considered foolish in people’s eyes. When these two great figures focused on this, training themselves in the character trait of “sharing the burden,” they merited the kingship.23 It is clear from these texts and others that Simchah Zissel sees it as more important to relieve the burdens of human beings than the burdens of nonhuman animals; but he also sees empathy for animals as crucial. Working with animals can help one develop empathy, if such work is carried out in the proper spirit. Indeed, Simchah Zissel points out that the “lowly” task of being a shepherd helped Jacob, David, and Moses to turn away from the pride that inhibits empathy and to open themselves up to deeper compassion: In accordance with what has been explained above regarding the lofty matter of sharing the burden of one’s fellow, we can understand why the great [leaders] of Israel chose to be shepherds. First, they chose lowly work, making a living in a humble manner. Second: humility leads to compassion, whereas pride means loving no one but oneself, not feeling the pain of the other, and not sharing one’s fellow’s burden. Therefore, they habituated themselves in the work of shepherding and in having compassion on the flock, leading them with gentleness and graciousness, as befit their fine manner.24 7 We are ordinarily inclined, as Simchah Zissel explains elsewhere, to focus on our own interests and to pay little attention to the needs of those we see as beneath us. But working with animals can help us to pay attention to the needs even of those who cannot easily communicate their needs, who “do not know how to request or declare what they lack; and the physician (the herder) needs to seek out whether this way or that way would be good for them, and this requires much wise deliberation.” Simchah Zissel thinks this is especially true with sheep or goats, whom he describes as “especially delicate, requiring a good deal of care, that one show compassion for them, and that one seek out what is good for them. Doing this places one at a high level.”25 Giving little attention to their own desires for honor and pleasure, and instead focusing on listening attentively and thoughtfully to the signals their flocks gave them, shaped Jacob, David, and Moses into the sorts of compassionate human beings who were also fit to lead the people of Israel.26 Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz points out that the story of Moses’s compassion as a shepherd should also be linked with the prohibition on causing needless suffering to animals (tza’ar ba’alei chayim). Moses’s compassion allowed him to fully internalize the prohibition: “Such care for the flock, such caution not to cause suffering to animals in [even] this amount, is simply the force of his compassion in its fullness.”27 Moses refused to ignore “even the slightest suffering of an animal.”28 Natan Tzevi Finkel sees the story as revealing an obligation to discern and respond to the needs of every creature, and he connects Moses’s understanding with the understanding that Rabbi Judah the Patriarch finally arrives at after his initial lack of compassion for the calf that had sought his protection: Our rabbi Moses, who followed the kid so that he could figure out why it ran away, after he found that it was tired and thirsty, he had compassion for it, and he placed it on his shoulder, and so it was revealed that he could understand and discern the needs of every creature. And so the Holy Blessed One found him fit to be the shepherd of Israel. And why did [God] test how [Moses and David] would relate to animals, in particular? It is because this reveals the loving-kindness and compassion that they possessed. So it is written regarding the Holy Blessed One: “His compassion is upon all of [God’s] works” (Ps. 145:9), which includes all creatures, as in the story of Rabbi [Judah] and the calf and the young rats (BT Bava Metzia 85a). Moreover, it is written: “The eyes of all look to You expectantly, and You give them their nourishment promptly” (Ps. 145:1529), as [God] is concerned for each [creature] in its own right, in accordance with its needs and promptly. Therefore, only a person who follows in the ways of God and who also has compassion for all creatures, and who knows how to determine and think deeply about the needs of each and every one of them, passes the test and is fit for the position of being a shepherd and leader.30 Finkel makes clear that how one treats animals in one’s care is the best guide to one’s moral character, as it will reveal the depth of one’s compassion.31 8 Contemplating Midrash and Overcoming Rationalization Of course, meditating on these midrashic narratives of compassion as they were explained by the Musar movement by no means guarantees a change in one’s behavior toward animals. Even the Musar student who follows the instructions of Simchah Zissel Ziv to contemplate the midrash of Moses and the kid at length or the instructions of Natan Tzevi Finkel to hold a vivid image of Noah’s compassion in one’s mind, and even one who follows the Musar movement practices of discussing and journaling about how one’s own behavior compares to these, can still easily rationalize a good deal of suffering inflicted on animals.32 One can stress that Moses’s compassion toward nonhuman animals was mere training for the more important task of showing compassion toward human beings. One can claim—as a commentator on Simchah Zissel’s writings has—that “the prohibition of causing needless suffering to animals is not because the Holy Blessed One has compassion upon the soul of the animal, but rather only because good character traits are established in our souls through this.”33 One can also point out that according to the Torah’s account, Moses helped to institute a system in which humans were allowed to inflict substantial suffering on animals, especially by permitting the consumption of some forms of meat; and one can point out that Noah also sacrificed animals and also did not protest against the mass drowning of countless animals caused by the flood, even if he was fully dedicated to preserving the species on his ark.34 One can also justify the suffering caused to these animals at the end of their lives with the comforting thought that their caretakers treated them with great compassion during the course of their lives.35 One can easily empathize with one escaped kid, or with the particular animals on the ark, while overlooking the suffering of other animals who are not the focus of the stories.36 I think that a dedication to the practice of musar at its best, however, can help one to question these sorts of moves. Simchah Zissel warned his students to be wary of how one’s selfinterested inclination “deceives the human being with all sorts of cunning,” seeking to rationalize one’s moral failings.37 Practitioners of musar today must also be mindful of how we may deceive ourselves and engage in rationalization of this sort. Meditating deeply on the principles discussed above and seeking to be as responsive as possible to “the needs of every creature” who depends on us can help us to avoid our self-interested rationalizations. Thus, for example, when one is tempted to dismiss compassion for animals as valuable only insofar as it trains us to be compassionate for human beings, meditating on Finkel’s discussion of the divine concern “for each [creature] in its own right” can remind us of the dignity of each creature and the duties of compassion that are owed directly to it.38 Or, for example, when one is tempted to defend one’s desire to eat meat with reference to the meat eating permitted by the Torah, it can be valuable to think critically about why the Torah’s authors gave this permission and to assess the morality of this permission in a way that takes seriously the value of preventing “even the slightest suffering of an animal.”39 So, too, when one is tempted to justify causing pain to an animal by pointing out that it has otherwise been treated with compassion throughout its life, I think it is important to question whether that pain is indeed 9 necessary; it is essential to be careful not to act like Rabbi Judah when he sent the weeping calf to slaughter.40 Calling that story to mind, and remembering to “think deeply about the needs of each and every creature,” can help us to make more compassionate decisions about how we treat nonhuman animals. We should be especially mindful of the danger that in our efforts to empathize with certain suffering animals, we will focus on them and be blind to the suffering of many others. This is a danger for all of us, including those of us who become vegetarians out of concern for animal suffering but ignore the suffering of animals who are tortured for their milk or eggs; or for those of us who commit to a vegan diet and, proud of our own commitments, fail to notice other ways we may be causing needless suffering in the world. It can be helpful to remind ourselves again and again of the obligation to take seriously the needs of all creatures, as these Musar teachers remind us with their telling of the stories of Rabbi Judah or Noah. As I suggested above, the story of Noah might especially remind us of the risks of exhaustion as we seek to help all creatures; at the same time, concerns about exhaustion should not serve as an excuse to ignore the many ways in which we can personally take greater responsibility for eliminating that suffering. Reflecting on these themes and meditating on these stories has certainly encouraged me in my own commitment to veganism, and my musar practice reminds me to always keep an open mind to other ways in which I can do better at reducing the suffering that we cause to our fellow creatures. Sharing the Burden of the Animal To be sure, empathy is an unreliable guide to morality, as we are prone to feel the pain of those to whom we are most attached and liable to ignore the pain of others, even when their pain is in fact far more serious and when there are many others.41 We could imagine, for example, that Moses became attached to the one kid whom he lifted onto his shoulders but had limited empathy for the flocks of his neighbors or, all the more likely, the flocks of his enemies, even if those flocks were abundant and were treated cruelly. But the Musar teachers imagined Moses taking a more objective view, learning to have compassion as God has compassion— “compassion for all creatures,” as Finkel put it, seeking “to determine and think deeply about the needs of each and every one of them.”42 I think that contemporary efforts to uncover and respond to the needs of animals can be deepened by empathy along these lines, informed by reasoned efforts to reduce bias and partiality. Contemporary empirical research indicates that empathy makes a difference in motivating human beings to help others; the efforts by Simchah Zissel and his students to promote the cultivation of empathy informed by reasoning may be one of the Musar movement’s most valuable contributions to contemporary ethics.43 I think that we would do well, then, to adopt some of the Musar movement teachers’ recommendations for empathetically considering the perspectives of others, guided by reasoning and our capacities to imagine the suffering of others, always seeking to respond compassionately. We may cultivate empathy not only by bringing to mind ideals of empathy 10 associated with Moses or other figures described in the midrashic literature but also by bringing to mind concrete instances of animal suffering in the world around us, including instances of failures of empathy that lead to that suffering. Thus, when Simchah Zissel described how to understand the virtue of “sharing the burden,” he urged his students to visualize a common case of animal abuse that could be eliminated through empathy: We can understand [the quality of “sharing the burden”] when we see a wagon driver steering a full wagon, when his horse does not want to go forward, and he beats it and beats it. If the wagon driver were himself to try to pull the burden with all his might, like the horse, then he would not be so cruel to the horse. But because he is not pulling along with the horse, he does not have a mental image which demands compassion for the horse, which is continually pulling with all its might. And this is what [our sages] hinted at: if you want to feel the pain of your fellow, stand next to him and pull his burden along with him, and then you will feel your fellow’s pain.44 Those of us who live in the industrialized world no longer see images of cruel wagon drivers that remind us how to share the burden of animals in our care, but we are surrounded by comparable instances of cruelty that demand our empathy and compassion. In the contemporary West, where the vast majority of our interactions with land animals involve eating their bodies or drinking their milk, we are surrounded by animals who are confined in crowded cages, abused, and slaughtered in their youth so that such products can be sold for food at low prices.45 The practice of musar today might especially focus on examples that were unknown in Simchah Zissel’s days but are currently widespread, such as the case when a “spent” dairy cow is brought to a slaughterhouse, about which a contemporary musar teacher might say the following: We can understand the quality of “sharing the burden” when we see a downed cow, having collapsed from fatigue, which cannot get up from the slaughter truck to go to the assembly line. The stockyard workers use their electric prods to try to get her out of the truck, and they beat her and kick her in the face, ribs, and back, but still she does not move; they tie a rope around her neck, tie the other end to a post in the ground, and drive the truck away, so that the cow is dragged along the floor of the truck and falls to the ground, landing with her hind legs and pelvis broken, lying for hours in the hot sun until a slaughterer finally comes to kill her. If the stockyard workers were to experience the perspective of this broken and exhausted cow, tortured all her life in an intensive production facility until being sent to slaughter, they would not be so cruel to her. But they do not have a mental image which demands compassion for her.46 Or we may understand the quality of “sharing the burden” when we consider the system in place for the slaughter of that cow and the slaughterhouse managers who have developed a 11 process whereby cows are routinely “bled, skinned, and dismembered while conscious.”47 Or we might visualize an episode from earlier in the life of the cow, when she bellows in distress, as a dairy worker drags her newborn calf away so that her milk can be sold and the calf’s flesh can be sold as veal.48 Or we may understand the quality of “sharing the burden” when we consider the factory farmers who engineer their broiler chickens so that their muscles and fat tissues grow faster than their bones, so that they can provide maximum meat even though they live in pain and struggle to walk and breathe during their short lives.49 Or we may visualize the efforts of those who design systems for partially amputating the beaks of hens, causing severe pain for weeks, or for packing them into towers of battery cages in windowless rooms, or for grinding to death their male chicks who are not needed by the egg industry.50 Or we may bring to mind the fishing company executives who design systems whereby fish and other sea creatures convulse in pain as they slowly die.51 In my home state of North Carolina, where the torture of pigs is especially widespread, we may visualize the workers who ram iron poles into the orifices of mother pigs, or who cut off pigs’ legs while they are still conscious, or who bash the heads of runts who do not grow fast enough and are considered a drain on resources.52 Workers are asked to heed the infamous counsel of the trade journal Hog Farm Management: “Forget the pig is an animal. Treat him just like a machine in a factory.”53 They do not have a mental image that demands compassion for the pigs; they are very far from sharing the burden of the animals and feeling their pain. As has been well documented, contemporary factory farming offers countless other examples of cruelty.54 The responsibility for the abuse of farmed animals clearly does not lie only with the workers who directly inflict it but with the supervisors who direct them, the executives who have overseen the creation of these systems, the investors who fund them, the marketers who market animal products, and the consumers who purchase these products.55 We might, then, understand the quality of “sharing the burden” when we see consumers who in theory care about the suffering of animals but who purchase food that is produced through the infliction of unbearable levels of suffering to animals. If we were to have mental images that demanded compassion for those animals, perhaps we would not purchase such products. Images of the suffering caused by the animal agriculture industry are hard to bring to mind, though, when that industry ceaselessly advertises its products with nostalgic images of contented farm animals—cattle grazing under blue skies, chickens clucking contentedly in beautiful farmyards, and so on. “The power brokers of factory farming know that their business model depends on consumers not being able to see (or hear about) what they do,” Jonathan Safran Foer notes.56 The Musar movement practice of meditating on other sorts of “mental images” can be an important antidote to such well-funded efforts to conjure up images of happiness and hide realities of violence from our gaze. We can do better than Simchah Zissel’s wagon driver who was unable to bring the suffering of his horse to his mind, or Rabbi Judah, who was unable to 12 take the weeping calf seriously. Just as Moses was able to visualize images of the suffering of the slaves in Egypt, despite the powerful interests that ignored that suffering, or perhaps just as Rabbi Judah eventually perceived the needs of the young rats in his home and stopped his maidservant from sweeping them away, we can keep in mind images of the violence toward animals that surrounds us and take action to prevent that violence, even if only by refusing to buy products that were produced in a way that caused unnecessary suffering to animals. Self-Restraint before Pleasure It is difficult to make a case that the purchase and consumption of such products are “necessary.” Rather, people generally purchase animal products because doing so is convenient or, above all, because doing so is pleasurable.57 Thus, for example, meat eaters commonly justify meat eating on the grounds that animal flesh “tastes great” even though, as Elisa Aaltola has put it, it is a sign of very sloppy moral thinking to suggest that pain and suffering can be brushed aside on the basis of culinary pleasure. Can we not do better than this? Is it really true that the 30 or so days of misery that broiler birds have to face, the inability to walk properly, the breathing problems, the joint pains and the broken bones, can be justified by the fact that one day some human beings will be able to enjoy a five-minute meal of chicken wings?58 As one of the Musar movement’s core concerns was to help people exercise self-restraint of their appetites, a contemporary engagement with musar can also help us cultivate a willingness to put aside the pleasures of eating animal products. Simchah Zissel taught his students to break their appetites in a variety of ways, especially by asking them to meditate on the transient nature of the pleasures of appetite in comparison with the lasting nature of the pleasures of virtue. Although he considered it permissible to find some joy in eating and drinking, insofar as these activities are “the supporters for the tree of life in a person,” he cautioned that the ultimate “tree of life,” the Torah, is itself the essence of real and lasting joy.59 Simchah Zissel counseled that appetitive desires often “interfere with one’s clear view of what is good,”60 that seeking after ephemeral pleasures is mere “vanity and striving after wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14),61 and that his chosen disciples should “share the burdens of their fellows without taking pleasure for themselves at all.”62 He urged his students to seek to break their own appetites, “not to go one day without restraining desire, for the essence of living as a human is to be in opposition to desire; if one does not do so, one is like one of the wild beasts of the forest.”63 One of his students reported that Simchah Zissel himself took so little pleasure in good tastes that he actually lost his sense of taste for a number of years.64 Even without going this far down the path of asceticism, one can learn from this model how to restrain the appetites that can lead to the cruel exploitation of animals. When we find ourselves desiring the pleasures of the meal of chicken wings, it can be helpful to remember the 13 ephemeral nature of the pleasures of the brief meal; it can be helpful to see how our appetites can lead to rationalization, interfering with our clear view of what is good, unless we restrain them; it can be helpful to see how our appetites can be selfish, when we should be focused on sharing the burden of the other; and it can be helpful to remember how it is possible to control and break one’s appetites. When our eating preferences cause suffering to other creatures, we should be able to restrain our desires to fulfill those preferences. Practices of musar, such as the practice of finding a way to restrain one’s desires every day, can train us to do so. Simchah Zissel’s Explorations of Vegetarianism Simchah Zissel does refer briefly in his writings to some period of time (of unknown length: a week? a month? a year?) when he committed to not eating meat. In one paean to the value of hosting guests in one’s home, he reflects on how he was once hosted at another’s home, and how grateful he was that his dietary commitment was honored by his hostess: “At that time, I did not want to eat meat . . . and she cooked good, meatless food for me, and I knew that I could rely upon her, that she would surely cook without meat as I desired.”65 I imagine that this period of vegetarianism was an exercise in self-restraint on Simchah Zissel’s part, a way of seeking to “restrain his desire” and be less like “one of the wild beasts of the forest.” Perhaps it was also connected with his own consideration of how, if one is indeed like a beast oneself, slaughtering other beasts may be like murder. As he noted in another discourse: What can the world say regarding how they can be given permission to kill and eat beasts, and how they can be considered greater than the beast? Surely, it is only when one is differentiated through reason. But when the aim of one’s reason is simply [to satisfy] appetite, everything follows that aim, and one is an animal, possessing great appetite, and one can find the strength to kill beasts for food and other purposes, or even to cause pain to human beings, or even to murder. Surely the world is uncompromising on these matters; how could they compromise on “murdering oneself”? . . . To what may this be compared? To a prayer group of the uneducated who see that they are disregarded among those who are honorable. What do they do? They build a House of Study for themselves, and there even the lowly can stand in the place of the great. . . . Thus, all the lowly build themselves synagogues for the wicked, and they say, “place knives in our hands, and a submissive beast in our hands; let us kill for meat, and slaughter the flock, and eat and take pleasure from our appetites all of our days, as if we were animals.” No! You are like beasts! Why are you murdering every day, without interruption? What do you have against the beasts, that they are animals? You are animals!66 14 We can see in these comments that Simchah Zissel clearly believed that human beings are in theory entitled to eat meat because they are on a higher level than nonhuman animals, distinguished by their capacities for overcoming their appetites with reason.67 Insofar as one overcomes one’s appetites—for instance, one’s appetite for meat—then one may be entitled to eat meat. But if one does not overcome those appetites and is not guided by one’s reason, then one is not entitled to eat meat. Those who desire meat the most may then be those who are least entitled to eat it; when they are so much like animals themselves, their own slaughter of animals is like murder, as they are killing their brothers and sisters. Simchah Zissel clearly aspired to be part of the elite who would be fully human— “differentiated through reason”—and thereby permitted to eat meat. But he also believed that a great many human beings did not make use of their reason, and thus were less than fully human. “Many act without reasoning and contrary to reason,” he notes at one point, “for they always proceed as if they are animals—and in this way, one truly becomes an animal.”68 Simchah Zissel certainly suspected himself at times of failing to act with reasoning; perhaps his exploration of vegetarianism, however brief, reflected his concern that for him, too, eating meat was participating in murder. Today, we have access to a good deal more evidence than Simchah Zissel did about just how similar all human beings and nonhuman animals are; we can see how the capacities for emotion and reason among many nonhuman animals closely resemble those of humans; we have reason to be skeptical that any humans are able to be substantially “differentiated through reason” from animals. Simchah Zissel struggled with the question of how difficult it is to overcome one’s animality and earn the right to be called superior to the species that he sometimes ate; I think we would be wise today to be even more skeptical of the idea that we can think of ourselves as superior to nonhuman animals in ways that justify causing them needless suffering.69 Conclusions The relations between human beings and nonhuman animals in the contemporary West are vastly different than they were in the time of Simchah Zissel and his students. We now encounter land animals primarily as food that has been produced by factory farming, which involves unprecedented cruelty on an unprecedented scale. And we have new scientific knowledge that informs our understanding of these animals’ intelligence and of their suffering. Still, I hope that Jews today, when evaluating their behavior toward animals, may be informed and inspired—as I have been—by some of the virtues, principles, and practices that the Musar movement’s rabbis championed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Many of us may benefit from Musar movement meditations on the divine ideal of concern for all creatures, on the commandment to prevent suffering, and on the compassion of figures like Noah and Moses; many of us may benefit from the counsel to engage in introspection regarding our own capacities for empathy and compassion and to create mental images that help us respond to the suffering of 15 animals; and many of us may benefit from restraining our desires and from considering our animality. Engaging with these ideas and practices in our era of factory farming, though, may lead us to different conclusions than the Musar movement masters arrived at, such as committing to a vegan diet and boycotting the animal agriculture industry.70 Notes 1. I explore R. Simchah Zissel Ziv’s life and thought at length in Geoffrey Claussen, Sharing the Burden: Rabbi Simḥah Zissel Ziv and the Path of Musar (Albany: SUNY Press, 2015). See also Tamar Ross, “Ha-Maḥshavah Ha-Iyunit Be-Khitve Mamshikhah Shel Rav Yisra’el Salanter Bitnu’at Ha-Musar” (Moral Philosophy in the Writings of Rabbi Israel Salanter’s Disciples in the Musar Movement), Ph.D. thesis, Hebrew University, 1986. I have written one article that explores images of animals and animality in Simchah Zissel’s thought (and the thought of his teacher, Rabbi Israel Salanter): Geoffrey Claussen, “Jewish Virtue Ethics and Compassion for Animals: A Model from the Musar Movement,” CrossCurrents 61, no. 2 (2011): 208–16. The present chapter builds on the sources and ideas first presented in that article. 2. For background on R. Natan (Nosson) Tzevi Finkel, see Shlomo Tikochinski, “Yeshivot Ha-Musar Me-Lita Le-Eretz Yisra’el: Yeshivat Slabodka Ve-Shitatah Ha-Ḥinukhit, Aliyatah Ve-Hitbasesutah Be-Eretz Yisra’el Ha-Mandatorit,” Ph.D. thesis, Hebrew University, 2009; Simcha Willig, “Gadlut Ha-Adam and the Greatness of Humanity: A Textual Analysis of Rabbi Nathan Tzvi Finkel’s Psycho-Religious Educational Philosophy,” Ph.D. thesis, New York University, 2016. 3. For background on R. Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz, see Ross, “Ha-Maḥshavah HaIyunit,” esp. 114–23 and 156–59; Ben-Tsiyon Klibansky, “Ha-Yeshivot Ha-Litayot Be-Mizraḥ Eiropah Bein Shetei Milḥamot Ha-Olam” (The Lithuanian Yeshivas in Eastern Europe between the Two World Wars), Ph.D. thesis, Tel Aviv University, 2009, 335–48; and Benjamin Brown, Tenu’at Ha-Musar Ha-Lita’it: Ishim Ve-Ra’ayonot (Moshav Ben-Shemen: Modan, 2014), chap. 10. 4. See my overview in Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 1–5. On the founding of the Musar movement, see Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement: Seeking the Torah of Truth, trans. Jonathan Chipman (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1993). An excellent Hebrew-language survey of the Musar movement is Brown, Tenu’at Ha-Musar HaLita’it. 5. Simchah Zissel (Broida) Ziv, Sefer Ḥokhmah u-Musar (New York, 1957), 1:31. BT = Babylonian Talmud. 6. Simchah Zissel (Broida) Ziv, Or Rasaz: Al Ḥamishah Ḥumshei Torah, ed. Ḥayyim Shraga Levin (Jerusalem: Kefar Ḥabad, 1960), 1:72. 7. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1957, 1:255, following Midrash Tanchuma Noah 9. 8. See Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 85. 9. Midrash Genesis Rabbah 30:6, 34:6; Midrash Tanchuma Noah 9. 16 10. Or “administrator” or “trustee” (in Hebrew, parnas). 11. Natan Tzevi Finkel, Or Ha-Tzafun (Jerusalem: Yeshivat Chevron, 1959), 2:8. 12. Ibid., 1:247. Finkel goes on to tell the story recorded in Babylonian Talmud Sanhedrin 108b of how a phoenix observed just how busy Noah was—and had compassion on him. 13. See Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 116–24. 14. Finkel, Or Ha-Tzafun, 1:246. 15. Ira F. Stone, A Responsible Life: The Spiritual Path of Mussar (New York: Aviv Press, 2006), 22–23. 16. See also the version of the story of Rabbi Judah in Midrash Genesis Rabbah 33:3, where it is linked with the story of Noah. 17. This is the language in Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz, Da’at Torah, ed. Simchah Zissel Ha-Levi Levovitz (Jerusalem, 2001), 1:55. 18. The identity of the animals in question here is not certain, but Levovitz understands them to be rats. On the idea that they are young rats, see Aaron S. Gross, The Question of the Animal and Religion: Theoretical Stakes, Practical Implications (New York: Columbia University Press, 2014), 248–49, n. 83. 19. Levovitz, Da’at Torah, 1:55. 20. See Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 158–86. The phrase nosei be-ol im chaveiro comes from a list of the forty-eight virtues necessary for acquiring Torah in Mishnah Avot 6:6. 21. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1957, 1:3. 22. Midrash Exodus Rabbah 2:2. 23. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1957, 1:8–9. 24. Ibid., 1:6. 25. Simchah Zissel (Broida) Ziv, Sefer Ḥokhmah u-Musar (Jerusalem, 1964), 2:34. 26. I do not have the space within this paper to engage with presentations of the character of Jacob, but a relevant Musar movement source is Finkel’s discussion of Jacob’s equal regard for his sons and for his flock in Finkel, Or ha-Tzafun, 2:8–9. 27. Levovitz, Da’at Torah, 2:12. 28. Yerucham Ha-Levi Levovitz, Sefer Da’at Ḥokhmah u-Musar (Jerusalem: Me’orai Oros Hamussar, 2003), 1:28. 29. NJPS translation, modified thanks to a suggestion from Martin S. Cohen. 30. Finkel, Or ha-Tzafun, 2:7–8. I have built on these comments from Finkel, and the preceding comments by Levovitz and Simchah Zissel, in Geoffrey Claussen, “‘I Will Be with Them’: God at the Burning Bush as an Ideal of Compassion for All Creatures,” in Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh, ed. David Birnbaum and Martin S. Cohen (New York: New Paradigm Matrix, 2019). 31. It is worth noting that a story has been told about the founder of the Musar movement, R. Simchah Zissel Ziv’s teacher Rabbi Israel Salanter, that imagines Salanter also running after a lost animal and responding to it with compassion. See Shmuel Yosef Agnon, Yamim Nora’im, 3rd ed. (Jerusalem: Schocken, 1946), 297. The transformation of that story to 17 include a motive of compassion for animals, however, arrives relatively late in its development: compare Louis Ginzberg, Students, Scholars and Saints (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1928), 187–88. For further background on the story’s development, see Gershon Kitzis, “Kol Mi-Bayit Ve-Kol Mi-Chutz,” Mabu’a 18 (1983): 168–87. 32. For a discussion of how the Musar movement can easily rationalize violence, see Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 194–95; Geoffrey Claussen, “The Promise and Limits of R. Simḥah Zissel Ziv’s Musar: A Response to Miller, Cooper, Pugh, and Peters,” Journal of Jewish Ethics 3, no. 1 (2017): 165; and Jeffrey C. Pugh, “Whose Burden, Exactly, Are We Sharing?,” Journal of Jewish Ethics 3, no. 1 (2017): 143–44. See also Geoffrey Claussen, “War, Musar, and the Construction of Humility in Modern Jewish Thought,” Interreligious Studies and Intercultural Theology 2, no. 2 (2018). 33. This summarizes an opinion from Yosef Sha’ul Ha-Levi Nathanson, Sefer Divrei Sha’ul ve-Yosef Da’at: Sho’el U-Meshiv Mahadura Hamisha’ah (Lemburg, 1879), brought as a caution regarding Simchah Zissel’s words in Beit Kelm: Emunah U-Middot (Benei Berak: Siftei Ḥakhamim, Vaʻad Le-Hafatzat Torah U-Musar, 2010), 571, n. 445. I also discuss this idea as framed by J. David Bleich in Claussen, “Jewish Virtue Ethics,” 213–14. 34. The mass drowning is justified in the classical midrash, though, by the assumption that the animals were engaged in morally evil behavior just like their human counterparts. See Midrash Tanchuma Noah 5. 35. Katherine Wills Perlo, Kinship and Killing: The Animal in World Religions (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 46. 36. The general problem of how our intense empathy for particular individuals leads us to ignore others is discussed in Paul Bloom, Against Empathy: The Case for Rational Compassion (New York: Ecco Books, 2016). With reference to the midrash of Moses and the kid, see the comments by Misha Clebaner quoted in Geoffrey Claussen, “The Legacy of the Kelm School of Musar on Questions of Work, Wealth and Poverty,” in Wealth and Poverty in Jewish Tradition, ed. Leonard J. Greenspoon (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2015), 176. For an example of misplaced compassion to animals in particular, with reference to the stories under discussion, see Perlo, Kinship and Killing, 65–66. 37. See Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 44. I discuss how Simchah Zissel himself was susceptible to rationalization of this sort in Claussen, “The Promise and Limits,” 163–66. 38. See further Claussen, “Jewish Virtue Ethics,” 214. 39. The theological orthodoxy of the Musar movement rabbis led them to assume divine authorship of the Torah and did not permit them to think critically about its authors’ perspectives, but I think that musar at its best should embrace a historical-critical approach. I discuss this in Geoffrey Claussen, “The Kaddish, the Allegory of the Cave, and the Golden Calf: Meditations on Education and the Encounter with God,” in Kaddish, ed. David Birnbaum and Martin S. Cohen (New York: New Paradigm Matrix, 2016), 318–31. 40. See the discussion of this story in Gross, The Question of the Animal and Religion, 164–71 and 176. 18 41. See Christian B. Miller, Moral Character: An Empirical Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 126–27; and Bloom, Against Empathy. 42. See my discussion of empathy informed by reasoning and efforts to take an objective view in Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 83–84, 144, and 163–64. 43. Christian B. Miller, “How Contemporary Psychology Supports Central Elements of Simḥah Zissel’s Picture of Character,” Journal of Jewish Ethics 3, no. 1 (2017): 120–30. T. J. Kasperbauer brings important evidence to caution us that empathy does not appear to be “central” to motivating moral concern for nonhumans, but he does affirm the positive correlation between empathy and moral concern. See T. J. Kasperbauer, “Rejecting Empathy for Animal Ethics,” Ethical Theory and Moral Practice 18, no. 4 (2015): 821. 44. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1957, 1:14. 45. Gross, The Question of the Animal and Religion, 6 and 132; and David J. Wolfson and Mariann Sullivan, “Foxes in the Hen House: Animals, Agribusiness and the Law: A Modern American Fable,” in Animal Rights: Current Debates and New Directions, ed. Martha Nussbaum and Cass R. Sunstein (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 206. 46. This example is based on the description by Elisa Aaltola, Animal Suffering: Philosophy and Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 39, drawing on video released in 2008 from a Humane Society of the United States investigation; and “Downed Cow: The True Story of One Anonymous Animal Born into the Meat Industry,” PETA, http://www.peta.org/features/downed-cow-meat-industry (accessed August 12, 2016). 47. Jonathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals (New York: Back Bay Books, 2009), 230. 48. See Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, The Face on Your Plate: The Truth about Food (New York: Norton, 2009), 79–92; and “Daisy Sour Cream and Cottage Cheese: Calves Torn from Their Mothers, Sick and Struggling to Breathe,” PETA, http://investigations.peta.org/suffering-at-daisy-sour-cream-supplier (accessed August 12, 2016). 49. Foer, Eating Animals, 130. 50. Peter Singer, Animal Liberation: The Definitive Classic of the Animal Movement, updated edition (New York: Ecco Books, 2009), 98–119. 51. See Foer, Eating Animals, 190. 52. Ibid., 181–82 and 187. 53. John Byrnes, “Raising Pigs by the Calendar at Maplewood Farm,” Hog Farm Management (September 1976): 30, quoted in Jim Mason and Peter Singer, Animal Factories (New York: Crown, 1980), 1. 54. Jonathan Safran Foer, in cataloging some instances of slaughterhouse abuse, writes that “I could have filled several books—an encyclopedia of cruelty—with worker testimonials” (Foer, Eating Animals, 252). For a particularly comprehensive work of investigative journalism on slaughterhouses, Foer recommends Gail A. Eisnitz, Slaughterhouse: The Shocking Story of Greed, Neglect, and Inhumane Treatment Inside the U.S. Meat Industry (Amherst, MA: Prometheus Books, 1997). 19 55. I do think that we are also obligated to show compassion toward those who cause such cruelty, and certainly for impoverished workers who take jobs that produce cruelty to provide for their own families. I am grateful to Jacob Labendz for suggesting the importance of this point. 56. Foer, Eating Animals, 87. 57. David DeGrazia, Animal Rights: A Very Short Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 73–74. 58. Aaltola, Animal Suffering, 111. See, in this vein, Rosalind Hursthouse, “Applying Virtue Ethics to Our Treatment of the Other Animals,” in The Practice of Virtue: Classic and Contemporary Readings in Virtue Ethics, ed. Jennifer Welchman (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2006), 142; and Foer, Eating Animals, 215. 59. Kitvei Ha-Sabba Ve-Talmidav Mi-Kelm, vol. 1 (Benei Berak: Siftei Ḥakhamim, Vaʻad Le-Hafatzat Torah U-Musar, 1997), 15. 60. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1964, 2:10. 61. Kitvei Ha-Sabba Ve-Talmidav Mi-Kelm, 1:12. 62. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1957, 1:21. 63. Dov Katz, Tenu’at Ha-Musar, 2nd ed. (Tel Aviv: Avraham Tzioni, 1954), 2:159. 64. Beit Kelm: Sefer ha-Zikaron (Benei Berak: Siftei Ḥakhamim, Vaʻad Le-Hafatzat Torah U-Musar, 2002), 179. 65. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1964, 2:192. This may have been an experience of being hosted by his brother and sister-in-law, though when he refers to “my brother” in this passage, he may mean a colleague rather than his actual brother. 66. Beit Kelm: Emunah U-Middot, 594; emphasis added. Simchah Zissel appears to be building on the Talmudic dictum that “the uneducated [am ha-aretz] are forbidden to eat meat” (Babylonian Talmud Pesachim 49b). 67. Ziv, Ḥokhmah U-Musar, 1964, 2:313. 68. Beit Kelm: Emunah U-Middot, 114, n. 140. 69. On Simchah Zissel’s sense of the struggle to overcome animality, see Claussen, Sharing the Burden, 43–48, 71, 126–28, 148–49, 164, and 170–71; and Claussen, “Jewish Virtue Ethics.” 70. It is worth noting that at least one contemporary rabbi whose intellectual lineage stems largely from Simchah Zissel’s Kelm branch of the Musar movement, Rabbi Aryeh Carmell (whose teacher, Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, was a student at the Kelm Talmud Torah that Simchah Zissel founded), concluded that “it seems doubtful . . . whether the Torah would sanction ‘factory farming,’ which treats animals as machines, with apparent insensitivity to their natural needs and instincts.” See Aryeh Carmell, Masterplan: Judaism, Its Program, Meanings, Goals (Jerusalem: Jerusalem Academy Publications, 1991), 69.