Animal Chaplaincy Journal. Entry #2: New Eyes
Rabbi Mikhail Salita
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”
— Marcel Proust
When I began my studies in animal chaplaincy, I realized that I was entering not only a new field but also a new way of seeing the world. From the very first class, my teacher and mentor, Sarah Bowen, invited us to keep a daily journal. “Write down your reflections and observations,” she said, “because this practice will help you see more deeply.” It was with this guidance that my journal began, and I am deeply grateful to her for planting this seed.
Proust’s words about discovery perfectly capture the essence of chaplaincy. True discovery is not about traveling to distant lands but about looking with new eyes at what is already near. A cat rubbing against your leg is not a routine gesture but a sign of trust. A dog waiting faithfully at the door is not just habit but devotion. With new eyes, the familiar becomes sacred.
My training in Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) taught me that all behavior has a function. Nothing is random. A child crying is not merely “being difficult,” but seeking attention or avoiding pain. A dog whining is not just making noise but expressing loneliness or discomfort. A cat scratching the couch is not destruction but a way to release tension. New eyes mean asking: What does this behavior really communicate? When we look deeper, judgment gives way to understanding.
The Torah teaches the same lesson. Adam gave names to the animals, recognizing their unique essence. In that moment, he performed the first act of animal chaplaincy, establishing a bond and responsibility. Noah, caring for “two of every kind” in the Ark, became a chaplain for animals in the midst of catastrophe. Yet neither Adam nor Noah could have fulfilled this mission without Divine guidance. God directed them, and through their stories we learn that the Creator wants us to love animals and to serve as chaplains to them in our everyday lives.
The Talmud teaches: “Whoever shows mercy to God’s creatures, Heaven will show mercy to him” (Shabbat 151b). Kabbalah explains that animals carry a nefesh — a living soul — while humans possess also a neshamah, a soul of compassion. But compassion awakens only when we learn to see with new eyes, to recognize the unspoken, the silent, the hidden essence.
Even international law follows a similar pattern. States “speak” through treaties and declarations, but their true language is their actions. For customary international law to emerge, two elements must exist: the consistent practice of states, and opinio juris — the conviction that they act not out of convenience, but out of a sense of legal obligation. Without opinio juris, practice is habit. With it, practice becomes law. Here too, new eyes are required: to look beyond the surface of actions and discern the deeper motives.
In this way, my different paths of study converge. From ABA, I learned to see the function behind behavior. From international law, I learned to distinguish between words and true intent. From Torah, Talmud, and Kabbalah, I learned to seek the soul behind the body, the light behind the letters. All these perspectives help me look at the world with new eyes — more attentive, more compassionate, and more just.
New eyes are a gift: they open the way to mercy, to justice, and to revelation. And I have come to see that the path of chaplaincy is not about escaping to new landscapes. It is about discovering anew what has always been before us — the silent, sacred signals of life.