Rivka, the First Woman Animal Chaplain in History
(Weekly Torah Portion: Chayei Sarah)
This week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, speaks not only about the life and passing of our matriarch Sarah, but about the continuation of her spiritual essence through Rivka — the young woman whose simple act of kindness changed the history of the world. Every generation of Israel begins with a moment of compassion. In this portion, that moment takes the form of water — drawn from the depth of a well, offered not only to a man, but to his animals.
When Abraham’s faithful servant, Eliezer, set out to find a wife for Isaac, he prayed not for beauty, wealth, or status, but for a sign of compassion. He asked the Almighty that the woman destined for Isaac would not only give him water to drink, but would also show kindness to the animals. That was the test of a righteous soul. For a person who sees the suffering or thirst of another being and acts upon it — that is someone worthy to build the next generation of Israel.
Rivka approached the well, and without hesitation offered water to Eliezer, then to his camels. We may read these words quickly, but what she did was extraordinary. One camel can drink up to forty gallons of water. There were ten camels. To draw that much water, to carry it, to pour it again and again — that was a labor of compassion, an act of physical mercy. Yet she did not complain, she did not ask for help. She simply acted, because kindness for her was not a duty, but her natural language.
Rivka did not know that this simple act would open the gates of blessing for generations. But in that moment she revealed the essence of Torah even before the Torah was given. Long before Sinai, Rivka fulfilled one of its deepest commandments — that one must first feed and give drink to their animals before eating or drinking themselves. The sages later recorded this in Berakhot 40a, but Rivka already lived it. She did it not because it was law, but because mercy was alive within her.
This act connects her to the great chain of our prophets and sages who all shared a sacred bond with the living world. Adam, the first human, named the animals and understood their essence. In the Midrash it is written that he drew each name from the soul of the creature itself. Noah, the righteous man of his generation, built the Ark and saved every species — two by two — showing that compassion is not only an emotion, but a divine responsibility. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were all shepherds, learning from the rhythm of the flock, from the silence of animals and the patience of creation. King David began as a shepherd before becoming king, protecting his sheep with the same heart he later turned toward his people. King Solomon, David’s son, understood the language of animals and trees — he knew that every living being has a voice.
And later, the great mystics of Israel continued this path. The Ari — Rabbi Isaac Luria, the father of Kabbalah — taught that every living being, even a stone or a leaf, carries a spark of divine life. The Baal Shem Tov said that the righteous person feels the soul of his animal, as it is written in Mishlei (Proverbs) 12:10: “A righteous one knows the soul of his animal.” This verse, simple and luminous, contains the entire theology of compassion in one line.
From the beginning of creation, the story of Israel has been a story of connection between humanity and the living world. Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, Solomon, the Ari, and the Baal Shem Tov — all of them understood this truth. Yet Rivka stands out among them, for she was the first woman in the Torah whose compassion for animals defined her spiritual greatness. Before the giving of the Torah, before the written commandments, Rivka became the embodiment of a commandment yet to come. She was not only a matriarch; she was, in a mystical sense, the first woman animal chaplain in history — the first to hear the silent prayer of God’s creatures and to respond with tenderness and strength.
Her act may seem simple — giving water to camels — but in the eyes of Heaven it was a revelation. She saw the thirst of the animals as if she felt their pain. This is the essence of what I, as a rabbi and student of compassion for all beings, call spiritual sensitivity — the ability to feel the divine breath (the neshamah) in another form of life. In that sense, Rivka was already living Torah before it was given; she was already fulfilling the law of the soul before it was spoken.
Today, as I continue my studies in Animal Chaplaincy with the Compassion Consortium, I see how this portion reveals the ancient Jewish roots of this calling. What we now call animal chaplaincy — comforting, blessing, and honoring animals — was already there, at the well of Rivka. She did not wait for a command; she acted from her heart. And that is the essence of Jewish compassion: rachamim, mercy, as the reflection of the divine.
In my own journey, I have learned to see Torah through both spiritual and scientific eyes. As a graduate of the Applied Behavioral Analysis program at Touro University, I was trained to observe patterns, to find correlation — and I found one that runs like a golden thread through our tradition. Every true prophet, every sage, every righteous person in Jewish history was kind to animals. This is the hidden measure of holiness. The closer one is to God, the gentler one becomes toward creation. The higher the level of holiness, the higher the responsibility — as we learn from Moses, who, for striking the rock instead of speaking to it, was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. Even stones, the Kabbalists teach, have a soul; when the Messiah comes, even the stones will sing.
Rivka’s story reminds us that compassion precedes law — that chesed comes before commandment. The Torah was not given to create kindness, but to preserve it. In that sense, Rivka’s gesture is eternal. It tells us that divine love is not expressed in grand miracles, but in simple, humble actions — in drawing water for the thirsty, in noticing the silent needs of another being, in living as if every moment is a chance to serve.
P.S.
Since this Torah portion honors women — Sarah and Rivka — I want to begin my gratitude with a woman: Sarah Bowen, who taught me to look at Torah through compassion for all living beings. My thanks also to Rabbi Steven Blane of the Jewish Spiritual Leaders Institute, whose class “Blessing for the Animals” opened my eyes to how holiness breathes through all life, and to Rabbi Zalman Liberov, who gave me the book Before the Blind: Animals in the Torah and Talmud, which continues to inspire my path.
This story is not only about Rivka. It is about us — about our capacity to restore compassion in a world that often forgets it. For in every generation, someone must once again draw water from the well — not only for the traveler, but for the animals who thirst beside him.
