Sparks of Light in the Eyes of the Other: Talmud, Kabbalah, and the Science of Compassion
I recently began a new journey: my first lesson in animal chaplaincy with Sarah Bowen, who guided our group into this fascinating field. The opening exercise seemed playful: imagine a new, unknown creature and reflect on how we might approach it. Yet behind the exercise I found something profound—a parable about how we meet the “other” in our lives, whether animal, human, or even the hidden mysteries of creation.
Ivan Pavlov once showed that learning is shaped by associations. Trust is not born from force; it arises where safety and goodness are present. If a being connects our presence with something positive, it will draw near. This applies to animals and people alike: gentleness and patience foster connection, not coercion.
The Talmud echoes this truth: “Whoever shows mercy to creatures will be shown mercy from Heaven” (Shabbat 151b). Compassion is not sentimentality but a spiritual law. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, who suffered until he showed mercy even to small mice, reminds us that our fate is tied to how we treat the smallest beings.
Kabbalah adds yet another layer. The Zohar teaches that every level of creation carries a spark of Divine light—from angels to animals. The world is woven from the sefirot, and each soul, human or animal, participates in the great flow of life.
Here I found a bridge to the biological idea of Umwelt, introduced by Jakob von Uexküll: every species lives in its own perceptual world, and each is complete in itself. Humans see grass as green; bees see ultraviolet mosaics; birds perceive more colors than we can imagine. Kabbalah would say the Creator is hidden within “myriads of garments,” and each creature perceives only its own facet of the Infinite Light.
To see through another’s eyes requires more than knowledge; it requires the imagination of the heart. This is not fantasy but a kind of prayer: the effort to step outside one’s own ego and approach the world of another being.
It reminded me of the parable of Narcissus and the stream. When Narcissus died, the forest nymphs saw the stream’s water turn salty with tears. They asked if it wept because it missed Narcissus’ beauty. The stream replied: “I weep not because he was beautiful. I weep because when he leaned over my waters, in the depth of his eyes I saw my own beauty reflected.” Every encounter with the “other” reveals not only their world but also our own reflection.
Our class itself became a mirror. We gathered from three countries and twenty-one states, each bringing our own habitat, stories, and traditions. We practiced listening with care, honoring differences, and realizing that diversity—human and nonhuman—is part of the Creator’s design.
This is what I learned on my first day: animal chaplaincy is not a profession alone, but a bridge. A bridge between science and faith. A bridge between human and animal. A bridge between Talmudic wisdom and modern discovery. A bridge between Kabbalistic light and daily acts of compassion.
When we learn to see through the eyes of another—whether cat, bee, parrot, or fellow human—we uncover sparks of Divine light in the world. And in those sparks, we draw closer to God.