This sheet on Exodus 22 was written by Miriam Gedwiser for 929 and can also be found here
The chapter ends “You shall be holy people to Me: you must not eat flesh torn by beasts in the field; you shall cast it to the dogs.” (22:30). But that translation, while idiomatically sound, is not quite right. The Torah doesn’t say “to the dogs” but “to the dog,” singular. What dog does the Torah mean?
One interesting reading (see Ibn Ezra and Hizkuni ad loc) is that “the dog” in question is the dog who was guarding the flock. If a predator gets past the guard dog and mauls one of the flock, that animal cannot be eaten by us, but should be given to the dog.
Initially this might seem like it rewards failure: the dog didn’t save the animal, so why should it get the meat? Malbim explains: The dog may not have been totally successful, but it was partially so - that’s why the animal has not been devoured or carried off by the predator. For saving at least something (and something that has value, at least as dog food), the dog gets a reward. “Throw it to the dogs” becomes not an expression of disgust but a positive imperative: the dog deserves this.
Malbim continues: “Even though animals are not creatures of reward and punishment, because their activity is natural (instinctive), The Blessed Holy One said, ‘Give him his reward,’ for from this a person will learn ethics, to know the ways of God, that all the more so there is reward and punishment for a human, who has free choice.”
Malbim speaks of “rewards” not as a form of behavioral conditioning applicable to nonhuman animals, but a system of divine justice that only makes sense for humans. It’s not that the dog understands that it gets this treat for doing its job, nor that the dog will therefore be more likely to work hard in the future. Rather, humans should see the divine imperative to feed the dog as a reminder of the divine justice that humans ourselves face.
One might extend this approach in a slightly different direction as well: Perhaps we are commanded to reward the dog neither for the dog’s sake nor for the sake of our own fear of punishment (or anticipation of reward). Instead, this commandment may train us to recognize the work of those - animal or human - whose work supports us but whose diligence we may sometimes take for granted. Don’t take it for granted, says the Torah: make sure to thank the dog for even partial successes.
One interesting reading (see Ibn Ezra and Hizkuni ad loc) is that “the dog” in question is the dog who was guarding the flock. If a predator gets past the guard dog and mauls one of the flock, that animal cannot be eaten by us, but should be given to the dog.
Initially this might seem like it rewards failure: the dog didn’t save the animal, so why should it get the meat? Malbim explains: The dog may not have been totally successful, but it was partially so - that’s why the animal has not been devoured or carried off by the predator. For saving at least something (and something that has value, at least as dog food), the dog gets a reward. “Throw it to the dogs” becomes not an expression of disgust but a positive imperative: the dog deserves this.
Malbim continues: “Even though animals are not creatures of reward and punishment, because their activity is natural (instinctive), The Blessed Holy One said, ‘Give him his reward,’ for from this a person will learn ethics, to know the ways of God, that all the more so there is reward and punishment for a human, who has free choice.”
Malbim speaks of “rewards” not as a form of behavioral conditioning applicable to nonhuman animals, but a system of divine justice that only makes sense for humans. It’s not that the dog understands that it gets this treat for doing its job, nor that the dog will therefore be more likely to work hard in the future. Rather, humans should see the divine imperative to feed the dog as a reminder of the divine justice that humans ourselves face.
One might extend this approach in a slightly different direction as well: Perhaps we are commanded to reward the dog neither for the dog’s sake nor for the sake of our own fear of punishment (or anticipation of reward). Instead, this commandment may train us to recognize the work of those - animal or human - whose work supports us but whose diligence we may sometimes take for granted. Don’t take it for granted, says the Torah: make sure to thank the dog for even partial successes.
(ל) וְאַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ תִּהְי֣וּן לִ֑י וּבָשָׂ֨ר בַּשָּׂדֶ֤ה טְרֵפָה֙ לֹ֣א תֹאכֵ֔לוּ לַכֶּ֖לֶב תַּשְׁלִכ֥וּן אֹתֽוֹ׃ (ס)
(30) You shall be holy people to Me: you must not eat flesh torn by beasts in the field; you shall cast it to the dogs.
Miriam Gedwiser teaches Talmud and Tanakh at Ramaz and at Drisha.
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