What a Zookeeper Taught Us About Caring for Animals

One Man, One Zoo, and a Lifetime of Caring for Animals

Benjamin has worked at the Biblical Zoo in Jerusalem for most of his life. He started volunteering there as a twelve-year-old boy who simply loved animals, and decades later he became the head zookeeper. When you talk to him, you quickly realize something: this is not just a job. For Benjamin, caring for animals is a calling.

His story raises a question worth thinking about. Why does caring for animals matter so much? Is it just about being kind? Or is there something deeper going on — something rooted in the Torah itself?

It turns out, there is.

The Torah Has a Lot to Say About Animals

The Jewish obligation to prevent animal suffering has a name: tzaar baalei chayim. Translated literally, it means "the pain of living creatures." The Torah commands us not to cause unnecessary pain to any animal. This is not a suggestion. It is a real halachic obligation, discussed extensively in the Gemara and decided by major halachic authorities across the generations.

Where does this show up in the Torah? In more places than most people realize.

We are commanded to help unload a burden from an animal that is struggling, even if we do not like the animal's owner (Shemot 23:5).
We may not muzzle an ox while it is working in a field (Devarim 25:4).
We must feed our animals before we sit down to eat our own meals — a ruling derived from the verse in Devarim 11:15 that mentions feeding animals before people.
Shabbat rest extends to our animals as well (Shemot 20:10).

These laws paint a picture of a Torah that takes animal welfare seriously. Very seriously.

What Kangaroo Joeys Can Teach Us

Benjamin loves talking about kangaroos. And once you hear what he has to say, it is easy to understand why.

A kangaroo joey is born after only about a month of pregnancy. At that point, it is barely the size of a jellybean. It is blind, hairless, and completely helpless. Somehow, it crawls its way up into its mother's pouch, where it will spend the next several months developing. It stays close to its mother, protected and nourished, for up to two years.

Benjamin once told a story that became one of his favorites. During a busy Chol HaMoed Pesach visit, two joeys somehow switched pouches and ended up nursing from the wrong mothers. The zookeepers noticed right away — not because of the joeys, who seemed perfectly content — but because the mother kangaroos were confused. The staff carefully sorted out the mix-up while hundreds of families watched with delight.

What struck Benjamin most was this: every animal has its own built-in way of nurturing the next generation. That design is not an accident. It reflects wisdom embedded into creation itself — what the Torah calls chochmah, the divine wisdom that Hashem wove into every living thing.

Naming Animals: A Lesson from Adam HaRishon

Benjamin gives every animal in his care a name. He will tell you this is practical — it helps keepers track individuals and notice changes in behavior. But there is something else happening too.

When we name something, we begin to relate to it differently. We pay more attention. We notice when something is wrong. We feel responsible.

This connects directly to the very beginning of the Torah. In Bereishit, Hashem brings all the animals before Adam and asks him to name them. Adam does not give random labels. The Midrash explains that Adam understood the inner nature of each creature and gave each one a name that reflected its essence. The act of naming was an act of deep attention and connection.

By naming the animals, Adam took on a relationship with them. He became, in a sense, their steward — responsible for recognizing and honoring what each creature was created to be.

Benjamin, perhaps without even realizing it, is doing the same thing every day.

Tzaar Baalei Chayim: A Torah Obligation, Not Just a Nice Idea

Some people think of kindness to animals as a personality trait — something warm-hearted people do, but not really a religious requirement. The Torah disagrees.

The Ramban writes that the prohibition against causing animal suffering is rooted in the need to cultivate a compassionate character. When we treat animals cruelly, we damage something inside ourselves. When we treat them with care, we build the kind of soul that Hashem wants us to have.

Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, in his ethical work Tomer Devorah, goes even further. He teaches that we should extend our compassion to all of creation — not destroying or degrading any living thing unnecessarily — because Hashem's wisdom and presence extends to all creatures. To dismiss an animal's suffering is, in a real sense, to dismiss something of Hashem's handiwork.

This is why Benjamin's daily work carries weight far beyond what it might seem. Every time he makes sure an animal is fed, comfortable, and living according to its nature, he is fulfilling a Torah value — whether he frames it that way or not.

How Did Benjamin Get Here? Small Steps, Taken Consistently

Kids who visit the zoo often ask Benjamin how he ended up doing this work. His answer is simple: he showed up. At twelve, he asked if he could volunteer. He came back the next week. And the week after that. Over time, one small step led to another.

Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe teaches that genuine growth in character and in Torah does not usually happen through dramatic moments. It happens through small, steady choices made again and again. Benjamin's advice to young people mirrors this principle: find something you care about, show up consistently, and trust that the path will become clear.

This is as true for learning Torah, building friendships, or developing any middah as it is for becoming a zookeeper.

Five Ways to Practice Caring for Animals in Your Own Life

You do not have to work at a zoo to live out these Torah values. Here are five practical ways to start — at home, at school, or in your community.

Feed your pet before you eat. This is an actual halachic practice derived from the Torah. It is a small act that trains us to prioritize the needs of those in our care.
Learn the halachot of tzaar baalei chayim as a family. There are clear, fascinating laws here that most people have never studied. Learning them together turns an abstract concept into something real and actionable.
Name the creatures in your life. Whether it is a family pet, the birds at your feeder, or the fish in a tank, giving a creature a name shifts the way you pay attention to it.
Visit a zoo or nature center with intention. Instead of rushing through, stop at one exhibit and really observe. Ask questions. What does this animal need? How does it raise its young? What is remarkable about how it was designed?
Speak up gently when you see unnecessary animal suffering. This might mean reminding a sibling to handle a pet carefully, or choosing not to participate in something that harms an animal for no good reason. The Torah asks us to act, not just to feel.

A Kangaroo Pouch and What It Points To

Benjamin once said that when he watches a mother kangaroo with her joey, he thinks about how Hashem cares for us. The joey is vulnerable and completely dependent. The mother provides everything it needs — warmth, nourishment, protection — without being asked.

There is a concept in Jewish thought that Hashem's care for creation mirrors the most tender parental love. The kangaroo's pouch is, in its way, a small window into that idea. Something so intricate, so perfectly designed for the fragile creature inside it, does not happen by accident.

Benjamin sees this every day. It is why he comes back.

What We Can Take With Us

A zookeeper's life looks very different from most of ours. But the values that drive Benjamin's work are not exotic. They are deeply Jewish, deeply human, and deeply accessible.

Caring for animals is not just something nice to do. It is a Torah obligation that shapes our character, reflects our values, and connects us to the wisdom Hashem wove into every living thing. When we take it seriously — whether through learning the halachot, feeding our pets with intention, or simply paying more attention to the creatures around us — we are doing something that matters.

Adam HaRishon named the animals and took responsibility for them. Benjamin has spent his life doing the same. The question the Torah puts to each of us is: how will we answer that same call in our own lives?