In the final analysis, are we humans any more than facsimiles of racehorses?

WE were raised in Baltimore, not far from the famous Pimlico race track. While we never went to the track, we did know quite a bit about horse racing, perhaps through some mysterious process of equine osmosis. Horses like Seabiscuit, War Admiral, and Secretariat were as much part of our lives as were Babe Ruth and Joe DiMaggio to young boys in other parts of the States. The legendary racing Triple Crown — the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont — were as integral parts of our world as was the World Series, especially since the Preakness took place in Baltimore. I still remember the ripple of excitement when a horse named Palestinian almost won the Preakness in the 1940s, in the pre-Israel days when Eretz Yisrael was called Palestine. As youngsters, we had a fun time with this “Jewish horse.”

A racehorse is a thing of awesome beauty. Standing over six feet tall, it is the epitome of grace, majesty, and power, although its average life span does not exceed twenty-five years.

As I grew older I began to wonder: If a horse, say, wins the Kentucky Derby, its owner wins millions of dollars and much esteem. He is an instant celebrity, wined and dined, interviewed, quoted.

As for the horse, what is the reward? According to most experts, the horse does not know if he won or lost. This handsome specimen of physicality, having undergone rigorous training, endured difficult exercises, imbibed special horse diets, and run his heart out at the race, receives as his reward a loving bath from a stable boy, a private barn and stall, and is allowed to gorge down as much hay and grass as he likes. All the while, his owner has become wealthy and is basking in the acclaim of the public.

If this does not seem quite fair, consider this: In the final analysis, are we humans any more than facsimiles of racehorses? The racehorse strains himself to run so fast because the jockey on his back is prodding him relentlessly. Why do we humans strain ourselves to run so fast?

We, too, have a jockey on our backs: the desire for fame, fortune, and recognition. Even if on rare occasions we win crowns of wealth and honor, what is it that we actually own at the end of our allotted brief span of years?

When we go to meet our Maker, we cannot bring with us the expensive toys, the luxurious homes and autos, the adulation of the crowd. All we can bring with us is service to G-d and man, loyalty to Torah and mitzvos. If our hands are empty of these things of the spirit, then all our strivings have led to nothing more than a barrel of hay — in ironic actualization of Koheles 3:19, where King Solomon says it clearly: If a man ignores his spirituality and emphasizes only his physicality, then “mosar ha’adam min habeheimah ayin — the difference between man and beast is naught.”

Once in a great while, I pass by Pimlico. Nothing much has changed. The horses, stately and majestic, still run, the crowds still acclaim the victors, and the horses are still rewarded with unlimited barrels of hay.

And, unaware of Koheles 3:19, so are the owners.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 956)