We find ourselves in Bereshit Rabbah 60, a treasure trove of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis, wrestling with just that. The verse in question, Genesis 24:33, describes Abraham's servant arriving at his destination: "The man came to the house and unfastened the camels. He gave straw and feed for the camels, and water to wash his feet and the feet of the men who were with him." But the rabbis, ever diligent in their reading, immediately zoom in on the seemingly mundane detail of "unfastening the camels."

Rabbi Huna and Rabbi Yirmeya pose a fascinating question to Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Rabba: Were Abraham's camels, paragons of virtue, perhaps akin to the legendary donkey of Rabbi Pinḥas ben Yair? Now, this donkey wasn't just any beast of burden. This donkey was practically a Talmudic scholar in disguise!

The Midrash tells us that Rabbi Pinḥas's donkey refused to eat anything that wasn't properly tithed or was suspected of being stolen. It was so scrupulous, it once spent three days with robbers, refusing to touch their ill-gotten gains! When finally returned, the donkey wouldn't even eat barley until it was confirmed that the demai – the potentially untithed portion – had been removed.

"Did you process it?" Rabbi Pinḥas asked. "Did you separate the tithes of demai from it?" The robbers, bewildered, pointed out that one is generally exempt from tithing animal feed. But Rabbi Pinḥas simply replied, "What can we do for it if it is stringent with itself?" This donkey held itself to a higher standard!

So, back to Abraham's camels. The implication of the initial question is clear: if Abraham's camels were so righteous, surely they wouldn't need muzzles to prevent them from nibbling on forbidden vegetation. The "unfastening" mentioned in Genesis must refer to something else entirely, perhaps their saddles.

We even get a glimpse into the potential for religious one-upmanship. Rabbi Yirmeya once sent a basket of figs to Rabbi Ze'eira, not tithing them himself. He reasoned, "Is it possible that Rabbi Ze'eira would eat them without tithing them?” But Rabbi Ze'eira had the same thought about Rabbi Yirmeya, and so neither tithed them! The result? Untithed figs were consumed. The rabbis certainly had a sense of humor.

Later, Rabbi Abba bar Yemina laments to Rabbi Ze’eira that, compared to earlier generations, they are but donkeys. But not even the righteous donkey of Rabbi Pinḥas ben Yair, but to ordinary donkeys who unwittingly consumed untithed figs.

But the story doesn't end there. The Midrash takes an unexpected turn, focusing not on animal righteousness, but on the importance of seemingly trivial details. "He gave straw and feed for the camels." The rabbis argue that the detailed conversation surrounding Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, is more significant than even fundamental laws of the Torah! The passage about Eliezer’s mission to find a wife for Isaac is long and detailed, while the law of impurity from creeping animals, a cornerstone of ritual purity, is derived from a mere extra letter in a verse.

Consider this: the Torah states "tameh, hatameh" (impure, the impure) and "zeh, vezeh" (this, and this) when referring to creeping animals (Leviticus 11:29). Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai and Rabbi Eliezer ben Yosei point out that the extra "heh" and "vav" teach us that the blood of these creatures, like their flesh, also transmits ritual impurity. Such a crucial law, derived from such a small detail!

Similarly, Rabbi Aḥa argues that even the act of washing the feet of Abraham's servants is worthy of mention, highlighting its significance. "And water to wash his feet and the feet of the men who were with him."

So, what's the takeaway? Perhaps it's that righteousness can be found in the most unexpected places – even in camels and donkeys! Or maybe it's a reminder that no detail is too small, no action too insignificant, to be worthy of our attention. The rabbis, in their wisdom, invite us to see the profound in the mundane, the sacred in the everyday. And maybe, just maybe, to strive to be a little more like the donkey of Rabbi Pinḥas ben Yair… figs permitting, of course.