Coco, a 13-year-old terrier is contacted us to the bimah on his special day. Photo by Thea Breite
By Linda Matchan
June 26, 2023
BOSTON – The chairs were established, the white wine was cooling for the kiddush, and the homemade baked items for the oneg all set to be served. The blue and white balloons were dancing expectantly in the breeze.
Then came the visitors. Bessie. Joy. Bella. Lyla. Carl. Miggy. Lui. Daisy. A lots dogs, plus their people, although Kesem, a Maltipoo, couldn’t participate in since of an injury. (He fell off the grooming table.) Mookie had a scheduling dispute, however sent a card extending finest desires on “your wonderful simcha!”
Coco, my 13-year-old terrier, was ending up being a Bark Mitzvah.
He used a yarmulke and a tallit, created with academic accuracy by my sis Judy in Houston. Two rabbis officiated.
No doubt I’ve lost some readers by now. I can envision the eyes rolling, pick up the ridicule.
Bark Mitzvahs — and yes, there have actually sufficed of them to warrant a Wikipedia entry — have actually been derided by Jews more watchful than myself as whatever from the desecration of a spiritual custom to liberal-leaning Judaism run amok.
And it’s not just Jews who believe it’s bonkers. “I don’t mind dogs getting together,” a dog-loving Christian friend informed me prior to decreasing my invite. “But I don’t see how you make it into a religious thing. This is way out there.”
Let me simply state that there was a time when I, too, rolled my eyes at the anthropomorphizing of dogs — the hosting of dog wedding events, the drop-ins at yappy hours — not to mention a parody of a spiritual Jewish coming-of-age event.
And possibly if I didn’t feel so indebted to Coco, the barky rescue dog my kid embraced for me after my other half passed away; or if I weren’t so dog worn out of living under an overbearing blanket of pandemic stress and anxiety and seclusion, so starving for some common expression of giddiness and delight, I may feel the exact same method today.
But why not commemorate, Jewishly, the life of our faithful old dogs?
I took my motivation from Rabbi Steve Gross of the Houston Congregation for Reform Judaism, who’s officiated at 5 Bark Mitzvahs in his temple’s car park considering that 2016, each drawing as numerous as 200 dogs. It was my sis who informed me about it and encouraged me to come this year. I flew there from Boston, however the Bark Mitzvah was drizzled out and I couldn’t be there for the rain date.
Still, Gross remained in good spirits when I satisfied him at the synagogue that early morning, even as the rain soaked the huge blue sparkly “BARK MITZVAH” indication on the yard.
He explained the concept for a Bark Mitzvah was two-fold. “First, there is the slightly tongue-in-cheek playfulness that dog lovers have when their dogs become 13,” he said. “People would say to me, ‘I think it’s time for a Bark Mitzvah.’”
He’d likewise seen that Episcopal and Catholic churches he engaged with around the city designated a wedding to bless animals. His synagogue has about 250 households, numerous with dogs, so it looked like an advantageous location to host something comparable, call it a Bark Mitzvah, and open it approximately the broader neighborhood. He approximates about one-third of the animals are “non-Jewish dogs.”
“Oh my gosh, this is probably one of the most attended events in our entire congregation,” said Gross, who is presently dogless. “Two hundred people in my parking lot is more than I get on a Friday night.”
The occasion starts with a brief event, Gross said, with “a recognition of the value dogs bring to us as human beings and a reminder of God’s creation in our lives every day.” There is a shehechiyanu commemorating the delight animals give people’ lives, and a reading from the Book of Genesis about the day God developed animals.
“It’s a way to generate community around a shared interest,” Gross said. “When people are in line to enjoy a cookie at the oneg after Shabbat, there’s a little bit of superficial conversation that takes place. At the Bark Mitzvah – and we could have called it the Jewish Day of Blessing Dogs, which is catchy, right? – what you see happen is what happens at dog parks all the time. Dogs, just like babies, open up a deeper level of conversation with total strangers.”
There is likewise a “mitzvah” part. The 40 or two suppliers in the car park consist of animal rescue companies and Animeals on Wheels, which provides dog meals to Meals on Wheels customers so they don’t feel forced to share their own food and resources with their animals.
This is likewise dog merch a-plenty – “Chewish” bone-shaped dog toys, pet-friendly floor covering, a climate-controlled mobile dog fitness center geared up with treadmills. (“A mitzvah for the owners,” Gross said.)
He acknowledges he’s gotten pushback from some neighborhood members who think about a Bark Mitzvah ill-mannered, even disgraceful. “They say we’re elevating dogs to the level of people. That dogs don’t have any halakhic authority.” But Gross presses back on the pushback.
“You can be playful for Purim but not a Bark Mitzvah? Maybe they are not understanding that Bar Mitzvahs aren’t being made fun of. We are utilizing one term for something else; we do that all the time with Hebrew words,” he said, mentioning the only-in-Texas example of an occasion in Houston hosted by an Orthodox churchgoers. Meant for shul members who load heat, it was called “Glocks & Bagels.” (He enables that “lox” isn’t Hebrew, however waits his point.)
“I honestly think this is a beautiful way for us to celebrate our pets,” he said. “It elevates that love in a way that can be shared.”
The Bark Mitzvah ultimately happened in April, though the numbers were a bit decreased — only about 100 dogs appeared — since of bad weather condition. Coco turned 13 in April, too, so back in Boston I started the preparations for his own Bark Mitzvah in my backyard.
Some of it came together quickly — the Bark Mitzvah cake, the cookies formed like bones and fire hydrants, the doggy bag, determining a Mitzvah job to support, in this case Shultz’s Guest House, a regional dog rescue shelter.
A larger difficulty was discovering a rabbi who wouldn’t believe I was unhinged. I connected — apprehensively — to Rabbi Michael Swarttz of Beth Tikvah Synagogue in Westborough, Massachusetts; I’d satisfied him years back in my community dog park.
“I’m writing with what might seem like a bizarre question,” I emailed, reintroducing myself and detailing my strategy.
“Your idea is not bizarre to me at all,” he composed back. “I would love to participate. I have thought of trying to do one at my congregation.” Even much better, his partner, Carol Glass, was likewise a rabbi and wished to co-officiate. Both of them, I discovered, later on, idea of Bark Mitzvahs as an imaginative method to commemorate the bond in between 2 types.
“I really believe that animals have a soul, as do all things that are alive,” Glass informed me. “In terms of looking at God and my connection to Judaism, I’ve always had an impulse to dig into Judaism and broaden it, and make it more inclusive. Not to buy into the tradition that it can’t be malleable, or added to, or changed.”
We interacted on the circulation of the service. Each dog was acknowledged by name. We sang, and listened to an old Cat Stevens number called “I Love My Dog.” Swarttz checked out a poem honoring dogs (“Dharma,” by U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins). Glass, a hospice pastor and spiritual director, said a Mi Sheberach (prayer for recovery) for Kesem and for “all pets in need/ so that they may know life and health, joy and peace.”
I’d been anticipating turmoil in my lawn, however the animals all sat calmly with their people and listened diligently to the rabbis, or so it appeared. This might have been the only barkless day in Coco’s life.
I discussed my accessory to Coco and wanted him, in Yiddish, a a lot longer life, biz hundert un tsvantsik. Until 120, canine hara.
Finally, all of us tossed dog treats, and screamed – what else? “Muzzle tov!”
