Synadog™

This tot-Shabbat song got stuck in my head the other day: "What do you like about Shabbat?” It goes, “What do you like about Shabbat.” And then someone says, “I like the candles.” And we repeat, “I like the candles.” And then you add. “I like the challah. I like the candles. And that’s what we like about Shabbat.” 

I was on the couch with my dog with a glass of wine. Which I like to refer to as the holy trinity of comfort. Couch, dog, wine. And I was humming this song. And as you do with dogs, you sing to them. Now at the time, Charlie was absolutely exhausted after a long day at work. Being a greeter at Beth El is no easy job. My friend Don can attest to that. 

So I started singing my own made-up song. “I think I know a sleepy dog. His name is Charlie. And he works at a synagogue.” And then the verses starting flowing after that.” And then, for actual tot-Shabbat, I sang for the first time the Charlie Shabbat song. 

“I have a friend that I like a Lot. 
His name is Charlie. 
And he loves to make Shabbat. 

I think I know a Jewish Pup. 
His name is Charlie. 
And helps me fill the Kiddush Cup.”

Now, as you know, my dog Charlie is very special to me. But tonight, I wanted to elaborate on the whole dog, rabbi, synagogue thing. The other holy trinity known as my life. Because Charlie isn’t just an average dog. Not because he’s my dog. But, like me, he grew up in a Jewish nonprofit institution. At one point in my life, my closest acquaintances were the maintenance team at the JCC. Honestly, I knew them better than I did my classmates. And the same has gone for Charlie. 

The story goes that when I got him, I had no idea what to do with him. He was a stray dog and nothing but skin and bones. And I had just started a new job in a new city where I didn’t know a soul. It was my third week of working full-time as an actual rabbi. And I had this big synagogue in Georgia where the only other soul was our part-time receptionist. Who had pictures of her own dogs scattered around the office? So I thought, well, you’ll just come with me. 

And the day after that. And the day after that. And then years had gone by. Making Charlie, what I believe, is the world’s first “synagogue.” Also, if you work in trademarks, please get on this quickly. It was, however, our executive director Jeff who said the word aloud for the first time. He also put on our website the following:

Since many of us have animals, specifically dogs, that become part of the family, we now consider ourselves the most dog-friendly synagogue in South Florida! (membership for dogs is free)

What exactly does that mean, and does Judaism have to do with dogs? Other than the fact that dog spelled backward is God. For me, I can say that it’s not that dogs are just part of a schtick. But they’ve become so ingrained in our society and culture. Significantly more so than when I was growing up. Things are changing. This means the accessibility for those comforted by dogs has opened up. Don’t get me wrong. I know that not everyone is okay with large animals running about. And I know that we’re all conscious of that. But I believe in my heart of hearts that, at least for me, Charlie is a way to help people feel comfortable in a synagogue. 

I think for a long time, and still to this day, some synagogues feel more like museums. That function like museums. Children should be seen, not heard. And while this works for some communities, I’m not sure much is gained by formalities of this nature. In fact, I think there’s a much bigger issue at play. Mostly, if our Jewish spaces require the level of decorum at a cotillion, are we really communing? Are we really being ourselves? Are we ALLOWED to be ourselves? To experiment? To God forbid, play? 

For me, yes, I can appreciate the inherent existential value of dogs. Pure love. Pure kindness. The idea that we’re taking care of something in which we may not expect anything in return. One of the highest ideals of righteousness. But what I’m getting at isn’t the value of dogs. It’s the value of dogs in a synagogue. Or synadogs. 

Temple beth El is a meeting place. Like synagogues are supposed to be. Once, synagogues were one of the only places to meet other Jews in the community. But things have changed. But dogs are becoming a way to meet and greet. It’s an excuse to leave the house. During COVID, having a dog in some places was the only excuse to leave the house. 

But it’s also to be said that some free-flowing socialization happens around dogs. Which falls in line with what we do at a synagogue. We encourage people, especially new folks, to find familiarity and get the courage to speak to others. In other words, Being a dog-centric synagogue means that welcoming others is at the top of our list of values. 

On this Shabbat, may we all feel the welcome embrace of others. May we all find a place of home here at Beth El. And may everyone have the opportunity to say hello to Charlie. Shabbat Shalom