How to Raise a Jewish Dog (19 page)

Rabbi Paul, founder of the Boca Raton Theological Seminary, with Allegro

Now there are ten or more dogs on-site, day in and day out, and it seems I’ve been blessed with a mild form of allergic asthma.
At least that’s what the medical technician called it after administering to me the methacholine challenge, where you go to
the hospital (in an outpatient procedure) and inhale a series of gases with increasing concentrations of something in them
(I don’t know what, maybe essence of dog) and then exhale into some kind of measuring device. With this diagnosis came a prescription
for a twice-daily powdered inhalant (Advair) and an emergency inhaler of albuterol, just in case.

A lot of you may now be wondering why I stay when I’m in such physical discomfort. Why, with all my inhalers and allergy pills
and boxes of Kleenex and watery eyes, do I remain at this institution?

I used to ask myself the same thing, all the time. I also used to ask, Who needs a bunch of dogs at a religious seminary?
How is this whole enterprise appropriate for a place like this?

When I would discuss this dilemma with friends, they would say, “But look at the monks of New Skete! They raise German shepherds
and it works out great for them!” And so they do. But they are an order of Catholic celibates living in a cloistered retreat
in upstate New York. They run a monastery, where it’s traditional to have some secular activity (whether it’s bottling brandy
or making preserves and jellies or, yes, training dogs) as part of their routine.

We run a school, where students come for religious instruction and to be certified as rabbis. We charge tuition for this service,
which means that our students are, so to speak, our
customers
. They’re paying for, and they deserve, our full attention. And we’re not in some remote mountain hideaway in the Adirondacks,
either. We’re in Boca Raton, surrounded by golf courses and yacht clubs. The monks can raise dogs because they live apart—they
are, as the saying goes, in the world but not of it. We’re both in it and of it up to our eyeballs.

And so, between the sneezing and the wheezing and the itching of the eyes, I found myself wondering why, if there are dozens
of seminaries and hundreds (if not thousands) of dog training schools around the country, did the two have to be brought together
here?

Then, one day, I was teaching a course called God: Past, Present, and Future. And, as fate would have it, I opened the class
by asking what the students thought God’s love was. They all started to ponder the question, except Ms. Echo Silverstein,
whose hand immediately shot up and who didn’t wait to be called on to answer. “A dog’s love is the same as God’s love,” she
said. “That’s why ‘dog’ is ‘god’ spelled backwards.”

Well, naturally, I thought this was about the most jejune and ridiculous—and impious—thing I had ever heard. And so did the
other students. A great shout of derision went up and I thought we were going to have a small riot on our hands.

But then a strange and very touching thing happened. One student, a Mr. Kyle Greenblatt, grudgingly admitted that Ms. Silverstein
had a point. Mr. Greenblatt then went on to recount a story about the dog of his childhood years. And, one by one, everyone
else shared their dog stories, too. By the end of the class we had spent ninety minutes not mentioning God once, but speaking,
over and over, about love.

I must admit that I came away from that session deeply moved. In fact I would say that I was inspired. The similarity between
what we hope for from God, and what we get without question from dogs, is too striking to be ignored. Isn’t God’s love that
which makes us feel less alone and a little less afraid? And can we not say the same about the devotion of dogs? Doesn’t God
love us no matter what? And can we not say the same about dogs?

In the end, I had to agree. Echo was absolutely right. A dog’s love is the same as God’s love. In fact I would even go so
far as to say that a dog’s love teaches us something we don’t always learn from God.

A dog teaches us
how to be loved
.

Dogs are able to do this because they sneak past our defenses and under all our walls of distraction, self-centeredness, sophistication,
or what-have-you. They completely ignore our
KEEP OUT
signs and then, once they get in, they hit us with a tsunami of love. We like to think that dogs need us, but the truth is
that we need them. They are there to share the good times and to comfort us through the bad. They’ll offer up their cold wet
noses on a hot summer day and share their warm bodies on a cold winter’s night. They take us out of ourselves. They draw our
attention to the here and now. They show us what it means to be patient, alert, focused, calm, nuts, vigilant, brave, kind,
and curious.

All of which is to say, dogs make us better human beings—something of which I’m sure God would heartily approve. And so if
you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my shot.

— Rabbi Paul

Boca Raton, Florida

L
anmana Parys—For yeoman photography assisting both behind and in front of the camera; sensitive dog handling; and computer
skills only someone born after the Reagan administration could be expected to possess

Samira Saha—For being a complete sweetheart while bringing and managing Deuce, the Miniature Pinscher Who Smirks

Coby Brown and Samy, Matt Brown and Willie, Brian Frazer and Nancy Cohen and Kenyon, and Amanda Mears-Duckett and Biscuit—For
helping to make the Griffith Park/Rabbi shoot the exercise in chaos and absurdity it was meant to be

Terry Adams—For his usual astute editorship, canny comments, open-mindedness, and nimble avoidance of people with torches

Paul Bresnick—For stalwart agenting, unending enthusiasm, and sound strategizing

David Misch—For his patience and availability at not one but two sessions, in robes and with cats and everything, while simultaneously
being completely amusing and a mensch

Erin Gallegos—For somehow being beautiful and graceful while pretending to brush her teeth and read, and for managing Copper,
the Beagle with the Prehensile Nose

Kyle and Jennifer Parks—For the selfless and loving act that brought us the great (wonderful, gigantic) gift of Jaxon

Elizabeth Akers and Rhodesian Ridgeback Rescue of Northern California—For helping to bring Jax into our lives and for all
of the work she does for rescue

Andrew Davilman—For being one of our biggest fans and supporters, both emotionally and spiritually

Andrew Kravchenko—For bringing Molly into our world and, by introducing us to ridgebacks, forever changing our lives

Allergy and Asthma Institute of the Valley—For the allergy shots that actually seem to be working

Zoe Braverman—For her lissome grace and model-like poise while loaded down with gear, and for bringing Bessie, who is as soulful
as she is shaggy

Our mothers and our subsequent therapists (they know who they are), who encouraged us to use humor both to deal with life
and themselves

And, of course—

Jaxon, Peaches, Blue, Deuce, Copper, and Bessie—For being their unique doggie selves

The Rabbis of the Boca Raton Theological Seminary are figments of the imagination of Ellis Weiner and Barbara Davilman, who
live and write in Los Angeles and who, over the years, have applied the principles in this book to the care and feeding of
many canine friends.

Susan Burnstine is a fine art and commercial photographer living in Los Angeles with her dog, Blue.