From Trauma to Trust: The Convoluted Relationship Between Jews and Dogs

כרזת הסרט הדוקומנטרי "אהבה עיוורת"

Apart from the ubiquitous appeal of “man’s best friend,” contrasting perspectives on dogs

are idiosyncratic to cultures, faiths and ethnic groups worldwide, based on their history and

traditional beliefs. Best-selling author and psychologist Stanley Coren describes our long

paradoxical relationship with dogs as both friends and foes: “In some times and places, people

have viewed dogs as loyal, faithful, noble, intelligent, courageous, and sociable; in other eras and

locations, humans have thought dogs cowardly, unclean, disease-ridden, dangerous, and

unreliable”(1). This statement sums up in a nutshell the Jewish and Israeli attitude towards

canines. For many reasons, Jews have shared an ambivalent, convoluted history with dogs, with

many twists and turns along the way, one that has been essentially incompatible until recently.

Because it is a species that is adored and endlessly studied on one hand, and abused and

misunderstood on the other, the dog is an appropriate and fascinating subject through which to

explore the blurring of human/animal boundaries. Dog-human hybrids are a ubiquitous theme in

mythology, literature, cinema, art and other cultural products. This ancient motif appeared in

hieroglyphics, with the Egyptian god Anubis bearing the head of a black jackal or canine. The

hybrid remains prevalent even today in popular culture, from movies with talking dogs, to

William Wegman’s fanciful portraits of dressed-up Weimaraners. For as long as humans have

been telling stories, they have told them about animals. Popular culture provides a fertile ground

for complicating and blurring the human/animal divide. Erica Fudge, a renowned UK scholar in

critical animal studies, contends that “the stories told about dogs, we might argue, are never

really about dogs at all, they are always about humans” (37). Whether it be state-of-the-art social

media, or more conventional genre such as literature and film, this appears to be true.

In When Species Meet, Donna Haraway describes the intersection between humans and

animals as “entanglement” or “contact zones” in which a process of “becoming with” takes place

in “a subject- and object-shaping dance of encounters” (4). Although Haraway deals with

connections between many types of beings, the prominent scholar has a particular fascination

with canines, and she refers to our multi-layered bonds with them as relatings. In response,

Birke and Hockenhull explain that “Thinking about, or living with, a particular kind of dog,

within a particular kind of human world, carries with it a complex and rich history …Our

relatings with dogs are never innocent…they are always run through with other histories and

other meanings” (20-21). These remarks shed light on the complex encounters between Jews and

dogs through the lens of popular culture, especially during and after the Holocaust. While

religious dictates in Judaism deemed canines as filthy and untrustworthy animals, in

contemporary secular Jewish and Israeli society, dogs have become increasingly popular as

cherished companions, and are no longer valued for purely economic, security or pragmatic

reasons. David Rodman sums up the Jewish relationship with dogs throughout history, pointing

out how attitudes have slowly improved over generations:

the image of the dog in the Hebrew Bible is overwhelmingly negative… [it has] remained

a less-than-beloved creature in the Jewish imagination, certainly until recent times. With

the return…to Eretz Israel, however, the status of the dog …has undergone something of

a revolution, at least amongst ‘secular’ Jews. (437-438)

Dogs and Jewish Suffering

Where can we find examples of popular culture that involve both dogs and Jews, that

illustrate how their lives have become tightly enmeshed? Upon scratching the surface, one finds

that there is no dearth of such material, yet regrettably much of it is unpleasant. Looking back

more than a century, one story in which a dog represents Jewish suffering is a woeful tale by the

Yiddish author Sholom Aleichem (1859-1916), whose real name was Solomon Naumovich

Rabinovich . He is aptly called the “Jewish Mark Twain” for his ironic humor, use of a

pseudonym, the natural speech of his characters, and colorful depiction of local folk – in this

case, poor Eastern European Jews in the shtetl (village). The writer is best known for “Tevye the

Dairyman,” posthumously adapted to become the widely-acclaimed theatrical and cinematic

production of Fiddler on the Roof. Sholom Aleichem’s lesser-known story “Robchik,” written

in 1901, depicts the injustice of anti-Semitism from a canine point-of-view. It unfolds without

the dog actually narrating, but through his eyes, a technique known as animal focalization. The

protagonist is a meek, forlorn creature who endures persecution and the misfortunes of the

stereotypical passive and bookish “Old Jews” of the Diaspora before the state of Israel was born,

and is mercilessly subjected to endless torment.

The Yiddish story “Robchik” appeared in English translation in A Treasury of Sholom

Aleichem Children's Stories edited by Alicia Shevrin. The highly anthropomorphized dog was a

gentle soul, one who was constantly bullied and abused by the townspeople who took pleasure in

harassing him. Aleichem writes, “To swat Robchik on the rump with a stick or to kick him in

the flank with one's heel, to fling a rock at his head, or to pour slops on him was almost an

obligation, a great sport” (qtd in Shevrin 121). Repeatedly uprooted, he nearly starved to death,

and was too gentle to defend himself. To depict Robchik’s vulnerability, Aleichem continues,

“The dog suddenly rolls over on the ground, legs in the air, trembling and staring you in the face,

as if to say: ‘Here! You want to beat me? Go ahead and beat me!’” (122). Deprived of physical

comfort, and feeling hopeless, he could not comprehend the reason for his misery, as he

contemplates his plight, which in many ways echoes the adversity of Jews in Eastern Europe

before World War I:

Robchik was getting tired of this exile, this wandering from one place to the next… he

walked aimlessly, a lonely dog going in circles as he felt his belly shrink and his

intestines shrivel…And out of great anguish he became a deep thinker, a philosopher:

why was he, a dog, being punished more than all the other beasts… (128).

In both secular and religious Judaism, references to dogs are abundant, and in the past

were almost always negative. Dogs were instruments of terror used by wealthy estate-owners in

the violent pogroms (persecution by the Russian Empire) in the nineteenth century, waged by the

Russians against the poverty-stricken Jews of Eastern Europe. In the World War II era, large

German canine breeds were exploited by the Nazis for brutal purposes. These loyal dogs obeyed

their masters’ orders to intimidate, deter, hunt down, control, injure, and bite off the breasts or

genitals of Jews, which often led to an agonizing death. Members of the Third Reich blurred the

boundaries between humans and animals by elevating dogs to a higher rank, and dehumanizing,

animalizing, and exterminating Jews and other groups. As Arluke and Sanders claim, “Boundary

work - the drawing and blurring of lines of demarcation between humans and animals - was

essential to the Nazi paradox” (132). The resulting intergenerational traumas and damaging

associations are deeply rooted in the Jewish/Israeli cultural mentality, and have been extremely

difficult to cast off.

In Judaism, historically, this has been a tenuous bond, fraught with a deep sense of

ambivalence that has emerged for multi-faceted reasons. These were based on the bible, later

religious teachings, superstition, derogatory and connotative language (mostly Yiddish) and

above all, culturally-embedded, intergenerational traumas derived from associations of

“malicious” dogs that were trained to pursue and torment Jews in the pogroms and Nazi

Germany. As Monika Baár explains:

Jewish culture has witnessed ambiguous attitudes to dogs until recent decades, but this

was more due to distressing historical experiences than to religious tradition… tragic and

horrific experiences in the course of pogroms and later in concentration camps, when

dogs where purposefully trained to attack Jews, resulted in them becoming associated

with the ‘enemy’. In recent decades however, this aversion has been overcome and pet

keeping has become both widely accepted and increasingly popular among (the secular)

Israeli population. (48-49)

Exploring the human/canine divide in Jewish popular culture, and the breaking down of

rigid barriers between the species, leads to many examples of dogs being vilified, particularly in

literature and cinema about the Holocaust. Typically, films dealing with this era, such as the epic

drama Schindler’s List (1993), Life is Beautiful (1997), and Adam Resurrected (2008), feature

monstrous images of heartless Nazis holding on to barking German shepherds as crowds of

frightened Jews disembark a train and stand in line during a selection process, or huge and

ferocious-looking dogs obeying the ruthless commands of SS men by attacking Jewish prisoners

in striped uniforms, or Dobermans standing guard in the concentration camps. Paradoxically,

these same breeds of German origin, which evoked fear and were discriminated against in the

past, are often idealized today, especially in Israel. This is because they are representative of the

self-sacrificing service and military dogs in the much-admired elite Oketz (Hebrew for “Sting”)

unit, who endanger themselves to protect the civilian population. Dogs in the Oketz unit are

much loved and treated extremely well in every aspect of their care. Once they die, these dogs

are honored by a ceremonial military funeral in a beautiful cemetery, next to a monument which

reads “Walk softly since here is the resting place of Israeli soldiers” (Katz). Likewise, an annual

memorial day ceremony is held for the fallen dogs, one that is covered by the Israeli news media.

Jewish/Israeli Cultural Barriers towards Dogs

The seeds of dog culture emerged in the 1930s in Israel (then Palestine), prior to the

establishment of the Jewish State. At that time, canines were used primarily for guarding

property and herding, and there was very limited interest in anything else. The authentic breed of

the Bedouins, the frail-looking and swift Saluki, was prized for its superb hunting and herding

capabilities, and the Canaan dog was highly valued for in its unrivaled aptitude for guarding.

Thus, in the early twentieth century in the Middle East, dog ownership was a domain that

Bedouins and Westernized elites appreciated, but not many Jews engaged in. Until recent

decades, Jews generally harbored deep cultural misgivings and anxieties about dogs, largely

because in Eastern Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, they had been the

guardians of the gentry’s estates, and had been trained to attack on command. Thus, canines

were considered unfit to be counted as members of Jewish families, a trait that distinguished

them from prominent non-Jewish landowners and noblemen, who were much attached to their

dogs.

Gradually, however, the Zionist dream of building a Jewish state transformed former

antipathy towards dogs into varying degrees of tolerance and later even trust. The local pariah of

the Middle East, known as the Canaan dog, is one of the world’s oldest breed; it was recognized

as “the national dog of Israel” due to the unflagging efforts of two steadfastly Zionist women

who had strong pioneering visions. The first was the brilliant Austrian cynologist (expert on

dogs), Prof. Rudofina Menzel, who emigrated to Palestine with her husband in 1934. The

second is Myrna Shiboleth, a dedicated breeder and authority from the US, who spent nearly

fifty years running a kennel near Jerusalem raising Canaan dogs until being forced by the

government to close down due to land disputes; thus, she relocated to Italy in 2017 (Golan).

Both women made valiant attempts to popularize the breed in Israel and abroad, but with limited

success, as their rather aloof nature doesn’t make them very good pets. As Edward Tenner

explains, this breed “turned out to be fiercely territorial as well as intelligent and self-reliant...

the dogs of ancient Israel, ready to emerge from centuries of neglect and to defend a land of

their own…” (77).

The Menzels were also chiefly responsible for the development of dog culture, for they

saw the human/canine bond as essential to the emergence of the “New Jew”: a bold, muscular,

capable figure who took pride in cultivating the soil, harvesting crops, building communities, and

protecting the land, while feeling reverence for the natural world. Through a lifetime of

dedication, the Menzels introduced the dog as a valuable asset not only to the police and the

military in Israel, but also to civilians. They also called upon new immigrants to discard the

image of traditional Jews in the Diaspora (outside of Israel), particularly from Eastern Europe,

who were detached from nature and animals, and were not involved with raising dogs. Historian

Binyamin Blum notes a major shift in Jewish attitudes towards dogs:

In Europe, Jews were widely believed to suffer from an irrational fear of dogs, and dog

ownership was generally discouraged…By the twentieth century, however, Jewish

attitudes towards dog were undergoing a conscious refashioning, at least in some circles.

Through a stronger bond with the land and with nature—including animals— the Zionist

movement sought to forge a new Jewish identity. Dogs were casted to play a key role in

the plan for creating a braver, closer to nature, “New Jew.” (649)

To date, the most comprehensive and fascinating scholarly work on the relationship

between Jews and canines is the anthology of essays titled A Jew's Best Friend?: The Image of

the Dog Throughout Jewish History, edited by Phillip Ackerman-Lieberman and Rakefet

Zalashik. In an essay on Yiddish proverbs about dogs, Robert Rothstein notes that derogatory

phrases were frequently used, as well as proverbs which accentuate the distancing of Jews from

canines, for example, “If a Jew has a dog, either the dog is no dog or the Jew is no Jew” (135).

The book comprises in-depth studies of a wide range of issues, including how dogs are

represented in various works of contemporary popular culture, such as the Israeli cult film Azit

the Paratrooper Dog and the disturbing novel Adam Resurrected by Yoram Kaniuk (and its

cinematic adaptation), which illustrates the eradication of human/canine boundaries in a

rehabilitation center for mentally ill Holocaust survivors. In the introduction to A Jew's Best

Friend?: The Image of the Dog Throughout Jewish History, the editors point out how we can

erroneously interpret canine behavior, in an attempt to draw parallels that don’t actually exist.

If dogs help us figure out what it means to be fully human, then the line that we draw

between humans and dogs establishes the binary opposite: the animal…Nevertheless, the

similarity between dogs and humans has led humans to project human traits and even

human motives onto dogs…Since dogs are both like and unlike humans, we humans

impose human traits on dogs and we likewise use dogs to describe human behavior. (2)

It would be misleading to claim that up until the Holocaust, canines were readily

accepted by Jews, and animosity towards them only began with World War II. Pre-existing

negative attitudes towards dogs were pervasive for centuries; however, Jewish feelings of dread

and abhorrence of canines were severely aggravated during and after the Holocaust. Prior to that

time, religious biases and restrictions, chiefly negative descriptions from the Bible and other

ancient texts, labeled dogs as impure and bestial animals that were forbidden as pets, but they

were permitted for specific roles only such as guarding.

Judy Brown, author of two controversial novels and numerous magazine articles on

Jewish topics, left the cloistered community of the ultra-Orthodox in New York, to delve into

subjects that she viewed as irrational and unjust. With a sharp sense of tongue-in-cheek humor,

irony, and wit, she described the culturally-transmitted, exaggerated prejudices which some Jews

still have against all dogs, even if they are obviously harmless. Brown encapsulates many of the

reasons that her parents and grandparents were terrified of dogs, and feels relief when her own

children demonstrate uninhibited love for animals, thus avoiding intergenerational trauma:

When I was a little girl, there were things as clear as sunlight….One of those things was

that dogs were despicable creatures. They were scary and dirty, with teeth like knives,

and paws with claws, ripping flesh off bone, the way they’d done to Jews in the

Holocaust… Only gentiles liked dogs, taking strange comfort in the animals; good Jews

stayed far away… Our grandparents and relatives taught us about the snarling dogs of

Eastern Europe… Over the years, the fear became lodged in the communal psyche…A

good Jew passes on the fear to his children, lest they shall be led astray…I remember

feeling surprised at how quickly my children took to animals, and at the joy they

expressed while playing with them. I was certain that my fear was genetic, an inherent

part of my DNA. Yet I quickly discovered that children aren’t afraid of animals.

The Holocaust: Dehumanization and Animality

For most people, a loud, barking dog is merely an irritation. If the noise becomes

excessive, it can lead to official complaints, which can sour the relationships between otherwise

friendly neighbors. However, there are those for whom barking is not only an annoyance, but a

source of profound distress, one that is loaded with terrifying associations of German soldiers

and torture of Jewish prisoners. For many, it is painful reminder of the Holocaust, when dogs

were forcibly trained to be vicious accomplices to Nazi crimes against humanity. Repercussions

of this intergenerational transmission of trauma exist to this day, but with time these ripple

effects have diminished until something triggers a painful memory. While arranging the

festivities for Israel’s seventieth Independence Day celebration to be held on April 18, 2018, in

Jerusalem, the Israeli Culture and Sport Minister, Miri Regev, decided to add disturbing sound

and visual effects to the event. Attendees were stunned by the sounds of rumbling trains and

barking dogs that blared from the loudspeakers, as children donning yellow stars crossed the

stage carrying suitcases. “I’m very pleased with how we nailed the Holocaust,” Regev told the

Army radio station. The sound of barking was symbolic of the tragedy, for dogs were a source of

constant humiliation and peril for Jews in concentration camps and ghettos.

Indeed, remnants of this trauma are still everywhere in the realm of popular culture. It is

no wonder that many Jews and their offspring in the post-Holocaust era have suffered from what

might appear to be an exaggerated attitude of revulsion and fear towards dogs. A twisted

Scottish man was recently charged with a hate crime for training his girlfriend’s pug to salute

Hitler, which he then uploaded as a controversial YouTube clip. Archival photos in books, on the

internet and in museums depict SS men lavishing affection on pampered military dogs, and

Hitler with his beloved Blondi. In The Drowned and the Saved, Primo Levi wrote about

Auschwitz: “Without a spoon, the daily soup could not be consumed in any other way than by

lapping it up, as dogs do…” (99). This line echoes the sense of utter dehumanization and blurred

boundaries which many Jews experienced during the Holocaust.

One brief scene in The Pianist depicts a feeble old man in the Warsaw ghetto, trembling

from the bitter cold, who lunges at an old woman carrying a hot can of barley soup. After it spills

all over the ground, they glare at each other scornfully, then the man throws himself full length

in the slush, lapping up the soup from the cobblestones like a dog. The distraught woman,

howling and crying, beats the man for stealing precious food. Another touching scene is in La

Vita è Bella (Life is Beautiful), in which an innocent boy, reads aloud in Italian from a shop

window sign warning in bold letters, “No Jews or Dogs Allowed.” Baffled, he turns to his father

and asks, “Why aren’t Jews and dogs allowed in?” Guido — Roberto Benigni , who directed the

film and won the Academy Award for Best Actor for this role— fumbles for an answer: “They

just don’t want Jews or dogs to go in.” He consoles his young son by making up a story that in

the local hardware store, Spaniards and horses, and in the pharmacy, Chinese and kangaroos, are

not permitted in either. The two of them discuss what sign they would hang in their own book

store blocking entry to people and animals they despise, such as Visigoths and spiders.

In Elie Wiesel’s Night, a slim novel which is required reading in many American public

schools, the author makes frequent allusions to Jews being addressed as dogs by the Nazis at

Auschwitz and Buchenwald:

“If anyone goes missing, you will be shot, like dogs” (24). “He [the SS officer] looked at

us as one would a pack of leprous dogs clinging to life” (38). “The SS made us increase

our pace. ‘Faster, you tramps, you flea-ridden dogs!’...If one of us stopped for a second, a

quick shot eliminated the filthy dog” (85).

The Saint Bernard, a breed normally visualized as a massive but gentle animal with a

cask of brandy around its neck, trekking through snow-covered terrain to rescue a lost traveller,

harbors ties to the Nazis. This happy, familiar image stems from the famous story of a noble,

selfless dog named Barry, a national and highly symbolic hero in Switzerland, who saved the

lives of around forty mountaineers throughout his lifetime in the early 1800s. Various Swiss

tourist attractions, such as the Saint Bernard hospice kennel, commemorate and honor Barry, and

the actual dog, preserved by taxidermy, is on display in a museum. Hollywood added new

dimensions to this altruistic image with the goofy but loveable Beethoven and the terrifying

Cujo. In stark contrast to the legendary Swiss canine idol, however, is another huge dog who

first belonged to SS officers Paul Groth in Sobibor, and later to Kurt Franz (nicknamed “Lalke”

meaning “doll” in Yiddish – due to his falsely docile appearance) in Treblinka. This notorious

mixed Saint Bernard dog, whose name, ironically, was also Barry, was converted into an evil

accomplice of the Nazi regime, in one of the most repugnant examples of the blurring of the

human/canine divide in all of history.

Numerous heart-wrenching testimonies from the Eichmann trial in 1961 describe this

enormous canine that ripped off the genitals or bit the buttocks of naked concentration camp

prisoners, and mauled others to death. Franz was one of the most sadistic commanders of the

Treblinka extermination camp. Whenever he shouted “Mensch, schnapp den Hund!” (“Man,

catch that dog!”), Barry would attack people and literally tear off pieces of their flesh. By this

command, he was referring to the Jew as the “dog” and addressing the Saint Bernard as “Man.”

Although sentenced to life imprisonment in 1965, Franz was eventually released in 1993.

Holocaust scholar Daniel Jonah Goldhagen wrote an enraged op-ed in The New York

Times about the injustice of liberating such a heinous murderer, who fondly remembered the

WWII period as “the best years of my life.” The article featured a ghastly sketch of Barry by

famous illustrator Marshall Arisman, in which the brutish creature has an appalling human-like

face with a man’s thick arms and hands on a large dog’s body. The bones of a severed human

leg dangles from his mouth (see drawing on Holocaust History Channel). Sadly, as the article

and many testimonies confirmed, it was not the fault of the dog that so many prisoners were

mutilated and killed by him. Goldhagen explained, “Barry was not by nature vicious. When

Franz was not around, Barry permitted prisoners to play with him. It was Franz who transformed

the dog into a ferocious beast.” Following the war, the dog was adopted by a physician and

became as docile as ever, laying peacefully at his owner’s feet and never harming anyone until

his death in 1947. In “The Best Friend of the Murderers: Guard Dogs and the Nazi Holocaust”

Robert Tindol points out that Barry’s ostensibly conflicting behavior was studied extensively by

Konrad Lorenz, director of the Max Planck Institute for Behavioral Research, and Nobel

Laureate for his groundbreaking studies on aggression (111).

Indisputably, cruel acts carried out by dogs who attacked Jewish prisoners such as the

infamous Great Danes named Rolf and Ralf owned by Amon Göth, (played by Ralph Fiennes in

Schindler’s List), were horrendous and unforgiveable. Yet we must ask, were the dogs

inherently brutal, a human characteristic, or just obediently following instructions given to them

by their heartless masters? Tindol reiterates that blame should not be assigned to the dogs. He

wrote,

…one can only wonder if an utterly vicious and uncontrollable dog would have happily

tagged along by a master while wagging its tail without occasionally assaulting a

passerby on its own initiative…The guard dogs may have enforced their masters’ desires,

but the likelihood is that they were doing so out of loyalty and probably love for their

human companions. Therefore, the actions of the dogs indeed reflected the intentions of

their masters…(119-120)

Certain canine breeds were assigned overtly political and ethnic traits, particularly the

German shepherd during the Third Reich, which represented the purity of the Aryan race.

Arluke and Sax wrote an insightful piece in 1992, long before critical animal studies had become

a burgeoning field as it has in recent years. The authors explain how the blurring of boundaries

between animals and Germans was seen as the “natural order”, and this was especially true of

certain breeds of dogs, particularly Alsatians. In contrast to the high status that was given to

these dogs, Jews were seen as equivalent to contaminating pests that must be annihilated:

Nazi German identity relied on the blurring of boundaries between humans and animals

and the constructing of a unique phylogenetic hierarchy that altered conventional human-

animal distinctions and imperatives… to kill certain people furthered the Nazi quest for

purity…we saw this blurring in the animalization of Germans themselves as well as other

humans…“lower animals” or “subhumans,” such as the Jews and other victims of the

Holocaust, were to be exterminated like vermin. (27-28)

Unfortunately, space here does not permit an in-depth analysis of two rather controversial

Israeli Holocaust novels, both tragicomic fantasies, which have both been adapted into American

movies. The first is A Jewish Dog by Asher Kravitz, a bittersweet, witty “animal autobiography”

narrated by a family dog, a mutt, who was confiscated from his loving Jewish home due to the

enforcement of Nuremberg Laws, which prohibited Jews from owning pets. The dog was

adopted by an SS officer who trained him to become an accomplice to the Nazis. Yet this story

comes full circle when the dog is reunited with his previous owner and together they escape. A

movie to be released, Shepherd: A Jewish Dog, directed by Lynn Roth, is loosely based on

Kravitz’s novel, and a Russian short film titled Brutus was already made by Konstantin Fam as

part of his Holocaust trilogy Witness. Both these films feature a German shepherd as the main

character, although the novel did not. A profoundly disturbing film, Adam Resurrected, with

powerful performances by Jeff Goldblum and Daniel DeFoe, encapsulates the human/canine

bond and post-traumatic memories of the Holocaust on many levels. Based on the novel by

Yoram Kaniuk titled Adam, Son of a Dog (Adam Ben Kelev), the movie unfolds in a non-

chronological order, taking place in a mental institution in the Israeli desert, intercut with

flashbacks that slowly reveal the details of the past. The protagonist, Adam Stein, a famous

comedian and entertainer in Germany, was forced to act like a dog in order to save his own life

in a concentration camp, and yet he is unable to let go of this trauma once the war is over. Any

one of these works, whether it be the books or the films, deserves a full chapter unto itself to

investigate the many parallels and intersections between canine and human boundaries during

and after the Holocaust.

Luckily, however, not all popular culture dealing with Jews and dogs is so dismal and

harrowing. Transversing history and geography, and moving away from the horrors of the past, a

treasure trove of upbeat anecdotes and even laughable examples can be found to illustrate this

complicated relationship.

The Lighter Side in the US – From Bark Mitzvahs to Cloned Pups

Dogs in Jewish life also take on a lighter note as the trend-setters of popular sentiment.

Professor P. David Marshall, defines the term ‘celebrity’ as a person who, via mass media,

enjoys “a greater presence and wider scope of activity and agency than are those who make up

the rest of the population” (ix). Thus performers and cultural icons are closely watched and

emulated by hordes of admirers, a situation which also holds true in their attitudes towards

domesticated animals. In terms of the bonds between contemporary American Jewish celebrities

and their pets, many have drawn widespread media attention. In 2011, Seth Rogen tweeted:

“This is my dog Zelda. She’s Jewish.” He uploaded a photo of her next to a Hanukkah menorah

and holiday decorations. The ring-bearer at Adam Sandler’s wedding was his bulldog Meatball,

who wore a tux and a white skullcap (yarmulke). When Meatball died, Sandler held a memorial

service and later adopted another bulldog whom he named Matzoball.

The flamboyant fashion designer Isaac Mizrahi, of Syrian origin, was raised in an

Orthodox Jewish household in New York City, yet he abandoned his strict background to study

performing arts. Mizrahi is admired not only for the striking attire he creates for people, but also

for his “luxury dog clothes” which ads claim are “a mix of sophistication, comfort, and

personality.” Besides his transformation from an observant Jew to a gay secular one, Mizrahi

describes another dramatic change he underwent when he adopted a mutt. He humorously

accentuates how the lines between human and canine can merge together:

I needed to get in touch with my inner mutt…Before Harry, I was merely human. I’m all

dog now, an honorary member of the K9 race. All those years before Harry, I had to seek

out reasons and opportunities to be nonhuman. Then the K9 thing happened to me, and

once it did, I embraced it…I don’t miss being human at all. (qtd in Szabo vii)

A much-publicized case involves Barbra Streisand, often considered a Jewish diva. In

2017, the entertainer cloned her geriatric dog, a Coton de Tuléar, for an astronomical price which

she paid to a genetic engineering company to create two puppies named Miss Violet and Miss

Scarlett. Streisand was attacked online by a barrage of criticism from animal rights

organizations who viewed her actions as selfish and unethical, when she could have spent the

same money on homeless dogs in shelters. Despite this, she is concerned for the welfare of all

dogs, not just her own pets. For example, in 2015 she expressed vehement opposition to the

Chinese Yulin Dog Meat Festival by writing a petition to have it stopped.

Jerry Seinfeld, known as the world’s most successful living Jewish comedian, seems to

run into trouble with dogs, at least on television. A hilarious scenario transpires in the popular

sitcom Seinfeld which deals with Jerry’s contempt of Farfel, a loud, unruly dog who he is forced

to watch due to an emergency, in which a fellow airline passenger is suddenly taken very ill.

Jerry becomes irritated when he cannot leave home for days on end, and he cannot locate the

dog’s owner. The supposed “animal” is never shown on camera, yet it creates havoc in the

apartment. In actuality, the incessant barking that infuriates Jerry is the voice of a human

imitating a dog.

Let go, Farfel! Let go, gimme that! Gimme the sneaker you stupid idiot! … I've got a

wild animal in the house!…Bad dog! Bad dog! You go outside! Outside!! What do you

want from me? Tell me! Money, you want money? I'll give you money, how much?!

In this episode, titled “The Dog,” Jerry remarks cynically about the peculiar nature of modern

human-canine relationships: “If you see two life forms, one of them is making a poop, and the

other one is carrying it for him, who would you assume was in charge?” In real life, however,

Seinfeld is fond of his own dachshunds, but things do not always go smoothly there either. One

of them, a timid female, was so terrified of him that celebrity dog trainer Cesar Millan was asked

to intervene, which became an episode of Cesar 911. The program opens with Jerry complaining

sarcastically “I am loved by millions, except for one dog… The hostility — that I don’t

deserve.”

How to Raise a Jewish Dog is a book which pokes fun at the plethora of self-help

manuals for people seeking guidance on how to care for and train their beloved pets. In the

introduction, the authors pose four questions (alluding to the Passover Seder) that define the

essence of a “Jewish dog,” which are “an exaggerated sense of his own wonderfulness, an

exaggerated sense of his own shortcomings, and an extremely close relationship with his master”

(5). In a later chapter, the authors parody stereotypical Jewish neuroticism: “When it comes to

raising a Jewish dog, remember that it is always better to imagine the worst, and then panic, and

then realize you're being silly” (105).

Jokes aside, what about serious Jewish traditions that mark symbolic rites of passage —

can dogs be included in these as well? While some might chuckle at the outlandish idea of

celebrating a Bark Mitzvah, others, particularly the observant, find the idea not only

preposterous, but offensive. Bark Mitzvah ceremonies are becoming a wildly popular, yet

controversial coming-of-age ritual in North America that are celebrated in homes, parks,

grooming salons and even reform synagogues with dogs wearing a traditional prayer shawl. The

ceremony usually begins with the rabbi reciting a prayer or blessing over the dogs, and ends with

a certificate saying “Muzzle Tov!” (rather than “Mazal Tov”). Some owners take advantage of

this occasion as a fundraiser in lieu of gifts, asking guests for donations to animal welfare.

Dogs in Israeli Popular Culture

Jewish American icons (and their fans) who spoil their dogs are not alone in the ways

they worship them and incorporate them as family members in every aspect of their daily lives.

While Israelis may not be quite as extravagant or quirky as their American counterparts when it

comes to dogs, those fortunate enough to have a good home are still showered with abundant

love and affection, and lines are continually blurred between the human and canine divide. The

Israeli actress-model Gal Gadot, or Wonder Woman, displays affectionate bonds she shares with

her dog Lola through social media. Two famous Israelis living in southern California have

earned an unmatched status when it comes to dogs. The first is professional trainer and best-

selling author Tamar Geller, a former army officer whose methods based on unrestrained love

rather than harsh discipline have helped Oprah Winfrey, Ben Affleck, Charlize Theron, Natalie

Portman, Reese Witherspoon, and many other celebrities with their dogs. On the other end of the

spectrum is Eldad Hagar, who founded the rescue organization “Hope for Paws” with his wife

Audrey. Hagar is widely admired for videos of his Houdini-like stunts to save nearly-dead dogs,

cats and other animals in extremely precarious situations, and at great risk to himself.

Canine icons in television, cinema and literature were geared for Israeli children and

teens, and functioned as powerful agents of cultural and social change which contributed greatly

to a positive shift in attitudes towards dogs. A key example of this was the much-admired

German shepherd heroine of the series of books Azit, the Paratrooper Dog (Azit, Hakalba

Hatzanhanit) by Lt. Gen. Mordechai "Motta" Gur, an important politician and the 10th Chief of

Staff of the Israeli army between 1974 and 1978. Gur is remembered for his courageous military

strategy in the 1967 war, and was instrumental in the conquest of the Old City of Jerusalem.

These books later became a 1972 cult film with the same title, directed by Boaz Davidson.

Arguably the most illustrious celebrity dog in the Israeli cultural mentality, “Azit” was both a

mythic character and a fantasy military superhero, the Israeli counterpart of Lassie and Rin-Tin-

Tin in her valor, loyalty, and self-sacrifice. Nonetheless, Azit surpassed them both in her

unrealistic abilities to “save the day” by shielding both soldiers and civilians from harm, and

defeating the enemy in impossibly hazardous circumstances. It should be noted that all three of

these mythological canine heroes were purely fictional, although Rin-Tin-Tin had the most basis

in reality.

Children’s educational television programs in Israel in the 1980s featured two dogs that

still rouse great nostalgia, Dobi Doberman and Tulip. These TV dogs became superstars and are

considered emblematic of that generation, many of whom are middle-aged parents themselves.

In Doberman the Good Sport, the main character was the friendly Dobi who worked for the

police by instructing children how to safely cross streets. In one of the endless reruns, “Dobi on

Duty,” an officer greets the dog in the morning by reminding him of his job to teach youngsters

appropriate pedestrian behavior. With his communicative body language and animated barking,

the protective Doberman guided children across the street while they chanted the Hebrew theme

song that remains stuck in the heads of many Israeli adults today.

The choice of a German shepherd and a Doberman for these roles was significant, due to

the intense fear these breeds instilled in many Holocaust survivors and subsequent generations in

Israel and abroad. Negative images were exacerbated by popular culture, such as in the sci-fi

film The Boys from Brazil (1978), in which the malevolent cloned Hitler youth ordered three

Dobermans to viciously attack on command. German shepherds were vilified to an even greater

extent in cinema. One horrific scene in Escape from Sobibor (1987) is of a young naked boy,

standing in line to the crematorium, who attempts to makes a desperate run for his life moments

before a German shepherd gruesomely tears him to pieces (only heard but not shown).

The immensely popular Israeli television show Somersaults with Dalik Wollinitz and his

famous mixed German shepherd-Collie named Tulip, was aired throughout the 1980s. Dalik and

Tulip appeared regularly in this program that dealt with difficult issues such as bereavement,

serious illness, and war trauma. Tulip did not take an active role in the show, but his presence

was therapeutic, enabling children to speak openly about painful situations. Tulip motivated

youngsters to want to raise dogs and boosted the popularity of the German shepherd and its

acceptance as a family dog, which broke down a sturdily entrenched cultural barrier and

discrimination against certain “bad” breeds of dogs. This led to the dramatic transformation of

the German shepherd as a fierce military machine— a deeply engrained image in the Israeli

collective memory due to the Holocaust — to a peaceful friend. Tulip was pampered; his own

personal taxi cab driver chauffeured him to the Educational Television set, where he was served

bottled mineral water instead of drinking from the tap. According to Wollinitz, his beloved

canine was an inseparable part of his family, until he died at the ripe old age of sixteen (Frenkel).

Ironically enough, these television shows starred the kinds of dogs which were most

despised by many Jews in Israel and worldwide because of their close association with the

Holocaust: the German shepherd and the Doberman. Boria Sax has explored the Nazi/dog

binary, in particular, the German shepherd, a breed that was developed as an idealized

representation “intended to embody the virtues of the German people, and anticipated the Nazi

attempts to breed humans back to primeval Aryan stock" (83). As Linda Kalof and Ramona

Fruja Amthor have pointed out, the multidimensional meanings of animals:

are tethered to the historically specific norms and values of the society in which they

occur, and it is widely acknowledged that the shaping of the social world is accomplished

in large part by cultural representation … specific dog breeds have emerged as dangerous

in every decade since the 1950s (in the 1960s the German shepherd was the “bad dog du

jour” and in the 1970s, it was the Doberman Pinscher).

Since the establishment of the state of Israel, there has been a gradual paradigm shift in

attitudes, and canines are now represented in popular culture as loving pets, courageous military

heroes (especially in books and film) and wonderful service dogs for the disabled. In fact, Tel

Aviv has earned a reputation as one of the world’s most dog-friendly cities, and this surprising

fact has saturated the media. Just as in almost any other Westernized country, vast numbers of

dogs in Israel are adored family members able to take full advantage of an endless array of

upscale products such as gourmet and special diet dog food, social and obedience clubs in dog

parks, Dog TV, and costly, tailor-made grooming and exercise services. The evolving role of the

dog in the current Jewish and Israeli mentality is an extension of the development of secular

leisure pursuits, and a metaphor of more enlightened perspectives that have accompanied a new

awareness of animal welfare. The warmer bonds formed between Jews and dogs in recent years

is something of an unexpected turn, a quiet revolution that has occurred bit by bit, reflecting a

radical departure from the mostly negative perceptions of canines of the past. Contemporary

works of popular Jewish culture reflect this slow but steady surge in acceptance of dogs, after

centuries in which they had been largely regarded with fear and loathing. Hopefully, this

positive attitude is here to stay.

Works Cited

Ackermann-Lieberman, Phillip, and Zalashik, Rakefet, eds. A Jew's Best Friend? The

Image of the Dog throughout Jewish History. Sussex Academic Press, 2013.

Adam Resurrected. Directed by Paul Schrader. Bleiberg Entertainment, 2008.

Arluke, Arnold, and Clinton R. Sanders. Regarding Animals. Temple UP, 1996.

Arluke, Arnold and Boria Sax. “Understanding Nazi Animal Protection and the Holocaust”

Anthrozoos: A Multidisciplinary Journal of The Interactions of People & Animals, 5(1):

6-31, 1992.

Baár, Monika. “From Working Animals to Cherished Pets: Canine Histories across the

Centuries.” Historisch Tijdschrift Groniek Historical Magazine, vol. 48, no. 206-207,

2015, pp. 47-59.

Birke, Lynda and Jo Hockenhull, eds. Crossing Boundaries: Investigating Human-Animal

Relationships. Brill, 2012.

Brown, Judy. “An Old Dog’s New Tricks - A Gentle Pooch Helps a Hasidic Girl Overcome her

Fear of Dogs.” The Jewish Daily Forward 4 Feb. 2013. https://forward.com/author/judy-

brown-eishes-chayil/

Coren, Stanley. The Intelligence of Dogs. Free Press, 2006 (1993).

“Dobi on Duty.” Doberman the Good Sport. Israel Educational Television, 1981.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7fkhPLP2wg

Escape from Sobibor. Directed by Jack Gold. Zenith Productions, 1987.

Frenkel, Billie. “The First Dog of Israeli Television” (Hebrew). Ma’ariv 20 March 2007

https://www.makorrishon.co.il/nrg/online/1/ART1/558/769.html

Fudge, Erica. “The Dog, the Home and the Human, and the Ancestry of Derrida's Cat.” Oxford

Literary Review, vol. 29, no.1-2, 2007, pp. 37–54.

Golan, Patricia. “Canaan Canines: Leaving on a One-Way Ticket to Italy.” Jerusalem Post

4 Apr. 2018. https://www.jpost.com/Jerusalem-Report/Canaan-canines-Leaving-

on-a- one- way-ticket-to-Italy-547863

Goldhagen, Daniel. “Treblinka’s Other Monster.” The New York Times 21 Aug. 1993, L 19.

“Goldhagen on Kurt Franz and Barry.” Holocaust History Channel.

https://holocausthistorychannel.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/goldhagen-on-kurt-franz-and-

barry/

Haraway, Donna. When Species Meet. U of Minnesota P, 2008.

Ivry, Benjamin. “How Dogs Went From Feared Enemy to Jew's Best Friend.” Forward

9 July 2013. https://forward.com/culture/179831/how-dogs-went-from-feared-enemy-

to-jews-best-frien/

Kalof, Linda and Ramona Fruja Amthor. “Cultural Interpretations of Problem Animals in

National Geographic.” Études rurales, no. 185, 2010, pp.165-180.

Kaniuk, Yoram. Adam Resurrected. Trans. by Seymour Simckes. Atheneum,1971.

Katz, Yaakov. “The IDF’s Best Friend.” Jerusalem Post 20 Dec. 2007.

https://www.jpost.com/Magazine/Features/The-IDFs-best-friend

Kravitz, Asher. A Jewish Dog. Translated by Michal Kessler, Penlight Publications, 2015.

Levi, Primo. The Drowned and the Saved. Trans. by Raymond Rosenthal. Simon & Schuster,

2017 (1988).

Life is Beautiful (La Vita è Bella). Directed by Roberto Benigni. Miramax, 1997.

Marshall, P.D. Celebrity and Power: Fame in Contemporary Culture. U of Minnesota P, 1997.

McKenzie, Lesley. “Meet Hollywood's Top Canine Trainer: ‘A Life Coach for Dogs and for

People.’” The Hollywood Reporter 18 June 2018.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/meet-tamar-geller-a-life-coach-dogs-people-1119248

Pfefferman, Naomi. “The Mensch List: Hope for Paws Founder’s Dogged Devotion.” Jewish

Journal 2 Jan. 2014. http://jewishjournal.com/tag/eldad-hagar/

Rodman, David. Book review of ‘A Jew's Best Friend? The Image of the Dog throughout

Jewish History,’ Israel Affairs, 20:3, 2014.

Sax, Boria. Animals in the Third Reich: Pets, Scapegoats, and the Holocaust. Continuum, 2000.

Shevrin, Aliza (ed). A Treasury of Sholom Aleichem Children's Stories. Rowman &

Littlefield Inc., 1996.

Spiro, Amy. “A Holocaust Film with a Canine Twist.” The Jerusalem Post 6 Mar. 2018.

https://www.jpost.com/Israel-News/Culture/A-Holocaust-film-with-a-canine-twist-544355

Szabo, Julia. The Underdog. Workman Publishing Co., 2006.

Tenner, Edward. “Citizen Canine.” Wilson Quarterly 22, no. 3: pp. 71-79, 1998.

“The Dog.” (Season 3: Episode 4). Seinfeld. Giggling Goose Productions. NBC. 9 Oct. 1991.

“The Seinfeld Episode” (Season 3: Episode 1). Cesar 911. Nat Geo WILD. 19 Feb. 2016.

Tindol, Robert. “The Best Friend of the Murderers: Guard Dogs and the Nazi Holocaust.” In

Animals and War, edited by Ryan Hediger, pp. 105–22. Brill, 2013.

Weiner, Ellis and Barbara Davilman. How to Raise a Jewish Dog. Little Brown and Co., 2007.

Wiesel, Elie. Night. Trans. by Marion Wiesel. Hill & Wang, 2006 (1958).

From Trauma to Trust: The Convoluted Relationship Between Jews and Dogs - Hadas Marcus and Tammy Bar-Joseph

פוסטים אחרונים