By Debbi K. Levy
It is challenging to put pen to paper as I continue to process the grief following the passing of our dog, Nala Levy Rothschild. Nala was a dog who seemed to embrace Jewish minhagim (customs) and the art of living Jewishly with ease. Although she was, of course, not a human being, she was undeniably gifted with a variety of human-like traits that intensify our sense of loss. Did Nala understand monotheism? Probably not. But in reflecting, I wonder whether she sensed the rhythm of each minhag — bringing order and joy to our Jewish lives. I also feel gratitude to you, my readers, for giving me this space to recount a few of the customs Nala adopted so lovingly.
Most Friday afternoons, I make Shabbat challah. Perhaps you’ve seen me show off the week’s challah on “The Shabbos Show.” What viewers didn’t see was Nala — patiently waiting in her practiced “Sit, Nala” — as the dough was shaped and rose on the warm stove, through the 15 minutes of baking and the sound of the ringing timer, and finally, to the moment of Hamotzi, which to a dog could only be described as infinite. She was such a good girl, waiting on cue for the words “Hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz.” She would hold her upright, seated pose — a model of canine kavod — until she received her treat of the week. Shabbat challah was her golden reward for a week well lived.
Some customs, of course, are not as joyful. On Yom Kippur mornings, the Mr. Coffee machine stayed silent. No comforting beep, no scent of fresh brew that marked everyday mornings for Nala. The newspaper wasn’t brought in, and there were no pages rustling or sections folded for later. No pots or pans clattered, no eggs were cracked and nothing cooled in her bowl. The house was quiet — somber even — and somehow, Nala mirrored our tone. She didn’t beg for morning treats. We imagined she sensed Yom Kippur had a different cadence. She rested contentedly in her dog bed, seemingly aware that there would be no backyard pickleball game that morning. Even when we came home from services midday to let her out and feed her, she didn’t shake her collar at the front door for her usual walk. I’m convinced she understood the solemnity of the day. Nala shared nearly 10 Yom Kippurim with us.
The third minhag I recount lately is her quiet but steady role in Jewish communal life, particularly with the Jewish Federation of Greater Dallas. Nala was a behind-the-scenes ambassador. We are taught in Torah to pursue tikkun olam, and to give of our corners — our share — to build a stronger community. Nala was familiar with the mitzvah of the “asks.” With Barry chairing the Federation campaign this year, calls flowed in and out of his home office like a faucet. Barry likes to joke that Nala was disciplined in keeping every pledge confidential, tucked into the fur of her second dog bed beneath his desk. Sometimes, the conversations were more intense — fundraising requires honesty and accountability — and in those moments, Nala chewed her bone with gusto until it all worked out.
When we were wringing our hands over campaign progress — hoping to raise and distribute funds to strengthen our community and support Israel — Nala never seemed worried. After all, she heard the pledges and the plans every day. Do I think she noticed that challah day and campaign call days never landed on the same day? I say with certainty: Yes.
Last Wednesday, Barry received the Bob Weinfeld Ambassador of the Year Award. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak about Nala without choking up, but he found a way. He thanked her for keeping him company during those long campaign days, for making the work a little sweeter with the presence of a man’s best friend. He spoke of her in the present tense — and not just for comfort. It felt true. Her energy and sweet spirit are still very much with us. Nala was the dog with the Jewish minhagim.
Kohenet Debbi K. Levy is grieving the loss of her beloved canine companion, Nala, and is beginning to dwell in memories that are blessings. She welcomes your reflections at Debbiklevy@gmail.com.