It is estimated that there are 70 million dogs in American homes today, in addition to millions of other animals Americans have taken into their hearts like members of their families. These pets are our companions and friends, and though they are not human beings, their significance cannot be underestimated in the lives of those who love them.
As a dog-lover myself, I understand the depth of connection and love that we can experience with a pet, as if souls are touching souls, and hearts are touching hearts, sweetly, purely, singularly, constantly, and joyfully. Therefore, when a beloved pet dies, I understand the sadness and grief that comes with the loss.
Last week a member of my congregation had to “put down” his very sick cancerous dog of 14 years, and he was devastated. He came to Shabbat services and asked me if it was appropriate for him to say the Mourner’s Kaddish publicly for his dog. This is how he described that unique relationship in his life:
“He was not only my friend and companion; my dog was an integral part of my family and, at times, my only family. When I first saw him in his litter, he was the puppy who got the most excited and wanted to come home with me. He was like a child, and I always felt that he looked at me not only as his master and caretaker, but as a parent. He trusted me as a puppy, as a dog in his prime, and in his last months when he suffered most from his cancer. Putting him down was extremely difficult, and I mourn him deeply.”
Please understand what I am about to say, especially if you have a relationship with a pet like my congregant’s relationship with his dog. Pets are not human beings. They are not our “children.” Yes, they are companions and dear to us (as my dog is to me), but there obviously are significant distinctions between human beings and the rest of the animal kingdom.
Judaism places high value on the compassionate treatment of animals. Beginning in Genesis, tradition affirms that animals, like humans, have a “soul” (i.e. nefesh chayah) though they lack a “higher soul” (i.e. n’shamah). In the Talmud there is a category of law called Tzaar Baalei Chayim (“Concerning the suffering of living creatures”) the main focus of which is to prevent the suffering of animals and to treat them kindly and with dignity and respect.
Understanding that many of us feel strongly about our pets and some feel more connected with their pets than they do with people, the Mourner’s Kaddish is meant to be said in memory of human beings, not animals. To say Kaddish out loud the way we would for a deceased parent, spouse, sibling, or child blurs distinctions between us and the rest of creation and is not a Jewish response no matter how liberal we may be.
And so I gently told my congregant that it is inappropriate to say Kaddish publicly for his dog. If he wishes to remember his dog when Kaddish is said, he should do so, but privately.
That being said, people whose pets die have a legitimate need to mourn and grieve their loss. There are many appropriate ways of doing this. Mourners can arrange for burial of their pet in a pet cemetery. Friends and family should reach out with sensitivity and love to mourners. Mourners might contribute charity to shelters that sustain animals until owners can be found, or contribute to organizations that advocate on behalf of the humane treatment of animals.
To my friend, I expressed my sorrow and understanding.
Rabbi John Rosove's Blog 
John, thank you so much for addressing this important concern of many of us with pets in our family, I understand everything that you write except one extremely important matter, grief. The grief and yes pain that we feel at the death of our pet
can be as intense and as overwhelming as the loss of a human family member.
One of the most important functions of the temple or religious institution is to help us get through life cycle events. We Jews have a whole support system to comfort us in dealing with the death of our fellow human family, but really nothing structured for aiding congregants who are agonizing over the recent death of a beloved pet.
Every Shabbot service addresses the passing of our human family members and I would like to see somewhere we can honor the loss of our very important pets.
For some of us our dog or cat is the only part of our nuclear family and when they die the loss and loneliness can have dramatic devastating affects. I know that for the
past week my home has become dark and almost unlivable for me since I had to put my dog to sleep. My chest tightens up, I can bearly function and I have been experiencing such loss that I have panic attacks while I am in my home, the home that I had shared so much of my time and life with my dog.
It is true that a dog is not a child, but for most os us our children grow up and lead independent lives. Our pets always remain dependent upon us and especially for those of us that got their dog as a puppy, they will always be our “child.”
Maybe we can devote one Shabbot a month for the recent death of our congregant’s family pets. Reform Judism is expanding it’s boundaries in many areas and this issue needs to include our ability to provide comfort for the congregants that are going through this grief.
I wrote earlier but it may have been lost but please excuse if it is similar.
As a person who had to let a spiritual soul in the form of a “pet”, yesterday, I would like to provide a different conceptualization of the experience and the loss. The term “pet” does not do justice to the relationship or mourning because it is not a body or type of dog, cat, or other animal, that is lost, it is the relationship. And the relationship that is mourned is not that of the dog; it is of the self. It is true that the animal may have been loving, attentive, humorous, sensitive, and a true companion, perhaps the only close companion. In working through the events and feelings of the last 24h, I would propose that the experience bears more semblance to the loss of what the great Jewish Philosopher, Martin Buber, may have been getting at in his book, “I and Thou”, the loss of “thou”, not “it”. And fundamental to “thou”, is “I”. Therefore, let us consider that the animal is “thou”, to which all would agree. But, this is not the deepest or most meaningful aspect of the loss, rather what is lost is the “I” part of “thou”. Buber clarifies that it is the nature of the perception that is critical, so that a tree could be a “thou”, to the extent that the “I” has endowed it with meaning. A tree is a far cry from a dog; it does not care for you; it is you who imbue the tree with meaning. Therefore, in a somewhat similar way, I would propose that the deepest meaning of the pet relationship came not from the pet, how funny, charming, “loving”, caring, or friendly and dependable it was for the the person, these are the perceptions of others, from the outside of the relationship. Rather, what is lost is the love from the person experiencing the loss, the part of the “I” that was allowed and engendered by the pet relationship. It is the individual who imbues life with meaning and each relationship regardless of whether the “thou” is a person or a “pet”, provides an object or being that allows the development of love, caring and depth of experience in the “owner”. Therefore, the mourning and its depth is for the loss of that part of the human being, the person, the self, that is lost with the death of the pet. The self does not die but it changes, it is diminished as with the wine sacrificed during the passover seder, for the sufferings of the Egyptians. In some way, we lose that part of our “selves” that has been created in the depth of the relationship. And in fact, this may be similar to the loss of a loved human. Kaddish is not said for the lost loved one, it is said for the self, to infuse meaning of life beyond the loss. Additional prayers that accompany Kaddish that make vows to honor the departed or to ask God to help give them peace, are quite different. As I rushed my beloved spirit in the form of a dog, to the door of the Vet Clinic, I heard in my mind and heart, Kaddish, and heard the internal reply that no matter what happens, the world shall remain a beautiful blessed place, however changed. This is the essence of Kaddish, not whether one’s love, caring or self has been allowed to grow because of the nature of the external being. Therefore, Kaddish was being said, without my ability to stop it or tell it no.
I would welcome others’ thoughts on this.
Julie R Korenberg
Thanks for helping me understand more about the Kaddish. I am wanting to learn more about religion and spirituality. Learning about the Kaddish really opened my eyes. http://kupathrabbimeir.org/t-kaddish.aspx