The Silent Dogs of Passover
The canine connection in the book of Exodus
As we enter Passover, I’m thinking about one of the more curious details in the Exodus story – the dogs. Yes, dogs make an appearance in this foundational Jewish narrative, and in a surprisingly positive light.
In Exodus 11:7, just before the final plague, God declares: "But against any of the children of Israel shall not a dog move his tongue, against man or beast: that ye may know how that the LORD doth put a difference between the Egyptians and Israel."
(AJew smearing his doorpost with the blood of a lamb to signal the Angel of Death to pass over his house and protect his first-born. This resonates with me because my husand and I are both first-born sons.)
What does this mean? According to rabbinical commentaries, while the Angel of Death swept through Egypt claiming the firstborn, the dogs – typically vocal creatures – remained completely silent in the Israelite neighborhoods. This supernatural canine silence served as a sign of divine protection and distinction between those marked for salvation and those who weren't.
I see parallels with my own golden retrievers. Unlike many dogs who announce every passing squirrel, delivery person, or neighborhood dog with enthusiastic barking, Griffin and Brody remain surprisingly discriminating with their vocalizations. They only bark at my husband and me – never at strangers or other dogs. When delivery people come to the door? Complete silence. When other dogs bark and growl during our walks? My goldens simply stare, maintaining a dignified quiet.
(Brody (on the right) really wants the hard-boiled egg on that platter.)
This selective barking feels almost biblical in its mystery. Have they, like the dogs of ancient Egypt, somehow learned to distinguish between different categories of beings? Do they, in their canine wisdom, recognize something that eludes human perception?
This isn’t a new idea for me. Rochester, in the golden retriever mysteries, has a canine consciousness that helps Steve solve crimes, and also tunes in to human emotions. The same is true for the dogs in The Smiling Dog Cafe, my healing fiction. (BTW, the second book in the series, The Bridge Between Us, is with my beta readers now.)
The ancient rabbis believed the Egyptian dogs' silence was so meritorious that they were rewarded for generations to come. The Midrash teaches that dogs received the gift of non-kosher meat (treyf) that Jews couldn't eat – an early example of recycling, perhaps, and a reminder that divine appreciation extends even to animals who participate in sacred history.
There's something profound about the idea that even animals recognized the divine protection surrounding the Israelites. In a story filled with spectacular miracles – rivers turning to blood, frogs covering the land, darkness descending – this quiet miracle of canine discernment feels especially intimate and meaningful.
The Passover story is, at its heart, about liberation and protection of the vulnerable. Perhaps these silent dogs – both ancient and modern – remind us that protection sometimes comes in unexpected forms. Not always with thunder and lightning, but sometimes in the absence of sound, in the quiet spaces where danger passes over.
As we retell the ancient story of exodus and freedom, I find comfort in thinking that even our four-legged companions have a place in this narrative. Their selective silence, like the silence of the dogs in Egypt, creates space for holiness to enter.
And perhaps that's one of the reasons why I love my quiet, discerning goldens so much. In their own way, they're participating in an ancient tradition of canine wisdom – knowing when to bark and when to remain silent, recognizing the difference between the everyday and the sacred.
During this Passover season, I invite you to notice the quiet miracles in your own life – those moments when something that should happen doesn't, when absence becomes presence, when silence speaks louder than words.
Chag Pesach Sameach – Happy Passover to all, and a special blessing for the silent, watchful dogs who guard our homes and hearts.
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