Bris Milah - Attending a Jewish Circumcision

Bris Milah (photo is not from today's ceremony)

Circumcision is common today, for male babies in more than just the Jewish community. It is the norm in the United States. However, for observant Jews, the Bris Milah is one of the most sacred rituals. It signifies the covenant between G-d and Abraham. Poor Abraham had to do it to himself--at age 99 no less, and to his sons, who were not infants.

On the male baby's eighth day, even if it's on Shabbat--the day of rest--he has his foreskin carefully but quickly removed by a trained mohel in a brief but essential ceremony for a new male member of the Jewish community.

It's right there in Genesis 17:10-12:
"Every male among you shall be circumcised... it shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and You. He that is eight days old among you shall be circumcised."

Why eight days? Today, we talk about the baby having enough vitamin K in his system for the blood to clot and other factors. But it's in the book. If the mohel happens to determine that the baby isn't ready, he can delay the circumcision.

Rabbi R.R., whose son received his welcome into the Jewish community today, told the congregation that this is not something a person decides with their reason. A baby is too young to know or decide. It's actually the father's duty to perform it--or designate an agent. The rabbi gladly turned the duties over to a trained pro today.

And why does a baby, just over a week old, have to suffer pain? Well, the rabbi explains, not everything is for our own pleasure--we owe something to the benefit of our community, and sometimes that means going out of our comfort zone. It's a paraphrase, but the point is, this is a male Jewish baby's first of many ways he is brought into the community.

It's also the day he receives his name. This beautiful young man is named after the great Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson, a special honor. I was surprised to read that there are different ideas about naming in Judaism. In the Ashkenazic (Eastern European) community -- my ancestors -- you can name after an honored and beloved departed relative--but the Sephardic Jews also can name after a living relative.

Sitting there watching and listening, I heard prayers from those performing the ceremony and occasionally from the congregation. And, I heard some crying from the center of attention--at the cold air when his diaper was opened, at the brief cut from the highly trained and experienced ritual circumcisor, and that was it. The baby received a few drops of wine after the bris. He was already participating in the kiddush.

The community gathered around the baby as he was then carried gently through the crowd, receiving the love and blessing of his community. That reminded me of the joy and excitement attendees feel when the newly married bride and groom make their way out of their wedding ceremony.

Girls get a special naming too, at the synagogue when the Torah is read. 

Holding the baby before and during the ceremony is a great honor. During the circumcision itself the baby lay on his grandfather's lap. The people who bring the baby into the room are honored as well. Being in the room at all feels like something special, too.

It's Judaism, so that means a great feast afterwards. A sea of well-wishers crowded into the big room where the Passover seder took place just a couple of weeks ago and ate delicious meats, felafel and vegetables. Each round table had its own special cake, too.

As in the seder, there is a special chair set aside for the Prophet Elijah. When a king of Israel, under treacherous influences, abolished circumcision, Elijah protested to G-d, so he is now appointed to be present and witness all circumcisions.

Mazal tov to the parents, the baby and the community!

Note: Some information in this post comes from A Guide to a Bris - An Overview & The Service, which was supplied to everyone in attendance. I kept my copy and will place it in the Jewish Roots Project library.

Remembering the Holocaust - Yom Ha Sho'ah

In Israel, every year, on April 19th (Yom HaShoah veHagevurah), is a special public memorial of the Holocaust. For two minutes, an alarm sounds and there is a two-minute cessation of everything. The world comes to a halt there, and then quickly resumes.

Through the Shefa Network, a Masorti Movement website, I learned of a YouTube video showing a Tel Aviv freeway grinding to a halt and watched it. As Rabbi Menachem says in his story for April 19, 2012, you find that you are holding your breath as you watch and listen.

Never forget.

Masorti Movement Judaism - The Middle Path

I had the pleasure of visiting with Menachem Creditor, the rabbi of a Conservative congregation in Berkeley, California this week. Netivot Shalom sits on a busy major street, its modern, glass design reflecting its location in a tolerant, open community.

Interesting, then, the word "Conservative." This is not the political or social conservatism of Rick Santorum or right-wing radio commentators. The Conservative, or as it's also known, Masorti Movement, is based on "conserving" Judaism much as one would conserve natural resources.

As I am beginning to understand it, in brief, the Masorti Movement came about because of the Reform Movement, which, in 19th Century Europe, rebelled against established Jewish practice and threw away much of the ancient tradition for a new, vernacular interpretation. Out went kosher laws, shabbat practices, and much of the rest of it. The Conservative/Masorti rabbis believed that some kind of reform or modernization was needed--but not to the extent of the reformers--so they took a middle path, "conserving" more of what was once known simply as "Judaism." Interesting that the concept of "Orthodox" Judaism only came when the reformers created something new.

For my research, I'll go to a service at Netivot Shalom and see what I think.

Rabbi Menachem is one of the contributors to the Shefa Network, which works to make Masorti Movement Judaism relevant. Please read more. And be sure to look up Rabbi Menachem on YouTube. He's a fine musician and singer.

Don't Pass Over Passover

I went to a Passover seder this year at the Chabad group I've been attending. It was certainly the largest one I've ever been to--with at least 100 folks in the Masonic Center (next to and across from the Christian churches). It was a nice experience, although I was surprised that it seemed to contain a good number of folks who are not Orthodox Chabad members. There were only a couple of black hats and long beards in sight.

That could be because there's a more intimate seder the day after at the Chabad house itself that may be the one the members gravitate to, but I know that as a non-member (but not a non-Jew) I felt like I fit in just fine.

When I walked in (early, of course), I met up with two couples (two brothers and their wives)--one with their handsome high-school-age son, and we got into a conversation. Apparently they've done seders here before, but the wives are not actually Jewish. The two brothers' father was not Jewish either, but mom was--and I met her--a sweet, friendly woman about my mother's age. The sisters and daughters arrived later.

We sat at the end of a banquet-room-length table--paired with another one on the other side of the room and a head table containing my friendly Rabbi RR and his brother, sister, and brother-in-law, among others.

A seder can go on for quite a while and you get pretty hungry before the meal arrives, so we were given a tasty salad to tide us over before the service actually began (at 8:09 p.m.--when three stars are visible in the sky). The we got down to the business of commemorating and reliving the Jews' historic exodus from Egypt thousands of years ago, led by the famous Moses.

I recognized the pieces of the seder plate (see photo) --the baked egg, lamb shank bone, parsley, horseradish, charoses, and so on--because I had seders as a kid, too. The ones I remember were in my family when I was maybe 10 to 15. The last one I had with my family was in 1968 when my father rejoined us just for the seder after my parents' divorce and we all sat around the dining room table and went through the story. I attended a seder in Israel in 1974 but I don't remember it very well--I had just arrived. I have had friendly ones in people's homes over the last few years, too.

There are thousands of different versions of the Haggadah (story of Passover in book form). Some are gender neutral, some are modern, some are quaintly old-fashioned. The book we used (in large and teeny versions) was charmingly illustrated and didn't seem to belabor any of the points. We got through the seder in 90 minutes or so. According to one of the Chabad members I knew from before--John--we may have had a  little "seder lite." He noticed that the rabbi didn't always read the entire passage, but skipped some. Perhaps the significant population of non-regulars prompted his decision.

Like so many aspects of Jewish ceremony, you're supposed to relive the experience, not just sit and talk about it. That's why during the week of Passover you eat matzo--unleavened bread--instead of regular bread. Traditionally, you clean the house thoroughly of any sign of risen dough before Passover. It sounds like a great reason to do a thorough spring cleaning --always a good idea.

The rabbi said we don't want to see this as some quaint observance of things long past, but as a living participation in the seminal event of Judaism. Yes, Abraham was born earlier, but the exodus into the holy land is what made Jews Jews.

Of course, Passover (or Pesach, as it's called in Hebrew) is ancient, and has not always been celebrated this way. According to Hayyin Schauss in The Jewish Festivals, it started out as a spring holiday that was combined with an unleavened bread holiday. It had its highest level of observance when the second temple stood in Jerusalem before it was destroyed by the Romans, when real animal sacrifices were done en masse and people gathered in groups to consume the special meat. Things broke down after the temple was destroyed, but Schauss says that Jews in the Middle Ages, who had  many issues to contend with, celebrated Passover much as we do today.

Shir Ami Men Meet Despite Rain to Talk about Nature

It has been several weeks since I last met with the Men's group at Shir Ami, my local synagogue. We planned to take a walk with the rabbi today and talk about nature. Well, nature decided to deliver wind and rain, so we met instead in Shir Ami's sanctuary/meeting room. Around a square table we had a lively group of 14, including young Andrew Terkel, the visiting rabbinical student, who provided a quote, A Prayer for Nature, by Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlov, a late 18th and  early 19th-century Hasid, who was the great-grandson of the famed Baal Shem Tov.

After we all introduced ourselves and gave a little details about our lives and origins, I read the 13-line quote out loud, but got more when I heard it again read by someone else. Rabbi Nachman, a scholar, advocated going out into the outdoors daily, and relating to the trees and grass, saying, "there may I be alone, and enter into prayer, To talk with the one to whom I belong." Interesting.

This quote, along with several others, let to a lively discussion about finding God in nature--and what this might involve. Didn't Jews tend to stay inside and study? Wasn't going out to the park and communing with trees and flowers a form of forbidden nature worship (paganism). What about the animals, asked one of the group.

I was impressed with how much the guys came up with, and I could see how other conversations could form in the future with various Shir Ami folks about the ideas turned up in the talk. Andrew has a while until he graduates, but already has the right kind of energy and leadership skills, along with a growing body of knowledge, to keep the 13 of us, all of whom were his seniors, captivated and, for me, regretful that the fun had to end.

We also read of Rabbi Joshua ben Korha, who was asked by someone why God appeared to Moses in a burning bush. The rabbi essentially turned it back to the questioner, saying it wouldn't have mattered if it were another kind of tree. "...there is no place where the Divine Presence is not to be found, even in a lowly bush."

Is it significant that in the biblical story of creation, humans are created at the end, before God rested? We talked about it. It showed how scholarly rabbis, in the Talmud, would debate the significance of everything.

The men's group will do other fun things, and I'm hoping Andrew is up here from his home in Los Angeles to go with us again.