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.

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.

Kehilla Synagogue--Intimate and Inclusive

I had the chance to spend Saturday morning Shabbat with the kind folks at Kehilla Synagogue. I had been meaning to go since it's not too far from home and I was eager to see what Renewal Judaism is like in an established congregation.

My previous experience with Renewal was with "chaverot," which meet in people's homes, gathering together for the high holidays (Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur) but going their own way the rest of the time.

The Renewal movement of Judaism, which grew out of the 1960's and the Aquarian Minyan (founded in Berkeley in 1974). There is a strong sense of wanting to heal the world, partly from those who were appalled by the war in Vietnam and who had a stong sense of social justice. Kehilla is fully open to all, feminist, all-inclusive of gay, lesbian, bi, transgender--well--everybody--even non-Jews. And, as is the case in so many congregations today, couples often contain only one Jewish member. Kehilla has always been accepting of these families.

Kehilla (it means "community" in Hebrew) was founded in 1984 by Rabbi Burt Jacobson, who has been a rabbi for 45 years! He was there on Saturday and I had the pleasure to meet and talk with him a little.

I actually visited Kehilla many years ago when they shared a building with a church in Berkeley, but now, they occupy a fine old church at the edge of a thriving commercial street in Piedmont, California--right where it becomes a neighborhood of homes.

I wasn't sure how big a space it would be at Kehilla, but I was pleased to find that this Shabbat was intimate, taking place in Fireside Room downstairs. The main sanctuary looks big enough to handle a pretty large crowd, which it surely does on the major holidays. I got a tour from Julie, one of the first to arrive. She is involved in Kehilla's substantial music organization, a small part of which I enjoyed on Saturday. I also met Rina, who is a lifelong singer and who led the musical part of the service--which was a lot!

This service seemed like a good one to attend because it going to talk about art and creativity and how it relates to Judaism and spirituality. As a musician, I was intrigued. And we did talk about it, with Rabbi David Jonathan Cooper, one of the co-founders of Kehilla. He was serious, humorous, thoughtful, and very open. There were a few places in the service where congregants spoke about (or blessed) something--in this case, we spoke of light and of art.

I said a couple of things as part of the group. I have always had mixed feelings about this, because I feel like we non-rabbis are not experts, but the kind of inclusion at Kehilla felt right. There was a significant amount of praying, in Hebrew, but also singing--very pleasantly rendered with harmonies by several of the attendees.

My experience in childhood was of sitting and not participating, but Kehilla welcomes participation. When the Torah was opened up to be read, several of us took part, from unwrapping to holding, and when the three aliyas took place, anyone who wanted to could come up and do it together. I liked that. It spreads the honor. Nobody was dozing off or getting bored, although I was surprised at how many people joined the service after it had started.

I had thought that perhaps the Renewal service here would be too "way out" or not have a strong basis in tradition but I didn't find that here. I heard plenty of Hebrew, and some of the melodies were the same ones I learned in the Reform synagogue as a child. And, there were some new melodies, including ones written by people in that room.

After the service, which went for more than two hours (it felt like less), we went into the next room and celebrated with a nice oneg, with a spread of traditional Jewish food, including home-baked challah (thanks, Steve!) and we had a grape juice kiddush.

I had some interesting conversations. One person told me she and her husband joined because it was a community without gossip. Everyone got along. That seems like a good idea to me. Of course, I've had a pretty nice time at every service I've attended with the people themselves. When I consider affiliating with a congregation, perhaps next year, Kehilla will definitely be in the running. I felt at home there, and that whatever I was or did would be OK. My non-Jewish wife could come--if she felt like it--and nobody would mind. Kehilla is politically active and very much part of the modern world, which feels good--and different. The significant emphasis on music, participation and inclusion feels right.

It's a 20-minute drive away, too.

I plan to attend a larger event--a musical Shabbat at the end of the month, and will report back.

Joining in at a Chabad Saturday Service

I was invited to attend a Saturday morning service by Rabbi RR, and I accepted. It was to be followed by lunch, so I figured I'd get a good chance to meet some of the people who attended the shul and see how they felt about things. Rabbi RR suggested I drop in once the service had already started, so I got there at about 10:30 a.m.

The Rabbi placed a tallit over my shoulders, directed me to come up to the front of the room, and I grabbed a siddur (prayerbook) and joined in.

While Reform and Conservative synagogues are set up on the "church" model, where the professional religious staff performs a ritual that parishioners may or not be involved in, the Orthodox model is more participatory. Although the rabbi is the nominal leader, anyone can direct the service who knows how it goes. There is an order, and there are some long prayers in Hebrew to say, but they're all there in the book. Occasionally, I watched the rabbi say a passage very quickly--like an auctioneer--and then slow down. Some of the people spoke the prayers at their own pace, and you could hear them in the background.

The centerpiece of a Saturday service is reading from the Torah--the sacred scrolls containing what a Christian would recognize as the first five books of the Old Testament or the Pentateuch. The common English translation is NOT the King James version, but it reads in a "thee and thou" way. There are other translations into more standard modern English too, but it's most satisfying to hear it in Hebrew, and then have the Rabbi explain what's going on.

It's an honor to help with the reading--to be called "up" for an aliyah. There is a short prayer that you chant before the section of the Torah portion that is read while you're up there, and a short concluding prayer. I was surprised--and pleased--to be called up for the fourth of the seven aliyahs. Using my Hebrew name--Shlomo ben Mendel--the rabbi beckoned me up to the folding table that he used to hold the precious Torah, which had been ceremonially removed from the "ark" where it normally lives. It had the wooden spindles on each end and the beautiful hand-written text on its parchment.

I said the first prayer--which I not only remembered, but got to hear three others recite before me, and it was written on a large card on the table in case you needed help to remember it. I was surprised that it was the very same one we used in the Reformed temple when I was a kid!

I stood next to the rabbi as he read, with my hand on the Torah's wooden handle. After reciting the concluding prayer a few minutes later, I moved to the side as a young man, came up and did his part. After you finish and step back to your seat, others shake your hand, congratulating you for participating. It felt great.

The service proceeded after the Torah reading for a while, including a Haftorah reading from the Prophets. At the end of the service, the rabbi wished us "Good Shabbat" and we stepped away to have lunch.

There was a nice spread in the kitchen, and I helped myself before sitting down at the long table with the others. We had a very pleasant and interesting conversation about Jewish subjects, including a little wine and some hard liquor (in small quantities). Shabbat is a happy time, even though we also discussed a few people who were ill and one man's sister, who had just died unexpectedly a few days before--in her 40's. The man had said the mourner's kaddish prayer during the service, so assumed that had suffered a loss recently.

The Orthodox service, as done by the Chabad folks, is inclusive, and I was pleased that I knew enough to participate. I felt at home there, which surprised me a little. I will be meeting with the rabbi this week to talk about the upcoming holiday of Purim, and I'm sure I'll be back for Saturday soon.

Tu B'Shevat with Shir Ami

Today, I took part in a Jewish holiday that I had never heard of or celebrated before. Tu B'Shevat, which occurs on the 15th of the Jewish Month of Shevat (Feb. 8 this year), is a marking of the new year for trees. Originally related to the tithing of produce grown in the Holy Land, it today is a time to celebrate by eating fruit specified in the Torah and think about the health of the planet we occupy.

I joined a friendly group of about 30 people at Congregation Shir Ami to commemorate the holiday. We gathered in the cozy room that serves as the central gathering place for the congregation and, similar to what we do on Passover, we read through a haggadah that walked us through four worlds as described in the Kabbalah: our actions, our emotions, our thoughts and spirits.

On each six-person table, besides red and white wine and flowers, was a large tray containing fruit from each world that would be available in Israel. As we progressed through the service, we ate a sample from each world, for example, almonds from world one, apricots for world two, and drank a cup of wine with it.

Interestingly, we mixed the red and white wine as we went, starting with all white, then white with a touch or red, red with a touch of white and finally, all red. Each time we ate, we said a blessing on the food (fruit of the tree) and each time we drank our wine mixtures, we sang the wine blessing.

As a relevant way of thinking about the earth on a day of trees, the haggadah contained information on ways to take care of the planet, from proper vehicle maintenance and using public transit to lower air pollution to not wasting water and recycling plastic containers. It concluded with The Ten Plagues of today:

• Acid Rain
• Melting of the polar ice caps
• Diseased trees, destruction of the rain forests, forest fires
• Pollution of oceans, lakes and rivers
• Air pollution
• Water shortages and droughts
• Creating garbage landfills
• Over consumption of energy
• Extinction of species
• Destruction of the ozone layer

No wonder Tu B'Shevat is called by some the "Jewish Earth Day."

An interesting note about trees: It was a custom in ancient Israel to plant a tree at the birth of a child. When the child grew up and married, branches were cut from the tree to hold up the chuppah (marriage canopy).

Three quarters through this very pleasant ceremony, we broke to enjoy a delicious lunch. The salads, soups and quiche, topped off by brownies, cake and coffee, were all excellent. Then, we went outside where the children were expertly guided in planting four slim new trees along the east side of the temple grounds.

Then we went inside to have our last cup of wine and conclude the service.

There is so much we can do about our planet, and a day like this reminds us about it. It also feels good to enjoy fellowship in the warm and friendly atmosphere of this community synagogue. I think I'll be back soon.

Sacred Space

I've been wrapping tefillin now for a little over a month, every day except shabbat. It's a quick process, but has extended little by little as I add a few words of the prayer I say. I now read two of the three paragraphs relating to putting on tefillin.

Today, as I entered the downstairs "office" I've been using, I saw a newspaper with a disturbing headline that I'd left there yesterday. I turned it over. Then, I saw someone's business card with a photo on it. I looked around and saw my mass of clutter--car models, papers, office supplies, junk. Too much distraction.

I realized that, for me, this room is starting to have some importance. It's my mini-shul now, and as that sacred space, it deserves better. So, it's time to clean it up. The table should be uncluttered, the hutch unburdened, the shelves, neat. Because whatever may be happening when I tie those leather straps onto my arm and head, it is putting me in a different frame of mind. That may very well be the entire purpose of doing it. I'll keep on and see.

I Lay Tefillin for the First Time Today

Thanks to Rabbi RR, I got my first lesson on wearing tefillin today. This longtime ritual means actually following the instructions in the Shema prayer to wear the words as a "reminder between your eyes" and as a "sign upon your hand." So, you essentially tie a box with the prayer in it onto your bicep and on the top of your forehead above the hairline (if you have one) using leather straps.

You must tie them in a certain way and get the symbols correct. The numbers 3 and 7 are important. Also meaningful is that this ritual uses the head, the heart (the one on the bicep points to it) and the hand. This means that thought, feeling and action are all combined--that's a powerful trio.

The head must rule. The Rabbi told me how the word for king (melech) and fool (lemech) use the same letters, M, L and CH. So, using the first letters of the Hebrew names for head, heart and liver (action), which correspond to these three letters, it's a matter of having the parts PARTS IN THE RIGHT ORDER that defines the difference between a king and a fool. It probably works better with the real Hebrew. 8-)

Once you've got everything set up properly, the procedure is to say the Shema (Daily declaration of faith) prayer and then carefully put everything back in it's containers and bags for tomorrow. You take off the tefillin in reverse order that you put it on, so it's hand, head, arm.

Laying tefillin is a very literal activity, but as someone who grew up Reformed--and had lots of gaps in his education--this is a nice first step to experiencing something of what my more orthodox ancestors did. I'm especially honored to use Rabbi RR's fathers tefillin.

Updates as they happen.