Circumcision

Write about a Jewish wedding, and the general reader will already have a decent working foundation for the discussion. Because the essential concept of marriage, and even certain features of the ceremony marking its inception, are arguably universal among almost all mainstream nations and cultures. What unique spin Judaism places on the wedding ceremony can be perceived without undo difficulty as an additional, uniquely Jewish layer that enhances the meaning of an institution whose basic elements, at least, are already known and practiced far and wide.

As for a Bar Mitzvah — well, it is true that here things are a bit more complicated, inasmuch as there is far less commonality in how the coming-of-age milestone is acknowledged and celebrated among the peoples of the earth. But that there is something worth acknowledging and celebrating in a coming of age is nonetheless taken for granted with just about the same universality as the marriage bond. The Jewish “value added” is mostly about the how, rather than the what and why.

But when the discussion turns to circumcision all bets are off. Well, almost all bets, that is. Because is a pretty sure bet that someone unacquainted with the pure and uplifting ways of Judaism will see in any discussion of circumcision a fortuitous opportunity to offer learned “commentary” in the form of indecent humor more typical of late-night television. This is lamentable but not surprising. Such anomalies could almost certainly be averted by a sound Jewish upbringing and education, including an ample dose of Talmud, for every Jewish girl and boy. But not all Jewish children are so fortunate.

First things first, however. We must not attempt to grasp the larger significance and context of anything without first acquiring a fundamental understanding of the technical definition of the thing. So, what exactly is circumcision, in technical terms?

Let’s first have a look at the word itself. The word “circumcision” is of Latin derivation, with “circum” and “cision” meaning, respectively, “around” and “cutting”. So to circumcise means to “cut around”. But to cut what, and around what?

General reference sources tend to define define circumcision as follows, in a manner that emphasizes both the anatomical and religious aspects of circumcision (which are complementary rather than mutually exclusive):

1. The act of cutting off of the foreskin.

2. A Jewish rite performed on male infants as a sign of inclusion in the Jewish religious community.

The foreskin is a fold of skin that cover the glans of the penis.

That is, male humans are built such that the delicate male organ, when not otherwise active, retracts into — and is covered and concealed by — a somewhat tubelike sheath of skin, connected to the man’s body as a circle at the base of the penis. When that organ is needed for action, most typically for urination or sexual intercourse, it is the foreskin that now retracts, revealing the penis and allowing it come forth and perform its necessary (or desired) function.

That is how a man’s body works in its pre-circumcised state.

Cirumcision essentially means “cutting around” the foreskin a cut of 360 degrees at or near the point of its attachment to the body, such that the foreskin is detached and removed. The “membrum virile” is then always fully revealed and visible.

Once the foreskin has been severed, two more elements are essential for a circumcision to conform to the requirements of Jewish Law: The thin membrane covering the corona of the penis must also be removed, and the blood must be suctioned from the wound.

And there you have the barest essentials of a “brit milah,” a Jewish circumcision.

Circumcision is highly noteworthy in Judaism, in that it reaches back hundreds of years even before Moses, to the very dawn of Judaism. (Only one other of the 613 commandments, the commandment to procreate, is yet older, dating even to Adam and Noah.) But it was Abraham, the first Jew, practically speaking, and ancestor to all Jews, who was commanded by God, in the year 1849 BCE, at age ninety-nine, to perform the commandment of circumcision on himself and all the males of his household. Likewise, Abraham was further commanded that as a symbol of the Eternal Covenant between God and the Jewish people, all male Jews for all generations to come must be circumcised on the eighth day following birth. (Except, that is, when there are medical counterindications preventing it at that time, in which case the circumcision must be performed at the earliest possible opportunity.)

Thus, circumcision in Hebrew is called “brit milah”. “Brit” means convenant, and “milah” means the removal of the foreskin.

Why did God see fit to choose just this particular practice — circumcision of the males — to symbolize His “eternal covenant” with the Jewish people? Simply put, we do not know exactly. A fundamental requirement of Jewish law and Jewish life is that we accept God’s will, including and especially His will as expressed in the commandments of the Torah, as absolute, and not depending or conditional on our rationalization or understanding of God’s will, or of the reasons for any given mitzvah (commandment).

Most attendees of a “brit milah” (or “bris” in its common Yiddish form) are blissfully unaware of most of the above. So be it.

Now, there is also the “party”. We are referring, of course, to the festivities that normally follow the actual circumcision ceremony. Jewish law itself requires it, although it is not in the strictest sense an integral part of the fulfillment of the mitzvah of circumcision. By this we mean that if the festivities cannot for some reason take place on the eighth day following birth, the bris itself must nonetheless be performed on that day, with the party to follow at a later time.

The infant on the day of his circumcision is called “chatan”, the Hebrew word for bridegroom. The Hebrew word, as we see here, is used more generally than its equivalent in English or other languages. By calling the infant a “chatan”, bridegroom, the tradition emphasizes the joyful grandiosity of the occasion.

But apart from the infant, three more personalities are essential to the event, in descending order of importance:

1. The father of the baby. He is essential here, because the ancient Torah commandment of circumcision obligates first and foremost each Jewish father to circumcise his own newborn sons. In Talmudic times this was apparently still more the rule than the exception, and fathers did typically circumcise their own sons. However, in later times it became customary for the father to instead appoint a “specialist in the field” to perform the surgery, see #2 below.

2. The “Mohel”, a professionally-trained circumciser, who performs the actual circumcision, but with an absolute understanding that he is serving merely as the appointed agent of the father, who has arranged that his own obligation to circumcise his son be fulfilled *through* the actions of the “mohel”, as Jewish law allows.

3. The “sandak” (Yiddish: sandek, but either way a word of uncertain derivation), who cradles the newborn on his knees while the bris is being performed. This is considered a very great honor. Often the sandak does this while sitting on a special chair that is constructed specifically for this purpose — higher than most chairs, so that the mohel will not need to bend over uncomfortably to reach the infant while performing the procedure. (The special chair typically resides permanently in the synagogue — where most circumcisions happen, although not all — happily awaiting its next bris, because it is never put to any other use but that.)

As the baby is brought in, the mohel opens the ceremony with a loud declaration: “Barukh Habba!” It is well-nigh impossible to translate these two very simple words in a manner that would preserve both the literal meaning and the actual sense. But the words “Barukh habba!”, in any case, translate literally as, “Blessed is he who is now arriving.” (Ouch. Do yourself a big favor and learn Hebrew! And you’ll be amazed how much better everything sounds in the original.) The arriver, of course, is none other than Baby X (not his real name, but he does not yet have a real name; more on this later).

Now, just a brief digression about that “Barukh habba!”. The reader is probably familiar with the English word “brouhaha”, which is used to mean something along the lines of “a noisy commotion”. Well, believe it or not, learned scholars of the English language, while unable to determine the origin of that word with any certainty, have suggested that the word “brouhaha” actually derives from the “Barukh habba!” shouted by the mohel as the opening words of every bris, to welcome the star of the show.

Yes, a true fact! Professional etymologists have traced and attributed the origin of the English word “brouhaha” to the Hebrew “Barukh habba!” heard at the opening of every circumcision.

Although not a universal practice, it is customary in many Jewish communities for the “bridegroom” of the day to be carried in on a luxurious pillow, first by his mother, who then passes him to an honored guest, and he or she to another, and another, who all stand in a line, leading from the doorway of the ceremony room, and all the way the father, the mohel, and the sandak, a noble threesome, waiting to begin the bris. But no one can do anything without the baby (obviously).

Once the infant is positioned snuggly on the knees of the sandak, the mohel (who has meanwhile been reciting various introductory verses) and the father recite two benedictions declaring that the bris about to be performed is being done for the sake of fulfilling a God-ordained commandment, and that the ultimate purpose is to enter the child into the Jewish covenant with God.

With his sharp and sterilized surgical instrument in hand, the mohel proceeds forthwith to execute the actual brit milah, as elaborated in detail earlier in this writeup.

Quite contemporaneous with that first cut is the usual yelp from baby, confirming to all present that he has a clear sense that something monumental is happening.

The mohel dresses the wound. The baby is diapered and dressed. And all is well with the world. Time to party, right?

Well, not so fast. One more extremely vital detail has not yet been addressed.

It is almost universal Jewish practice that every Jewish child receives a uniquely Jewish name, regardless of what other name or names he or she may be given at birth.

A Jewish girl is usually named in the synagogue, at the reading of the Torah — most often on the sabbath following her birth.

A Jewish boy, however, traditionally receives his Jewish name as part of his circumcision ceremony. And that is the remaining critical detail that our bridegroom of the day wants to see addressed ASAP. (Who ever heard of a nameless bridegroom?)

The naming of the baby follows a particular set text (Judaism has so many of those), with a blank line indicating “(insert Hebrew name of newborn here)”. The naming is recited either by the mohel, or by one of the honored guests sufficiently adept in reading classical Hebrew.

The critical passage here is:

” … and may this child be known in Israel by the name:

Yosef son of Mordechai,”

or whatever the chosen name happens to be. But always “so-and-so, son of so-and-so”, following an ancient identification scheme that predates Social Security numbers by many thousands of years, to biblical (more likely, pre-biblical) times.

The baby-naming component of the bris includes some of the most poignant and hopeful expressions of the human spirit that you are bound to encounter in all of Judaism (and beyond).

The mohel finds some wine nearby, and places a few drops into the mouth of the patient, who delights in its sweet taste and in the antiseptic qualities of its alcoholic content — of which event the ancients who first insituted this practice were likely aware, even if they were unable to explain it.

(That wine is conveniently never far off when the mohel needs it, because it is an integral part of the bris, simply because almost every major Jewish event is commemorated over wine, and a bris is no exception.)

The bris now just about concluded, the mohel or reader signs off with:

“May this child, although tiny now, grow to be strong and great!”

And the congregation responds with:

“Just as he has now entered God’s Covenant, so may he continue on to Torah, to marriage, and a life replete with good deeds!”

The bris is done. The baby has been named. Every pure hope and wish of the community has been showered upon the baby, who is already back in the arms of his loving mother.

And now, finally, brunch is being served in the auditorium.