The Covenant of Circumcision

Lekh Lekha

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Over the last seven months, circumcision has appeared as a regular conversation topic in media outlets. Between metzitzah discussions, European nations becoming enlightened about circumcision and banning it (historians note that all that has changed in Europe is that European anti-Semitism now comes in the guise of liberalism – to save the babies!), and the pro v anti circumcision debate which continues to rage on in the blogosphere, there is no shortage of topics to be covered.

Reading Parshat Lekh Lekha this week, the parsha in which the Covenant of Circumcision is first presented in the Torah, it is a good time to reflect on what Bris Milah is and why we are so attached to it.

Dr. Jon Levenson, professor of Jewish studies at Harvard University, noted a (not) surprising phenomenon in his article, "The New Enemies of Circumcision,” in Commentary Magazine, March 2000.

“…circumcision, itself a divine commandment (mitzvah), is emblematic of the Jews' fidelity to the God who formed them as a people and gave them the Torah.
"It is hardly surprising, therefore, that even in modern times, Jews across the denominational spectrum have continued to have the procedure performed on their sons on the eighth day of life, just as the Torah prescribes. What may be more surprising is the durability of circumcision among those Jews for whom traditional theology is unacceptable. All sorts of other practices bearing the warrant of tradition--Sabbath, dietary laws, daily prayer--have fallen by the wayside, but circumcision, [ ] britmilah [ ], endures."

Levinson went on to discuss different opinions as to the prophylactic effects of circumcision, noting that they are irrelevant to the Jew who will be circumcising regardless of medical opinion. This notion was adequately noted by Herman Wouk in his "This is My God" where he wrote, “[F]or Jews circumcision … is not a detail of hygiene, [but] the seal of the pledge between Abraham and his Creator… The Jews have followed the Mosaic law with a confidence which modern medicine progressively ratifies.  The medical endorsement is not, however, the glory of Judaism.  It is a footnote."

In many Jewish circles, the question of circumcision is not a Hamletian question of "to circ or not to circ," but is merely a question of when and where. This is something the non-Jewish or the non-circumcising world, who view circumcision as barbaric, will never understand. Circumcision is a practice that has defined our people for thousands of years. We have done it openly, in secret, enjoying the support of local government or in defiance of laws against it. The practice has survived hatred, bigotry, persecution, and genocide for many reasons including those discussed in Talmud Nedarim 31b-32a (see also Shabbat 130a). It is the fulfillment of our side of the agreement of Bereshit 17, in hopes of the continued fulfillment of the promises God made to Avraham.

Many people who are anti-circumcision like to quote a passage of Maimonides from "The Guide to the Perplexed" [3.49 (118a), 609] in which Maimonides expressed how circumcision decreases physical sensitivity. But their quotation of Maimonides is alwaysincomplete, and therefore intellectually dishonest.

In the part they don't quote, Maimonides outlines why we circumcise. Avraham was the first to recognize the power of the male "drive" and the need to have other pursuits in life [see Hilchot De'ot 3:2]. More importantly, in his day (certainly before any notion of routine circumcision that exists in the United States today), circumcision gave our people a common physical sign of our peoplehood, along with the faith that this is what God has asked of us. (Levenson addresses the fact that women do not bear a sign of the covenant - which most women I have spoken with are "just fine with that.")

The covenant forged with Avraham, in which God agreed "to be a God for you and for your children after you" [as described in Bereshit 17] is the source for declaring God's oneness.

Maimonides states unequivocally that the Torah cannot be properly fulfilled without circumcision. He shares three points of wisdom in the process of circumcising at this age: 1. Were we to leave it for the child to do when he grows older, there's a great chance that he wouldn't do it. 2. The long-term pain experienced by an older person, who will add emotional stress to the ordeal, does not compare to the when-it's-over-it's-done experience of a newborn 3. Submitting a newborn to circumcision is much easier than an older child, for whom our love only grows over time, who experiences pain differently and who might remember it.

These days, even many Muslims have switched from the older practice of circumcising at 13 or a younger age of childhood, opting for the newborn period, which is far less traumatic and entirely forgettable.      

Small groups of Jews claim "choosing not to circ is the more Jewish thing to do." Discounting the Torah is hardly "more Jewish," but those who don't "get it" will try to use any argument they can to pursue their agenda.

For us, our covenant with God is what will keep this mitzvah alive. May we merit to bring many more babies into the Covenant (though only boys bare the physical mark) as the Jewish people continue to grow in anticipation of the final Redemption. 

In Defense of Noach

Parshat Noach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Of all the Biblical heroes, those we might call the "good guys," Noach gets the worst rap. When we are first introduced to him, we are told he was a tzaddik (righteous man) "in his generation." Rashi famously pounces on the added term, suggesting that he was a good guy in his generation alone, but had he lived in the generation of Avraham, he would not have been a person of significance.

Some further note that Noach never prayed for, or interceded on behalf of the people of his generation, in any manner similar to Avraham's protests on behalf of the doomed inhabitants of Sodom (see Rabbenu Bachaye on 6:14, for example). He may have taken his time building the ark, but as Bill Cosby noted in his popular "Noah" routine, if people asked him why he was building the ark, his response did not exactly inspire repentance (as is indicated by Rashi's "'Perhaps' they'd repent" in 6:14).

The Midrash Rabba compares the Torah's depiction of Noach to how it depicts Moshe. Noach starts as an "Ish Tzaddik" - a righteous man (6:9), but is last depicted as an "Ish Ha'Adamah" - a man of the earth (9:20). While being a man of the earth is not particularly a bad thing, it seems to be a step down from his original status. And once one considers that the epithet comes even after he has offered sacrifices to his God, the evidence is reproving in his disfavor.

Moshe, on the other hand, is depicted in his early days as an "Ish Mitzri" - an Egyptian man (Shmot 2:19), while at the end of his life he is called an "Ish Ha'Elokim" - a man of God (Devarim 33:1). His life seems to be a progression to greater holiness.

These critiques may reflect personality traits of Noach. He listened to God's instructions, but did not have the wherewithal to confront or inspire people, or to teach them to be more Godly. He may have been a tzaddik when others were around, but maybe the same personality trait did not hold water when Noach is the "only" human being around (aside from his immediate family) after the flood.

While I can not defend Noach against these accusations, I would like to share a defense pointed out by the Kli Yakar, which adds to Noach's esteem even beyond the Torah's "And Noach found favor in God's eyes." (6:8)  

Towards the end of Chapter 6, God tells Noach, "And you will take for yourself of all kinds of edible foods. You will gather it to you. And it will be food for you and for [the animals]." (6:21)

Says the Kli Yakar: "Taking for yourself implies 'from your own and not from the [food] of others.' This was to remind Noach not to think that just because everyone else will die soon and will have no need for their money or property, that everything in the world was available to him for the taking." The miracle, he explains, is that Noach's personal rations – from what he personally owned – sufficed for all those on the ark, man and beast, for one year.

This is quite significant. Noach is living in a time in which "Chamas" – robbery – is rampant. The fact that this does not even register as a possibility for him, he being the only one who understands that God will be destroying the world, and how truly "you can't take it with you" applied to the people of his generation, is a remarkable trait for a person living in that time period.

Think about it. Adam and Chava "stole" from the tree from which they were forbidden to eat. The Slonimer Rebbe (Nesivos Shalom) points out a remarkable difference between the offerings of Kayin and Hevel, that Kayin brought from "the fruit of the earth" (4:3) while Hevel brought from "the best of his sheep" (4:4). The source of Hevel's offering was his own property! Kayin's offering may not have been "his!" It may have been stolen!

Noach did not descend from Kayin. Nonetheless it is noteworthy how the concept of taking "that which does not belong to you" is a flaw which afflicted even the first humans on earth. But Noach overcame, and did not have that temptation. This allowed him to even hold back from taking from those who would never miss it.

The message is simple. Noach is a tzaddik in the first part of the parsha because he never let money, or the pursuit of money, get in the way of his relationship with God and other human beings. Any food ultimately brought aboard the ark was either grown by him or purchased honestly.

It takes a big man to go against the grain. Particularly in a society when everyone is stealing because "everyone else does," it is the truly righteous who steps back and says, "I don't. Because stealing is wrong."

By the end of the account of Noach in the Torah, he does not enjoy the same status as he did at the beginning of his tale. But his moral stance should continue to inspire all of us. Unlike many who choose to do the wrong thing following the bad example of others (like, say, double parking on a busy street that has one lane in each direction), who justify their behavior because "everyone does it," Noach set a standard that if it's wrong you don't do it, even if everyone else says otherwise.

The Crouching Sin

Parshat Bereshit

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The stage is set. The first two sons of Man have brought their offerings to their God, and He has favored the younger's dedication. The older brother is disheartened, and it shows on his face.

Says God, "What are you so frustrated? Why has your face fallen? If you do good, you will lift up! But if not, then sin lies crouching at the door. It desires to get you, but you can rule over it." (4:6-7)

            

In the next verse Kayin kills his brother.

The story is incomplete. Why Kayin killed Hevel is unclear. Was he provoked? Was it self defense? Did he even understand that his act could be fatal? Was the murder premeditated? Or an error? There are a myriad of interpretations hinged on the question of what the "sin crouching at the door" might be. As God's statement was the last thing Kayin heard before he committed murder, one can argue it was the trigger that unleashed his rage. But what did God mean?

In a lecture on repentance delivered in 1987, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein explained the "sin that crouches at the door" as the most blatant obstacle to proper observance of the Law and commitment to God which plagues a particular hashkafic (philosophical) community.

"…[It] is not the same sin at every door. Each door, each domicile, each community has its particular sin, a specific spiritual danger indigenous to it, endemic to that group or that individual." Quoting the Chafetz Chaim, he notes that different generations have different pitfalls. Some "succumb to idolatry, others to desecration of Shabbat, some to sins between man and his Maker, and others to interpersonal sins."

At the same time that he declared the sin plaguing the Religious Zionist community (ie "Modern Orthodox" community in the United States) to be one of "shikhecha," forgetting God, or "lacking the immanent sense of God felt so deeply, keenly and pervasively in other parts of the halakhically committed Jewish world" (which is indeed a problem), he defined "avodah zara" – beyond idolatry – as "superstition and misguided conceptions of God."

Rabbi Lichtenstein does not need my stamp of approval. His assessment of our community is spot on. But I think his definition of avodah zara is also quite noteworthy.

Looking to rabbis (people) as role models is wonderful. Idolizing them and turning them into flawless human beings is idolatry. Many rabbis exhibit excellent judgment all the time. Some make mistakes. The real Gedolim acknowledge their mistakes.

Kosher laws are quite special. Making an obsession about invisible parasites – and thus declaring water, lettuce, broccoli and strawberries unkosher – is idolatry. (No one is interested in eating infested vegetables. Remind people that bugs are not kosher, but don't wage war on fruits and vegetables!)

Modesty is one of the most important Jewish traits. But making a religion solely about personal definitions of such – when the law is somewhat flexible, and in some cases changes based on the standards of the general society – is idolatry! Modesty is not just about length of clothing and size of head coverings.

A chupah is a public event that declares a man and woman united in marriage. This allows them to be seen together in public, and to sit together at a wedding or any simcha other than their own wedding. Who has separate seating at their family Shabbat table?

Why do advertisements for communities and retirement homes in magazines only feature males in the photographs? Is it such a crime to see a photograph of a little girl, a mother in modest dress, or an elderly woman in a wheelchair? This is our world. This is life.

           

Mandating to others how to live, and judging their "frumkeit" based on externals (not calling a Kohen or Levi to the Torah or not counting a bar mitzvah for a minyan on account of a T-shirt or their not being from "your crowd") is not only the most disgusting form of sinat chinam (baseless hatred), but is also a form of idolatry. 

I received the following email in response to a debate about metzitzah that I posted on my blog, in which a pro Metzitzah b'Peh person told me that he cares not about Jews or people (or babies) in general, but only about "God and Halacha": "The 'pious' Jew who only cares about 'God' and His rulebook is clearly off the derech… whatever he is worshipping it is not God. He [has] invented a God to worship and [has] created an imaginary rule book… to replace the much more challenging reality [of what it means to be an observant Jew]."

Kayin could not overcome his crouching sin, perhaps his passion, and it caused him to kill his brother.

           

For some Jewish people, worship of the "avodah zara" I have described is their crouching sin. On account of it Judaism is ultimately denigrated, the shouting matches which ensue, and the negative feelings exacerbated through criticizing others all come at the expense of the, perhaps unanticipated, desecration of God's name which appears in television, newspapers and blogs fueled by misinformation, yes, but also improperly presented information which depicts Orthodox Jews as being hopelessly stubborn or blinded by their own faith.

            

In Kayin's case, his sin lay in his inabilities: to discern the flaw in his gift to God, to learn from his mistakes, and to see that he could live in harmony with his brother, despite their differences, and that each had a unique way of relating to God. If they could only respect the other approach – live and let live and stop telling the other what to do in the most intolerant of ways – they could have lived in harmony.

The saga of brother versus brother need have never unfolded so tragically.