There should have been a party!
7:11 p.m.
Although I do not practise any religion, I am Jewish by birth, which means that my children are also viewed as Jewish by birth. All they need for that is to have a Jewish mother. Don�t ask, the roots of that law are based in antiquity and totally irrelevant to today�s world of DNA testing and blood-typing, but the rule remains on the books because motherhood is a certainty and fatherhood is at best hopeful. It is tradition for a Jewish boy to be circumcised on the eighth day of life and a good reason for a party, the �bris� that Harriet mentions. I lifted this from another site, so if it is copyrighted, forgive me:
�And G-d spoke to Abraham saying: ...This is my covenant which you shall keep between Me and you and thy seed after you�every male child among you shall be circumcised.� (Gen. 17:12) For 3500 years, since the time of our forefather Abraham, the Jewish people have observed the ritual of circumcision as the fundamental sign of the covenant between G-d and Israel. Known in Hebrew as Brit Milah, �the Covenant of Circumcision�, it is considered much more than a simple medical procedure. Brit Milah is considered the sign of a new-born child�s entry into the Jewish tradition. For millennia, in every country where Jews have lived, they have always practiced this ritual, sometimes at great personal sacrifice. Perhaps more than any other ritual, Brit Milah is the ultimate affirmation of Jewish identity.�
Okay, that�s not bad, except that milah means word, not circumcision, so the proper translation would be �the covenant of the word�, meaning the word of God as spoken to Abraham. But I digress.
My son�s father is not Jewish, but he was circumcised as a child. In Canada, circumcision is not performed automatically as it once was 40 or so years ago, it has to be requested by the parents. In Quebec, in a non-Jewish neighbourhood such as the one I live in, circumcision is practically unheard of. When my son was born, I was determined he be circumcised, not because he was Jewish (although it would help him in the future if he ever decided he wanted to practise that faith) but because his first cousin, Hubby�s brother�s son, had had to have the procedure done when he was almost four years old because his foreskin would not retract and he developed an infected glans. This was too close to home for me and I was not going to risk my little boy going through the same horrific experience. At that age, you remember something like that.
So, knowing that there was no way I was going to get a reasonable job done where I live, we traipsed to Toronto for the premiere of Hubby�s opera (that is another story) and I proceeded to make phone calls to pediatricians. No one was willing to do it. But everyone said, �You should call Dr. Katz.� I finally ended up calling Dr. Katz, who at that time was the coroner for the City of T0r0nt0, and we made an appointment to have my son bobbed during his lunch hour. The baby was two weeks old. When I called, the receptionist asked me if one of the parents was Jewish. I said yes, and after the deed was done I was given a certificate that my son can use in the event he has to prove his Jewishness. It turned out that the receptionist, the doctor�s wife, had been a camper at the camp where my father had been a counsellor, and he came along for the ride with photographs and anecdotes to regale her with.
The circumcision itself was awful. The nurse held Buddy Boy down by pinning his knees apart and the doctor very cooly and professionally sliced off the foreskin. My baby was screaming at the top of his lungs the whole time, he never got the drop of wine that would calm him down, and he held onto one of my fingers throughout the ordeal. It was terrible for me. I can only imagine what my husband was feeling as he watched this. After he was bandaged and diapered, Buddy Boy nursed me completely dry and fell asleep. When we got back to my parents� house, he brought back up all the milk he had just drunk in one big rush all over my blouse. I figured it was his way of getting back at me.
He healed quickly and doesn�t remember a thing. I, on the other hand, remember it all too vividly. Fortunately it�s not something I think of often, just something that gets dredged up from the memory banks every so often. I too wish Harriet�s friends joy in their baby, and I hope the boy gets his drop of wine so that he enjoys his own party.
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