Holding On To What We Value

Photo: Avital Nefesh

“We’d like you to be the Sandak,” the parents told me. They were new to the area and had no one else to ask. I was honored — in fifteen years as a mohel, I’ve never held the baby during a bris, and now it may be for twins. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “I’ll be the Sandak for one twin and then the other mohel and I will switch.”

It all began when the family was first in touch to schedule the Brit Milah a few days earlier. We made the arrangements and things seemed to be moving ahead as normal. But then it was discovered that one of the baby’s Britot might need to be delayed for medical reasons. The parents called me in a panic on Motzei Shabbat; they had only learned of the issue late Friday afternoon and had spent the whole of Shabbat concerned. I assured them that this is common and manageable. 

Once the parents received the green light to hold the event on time they told me they’d feel more comfortable using a mohel who had been specifically recommended to them to handle the issue. I wanted to honor their wishes, but I saw no reason why I shouldn’t perform the other twin’s bris. So, I offered the round-robin solution and, unexpectedly, everyone agreed. Maran Rav Mordechai Eliyahu zt”l actually ruled that, apriori, twins should have two separate ceremonies. In a way we would be taking his Shitah to the logical conclusion: two separate ceremonies, sandakim, and Mohalim — perhaps for the first time.

When I arrived the morning of the simcha, I didn’t even know who the other mohel would be. They told me he was an expert, but I didn’t recognize his name. Not since my teachers guided me through my first Britot fifteen years ago had anyone looked over my shoulder like this. I feared this might feel the same way.

Then I saw him from across the room — black hat, bekishe. He looked somewhat out of place in the Dati-Leumi shul where we were. I worried that our differences extended beyond our choice of clothing. I prayed that wasn’t the case. We exchanged pleasantries while waiting for the morning prayers to conclude. Then the time came for the first Bris.

As I arranged my tools, the other mohel intently watched my every move. As he paced back and forth, I wasn’t sure what was bothering him — and then he stopped mid-stride and said it. “You use gloves?” he remarked. It was more of an accusation than a question. “Always,” I retorted. I should have figured that was the issue. I let the comment roll off my back and continued setting up — keeping the community waiting is its own transgression.

As always, I welcomed the baby into the covenant with as much joy and song as I could. The other mohel held the baby with such apathy, staring off in the distance, it seemed that he’d rather be anywhere else. When the ceremony was complete, I gave the parents the aftercare instructions while the other mohel prepared the second Bris. 

I was impressed with his technique throughout the Bris. He had a method of securing the baby's legs that I hadn’t seen before — and it seemed more effective than anything in my own training. He laid out fewer tools than I did and began promptly. There was much less singing — but there was also much less time for singing. The service couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. 

Being the Sandak was magical. I have often pushed back against those who call Brit Milah barbaric. My argument has always been that unlike hospital circumcisions — where the infant is strapped to a cold plastic board — at a traditional bris, the baby is lovingly held by a family member or close friend. Although I had no direct connection to this child, I held him in the most loving way possible, supporting him through the process. At the height of that moment, when the baby was joining the covenant of Avraham, all of the beauty shattered. 

The other mohel performed Metzitzah B’peh directly.

It takes a lot to make me uncomfortable, especially at a bris. None of it ever really bothers me, not the blood or the crying. I’ve only seen Metzitzah B’peh (MbP) done directly two other times. The first time I was in total shock, the second time I couldn’t hold back my anger. Even the possibility that the baby could contract HSV-1 – which can be fatal in newborns – was more than I could bear.

These experiences motivated me to do more — it was no longer enough to just hold myself at the highest standards of safety. I built an organization called Magen Habrit, dedicated to safeguarding the ritual of Brit Milah and the children who undergo it. Since the Chief Rabbinate will never take a formal stance against the practice, we educate parents to demand that the mohel use a sterile tube. Many mohalim will use one upon request even if they prefer doing it directly. The hope is to change the minhag from the ground up; one family at a time.

So here I was, holding a baby who had just had Metzitzah done directly. I felt as if I was an accomplice — having done something I not only would never do myself, but hoped would cease to exist. I, too, now felt like I didn’t want to be there. The mohel quickly wrapped the baby up and he received his name. 

Once the guests had filed into the other room for the meal, I waited to see what my partner in crime would have to say. It didn’t take long. “You know it’s forbidden to wear gloves,” he admonished me. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Rav Avraham Shteinberg explicitly wrote that the prevailing custom is not to wear gloves but, in principle, there’s nothing forbidden about it [and] it is not a desecration of the mitzvah because doctors wear them for the purposes of sterility. (HaRefuah K’halacha, Volume 2, Gate 5:21)

The other Mohel’s rebuke hung in the air. It took all of my self-control not to blurt out, “One could easily make the same case about direct MbP.” But, for better or worse, I held my tongue and only replied, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one.”

As I made my way towards the exit, feeling slightly dejected, the grandfather of the babies stopped me. “That was amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen two mohalim work together like that.” I’m not sure it’s ever been done before. 

When I think back on the experience, I’m torn. On the one hand, the grandfather is right: there may never have been a more beautiful example of two people on opposite ends of the religious spectrum, putting their differences aside for the betterment of our ancient rite. On the other hand, I cannot simply set aside what I know about the documented dangers of direct MbP — the infants who have been harmed, the cases that have even recently made headlines — all in the name of communal harmony.