Not The Way of Avraham

Photo courtsey of the family

There are times, as a mohel, that you feel as if you’re on a roll. The families are happy, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s at times like these that one should take stock of Hashem’s blessings and give thanks. But the smooth period I was experiencing recently probably led me to accept a Bris so far North.

The Galil is almost a three-hour drive from my home in Efrat. The plan was to do the Bris in the morning and spend the night in the center of the country, just in case. When we organized the event, it didn’t feel like it would be too much. “I travel the world to do Britot,” I thought. “How bad could a three-hour drive be?” 

When the morning of the Bris arrived, my son and I headed out before 7AM. At that hour the drive was easy, and we arrived with ample time to set up. The family appreciated that we made the long trip. “Our community had a longtime mohel, but due to age and illness, he’s no longer practicing,” the father told me. This knowledge made the long drive fade into the distance.

When the Bris ended at around 11AM, we started our journey to our overnight stay. Upon departure, Waze said it would take an hour and a half. But the routes it began suggesting were out of the ordinary, back roads I didn’t recognize. Suddenly traffic slowed to a halt. Police were blocking the on-ramps to the highway.

The Druze community was protesting attacks on their brothers and sisters in Syria. Black smoke could be seen rising into the air. Out of necessity, we stopped for lunch. 

When we finished, traffic had eased up and the final leg of the trip was uneventful. It was a small consolation after what ended up being a five-hour trip door to door. 

As we set our bags down in my in-laws’ apartment and I saw the green waves crashing ashore, I felt the road melt away again. It had been a long day, and I was anticipating some downtime. But I needed to check on the baby before fully unwinding.

“The bandage came off,” the message read. I would have liked it to stay on longer. I picked up my keys and headed for the car, knowing it would easily be a two-hour drive during rush hour. I encouraged the parents to check if there was a mohel in closer proximity who could put on a new bandage but assured them I was on my way.

As I drove North once again, the father updated me on the mohalim he contacted. The first told him that the situation was not a big deal and might not need another bandage. The second told him he needed to take the baby straight to the hospital. I assured the father that this was unnecessary. The third mohel’s answer was shocking. 

“I won’t touch any baby whose Bris was done by someone else,” the father reported the mohel saying.

I’m not sure I can fully express how unjustifiable this behavior is. I’ve assisted many families who needed help post-Bris. Some were just to take off a bandage and still others were facing more of an emergency scenario. It wouldn’t cross my mind to turn any of them away.

There’s a halacha in Hilchot Milah that discusses what a Beit Din should do if a father can’t pay for the mitzvah and the Mohel refuses to perform it pro bono. The Beit Din admonishes him that this isn’t the way the children of Avraham behave. But according to the Rashba, this Mohel is nearly revealing that he’s not actually a descendant of Abraham at all.

This Halacha always confused me because I never thought it would actually happen. Mohalim choose this profession to help people, not for monetary gain. But the case in the North was even more problematic because a baby needed help. Yet, this Mohel still refused to do what was right. 

Thank God, I made it to the baby without incident. As I sat with the parents and instructed them on what the next 24 hours would be, I said something I’ve never said before. “It’s my policy not to bad-mouth another Mohel,” I told them. “But NEVER use this person.”

A mohel is not a doctor. A surgeon can have horrible bedside manner with expert skills and a patient has little claim against him. But a mohel is different. Ours is a religious calling that demands both skill and proper characteristics. Ignoring either one invalidates his qualifications.

The State of Israel embodies this philosophy. We could easily put our head in the sand in regards to the Syrian Druze community and say it’s not our problem. However, it’s our role in the world to do what’s right for its own sake. This is the realization of being a light unto the nations. But it’s not enough to do this strictly on a governmental level. We must take this lesson into our everyday lives. All of us.