When Silence is Life-Threatening

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

A baby has died due to his Brit Milah. 

This is any mohel’s worst nightmare. Of course, all procedures carry risk. It is for this reason that the practice of Milah is treated with such gravity. But every mohel knows: accidents can happen.

When the story first broke, the mohel’s side was all that was being discussed. He claimed to have instructed the family to remove the bandage the following day. According to his account, the family was traveling and assured him they’d have another mohel remove it, but waited four days to do so — a delay he claims led to a serious infection, sepsis, and ultimately the baby’s death.

That defense is difficult to accept because the mohel also admitted he sent two colleagues in the interim but never returned to check the baby himself. It is our job to protect those we serve. One of the most unsettling aspects of our work is leaving the baby after the Bris. Even when everything goes perfectly, follow-up may still be needed. 

A few years ago, a midnight call came in about post-bris bleeding. I rushed to check the baby and applied a new bandage. When the bleeding persisted I immediately sent them to the hospital. In the end, the baby was fine but I wasn’t willing to take any chances. This is the nature of our work and it’s why the mohel’s failure to personally follow up in this case feels so troubling and contrary to the vigilance our work demands.

As the investigation of the baby’s death has continued to unfold, the reports have challenged the mohel’s account. Police allege, based on a preliminary opinion from forensic pathologist Dr. Han Kugel and medical documents, that an unsuitable bandage caused restricted blood flow leading to necrosis and sepsis.

But this may not have been the first time this mohel has caused such damage. Ariela Sternbach, Channel 13’s Haredi affairs reporter, has publicly stated (based on documentation provided by the family) that this appears to be the same mohel featured in her investigative report two years ago, in which he was accused of severely damaging two other infants through similar bandaging issues that led to necrosis and loss of the organ. The investigation was thorough and detailed. It referenced a rabbinical court that forbade him from performing any further Britot; however, that injunction was later overturned by a civil court on technical grounds.

Many in the religious community both before and after the Channel 13 investigation defended and downplayed the severity of this mohel’s actions. One such colleague invoked the “it could happen to any of us” defense and that “these news agencies are always looking for a sensational story.” At the time, in light of the story, I had written a piece encouraging parents to carefully research their mohalim before hiring them. 

The chorus of 'it could happen to any of us' made me second-guess my own outrage. I never looked into the case further or wrote about it again. I assumed I was wrong about this mohel. Now, that defense feels like an indictment. It is true that we could all be subject to a complication or an unfair headline at one point or another. But there is a chasm between a tragic accident and systemic negligence.

To the parents who heard about this case and are now hesitant to perform Brit Milah, let me offer reassurance: the vast majority of mohalim practice with care, responsibility, and integrity. We are deeply committed to the safety and wellbeing of every child entrusted to us. 

And yet, that is precisely why this failure is so painful. In retrospect, the fact that these tragic cases were performed by the same mohel with the same pattern of negligence means we have all failed this family. This baby could have been saved. A newborn’s safety can never be about religious divides. It should never have been about defending a colleague — irrespective of the evidence — out of a selfish fear that 'I could be next.' And it can never be the subject of a coverup. 

When an unfit mohel is allowed to continue, silence is a choice. If we don't speak up, the blood is on all of our hands.