Following a scheduling mix-up, Rose and I managed to have our first full pre-natal meeting with our doula today. There was some confusion about the time, but she made it this afternoon and stayed with us for not quite three hours. Three hours is a long time for me to keep absorbing information about managing labour, excitedly related by a woman passionate about the topic. Luckily, there was some laundry that I could go down and deal with for a few minutes for a break. Rose seems to be very much in tune with this doula, and the doula does have a lot of energy and passion, which is great.
This meeting got me thinking about presence and labour, or labour and presence. Rose and I have been exposing ourselves to a lot of information and expert knowledge on the process of labouring (we had a pre-natal class over two Saturdays recently, each session of about 6 hours). There are at least two reasons that we're amassing all this knowledge, and they both have to do with being prepared for labour. First, we want to know what is going on! The various technical descriptions of contraction timing, for example, will help us figure out in what stage of labour we're at. Second, we want to know how to manage labour, in particular, strategies for pain management, comfort measures, positions, drinking, eating, whatever.
This is going to be a significant process and it is being directed, rightly, at Rose's (and the baby's, don't forget the baby!) experience. It is everyone's job to help Rose have a positive experience. Not least of which, it is her own job. And it will be a huge job for her. But it is also my job (and the doula's job, and the midwife's job). And an important part of this job involves being present. For the whole time. Being there, with awareness, with presence of mind.
At one point during our meeting today, when Rose excused herself for a few minutes and the doula and I were chatting, she asked me how I'm feeling about this process. I said I'm learning (I mentioned to her earlier in the meeting that I'm reading this book; a great resource, but a slow read), but that I have this general feeling of incompetence about the whole process, like someone's who learned motorcycle repair from book. "Without having ever looked at a bike," she completed the thought. Yes. Exactly. Not unhelpfully, she said that what I do have to offer is unconditional love. Less helpful I thought is her conviction that my intuition will take over.
I am getting a sense of why my father made the choice of not being part of labour. I have not been given a similar choice, and I think it's a good thing that I haven't been. One of the key principles that we have been reading about and taught is the importance, for a labouring woman, of going through the pain, not working against it and not fighting your body. My own task is to work through this passive resistance, to get outside my own comfort zone, and, when the time comes, be an active, helping, and loving presence. To commit to the process, with my presence.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
More fun with the Rabbi
When I was in Junior High, in north (and I mean north) Toronto -- at the time, for those of you who might remember pre-amalgamation MEGACITY -- it was called North York, Willowdale even.... (Hey, I voted in that referendum. No one can say that I supported this monstrosity. Fourth freaking largest city in North America. Think about that for a second. Bigger than Boston). ...
I digress.
Back when I was in Junior High, in what was a very Jewish school -- new Jews, old Jews, first generation Canadian Jews, second generation Canadian Jews, and lots of Russian Jews -- we had, from time to time, Lunch with the Rabbi. It was awesome. What would happen is you and some other Israelis would hang out with a Rabbi and would be given Israeli treats which would only increase your nostalgia for a country from which you were brutally deracinated.
But I digress. And exaggerate.
You all know where this is going. This is turning into a religious blog, you rebel! It's not. But it's my damn blog and I'll write what I want and nobody is even reading this anyway, right?
So yesterday was my (sorta) weekly lesson with my Rabbi who is leaving for Chicago. Very sad, yaddi, yaddi, yadda. OK, here's the baby part of the blog. I mustered up my courage (for some reason, when sitting across from this man, I feel like I have a rock for a head and I lose my suaveness) and asked him about his decision regarding the circumcision (this is becoming truly self-referential). I had all my arsenal at the ready. It will be early July probably. Maybe he'll be interested in an Ottawa visit. Maybe I will pay for his ticket, or half. No dice. "Why don't you get in touch with Dr. Engel?" I'll get in touch with Dr. Engel. But I still wanted his real answer. "The decision has been made for me," he said. "I'm moving to Chicago."
Now, for all interested in sticking around for the second half of the blog post. Here it comes.
For some reason, my Rabbi wanted to get to the rainbow part of the story of Noah that we even skipped a couple of paragraphs. Remember how God made an oath never to flood the earth again, "for the imagery of a man's heart is evil from his youth" (yeah, I screwed up the Stone translation -- imagery, not image, for yetzer). And so, to mark this oath--actually, to mark a covenant with humanity, God creates a rainbow (you can bet it was a double, or even a triple, rainbow all da way for that first rainbow of the world). "And God said, 'This is the sign of the covenant that I give between Me and you, and every living being that is with you, to generations forever. I have set My [triple] rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and the earth. And it shall happen, when I place a cloud over the earth, and the bow will be seen in the cloud. I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living being among all flesh, and the water shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.'"
OK, my Rabbi has really been waiting to share this passage with me, that's why we skipped. He's been talking about it for a while. Now, you know the drill, he starts running around the study, looking for a book. He consults with the Rabbi leading the talmud session, gets an opinion, and goes back to the shelf. Can't find it. He'll ad lib. It's OK, he knows this stuff.
"So when see a rainbow, we should be happy, right?" he asks (rhetorically of course). "God is reminding us of the covenant he made with all living beings." I nod.
"No!" he says, "we should be sad. We should be sad because God is reminding us (or himself) that although he is angry with us, he won't have another flood, because so he swore."
"OK."
"What about a lunar eclipse?" Now he's really getting into it.
"According to a midrash, lunar eclipses are considered a bad omen for the Jews. Now, how can they be a bad omen? We know that we can predict them scientifically. "Hold on," he says. Runs around some more, finds books this time, and brings them over. This is highly advanced stuff (for me). The talmud. I move over and sit beside him. He reads aloud. We look at another text, this one written a couple of hundred years later, interpreting the older interpretation (this is how biblical exegesis works). The explanation is as follows: during the time of solar and lunar eclipses, there is a greater potential for misfortune. What about earthquakes?
This is where it gets weird. Through this whole discussion, we never make reference to Japan once. I do almost, but think it unnecessary, assuming that we are both living on the same planet. And, to be fair, maybe it wasn't necessary, maybe it was all in the background.
Now before we all get to the punchline here, I want to put this in context. These texts that we're looking at are old. They were written by wise men A LONG TIME AGO. Strange ideas. And yet, and yet... These texts are immensely respected in this one community. They are taken at their word, though interpretations, I would think, have to be stretched. The texts are valued as interpretations, but must, I would think, be seen with some perspective. This is esoteric and obscure stuff, and I do not understand it. (This is why I am looking forward to reading this book which was banned by certain influential rabbis).
So I found, on important surfing time today, two blog posts from people who actually know what they are talking about, on earthquakes in the talmud. These can do better justice than I can to the passages I listened to yesterday. First, the causes of earthquakes. This learned scholar explains that earthquakes may be caused by "any one of a number of acts: yes one of them is gay sex, but others are by disputes, and also by not taking heave offering and tithes from your produce, and also because God is just upset that the Temple is in ruins and there are theaters and circuses in Israel."
The more interesting question is, what is the physical process which gives rise to an earthquake. We all have some notion of this, right? Tectonic plates grating against each other, etc., right? Wrong, earthquakes are caused by two of God's tears in the sea:
I digress.
Back when I was in Junior High, in what was a very Jewish school -- new Jews, old Jews, first generation Canadian Jews, second generation Canadian Jews, and lots of Russian Jews -- we had, from time to time, Lunch with the Rabbi. It was awesome. What would happen is you and some other Israelis would hang out with a Rabbi and would be given Israeli treats which would only increase your nostalgia for a country from which you were brutally deracinated.
But I digress. And exaggerate.
You all know where this is going. This is turning into a religious blog, you rebel! It's not. But it's my damn blog and I'll write what I want and nobody is even reading this anyway, right?
So yesterday was my (sorta) weekly lesson with my Rabbi who is leaving for Chicago. Very sad, yaddi, yaddi, yadda. OK, here's the baby part of the blog. I mustered up my courage (for some reason, when sitting across from this man, I feel like I have a rock for a head and I lose my suaveness) and asked him about his decision regarding the circumcision (this is becoming truly self-referential). I had all my arsenal at the ready. It will be early July probably. Maybe he'll be interested in an Ottawa visit. Maybe I will pay for his ticket, or half. No dice. "Why don't you get in touch with Dr. Engel?" I'll get in touch with Dr. Engel. But I still wanted his real answer. "The decision has been made for me," he said. "I'm moving to Chicago."
Now, for all interested in sticking around for the second half of the blog post. Here it comes.
For some reason, my Rabbi wanted to get to the rainbow part of the story of Noah that we even skipped a couple of paragraphs. Remember how God made an oath never to flood the earth again, "for the imagery of a man's heart is evil from his youth" (yeah, I screwed up the Stone translation -- imagery, not image, for yetzer). And so, to mark this oath--actually, to mark a covenant with humanity, God creates a rainbow (you can bet it was a double, or even a triple, rainbow all da way for that first rainbow of the world). "And God said, 'This is the sign of the covenant that I give between Me and you, and every living being that is with you, to generations forever. I have set My [triple] rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and the earth. And it shall happen, when I place a cloud over the earth, and the bow will be seen in the cloud. I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living being among all flesh, and the water shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.'"
OK, my Rabbi has really been waiting to share this passage with me, that's why we skipped. He's been talking about it for a while. Now, you know the drill, he starts running around the study, looking for a book. He consults with the Rabbi leading the talmud session, gets an opinion, and goes back to the shelf. Can't find it. He'll ad lib. It's OK, he knows this stuff.
"So when see a rainbow, we should be happy, right?" he asks (rhetorically of course). "God is reminding us of the covenant he made with all living beings." I nod.
"No!" he says, "we should be sad. We should be sad because God is reminding us (or himself) that although he is angry with us, he won't have another flood, because so he swore."
"OK."
"What about a lunar eclipse?" Now he's really getting into it.
"According to a midrash, lunar eclipses are considered a bad omen for the Jews. Now, how can they be a bad omen? We know that we can predict them scientifically. "Hold on," he says. Runs around some more, finds books this time, and brings them over. This is highly advanced stuff (for me). The talmud. I move over and sit beside him. He reads aloud. We look at another text, this one written a couple of hundred years later, interpreting the older interpretation (this is how biblical exegesis works). The explanation is as follows: during the time of solar and lunar eclipses, there is a greater potential for misfortune. What about earthquakes?
This is where it gets weird. Through this whole discussion, we never make reference to Japan once. I do almost, but think it unnecessary, assuming that we are both living on the same planet. And, to be fair, maybe it wasn't necessary, maybe it was all in the background.
Now before we all get to the punchline here, I want to put this in context. These texts that we're looking at are old. They were written by wise men A LONG TIME AGO. Strange ideas. And yet, and yet... These texts are immensely respected in this one community. They are taken at their word, though interpretations, I would think, have to be stretched. The texts are valued as interpretations, but must, I would think, be seen with some perspective. This is esoteric and obscure stuff, and I do not understand it. (This is why I am looking forward to reading this book which was banned by certain influential rabbis).
So I found, on important surfing time today, two blog posts from people who actually know what they are talking about, on earthquakes in the talmud. These can do better justice than I can to the passages I listened to yesterday. First, the causes of earthquakes. This learned scholar explains that earthquakes may be caused by "any one of a number of acts: yes one of them is gay sex, but others are by disputes, and also by not taking heave offering and tithes from your produce, and also because God is just upset that the Temple is in ruins and there are theaters and circuses in Israel."
The more interesting question is, what is the physical process which gives rise to an earthquake. We all have some notion of this, right? Tectonic plates grating against each other, etc., right? Wrong, earthquakes are caused by two of God's tears in the sea:
"When God takes notice of his children, who are mired in oppression among the nations of the world, He drops two tears into the ocean, and the resultant commotion is heard from one end of the world to the other.”
We conclude. When we see a rainbow, witness an eclipse, or learn of an earthquake, we reflect on what this means to us, children of Israel.
But what about Japan?
One quick correction here: I was jumping from lunar to solar eclipses above. If I remember correctly, SOLAR eclipses may portend a bad omen for Jews and lunar ones, for the Gentiles (because Jews follow the lunar calendar). So there.
But what about Japan?
One quick correction here: I was jumping from lunar to solar eclipses above. If I remember correctly, SOLAR eclipses may portend a bad omen for Jews and lunar ones, for the Gentiles (because Jews follow the lunar calendar). So there.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
"For the shape of a man's heart is evil from his youth"
My Rabbi, of whom you have already heard, is moving to Chicago, to head up a yeshiva. This is great news for him and I wish him the best! Also, this leaves me without a potential mohel. I have not broached the topic with him since the last time and I'm not sure if I will again. This can become a major issue for me, as I have certain expectations and will only have someone that I trust fulfill this role. Then again, there's a 50-50 chance that no mohel will be necessary; but, should one be, I will probably have other things on my mind in the first eight days of my son's life!
So I had my (sorta) weekly class with my Rabbi yesterday. We have just been going over, line by line, the Hebrew bible (Tanach). We only end up having 20 minute sessions, so we're not very far along. Only the second parasha, following Genesis (the story of Creation): the story of Noah, with which everyone is surely familiar. Some of the details may surprise you, but the basic outline of the story is well-known (for example, I, along with many others no doubt, assumed that the symbol of the olive branch for peace originates from this story. But going over it with the Rabbi, this appeared to make no sense. A bit of googling revealed that this symbol is probably of Greek origin. But I digress.)
So yesterday, my Rabbi and I got to the end of the flood, when the water subsided completely and Noah opened the ark and, along with his family (his wife, his sons and their wives), and all the animal specimens kept inside the ark, stepped on dry land. Noah proceeded to prepare an offering to God of some of the animals (who did not go extinct as a result of this; another detail in the story which I will not get into) by burning them on the altar (those were different days than ours). God found the scent rather pleasing and, being appeased by it, vows never again to curse the land nor smite every living being. There is simply no point for "the shape of a man's heart is evil from his youth." I'll stop for a second just to note the striking lyricism of this passage in Hebrew, for those of you who can read it: כי יצר לב האדם רע מנעוריו
Some of you can appreciate that some passages just do not carry the same force in translation. Another striking passage, in the story of Cain and Abel, when God confronts Cain with the death of Abel He says "What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood cries out to Me from the earth!" (All translations (adopted) from the Stone Edition). This is clumsy, the Hebrew,
מה עשית קול דמי אחיך צועקים אלי מן-האדמה
comes at you at 100 miles an hour.
OK, so the Rabbi and I read this ("the shape of a man's heart is evil from his youth"), the Rabbi looks at me and asks, "Are you ready to be an educator?"
"I'm not sure," I answer.
"You're going to be one soon."
"OK"
"Do you have the tools to be an educator?"
"Hardly."
"OK then," he says, "give me one sec," and starts running around the study. This is a pretty big room, lots of desks, chairs, a talmud session going on, a couple of other partners studying together. He's looking for a book. Looks over here, looks over there, has a chat with some fellow students, asks around, comes back.
"We don't have it! How can we not have this book? OK, I'll paraphrase for you."
I forget the particulars of this book. It is some kind of commentary (obviously).
So the word translated as "shape" or "form", as in "shape (or form) of a man's heart" is yetzer, something like an inclination. Yetzer ha-ra is an inclination for evil. And he tells me, the Rabbi, that children have to be trained (his word), for they all come with this basic inclination. Fair enough, but "trained"? He goes on, in the tradition, and tells me a couple of entertaining stories told by his teachers. The point of these is, sometimes being a disciplinarian is called for. Sometimes, "because daddy said so," is the correct answer. Why? Because, if children do not hear this when they're young, they may well go astray, following their evil inclination.
My internalized reaction is to resist this approach, to view it as archaic (and perhaps typical in this case). But, while the Tiger Mother may be extreme, tough love may sometimes be in order. Or am I launching a culture war?
Now, in my own attempt to appease God, lest it be thought that I am not properly showing respect, I'll share with you this awesome song.
So I had my (sorta) weekly class with my Rabbi yesterday. We have just been going over, line by line, the Hebrew bible (Tanach). We only end up having 20 minute sessions, so we're not very far along. Only the second parasha, following Genesis (the story of Creation): the story of Noah, with which everyone is surely familiar. Some of the details may surprise you, but the basic outline of the story is well-known (for example, I, along with many others no doubt, assumed that the symbol of the olive branch for peace originates from this story. But going over it with the Rabbi, this appeared to make no sense. A bit of googling revealed that this symbol is probably of Greek origin. But I digress.)
So yesterday, my Rabbi and I got to the end of the flood, when the water subsided completely and Noah opened the ark and, along with his family (his wife, his sons and their wives), and all the animal specimens kept inside the ark, stepped on dry land. Noah proceeded to prepare an offering to God of some of the animals (who did not go extinct as a result of this; another detail in the story which I will not get into) by burning them on the altar (those were different days than ours). God found the scent rather pleasing and, being appeased by it, vows never again to curse the land nor smite every living being. There is simply no point for "the shape of a man's heart is evil from his youth." I'll stop for a second just to note the striking lyricism of this passage in Hebrew, for those of you who can read it: כי יצר לב האדם רע מנעוריו
Some of you can appreciate that some passages just do not carry the same force in translation. Another striking passage, in the story of Cain and Abel, when God confronts Cain with the death of Abel He says "What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood cries out to Me from the earth!" (All translations (adopted) from the Stone Edition). This is clumsy, the Hebrew,
מה עשית קול דמי אחיך צועקים אלי מן-האדמה
comes at you at 100 miles an hour.
OK, so the Rabbi and I read this ("the shape of a man's heart is evil from his youth"), the Rabbi looks at me and asks, "Are you ready to be an educator?"
"I'm not sure," I answer.
"You're going to be one soon."
"OK"
"Do you have the tools to be an educator?"
"Hardly."
"OK then," he says, "give me one sec," and starts running around the study. This is a pretty big room, lots of desks, chairs, a talmud session going on, a couple of other partners studying together. He's looking for a book. Looks over here, looks over there, has a chat with some fellow students, asks around, comes back.
"We don't have it! How can we not have this book? OK, I'll paraphrase for you."
I forget the particulars of this book. It is some kind of commentary (obviously).
So the word translated as "shape" or "form", as in "shape (or form) of a man's heart" is yetzer, something like an inclination. Yetzer ha-ra is an inclination for evil. And he tells me, the Rabbi, that children have to be trained (his word), for they all come with this basic inclination. Fair enough, but "trained"? He goes on, in the tradition, and tells me a couple of entertaining stories told by his teachers. The point of these is, sometimes being a disciplinarian is called for. Sometimes, "because daddy said so," is the correct answer. Why? Because, if children do not hear this when they're young, they may well go astray, following their evil inclination.
My internalized reaction is to resist this approach, to view it as archaic (and perhaps typical in this case). But, while the Tiger Mother may be extreme, tough love may sometimes be in order. Or am I launching a culture war?
Now, in my own attempt to appease God, lest it be thought that I am not properly showing respect, I'll share with you this awesome song.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Baby moon
Dear followers,
I will be away from affordable interweb technology as of this Saturday. I'm very much excited about this trip. I will leave you with this wonderful clip to keep you entertained! Enjoy and see you in March!
I will be away from affordable interweb technology as of this Saturday. I'm very much excited about this trip. I will leave you with this wonderful clip to keep you entertained! Enjoy and see you in March!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Guilt!
Today's question, for all of you reflective types, is "where does guilt begin?" What is the origin of guilt?
What is guilt, really? Maybe it's tied to regret: you feel guilty when you know (think) you should have done something, but, for whatever reason, you did something else instead. Maybe, at the time, you did what appeared to be right, but now you feel that you were wrong (this is getting pretty heavy). Some people are also accused of trying to make you feel guilty (they often succeed at this). Hence the term, "guilt trip" or "guilt tripping." According to popular folklore, Jewish mothers are especially adept at this and, I hear, Catholics do a pretty good job of it as well.
Being made to feel guilty is a fascinating topic, and would be worth exploring another time. But often (and maybe always), it is you yourself who triggers your own guilt (if only in allowing yourself to feel guilty). I think we tend to feel guilty especially when our actions affected someone who is close to us. And so I come to my confession.
I feel privileged to a piece of knowledge: I already know when I first experienced guilt in dealing with my child. It was a couple of weeks ago, when the child was a wee 16 weeks. Sixteen weeks in the womb, that is. Unborn, for the love of God!
For those of you who have been paying attention, I've been mentioning the phenomenon of pre-natal communication, apparently a highly beneficial activity for the unborn child. So I did something awesome: I read a whole story to my unborn child! It is one of my favourite childhood stories in my mother tongue (you will probably recognise the cover of The Giving Tree, even if you don't happen to read Hebrew).
This is awesome, you see, because, with repetition, the unborn child will learn to recognise my voice, even some of the words, heck, maybe even the story itself! And if some people have it right, this can become a comforting story that will make the little guy shut up when he's otherwise inconsolable!
Alas, I have not read the story to the fetus again. I even think that he's asked for it and I have not found the time to read it. What a horrible father I am! Guilt-ridden already.
What would the giving tree say?
What is guilt, really? Maybe it's tied to regret: you feel guilty when you know (think) you should have done something, but, for whatever reason, you did something else instead. Maybe, at the time, you did what appeared to be right, but now you feel that you were wrong (this is getting pretty heavy). Some people are also accused of trying to make you feel guilty (they often succeed at this). Hence the term, "guilt trip" or "guilt tripping." According to popular folklore, Jewish mothers are especially adept at this and, I hear, Catholics do a pretty good job of it as well.
Being made to feel guilty is a fascinating topic, and would be worth exploring another time. But often (and maybe always), it is you yourself who triggers your own guilt (if only in allowing yourself to feel guilty). I think we tend to feel guilty especially when our actions affected someone who is close to us. And so I come to my confession.
I feel privileged to a piece of knowledge: I already know when I first experienced guilt in dealing with my child. It was a couple of weeks ago, when the child was a wee 16 weeks. Sixteen weeks in the womb, that is. Unborn, for the love of God!
For those of you who have been paying attention, I've been mentioning the phenomenon of pre-natal communication, apparently a highly beneficial activity for the unborn child. So I did something awesome: I read a whole story to my unborn child! It is one of my favourite childhood stories in my mother tongue (you will probably recognise the cover of The Giving Tree, even if you don't happen to read Hebrew).
This is awesome, you see, because, with repetition, the unborn child will learn to recognise my voice, even some of the words, heck, maybe even the story itself! And if some people have it right, this can become a comforting story that will make the little guy shut up when he's otherwise inconsolable!
Alas, I have not read the story to the fetus again. I even think that he's asked for it and I have not found the time to read it. What a horrible father I am! Guilt-ridden already.
What would the giving tree say?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
"No tips"
We had another midwife appointment today, to which I grudgingly took the bus. The bus! I hate taking the bus! I don't really mind streetcars, which I took several times last week in Toronto where I attended a library conference. Streetcars, somehow, are not so bad. Maybe it's the predictable track, the smooth ride, and the easy suspension. Buses in Ottawa also smell like sweat I find.
Back on track. We got to hear the fetus' heart again today. It's a sound you just want to listen to forever; they always turn that dopler thingie off too soon. Rose's sister, who now has two great kids, rented her own dopler and listened to her first baby's heartbeat every night in bed. Something soothing about that.
But the real topic of this post is circumcision! Hurray for circumcision! I'm not here to engage in a debate about circumcision. In my case, anyway, nobody asked me and, also, nobody asked me if I wanted to be Jewish. If we happen to have a boy (or a girl, for that matter), our child will face some choices, later in life, about his religion. It'll be up to him to question and ask himself, and others, some questions and come up with the answers that will suit him. But I'd like to set him off on his life's journey the same way that I, my father, his father, and the rest of the fathers in my paternal lineage all the way down to a decisive day near Mount Sinai, have been started off: with a snip on the eighth day of all our lives. Rose and I have had this discussion a long time ago and we're in agreement on this.
Now a few months ago, around May of last year, I started taking Torah classes. Which is to say that, once a week, more or less, I sit down with a learned Rabbi and we study the Torah, the five books of Moses. We read it in Hebrew, line by line, and look at the commentary. This Rabbi also happens to be a mohel, a person who performs ritual Jewish circumcisions for a living. So it seemed natural to me that this wonderful, gentle, kind, and soulful man (not much older than I and with four children already!) whose work is really cutting edge, will circumcise my son in due course.
What I forgot to consider is my Rabbi's own position on this question. My son (or daughter), you see, will not be, halachically-speaking, Jewish because Judaism is passed down through the mother. So it is not so natural for my Rabbi to circumcise someone who is not born of a Jewish mother. Also, it is also not so natural to Rose to be around when this happens, because of the Rabbi's reservations.
So I gave my Rabbi some time to consider. And the next time I brought it up, he said that, on important matters such as this, he consults with his own Rabbi.
I'll keep you updated.
Back on track. We got to hear the fetus' heart again today. It's a sound you just want to listen to forever; they always turn that dopler thingie off too soon. Rose's sister, who now has two great kids, rented her own dopler and listened to her first baby's heartbeat every night in bed. Something soothing about that.
But the real topic of this post is circumcision! Hurray for circumcision! I'm not here to engage in a debate about circumcision. In my case, anyway, nobody asked me and, also, nobody asked me if I wanted to be Jewish. If we happen to have a boy (or a girl, for that matter), our child will face some choices, later in life, about his religion. It'll be up to him to question and ask himself, and others, some questions and come up with the answers that will suit him. But I'd like to set him off on his life's journey the same way that I, my father, his father, and the rest of the fathers in my paternal lineage all the way down to a decisive day near Mount Sinai, have been started off: with a snip on the eighth day of all our lives. Rose and I have had this discussion a long time ago and we're in agreement on this.
Now a few months ago, around May of last year, I started taking Torah classes. Which is to say that, once a week, more or less, I sit down with a learned Rabbi and we study the Torah, the five books of Moses. We read it in Hebrew, line by line, and look at the commentary. This Rabbi also happens to be a mohel, a person who performs ritual Jewish circumcisions for a living. So it seemed natural to me that this wonderful, gentle, kind, and soulful man (not much older than I and with four children already!) whose work is really cutting edge, will circumcise my son in due course.
What I forgot to consider is my Rabbi's own position on this question. My son (or daughter), you see, will not be, halachically-speaking, Jewish because Judaism is passed down through the mother. So it is not so natural for my Rabbi to circumcise someone who is not born of a Jewish mother. Also, it is also not so natural to Rose to be around when this happens, because of the Rabbi's reservations.
So I gave my Rabbi some time to consider. And the next time I brought it up, he said that, on important matters such as this, he consults with his own Rabbi.
I'll keep you updated.
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