Sunday, August 22, 2010


"Mavel Tov!" announces the Mohel, as he lifts the baby off the table and hands him to my brother. I follow him out of the room and my sister follows me. We enter a smaller room, where the Mohel motions for my brother to lay the baby down on the mat set on the round table and for me to hold him firmly. He dresses the incision while instructing my sister how to clean and care for the little guy over the next couple of days. I am excited for her and happy to be part of my nephew's Bris. 

I do not know how the concept of the Bris started, and for those out there that are not familiar with the ceremony, take a pile of tradition, add a bunch of queazy men, sprinkle on some mom tears, and finish the whole thing off with a hearty meal, and you got yourself a Bris.

My wife and I arrive at the YMHA a little early to help set up and make sure everything is going smoothly.  Just after 10 AM, guests start arriving; family, friends say their hello's and kids immediately run around the big room like the first day of camp. Once the little guy arrives the guests gather around to get look at the new born, peacefully sleeping in the carriage. "Look at him sleep, the little guy does not know what he is in for..." is the common phrase muttered by the men, while the women seem to poll who will watch and who will retreat to the farthest point. 
The Mohel arrives and begins to set up where the procedure will occur, meticulous in where the items are placed on the table. As soon as he is ready, the ceremony starts. I am given the honor of entering with the baby and handing him over to my father, who is seated, alert in his most important assignment. After last minute warnings to the parents to keep the playful kids from distracting him during the ceremony, he performs his Mohel duties. I stand next to my sister who is maintaining a calm disposition and a watchful eye at the same time. 

After finishing with the Mohel, the three of us and the baby re-enter the party room, joining the other guests in the celebration of my nephew's rite of passage. I meet up with my wife on the food line, grabbing a plate and filling it with deli sandwiches and salads. We find a seat with family and partake in the second half of this morning's affair. I pause and turn my head to glance at the little guy, resuming his peaceful sleep, unaware of his significance in todays events.


Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.