Circumcision: divine duties and human morality

The command of circumcision, which features in this week’s Torah portion, has become an important battleground in recent years for those seeking to challenge religious practices on apparent humanitarian grounds.

This challenge forms part of a bigger question of the interplay between mitzvot and morality in Judaism. In its chapter on Torah and universal morality, Judaism Reclaimed approaches first from the point of view of Rambam, maintaining that the Maimonidean perspective rejects the very notion of God being subject to or working within human conceptions of morality (although there is far more to discuss on this, see my post here).

Others however follow a more Hirschian approach which seeks to explain the Torah’s teachings as representing the pinnacle of morality. Mitzvot which may initially appear to present a moral challenge are accounted for by pointing to our lack of divine knowledge, wisdom and perspective. Circumcision itself is understood by R’ Hirsch to contain a rich array of profound symbolic moral teachings (a sample of which are well presented in this podcast by Simi Rivka Lerner here).

In this post I would like to focus on a fascinating essay on the subject by Rabbi Nathan Cardozo in his recent book on Bereishit (my review of his book is here). Rather than trade in apologetics and attempted moral justifications, Cardozo goes on the attack, arguing that

[T]he whole premise on which these objections are based is the result of a profound misunderstanding of what human beings are all about, what moves them, and what make their lives meaningful. To be truly alive is only possible when one lives for some supreme goal. There are values in life that surpass our concern for the mundane, and many of us are prepared to make highly uncomfortable – even painful – sacrifices in order to live by those values.

Instead of focusing on the right of parents to wound their newborn son, Cardozo turns the tables asking

What right do we have to bring children into the world without giving them a higher mission? While Socrates teaches that the unexamined life is not worth living, Judaism teaches us that a life without commitment is a life not lived. To deny our children this is to withhold from them true joy, and the capability to withstand major challenges, as well as the chance to experience the highest, truest value of living in this world.

Cardozo the proceeds to evaluate a more fundamental question of parental rights

But shouldn‎’t we also ask ourselves honestly whether we have the right to bring a child into this world at all? Is that not a much greater injustice than circumcision? After all, even with today’s medical knowledge, many children are tragically born with all sorts of deformities or illnesses, often crippled and handicapped for life. Others may suffer at some later stage in life, contracting diseases, experiencing violence, and even becoming victims of war and other atrocities…Subconsciously, we all know that we have the right to bring a child into the world because there is something about life that overrules all objections against it. If we did not believe this, it would be completely prohibited to risk bringing children into the world, knowing full well how much harm and pain they will probably encounter. Only if we understand that life is of invaluable importance – and not merely a matter of physical survival – can we live a life of grand spiritual import.

The discussion then proceeds to investigate the underlying difference in priority and perspective between Judaism and the contemporary Western society

Western society is rights-orientated, and secular ethics is deeply rooted in this distinction. One of the great contributions that Judaism…has made to this world is the concept of duty. Judaism does not believe that people own their bodies, and are therefore free to do with them whatever they please. Judaism, and most monotheistic religions, believe that the human body is a loan granted by God, Who is the ultimate Owner…

The rite of circumcision is the Jews’ way of passing on life’s meaning to their children, by obligating them to fulfil the Jewish people’s covenant with God, sealed thousands of years ago. It is duty we talk about, and there is no growth except in the fulfilment of one’s duties. For Jews, circumcision – the promise to live life with a great mission as its guide – is God’s seal imprinted on human flesh. And it is only proper that this sign of allegiance be imposed upon the body, for after all, it is not the soul that needs to make the commitment. The soul is already committed to its mission.

Cardozo concludes powerfully that

The claim that it may hurt for a moment, and that it interferes with a child’s self-determination, is totally disproportionate to its infinite spiritual value. The child, from the very beginning of his life, is physically and symbolically reminded that living a life of higher meaning requires sacrifice, but is also the source of both ultimate happiness and the notion of mission.

One final point, many readers may be questioning at this point why the divine seal of meaning appears to be an exclusively male notion: do women not also require or deserve such an imprint of Judaism's divine mission?

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch addresses this question in a passage we expand upon in Judaism Reclaimed's chapter on the Jewish view of gender. R' Hirsch highlights the unexpected placement, in parashat Tazria, of the commandment of circumcision amidst the laws relating to ritual purity of a new mother and Niddah. Among other things, R' Hirsch understands the Torah to be drawing a parallel between the dedication to divine mission that circumcision symbolises for the male and the symbolic moral significance offered for women by the laws governing the Niddah cycle.

First posted on Facebook 29 October 2020, here.

A cut above? Circumcision and supremacy

The closing passage of this week’s parasha introduces us to Brit Milah – a physical manifestation and sign of God’s covenant with Avraham and his descendants. Among the rationalisations offered for this commandment is Rambam’s proposal in Moreh Nevuchim (3:49) that it serves as a physical sign of collective commitment to the beliefs and values of Judaism. Rambam emphasises the fact that circumcision is not a simple scratch to the skin’s surface but rather a significant wound – and therefore constitutes a statement of deep religious commitment (presumably by the parents of the child).

This explanation recalls a primary theory advanced by Moshe Koppel in his recent book Judaism Straight Up: Why Real Religion Endures. According to Koppel, any sort of community must contain certain key attributes – such as duty, loyalty and respect for authority in order to preserve itself. Most important however in terms of group identity, are customs and rules which perpetuate and strengthen a sense of shared identity. The more demanding and costly these rules are, the more powerful this identity will be. In terms of contemporary Jewish practices, these rules can take the form of actual mitzvot – such as kashrut – or customs which have been adopted by specific groups such as a strict dress code or shunning secular education. Rambam’s explanation of circumcision as constituting a public statement of membership of the Jewish nation fits neatly into this pattern.

Such benefits of the commandments should not be ignored; they are particularly valuable when Judaism is attempting to rebuild post-Holocaust – or under siege from “Liberalism” (as depicted by Koppel). This approach, however, brings with it an inherent danger in that it will be applied too strongly. Pride in one’s religion and nationality can be a positive thing. Taken too far, however, they can spill over into forms of supremacy and indifference – even hostility – to outsiders.

Basing himself on a Midrash Rabbah, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch identifies a very different lesson to be drawn from the commandment of Brit Milah, and how our forefather Avraham reacted to it:

“Here sits the first circumcised Jew – and where is he seated? “In the groves of Mamre!”…Although he was now circumcised, his relationship to mankind outside his limited sphere remained unchanged.

Our sages teach us that Avraham’s sole concern – and this is what prompted him to sit before his door in the heat of the day – was that now, following his circumcision, people might avoid him (Bereishit Rabbah 48:9). Our sages teach us this so that, from Avraham’s example, we should learn that providing hospitality to guests is greater than standing before the Divine Presence (Shabbat 127a). And who were the guests Avraham was expecting? Uncircumcised idolators (He could have expected no others). For their sake he left God’s Presence; he ran to greet them, to fulfil the duty of acting with lovingkindess towards one’s fellow man.”

It is perhaps fitting that the first commandment received by our ancestors to symbolise our distinct and chosen status should contain both of these elements; marking ourselves out as different while at the same time being followed by an account of Avraham’s open outlook to the Other. Paradoxically, we are expected to retain our own strong identity – but a key part of that very identity is, we are told by Isaiah to be: “a light unto the nations, so that My salvation shall be until the end of the earth”.

The correct balance of these two aspects of our Jewish identity may vary in time and place. A natural – probably correct – response to persecution is insularity and hostility towards the oppressor as a matter of self-preservation. In better times, the ability to be more open, engaging and outward-thinking in one’s Judaism may reflect an inner security and peace with one’s faith.

If we are to search for a peak of Jewish history which we can identify as some sort of ideal, the most likely candidate would be the early years of King Shlomo. The first book of Kings describes a society thriving on peace and prosperity under the guidance of a wise monarch. Strong messianic themes can be sensed in the way that non-Jews amassed from surrounding lands to stand in amazement at Shlomo’s wisdom, while “Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig-tree, from Dan even to Beer-sheba, all the days of Solomon” (5:5). This era particularly stands out as a time in which the Jews sought to spread their wisdom and teachings beyond their own circles.

In its ideal state, it would seem that Jewish Strength is not to be found in lording it over others but by making ourselves such an illuminating example of morality, wisdom and spirituality that people will come flocking to share in our teachings.

First posted on Facebook 3 November 2022, here.