Proudly Jewish—and Averse to Circumcision

Q4 Medicine
Lisa Braver Moss
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引用次数: 0

Abstract

Proudly Jewish—and Averse to Circumcision Lisa Braver Moss I've always had a strong sense of my Jewish identity—and I've always had grave misgivings about circumcision. It used to seem that these [End Page 86] statements were at odds with one another. Now I'm on a mission to integrate the two. I'm married to a man who's also Jewish. In the late 1980s, we had two sons, whose circumcisions I agreed to. Brit milah (the covenant of circumcision) is intended as a spiritually meaningful act symbolizing the agreement between God and the Jewish people. But for me, the experience was so upsetting that I didn't feel God's presence. In spite of all the arguments in favor—the weight of tradition, wanting my boys to be accepted in the Jewish world, and so on—I came to regret my acquiescence. I began to explore reasons to question circumcision from a Jewish point of view, publishing articles in Jewish magazines and speaking at conferences. Rather than focusing on the medical pros and cons, I wrote about Jewish law and ethics, and spoke with many rabbis. I was hoping to deepen Jewish dialogue on this topic, which was oddly off-limits in a culture that values intellectual inquiry. Besides helping me understand more about Judaism, my research and writing was a way of living with my guilt. I had succumbed to—and put my boys through—a tradition that went completely against my maternal instincts. This schism had made me doubt myself as a new mother. What kind of parent was I if I couldn't be a fierce protector of my newborn baby? It was not a positive or welcoming way for me to enter into motherhood. I blamed myself. I hadn't done medical research before my boys were born, trusting instead in the longevity of the tradition and the claim that circumcision is more hygienic. I bought into the medical justifications for circumcision—all of which, I later learned, fail to acknowledge the erogenous nature of foreskin tissue and its physiological function. If I'd known more; if I'd thought more deeply about infant trauma; if I'd taken my own spirituality more seriously—I would have fought for a different outcome, despite the pressure I felt as a Jewish person. Years went by. I wrote a novel about Jewish circumcision, then co-wrote a book of alternative bris ceremonies for families opting out of circumcision. Slowly, I came to understand that blaming myself for agreeing to circumcise my sons was not only a waste of time, but also missed the larger point. I'm not alone in my objections to this ancient tradition. Indeed, many Jewish parents get through the event with white knuckles, emotional detachment, alcohol, or sedatives rather than with genuine religious feeling. Shouldn't their spiritual authenticity matter? Shouldn't mine have mattered? In Judaism, every commandment (of which circumcision is one) should be approached with kavanah, or spiritual intent. Thus, my non-spiritual feelings about the circumcision tradition are problematic from a Jewish point of view. I should have been able to tell the rabbi I didn't really believe circumcision was what God wanted me to do. I wish I'd been guided in coming to a decision that reflected my actual spirituality. Instead, all that seemed to matter to anyone was getting the deed done. Going against my instincts and spirituality was not just my failing—it also represented an institutional failing. Jewish leaders and rabbis aren't trained to respond compassionately to those averse to circumcision. Even parents merely questioning the practice may be subjected to judgment, lectures, and condescension. Parents deciding not to circumcise may face all that and more: in some synagogues in the U.S., boys that have not been circumcised are currently being denied bar mitzvah. ________ In the Jewish world, we tend to look upon circumcision as the one monolithic tradition: we assume that every Jewish male is circumcised and that no one talks about or questions this. The truth is that throughout our history, there have been males who, for various reasons, did not undergo the ritual...
骄傲的犹太人——反对割礼
骄傲的犹太人——反对割礼丽莎·布拉弗·莫斯我一直对自己的犹太人身份有强烈的感觉,而且我一直对割礼有严重的疑虑。过去,这些说法似乎是相互矛盾的。现在我的任务是将两者结合起来。我嫁给了一个也是犹太人的男人。80年代末,我们有了两个儿子,我同意他们做包皮环切手术。Brit milah(割礼之约)是一种有精神意义的行为,象征着上帝和犹太人之间的协议。但对我来说,这段经历是如此令人沮丧,以至于我感觉不到上帝的存在。尽管有很多支持的理由——传统的影响,希望我的孩子们被犹太世界所接受,等等——我开始后悔我的默许。我开始从犹太人的角度探索质疑割礼的理由,在犹太杂志上发表文章,并在会议上发言。我没有关注医学上的利弊,而是写了关于犹太法律和伦理的文章,并与许多拉比交谈。我希望加深犹太人对这个话题的对话,在一个重视知识探索的文化中,这是一个奇怪的禁区。除了帮助我更多地了解犹太教,我的研究和写作也是一种带着负罪感生活的方式。我屈从于——并让我的孩子们经受了——一种完全违背我母性本能的传统。这种分裂使我怀疑自己是一个新妈妈。如果我不能保护好我刚出生的孩子,那我还算什么父母?这对我来说并不是一种积极或受欢迎的方式。我责怪自己。在我的儿子们出生之前,我没有做过医学研究,而是相信割礼的传统是长久的,并且认为割礼更卫生。我接受了包皮环切术的医学理由——后来我才知道,所有这些理由都没有承认包皮组织的性本质及其生理功能。如果我知道更多;如果我能更深入地思考婴儿创伤;如果我更认真地对待自己的精神信仰,我就会争取一个不同的结果,尽管我作为一个犹太人感到有压力。许多年过去了。我写了一本关于犹太人割礼的小说,然后与人合写了一本关于选择不接受割礼的家庭的割礼仪式的书。慢慢地,我开始明白,责备自己同意给儿子行包皮环切手术不仅是浪费时间,而且还忽略了更重要的一点。并不是只有我一个人反对这个古老的传统。事实上,许多犹太父母度过了这个节日,他们的关节发白,情绪超然,酗酒或服用镇静剂,而不是带着真正的宗教感情。他们精神上的真实性难道不重要吗?难道我的不重要吗?在犹太教中,每一条诫命(割礼是其中之一)都应该带着kavanah,或精神上的意图来对待。因此,从犹太人的角度来看,我对割礼传统的非精神感受是有问题的。我应该告诉拉比我不相信割礼是上帝想让我做的。我希望我在做出一个反映我真实精神的决定时得到了指导。相反,对任何人来说,最重要的似乎是把事情办好。违背我的本能和精神不仅仅是我的失败——它也代表了制度的失败。犹太领袖和拉比没有受过训练,不会同情地回应那些反对割礼的人。即使只是质疑这种做法的父母也可能受到评判、训斥和屈尊俯就。决定不做割礼的父母可能会面临以上种种,甚至更多:在美国的一些犹太教堂,没有做割礼的男孩目前被拒绝接受成人礼。________在犹太人的世界里,我们倾向于把割礼视为一个单一的传统:我们假设每个犹太男性都受过割礼,没有人谈论或质疑这一点。事实是,在我们的整个历史中,有一些男性,由于各种原因,没有经历这个仪式……
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来源期刊
Narrative inquiry in bioethics
Narrative inquiry in bioethics Medicine-Medicine (all)
CiteScore
0.20
自引率
0.00%
发文量
27
期刊介绍: Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics (NIB) is a unique journal that provides a forum for exploring current issues in bioethics through personal stories, qualitative and mixed-methods research articles, and case studies. NIB is dedicated to fostering a deeper understanding of bioethical issues by publishing rich descriptions of complex human experiences written in the words of the person experiencing them. While NIB upholds appropriate standards for narrative inquiry and qualitative research, it seeks to publish articles that will appeal to a broad readership of healthcare providers and researchers, bioethicists, sociologists, policy makers, and others. Articles may address the experiences of patients, family members, and health care workers.
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