The naming was wonderful. We had a private bris (circumcision with ceremony) beforehand with just immediate family present, and then after that, we all segued into the sanctuary where there were about 60 people waiting. We began with controversy, actually: Jonathan delivered a speech on behalf of both of us about our regrets about circumcision (which I later heard was the talk of the 2nd year Life Cycle Liturgy class). Then we did the regular blessings. Jonathan and I said a parents' prayer for Ari, I read a blessing on behalf of Xander (who spent most of the ceremony in Jonathan's arms, driving his Thomas the Tank Engine figure over Jonathan's face), and my mom read a Grandparent's blessing. I spoke about the meaning of Ari's name for us, and the rabbi followed by giving a beautiful speech about how Aryeh means lion, and her hope that our lion would roar for something, for all the values of Judaism. Then Mom sang the priestly blessing while the rabbi gave the English translation. It was very spiritual, actually, more so than I had been expecting, because I thought it would be more tainted by the circumcision beforehand. I was very pleasantly surprised by the whole thing!
Afterwards everyone went to the lounge for a reception sponsored by my grandmother: a dairy meal of bagels, cheeses, fruits, veggies, and yogurts.
Here are a couple of pictures from the ceremony itself. My and Jonathan's speeches follow.
Rabbi Coran, myself with Ari, and Jonathan with Xanderbug on the bima at HUC.
Laughing at Xander's antics with the train.
Jonathan's speech
Thank you all for being here. It is a great joy to have everyone with our family as we welcome our second son, Aryeh, to the Jewish community. We can think of no place better to do such than here at HUC Cincinnati, the birthplace of Reform Judaism. But as wonderful as it is to have a new son, and to share him here before the community that we love, we have to admit that we feel some conflict in today’s brit milah, which took place just minutes ago in a private ceremony.
We appreciate and recognize that the brit milah is an ancient tradition going back thousands of years. It was part of Judaism from its conception and remains so today. That said, as parents we feel a primal urge to protect our son. It seems basic to our principles, and yet we see milah as fundamentally conflicting with this. In debating this issue we have realized that the reasons for circumcision are religious, not rational. Yet its practice still isn’t questioned, even by a movement that is built on the foundation of questioning the value of ritual.
To be honest, we feel that we have failed in some way for not taking a firmer stand against Ari’s circumcision. We lacked the courage to stand against social pressure. We feared that our son would not be included in some way in the Jewish world if we didn’t comply; that we would be chastised for letting that happen. Or that we would in some way hurt Michal’s opportunities as a Jewish leader. We are angry at ourselves for not holding our ground. And we are angry at the religion we love for robbing us of our spirituality on a day so important to us.
Let us make this clear - we are very, very glad that our son is welcomed as part of the Jewish people. We just wish the ritual wasn’t one of blood and pain.
To our son Aryeh we give this blessing:
may you grow to be healthy and wise;
may you have all the best things in life;
may you live and love as bold as your name;
may you love Judaism the way we do;
may you experience the love we have for you with your own children;
and of course, may you recover both emotionally and physically from today’s ritual.
Thanks to all of you here for your love and support, and for truly hearing what we have to say.
Michal's speech
This little boy has a name imbued with love. His first name, Aryeh, starts with A, or alef, the same letter as my step-grandfather, Avraham, who passed away last April. Avraham became my grandmother’s partner when I was in middle school, and for seventeen years was a grandfather in my heart. He loved me and Jonathan like his own grandkids, and Xander was the light of his life. This was a man who was passionate and fiercely loyal to the people and country he loved – he barely spoke English but would patiently teach me Hebrew vocabulary until I understood what he was trying to say. He would laugh when I would talk softly, often reminding me to shout because he was deaf in one ear, having lost his hearing due to a grenade blast in the Israeli War of Independence. Nothing ever seemed to bother Avraham, for he would shrug off the little things and focus on what was important. Aryeh means “lion of God,” and if our little lion is blessed with even a portion of Avraham’s kind, gentle, accepting, loving, and generous nature, we will consider ourselves very, very lucky.
Ari’s middle name, Merraro, is my maiden name. My father was born in Romania, and the family had been there for generations – but the name always sounded Spanish. The mystery was solved about ten years ago, when a Christian man from Spain contacted my dad and showed him a book from the time of the Inquisition – it listed our family name, spelled the exact same way we spell it today, next to the date 1488. We realized that we were the typical Diaspora story, fleeing from Spain and traveling progressively east until we ended up in Russia. Ari and Xander both have Merraro as their middle name so that they will always be connected to their history. They will never stand alone, but know that they are links in a very long chain of both Jewish and family tradition.
