Papa and His Circumcision

A few months ago I asked Papa if he would write a guest post for my blog about his circumcision.  No, I don’t mean by uncovering a repressed memory.  Papa had a circumcision a few years ago, as an adult.

“You’re getting WHAT?” I remember asking him when he told me that he was going to get a procedure.

“A circumcision,” he told me. As though it were part of an annual check up. “Don’t forget to get  me a gift to congratulate me.”

It took me a little while to recover.  It turns out that there aren’t as many self-help books out there on What To Do When Your Father Gets Circumcised. 

Why did he do it?  Read on!  

I love Papa.

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The topic is still  puzzling to me.

I will try to split it into the categories:

I.                   Why it was not done in the 1940s as it should have been, a few days after my birth?

Because my mother was 3^rd year medical student who spent ¾ of the World Word II on the Eastern Front working as a surgical assistant 2 miles from the front line.

A few months before my birth the circumcision was a sure death sentence if a child is caught in field by the enemy soldiers.

Ukrainian or Lithuanian/Estonian nationalist were more liberal and would simply request a child to cross him self 2-3 times and if he could not, would shoot him on the spot; these guys would not even bother to check  the presence or absence of the foreskin. We are talking about 4 to 7 year old children.

I believe that Brooklyn Hasidim should start teaching their pupils how to cross themselves as part of the nature survival course.

My great grandparents who were observant Orthodox Jews and helped my mother and father to raise me respected my mother’s decision and did not argue or pressed them into the actions.

II.                Hygiene part of owning foreskin bothered me immensely during my youth and early adulthood.

Getting older did not help, because thoughts of incapacitation and not being able to keep yourself clean can be very persistent and annoying.

III.             After decision was made, it was very simple; an old friend of mine did it with local anesthesia; physical discomfort was limited to a few days. As a bonus I got a brand new Hebrew name that I picked myself.

While responding to Marinka’s e-mail I was in the dysphoric/joking mood and she understood it well. I am very happy with my decision and this was one of the best things I have done for myself.

IV.             Esthetic part of it.

An old Russian joke will explain it.

1920’s the Soviet Russia is in midst of building socialism, elderly Jew comes to visit his grandchildren in the big city.

10-year-old grandson says to him: “We are greatest country in the world. Our steel and egg production will surpass these of the Americans in 2-3 months. Why, but tell me why should you wear these strange medieval payes*?

The old man says in response: “First of all, it looks beautiful”.

* Payot (also peyot, payos, payess, peyess, peyos Hebrew: singular, פֵּאָה; plural, פֵּאוֹת‎ ) is the Hebrew word for sidelocks or sidecurls. Payot are worn by some men and boys in the Orthodox Jewish community based on an interpretation of the Biblical injunction against shaving the “corners” of one’s head. Literally, pe’ah means corner, side or edge. There are different styles of payes among Haredi, Yemenite, and Hasidic Jews.

From Marinka: I’d like to note with respect to item III, that Papa’s “old friend” is a doctor, and not just some guy he has drinks with.

One year ago ...

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