Any day now, my wife and I will welcome our little one into the world. We’ve spent the past nine-ish months preparing for his arrival emotionally, spiritually, and physically. We set up a bassinet, bought a car seat, laundered and folded all of his teeny onesies. We talked about parenthood, about expectations, about how this may impact our relationship. We meditated, practiced breathing exercises, repeated our affirmations. We have a birth plan.
Even with all of these pieces in place, I know that we aren’t really ready. How can we be? We’re about to embark on an adventure with someone we haven’t met yet. Someone who will bring out parts of ourselves we didn’t know we had in us. There will be decisions to make, circumstances to face, challenges to meet head on. It would be audacious to entertain the idea that we could prepare for such a thing. And yet we try.
We found out pretty early, at 15 weeks, that we would be having a male baby. We don’t much care about the gender of the baby—we figure he’ll let us know his preferred pronouns when he’s old enough to know what pronouns are—but we wanted to know as early as possible what kind of anatomy he would have. Because, as Jewish parents, we knew that the first big decision we would make for our unborn child would be whether to circumcise him.
My wife and I have agonized over this decision for the past 23 weeks. This in itself is a bit unusual. A generation ago it would have been unthinkable for a Jewish mother not to circumcise her son. Truthfully, most of my friends back home in Israel never considered the possibility of an uncircumcised child. As painful as it was for both the baby and them, a basic axiom guided their decision: Jewish boys are circumcised.
At first, for us, this option seemed impossible. How could we make an irreversible choice for a child without his consent? I’ve always thought it outrageous to even pierce a baby’s ears. Now I find myself considering removing my baby’s foreskin.
But the reasoning on both sides makes a lot of sense. So much so that, as we weighed the various arguments, we made no headway on choosing a course of action. On the one hand, tradition, heritage, cultural history. On the other hand, we shouldn’t do things just because that’s how they’ve always been done. There’s also the idea that circumcision comes with certain health and hygiene benefits (although these are contested). But then we have to consider the potential loss of sensation that can result in less pleasure as an adult (although this, too, is contested). We also thought about the fact that over half the babies born with penises are circumcised in the United States, and certainly most Jewish males are circumcised, so our kid would feel that he fit in. But we also feel strongly that we shouldn’t do things just because everyone is doing them.
We asked our male friends how they felt about being circumcised (or not). We read articles. We talked with our friends who have sons. We wanted to make an informed decision, but the more informed we got, the less conviction we had about what we should do.
In the end, it was a conversation I had with my cousin that empowered me to take the plunge and opt for circumcision. We sat in an empty cafeteria at a conference, talking about our lives and ideas. My cousin is one of the smartest people I know and we’ve always had a profound, otherworldly connection. He is almost exactly nine months older than me. In fact, the family lore is that my mother found out that she was pregnant with me the day of his circumcision ceremony.
Looking down at the wooden table, I told him that I was lost—I didn’t know how to make this choice for my son. Whatever we chose would be permanent. Yes, he could choose to be circumcised as an adult, but that’s both unlikely and would involve much more pain. It’s now or never. I recounted the very valid points on both sides. I asked for his wisdom.
At first he was quiet, as he often is when trying to articulate his thoughts. “Well, isn’t that just being a parent?” he asked, eventually. “I mean. Everything you decide for your child is irreversible. Even the things you don’t think you’re deciding. The language you speak with him. Where you raise him. What food you feed him. All of these will make an impact on his consciousness, on who he becomes, that is permanent. The point is, you don’t always know the right decision. There may not even be a right decision. You just try to find out as much information as you can, then you make a choice.”
He’s right, of course, and that outlook on parenthood has fortified my wife and me as we inch our way toward parenthood. In the end, we just want to make the best decision for our child. The trick is knowing that the word “best” is ill defined and subjective. And that we, like all others, are fallible. So with this, as with so many more decisions yet to come, we’ll just try to find out as much as we can and make a choice. The truth is, this is only the first of many hard choices. Some of them we’ll get right (whatever that means). Some of them will be mistakes. So we’ll stay informed, stay communicative, draw on the wisdom of our community, and weigh the information at hand. Then all that’s left is to take a leap of faith.
I think we always knew, on some level, that we would eventually circumcise our son. My wife feels strongly that he shouldn’t feel like an outsider, so the fact that most American males are circumcised was key to her decision. I, too, feel that I want him to belong—as a Jewish boy. As immigrants and as a gay couple we know what it’s like to be outside the norm. We want our son to have the opportunity to feel included if he should wish to be. So we’re doing our due diligence, choosing a mohelet with experience and a medical degree. Researching outcomes. Preparing a service that reflects our relationship with Judaism and our values.
Ultimately, I’m grateful that we agonized for so long. While the day of the circumcision will undoubtedly be painful for us all, I feel strongly that we have made the choice that’s right for our family. But more than that, these conversations led us to understand more deeply what motherhood means to us. We’re guides, imperfect but trying our very best. We’re a team, us, our baby, and our community. We’re learning on the job, open to criticism but believing in our judgment. We’re doing it all out of the deepest love we’ll ever know. I guess, ultimately, that’s what really matters.
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