When my wife and I had our first son, we faced a decision that many Jewish parents know well: whether to have a brit milah, the ritual circumcision on the eighth day. We are not particularly observant. We go to synagogue on the high holidays, light candles on Friday nights sporadically, and argue about the correct way to make latkes. But when it came to this one, I felt a pull. It was not about religion in the strict sense. It was about connection. I wanted my son to know that he belonged to something older than himself, something that stretches back centuries. I wanted him to have a story that starts long before he was born.
We started researching. We asked friends, read forums, and talked to rabbis. The challenge was finding someone who could perform the ceremony with both skill and sensitivity. We wanted a mohel who understood that our family was not coming from a place of deep religious observance, but from a desire to honor tradition in a way that felt authentic to us. We found a list of resources and eventually came across Moyel.org, which helped us connect with a mohel who had experience with families like ours. That one conversation changed the whole process. It made the ritual feel less like a checklist and more like a genuine welcome into the community.
Why we chose to do the ritual at all
Some of our friends thought we were crazy. They said, «Why put him through that? He won’t remember it.» Others assumed we were doing it for medical reasons, which we were not. The truth is simpler and harder to explain. I grew up in a household where Jewish identity was assumed but rarely discussed. My grandparents were survivors. They did not talk about the past, but they insisted on certain traditions. Brit milah was one of them. I never questioned it until I became a parent myself. Then I realized that every ritual is a choice. You can let it slide, or you can actively decide to keep it alive. I chose to keep it alive because I wanted my son to have a physical marker of belonging. It is not about the pain. It is about the moment when the community gathers around the baby and says, «You are one of us.» That moment matters.
How we found a mohel who fit our family
Finding the right mohel was harder than I expected. In our city, there are a few well-known names, but they come with strong reputations. Some are very traditional, others are more modern. We needed someone who could explain the ceremony in plain English, who would not judge us for not knowing the Hebrew prayers, and who would take the time to answer our questions. We asked around. A friend recommended a mohel who had done her son’s ceremony, and she described him as «calm and reassuring.» That was what we needed. We called him. He spoke to us for nearly an hour on the phone, not just about the procedure but about the meaning of the covenant. He asked our son’s name, and he told us the story of its Hebrew translation. That personal touch made all the difference. We did not shop around. We knew he was the one.
What the ceremony felt like for us as parents
The day itself was a blur. My mother-in-law was crying before the mohel even arrived. My father was trying to crack jokes. The room was full of people we love, and that made it feel both intimate and chaotic. The mohel walked us through every step. He asked us to hold our son, to whisper his name, to be present. The actual moment of the circumcision was fast, and our son cried for about thirty seconds before settling into his mother’s arms. Then the mohel said the blessings, and we passed the baby around. Everyone wanted to hold him. For a few hours, we were not just a family. We were a link in a chain that goes back to Abraham. I know that sounds dramatic, but it is how I felt. I am not a poetic person. I am a guy who works in tech and worries about sleep schedules. But standing there, I understood why people do this. It is not about the pain. It is about the promise.
What I would say to other parents on the fence
If you are reading this and you are unsure about brit milah, I get it. It is a hard decision. You are asking your child to endure something for a purpose they cannot yet understand. But I think that is true of most parenting choices. You make them because you believe they will matter later. The ritual itself is short. The recovery is quick. But the message it sends lasts. It tells your child that they are part of a people who have survived and adapted and held onto their identity through everything. You do not have to be a scholar or a regular shul-goer to want that. You just have to be willing to take a step into something that feels bigger than you. And if you need help finding a mohel who gets that, there are resources out there. I am glad we found one. I am glad we did it. My son is two now, and he has no memory of that day. But I do. And I think that is enough.