Army of the Covenant: Interview with the First Military Mohel

The Sephardic synagogue in Kiryat Haim, Haifa is completely deserted this afternoon. In half an hour, a brit milah will take place. The honoree: an eight-day-old son of completely secular parents. The mohel: Dr. Rabbi Aryeh Waldman, the mohel of Haifa. We enter with his son Asher and the faithful assistant Shimon, who spread out the equipment on the lectern. The sanctuary is still dark. The first to arrive are two gabbaim, followed by an early guest couple. Then the father enters, and we get a quick lesson in "how to be a mohel in 2014."

"Mazal tov," Asher calls out cheerfully to the anxious father. The mother is still waiting in the car, afraid to come in. "How is the child? How is the mother?" The young, amiable mohel inquires about the family's status, the invited guests, and how life is in general. The father gradually relaxes. His shoulders loosen, and a hint of a smile appears. Asher continues calmly, as if it were not almost time for the brit, and for the one after it, and the one after that. He has all the time in the world, and the parents sigh in relief. The intimidating ceremony that had kept them awake at night, as they now recount stammering, suddenly seems more reasonable. With such a mohel, what is there to fear? And when Asher begins to explain what it includes, they might even say their breathing returns to normal.

"That's how it works today," Waldman Jr. says with a smile. "A mohel of the past enjoyed the given: everyone knew a circumcision was happening. No one had any questions on the matter. Today, the world is different. Parents weigh, check, read material, and sometimes decide they don't want it. This exists. If you don't know how to speak their language, you won't succeed in performing the mitzvah."

He has a great teacher, his father, and a lineage of mohels tracing back to his great-grandfather's town in Romania, where he served as a shochet and mohel. His father, a grandson of the grandfather who came to Haifa, turned to medical studies and only after receiving his doctorate felt an acute need for mohels in the city. He studied the profession and became famous within months. Because he was also a certified doctor, his reputation soared worldwide.

His eldest son accompanied him, took up the reins, and today stands on his own. Together, the two present a new generation of mohels operating in a complex arena. In the past, mohels were full of heroic stories about circumcisions under the oppressive communist boot or in the closed Arab countries, but today anyone who wants to circumcise his son can do so, and the tales wander to completely different places—those who are apprehensive, those who wish to stand at the gates of the Jewish nation and close them, those who refuse to bring their son into the people they were born into and need a gentle tongue to crack the hardness. The bravery of today's mohels deep within the Holy Land.

Welcome, People of Israel

While the father's reputation soared up the ladder of municipal mohels, entire families entrusting only their offspring in his safe hands, his youngest son became the IDF's mohel—a role tailored to his own measures and even received an official rank. Even though he completed his military service, he participates in reserve duty for several weeks each year, during which he performs all the military's brit milah ceremonies. What does that mean? He will explain right away.

The 26-year-old from Haifa began studying the laws of circumcision long before he considered entering the field. By the time he reached his first brit, he had attended no fewer than three thousand others. If you had woken him in the middle of the night, he could have recited the laws of circumcision by heart—what should happen before what, and how to act when something goes wrong. His father had no doubt: the child was following his path; it was only a matter of time before he found his way into the field.

The independent journey began at age 16. Yes, Asher Waldman became a mohel only three years after his bar mitzvah. Within a few months, he received certification. In the record book for the religious child, he is listed as the world's youngest mohel. Since then, by the way, he hasn't stopped performing circumcisions.

Mohel Asher Waldman

Who is even willing to let a 16-year-old circumcise their son?

"That is a correct question, but phrase it differently: who is even willing to let a new mohel, without practical experience, circumcise their son? How can one become a mohel if becoming one requires gaining experience, and gaining experience requires example brit milahs? Who wants to be a test subject?"

Well, here is an official answer: the committee that certifies mohels, composed of representatives from the Ministry of Religious Services and the Ministry of Health, requires anyone receiving circumcision approval to perform thirty brit milahs under a certified expert—an astronomical number for someone who hasn't even received certification. "I know few mohels who met this condition," Waldman says. "I am among the few who fulfilled it." The solutions are often formulated in kindness circumcisions, like those done in orphanages, in children given up for adoption, etc. During these, the mohel receives specialist supervision and has the opportunity to gather the necessary experience.

The fourth-generation Waldman worked under his father, who guided him in every detail. Over time, he filled in for him and arrived to perform circumcisions when his father couldn't or didn't have time. Thus, word of mouth spread, making him a sought-after mohel. A significant turn came when he was drafted into the army. As a student of the Hesder Yeshiva in Haifa, he thought he would serve a shortened service like his friends and return to study, but he was surprised when a neighborhood resident made it clear to him that the IDF was looking for a mohel. Because he was a skilled mohel, he said, they would establish a unique position for him. "At first, I thought it was a joke, but the idea took root. The IDF was enthusiastic about the concept."

What does it mean to be a military mohel?

"The IDF conducts hundreds of brit milahs annually. There are, of course, the conversions. Israelis who reach army age and then realize they are not halachically Jewish and wish to become so. Some believed they were Jews abroad, some are children of Jewish fathers. Others did not undergo circumcision at eight days old, do not want to continue their lives this way, and turn to the army to take care of it for them. Until I arrived, they used civilian mohels, but from the moment I enlisted, a new niche was created. My service revolved around circumcisions. I performed them while also being a religious officer—giving lectures on the topic and speaking with the converts and those considering circumcision. They are always very apprehensive."

The unusual job required the man who already performed dozens of brit milahs to undergo a completely different training: to become a figure that provides support and assistance, explains the significance of the step, accompanies them on the path of Abraham our Forefather, and performs the complex task. He succeeded in it.

How many brit milahs are conducted in the army each year?

"About 150. A third of them are for Jews by birth who were not circumcised at eight days old."

Such things still exist?

"You'd be surprised, but yes. Children whose parents refused to circumcise them, boys who came from the former Soviet Union or other isolated countries. They join the army, and the need arises. The army, for its part, funds the procedure, provides relaxation days at home—extended from 14 days in the past to 21 days now—and offers light refreshments for friends and family who come to the ceremony."

And how does the circumcised individual behave?

Waldman smiles. "I'm used to speaking and calming frightened parents. It's not easy, but certainly reasonable compared to dealing with the individual in question. When he calls me for the first time, he's terrified, and I explain that the process is minor yet serves as a ticket into the Jewish people. It is what will remove an eternal disgrace from him. People come who are in the conversion process, and I discover that they are filled with understanding and the will to overcome the challenge. Among Jews, the situation is different. The Gentiles are equipped with books, tzitzit, and a deep understanding, while the Jews are bare-headed and distant from tradition."

Farewell, Determined Recruits

The junction is timely. Parshat Lech Lecha conceals the earliest circumcision, and from the Knesset, voices pushing to approve a Reform conversion law intended to bring hundreds of righteous converts through the back door. I ask Waldman if he's concerned that the new law will arrange double work for him, and he laughs. "First, I must emphasize that I have no involvement in the conversion matter. Not even in the army," he clarifies. "I, in the end, execute the circumcision role accompanied by a doctor and in a hospital. What happens regarding the rabbinical courts and the army's converters does not reach me at all. Generally, the brit milah ceremonies take place a significant time before the conversion, and many times, the process halts over time. I am not involved. On the other hand, I can say that IDF conversions are relatively negligible. I perform 150 brit milahs a year in the army, about a hundred of which are non-Jewish individuals. Suppose a similar number of female converts register, and we still face only a few hundred. There are no wholesale conversions."

After military service, Waldman and his family strengthened—12 brothers and sisters. He enrolled in the Yeshiva Kiryat Malachi and underwent rapid religious intensification. A hat and suit appeared, as did association with Torah and halachic giants. From Kiryat Malachi, he moved to Kol Torah, studied peacefully until marriage, returned to Haifa, stepped into his father's shoes, and concurrently continued visiting the army and maintained his loyal followers who prefer him as the mohel for their sons. He does not make a living from the position; for his livelihood, he manages a private clinic network for the Haredi community in Haifa. Everything else is a non-profit mission.

"You have to understand," he elaborates. "Being a mohel means a commitment encompassing all life. I grew up in this reality. We always knew that being a mohel meant that first and foremost, he is committed. On my bar mitzvah Shabbat, there was a brit after the prayer and before the Kiddush. Today, that boy reached the age of mitzvot and insisted on inviting me. On Shabbatot, we must walk kilometers on foot. On the last Yom Kippur, I performed five brit milahs. Meaning: to walk in the sun, exert without the possibility of drinking something, ruin the holy day entirely—no prayers, nothing. But that is the mission. A first-class mission."

Once, he recalls, he returned from a day's service and sat on a train to Haifa. A passenger next to him inquired about the content of the 'Military Manager' role listed on his lapel, and young Waldman corrected his mistake and briefly explained his function as a mohel in the service of the IDF. In response, the man told him that he and his wife had been waiting for children for many years. "I thought: now I am returning from a brit. The merit of Elijah the Prophet is still with me. I held his hand and said: By the merit of Elijah the Prophet, may it be Your will that you be blessed with surviving offspring. He was excited and answered Amen. A year later, I received a call from the man. In a few short words, he reminded me of the story, announced that he and his wife had been blessed with a son, and asked if I would come to circumcise him. It was an emotional event."

Shimon, the driver and faithful assistant, shared about a brit they participated in a few weeks earlier. A secular couple entered Waldman's clinic on Shalom Aleichem Street and requested to conduct a brit for their baby but without blessings. Not really interested in the religious ritual, but still, they wouldn't leave their son as an outsider. Waldman spoke to their hearts and persuaded them: he would recite the blessings; they need not respond. The parents consented, and the brit went ahead.

During preparations, the parents recounted what brought them to him. They chose not to circumcise their previous child, and after several months, he developed severe infections that spread. Due to complications, doctors had to intervene and perform a complex surgery that required a lengthy recovery period. They wanted to spare this child the suffering, they explained to the shocked Waldman and his assistant.

And another story: parents called to schedule a brit milah to be held, not less or more, at a Reform temple. There was concern that if they refused, they would turn to a non-halacha mohel. It was a decisive question, and Waldman referred it to the House of the Posek HaDor, Maran Rabbi Y.S. Elyashiv zt"l through his son-in-law, Rabbi Y. Zilberstein. Rabbi Y.S. decisively ruled: it's forbidden to perform the brit in the temple, even if the refusal makes it more problematic. Waldman informed the parents of the decision, and they relented and agreed to move the brit to their home. That was the end of the concessions, and at the end, the father insisted on saying Kaddish in the Reform version: "May peace be upon us, and upon all Israel, and upon all mankind."

So how do you survive in this faith jungle?

"Our circumcision work entails a lot of human activity," Waldman concludes. "For a growing portion of the population, it is the only connection to Judaism. The first time, and sometimes also the last, they'll encounter the Torah and halachic world. That's why it's so significant."

The article was first published in the magazine "Bkhalisa". For a special subscription offer for Hidabroot surfers, click here.