Invitation to a Bris

Recently, Mr. T was sent a Facebook "invite" to a brit milah (ritual circumcision of an 8-day-old baby boy also called a bris), which set of an interesting discussion and a bit of research about something that I hadn't heard of before and that Mr. T didn't completely have aligned in his head.

There's a common belief in Judaism that you shouldn't formally invite someone to a bris because it obligates them to perform a mitzvah, and -- if they can't come -- you're basically setting them up to fail at performing a mitzvah.

After a bit of crazy Googling and asking around, I ended up arriving at the source of the minhag, which is the Rema, also known as Rabbi Moses Isserles who lived in the 16th century and who is known for his inline commentary on the Shulchan Aruch. I listened to a very informative podcast by YU on the topic, and it seems that our minhag derives from a misunderstanding of the text.

The Rema writes (Yoreh De’ah 265:12) that anyone who does not participate in the festive meal that accompanies a bris is viewed as if he is “excommunicated from Heaven," adding that if offensive people are participating in such a meal, one is not obligated to join them.

A basic reading of this suggests that if you go to a bris and decide to scoot out before the festive meal or attend the festive meal and don't eat anything, that you're a pretty rotten person. There are thus two aspects to the bris that play into this minhag -- the attendance of the mitzvah of bris and the festive meal that accompanies it. It's the latter that seems to be the point of contention for the Rema, not the bris itself, and not the invitation itself. 

At the same time, there's an opinion that if there is already 10 adult Jewish men at the meal, the guest is not obligated to take part because the commandment will be fulfilled without him (Otzar Ha-Bris, p. 163).

So I can understand why people think that outright inviting someone to a bris would automatically obligate them to come and attend the festive meal, but ultimately it's about the decision someone makes once they're at the bris/festive meal, not before hand. 

Do you hold to this minhag? 

Three Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

We've all seen it. Take three steps forward. Take three steps back.

Over Shabbat, Mr. T and I had a series of fascinating discussions about halacha (Jewish law) and minhag (Jewish customs). It was one of those where I lamented not being able to use Google, and Mr. T ran to his seforim (books) and began searching for the answers.

The issue at hand? At the beginning of the Amidah (aka Shemonei Esrei aka the central prayers during the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers), we're instructed in most prayer books to take three steps back and then three steps forward before we begin davening. Why?

Well, the answer is simply because Rabbi Artscroll tells us to, right? It's just what people do. Everyone does. Right?

I was telling Mr. T during dinner about how it drives me nuts in davening when after the Shemonei Esrei when there is no repetition that people take their three steps forward and then do the hop, hop, hop action. Why does it drive me nuts? Because the only reason you're meant to do this is because it's part of the repetition when you say Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh and rise on your toes. If you're running behind and miss the repetition, you finish the Shemonei Esrei and then do your three-kadosh hop. But when there's no repetition, there's no need for the three-kadosh hop.

Mr. T smiled and quipped that the whole "three steps back" before davening is a minhag, not law, and that you're only meant to do it if there's no space for you to step forward -- the forward steps are necessary, the backward steps are not.

What!? Mind blown. So he ran and grabbed his Mishnah Brurah and got searching (because, of course, I didn't believe him). I grabbed all of my siddurim and attempted to find something that says "By the way, this is minhag and you're only supposed to do it if you don't have space!" But I couldn't find a thing.

The outcome?

From Rama 95:1, Mishna Brurah 95:3, and Piskei Teshuvot 95:3: You should take three steps forward to show that you're doing an obligatory mitzvah. The halacha doesn't require taking three steps backward, but the "Minhag Ha'Olam" is to take three steps back in order to take three steps forward.

Mind blown again! That being said, I'm proud that the nusach with which I'm now davening (it's a little green one from England) only says to take three steps forward -- no backwards steps. Interesting!

So why do we all do it? Does anyone even think about it? Did you know that you're not obliged to take three steps back before the Shemonei Esrei? 

Note: There are some people who stand and take three steps back before Tehilot l'el elyon. I can't seem to find where this comes from, unfortunately. Anyone know? (See below.)

The Magical Minhag Tour

At the beginning of November, I posted about my curiosity when it comes to divorce and minhagim (customs) -- do you keep 'em? What if you're a convert, do you go back to being able to choose? Does it matter if you have kids? Does the length of the marriage matter?

Basically, I'm trying to figure out what constitutes minhag retention in the "frum" (religious) Jewish community.

In case you were wondering perhaps why traditions are so important. Check it, Proverbs 1:8.

I spoke with a rabbi recently about this question I had, and after some quick conversation, he said that he doesn't understand why I wouldn't be able to go back to choosing my own minhagim. So I'm researching and exploring Sephardic traditions, because for some reason, a lot of them seem to make a whole lot more sense to me. That and they're absolutely fascinating. (One Sephardic tradition has it that when you say havdalah, you are to look into the wine, and if you see your face, you laugh aloud after the bracha!)

But you're probably asking yourself: Wait, why would you choose your customs? Who chooses their own customs? Isn't the point of a custom that it's something that's passed down?

Well, when you grow up in a nominally Jewish family (you know, the kind of family where you know you're Jewish but have no clue what a lulav is) and become a ba'al teshuvah or when you choose to be Jewish and convert, you don't have customs. You don't claim any traditions, and when you do, they're typically the kind of things where you know what Chanukah is and you light the menorah. There are minimal traditional differences in lighting a menorah (right to left? gain candles or lose candles?)

So, in these situations, you're blessed with the opportunity to choose your customs, your minhagim.

Well, what if you're a convert, you practice nominal Ashkenazi traditions throughout your pre-conversion existence, then the moment you convert you get engaged, and then married to someone who also has nominal traditions that no one really practices, and then you get divorced from that person. What happens?

Let's say you grow up without any Jewish customs, you become religious in your early 20s, you meet a nice Satmar fellow and get married. You take on the stringent Satmar customs, and then, just a few years into your marriage, you get divorced. Are you bound to holding to those Satmar traditions until you meet someone new? And then what if that person isn't Satmar?

What if you're married, observing Lubavitch customs, and you get married and have three children. Then, you get divorced when your kids are all under the age of 5-years-old, and marry a Spanish Portuguese Jew. Do you adopt the customs of you new husband? Because your children are under the age of b'nei mitzvah and their father plays no role in their life, do your kids take on your new husband's traditions? Or do you raise them in the Lubavitch tradition of their father?

Is your HEAD exploding now!?

Over Shabbat we were considering all of the variations and complications that come with minhagim and the wide, expansive set of traditions that can vary from community to community and even family to family within that community. The glory of minhagim is that they are not law. As Rabbi Marc Angel says in "Exploring Sephardic Customs and Traditions,"

One needs to always remember that the purpose of observing minhagim is to bring us closer to God, closer to our tradition, and closer to each other. 

Furthermore, Rabbi Angel cites Rabbi Eliezer Papo who says that "God knows what is in a person's heart" and that minhagim are not meant to be oneupmanship. If the observance of a minhag results in presumptuousness, it's a very uncool thing.

So my question to you, readers is: Have you been married and divorced? How did you choose your customs, or did you just stick with what you  knew? Did you even think about it or consult a rabbi or was it just something that you didn't think about? If you did get to choose your customs as a ba'al teshuvah or convert, how did you go about doing so?