By my count it was the third time. That is, the third time I was honored by being the sandak at the bris of one of my grandsons. I don’t think I was the sandak for any of my four boys. That would have been too much.
But now that I’m older, not necessarily wiser, and although I’ve always been reluctant to be that close to the action, I figured out that sooner or later I’d have to give in, go with the flow, and “Just Do It” as the sneaker company motto goes.
When my son Dovi mentioned that he would like me to be the sandak for his new son, what could my reaction possibly be? Oh no! Not me!
Nope. I said it would be my honor and privilege to hold that little boy as he enters the covenant of Israel and the Jewish people. Of course, it would have been easier to wish that there was someone else around to do it, but this is just one of the perks and realities of the cycle of life.
From a distance, it looks like the role of sandak at a bris is just a matter of holding the eight-day-old baby. But the fact is, there are many more intricate matters and details involved. This bris was on a day that was both Chanukah and rosh chodesh Teves, so the most outstanding feature of no Tachanun being said is not really relevant.
So, I thought I knew everything I needed to know about playing this pivotal role in this unique and indeed beautiful mitzvah, but this experience falls under the heading that there is always something new to learn every day.
One of the new experiences is that each mohel has his own type of approach. And it is one of the functions of a sandak—in this case, me—to pay attention and just follow directions accordingly.
One of the busiest sandaks in the world was R’ Chaim Kanievsky, zt’l, in Bnei Brak. In former days, I suppose that was before he reached his 90s, they say that in the Lederman Shul in Bnei Brak, where he davened, that there was rarely a day when Tachanun was recited because R’ Chaim was a sandak somewhere in the city almost every day of the week. And as stated above, when there is a sandak or a bris in a shul, Tachanun is not said due to the greatness of the simcha.
Anyway, as we concluded davening, I was at the beck and call of the mohel, who first directed me where to sit. He then placed a pillow on my lap, a small piece of board on top of the pillow, then another pillow on top of that. So far, it was pretty simple to follow.
I tried to focus on the job at hand without getting ahead of myself. He then placed the baby feet forward with the top of his head opposite the point just beneath my chest. I really hadn’t seen the baby before without either a blanket or some other kind of covering obscuring his full head. “What a beautiful head of jet-black hair,” I thought to myself. Then I may have whispered to the baby something like, “You’ve got a great head of hair!”
Then the mohel, Rabbi Perlstein, leaned toward me and suggested that I focus my thoughts on words of Torah because whatever I am thinking at the time of the bris will impact the baby for life.
I had not heard that before and was very taken by the idea. The entire process took about ten minutes, but I wanted to make sure that whatever I was thinking would in some way have a positive influence on this little newborn child.
So, I began to search my mind for what would be a proper and meaningful thought to ponder that would positively impact the young child’s future thought process, who truly, in the deepest part of the concept, had his entire life ahead of him.
I had some inside information at this point and knew what the child would be named minutes from now. His name would be Aharon Tzvi after my father-in-law, who passed away almost eight years ago, the sole survivor of his family during the Holocaust in Poland. The elder Aharon Tzvi, a’h, also spent more than four of those years with his Yeshiva—Novardok—in Siberia.
So, this kid will grow up and someday realize that he was named after his great-grandfather whom he never met, a survivor of the Holocaust and WWII, which claimed the lives of his ten siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
That’s a difficult thought to present to an eight-day-old baby. Instead, I focused on the great day that will arrive when Moshiach finally comes and there will be a resurrection of those who have died.
I thought about the subject of the week’s parashah where Yaakov finds out that his son Yosef is very much alive and well in Egypt. Yosef is equally as excited that his father Yaakov is alive and well, and he prepares gifts to send back with his brothers. Among the things he sends back, according to our commentaries, is aged wine and a dish of split peas, which was a delicacy in Egypt at the time.
Our Sages comment that the aged wine was Yosef’s way of communicating to his dad that just as wine improves with age and has more taste and aroma, so too does the elderly Yaakov Avinu.
On the matter of the split peas, our commentators say that once a pea is split, its flavor is greatly enhanced. Our split pea soup connoisseurs will understand that better than most.
So, Yosef was telling or shall we say “messaging” to his father that just as they have been separated or split apart for the last 22 years, it was Divinely ordained that their reunification would be even more thrilling, more exhilarating, and more tasteful than their special relationship was previously.
And that is the idea I was hoping to impart on the young Aharon Tzvi.
That is, for whatever heavenly reason, he will know that he never met his great-grandfather, and that we, his grandparents, have been separated from him for almost eight years now. And how the original Aharon Tzvi had to suffer the tragic loss of his family during the war—like Yaakov and Yosef living apart all those years—but one day will realize the sweetness of that magical reunification. That is, when we are all reunited once again in the future.
The baby did not wail that much during the procedure. It seemed to me that he was more annoyed by his blanket being undone and feeling the draft from the air conditioning than the actual cutting itself. As instructed by the mohel, I held on tight to Aharon Tzvi’s legs, so that any movement should not interfere with the procedure being done.
Sitting there, I was thinking about the generational chain that our enemies over the millennia have tried to shatter, and the fact that all these years later, they are perpetrating those same assaults, offenses, and crimes. But in the face of the pain, the obstacles, and the difficulties we face, we continue to persevere, not unlike this young child who is being introduced to the vicissitudes of life.
I offered words of encouragement to the baby. I told him that it was my wish and my prayer that this was the most painful thing he would ever have to endure in life going forward. I’m glad that I was there to hold him last week, and I sincerely hope that I will be able to be there for him in the future and that some day, he will want to reciprocate and be there for us as well. Mazel tov.
Read more of Larry Gordon’s articles at 5TJT.com. Follow 5 Towns Jewish Times on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter for updates and live videos. Comments, questions, and suggestions are welcome at 5TJT.com and on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
