"You know, they'll celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas," my wife stated.
"Sure," I replied with confidence.
"They're going to go to temple, not church."
"I would expect that."
"If we have a girl, she'll have a brit bat."
"That's the baby-naming ceremony, right? It'll be beautiful."
"If we have a boy, he'll have a brit milah."
"No probl...Wait. Isn't that where they cut the...?"
I spent a few moments pondering what I had gotten myself into. I had no problem with circumcision. I had been; why shouldn't my son be? It was just the thought of making a big deal out of the procedure that made me pause and wonder. I pictured all of our family and friends gathered in our living room, eating delicious food, engaging in lively conversation, and genuinely enjoying themselves. Then the mohel, who performs the ritual, steps up to the baby, pulls out his scissors, and SNIP! Bonnie's family shouts, "mazel tov!" My family becomes silent, wide eyed, frozen like deer in your headlights, then runs to the bathroom to recycle their sesame bagels.
What was I going to do? I finally decided that a commitment was a commitment. My wife and I had made our decision together and we would stick to it. If we had boys, we would just have to ease my family into the idea of the brit milah, or bris as it is often called.
When joining two families of different faiths together, nothing else screams, "Welcome to intermarriage!" quite like a brit milah. Fortunately, my family has been very supportive every step of the way, and I'm sure they'd have behaved just fine. My guess was that they would have been so overjoyed just to have a grandson to love (and spoil), that nothing else would have mattered.
Because it was a learning experience for so many who attended, I think that most were fascinated by it. The rabbi that came to our home to perform the ceremony did an excellent job of explaining what was about to take place. After welcoming all of our friends and family, he told everyone the significance of the baby naming. This was great for both Jews and Christians who had never witnessed one before. Then, after my parents carried our daughter into the room, he said a few blessings and gave her her Hebrew name. After this, my in-laws said the blessings over the wine and challah. The participation of both sets of parents was not only beautiful, but also crucial. Bonnie and I had coordinated what would take place ahead of time. We wanted to make sure that both families felt at home and comfortable with the ceremony. By having Bonnie's parents say the blessings and my parents carry our daughter into the room, everyone was a part of the baby naming. Nothing but smiles adorned the faces of those who were in our living room that day.Instead of potentially alienating my family, the brit bat resoundingly opened the door and welcomed them into our daughters' Jewish faith.
After the ceremony, it was, of course, time to enjoy the delicious spread of food covering the dining room table. Bagels, lox, pastries, cheeses, noodle kugel-you name it, we ate it, which also would have been true at a bris. Everyone was laughing, talking, and eating. I didn't care that it was 30 degrees and snowing outside. As far as I was concerned, it was a gorgeous day.
I will always remember my daughters' baby namings with deep, loving feelings. I'm sure that if they had been boys, their brit milah would have been just as fulfilling. Right now, though, I'm just as happy letting my friends with boys have the honors.