Many non-Jews can go an entire lifetime without sipping Manischewitz, the syrupy kosher wine reserved for festive occasions. But little William from Douglaston, Queens, managed to score his first taste at only 2 weeks old — at his faux bris.
“We’re not remotely Jewish, but so many of my friends are,” confesses mother Allison Angelilli, who was raised Catholic and is married to a man who is Greek Orthodox.
The parents are part of a growing number of goys who are shunning the hospital circumcision for an intimate at-home service with relatives, speeches, plenty of bagels and schmear — and, at many such events, a towering Orthodox man named Philip Sherman, bearing shiny instruments and presiding over it all.
It’s early in the morning — circumcisions performed at the start of the day are considered an extra “mitzvah,” or good deed. As grandparents make sure they have extra camera batteries, the traditional pillow for the baby is produced and the mohel — the specially trained practitioner of ritual Jewish circumcision — is getting ready to perform the ceremony.
Traditionally, non-Jewish American men have also been circumcised, for medical reasons. Typically, these procedures are performed in a hospital without any ceremony attached to it; the parents are generally not present, and topical anesthesia is often involved. The hospital procedure can take 45 minutes and involves a controversial medical clamp that can sometimes lead to complications, as opposed to the 15-second procedure with a mohel.
“It took me a long time to convince my husband [to have this event], but I wore him down,” says Angelilli, a medical doctor. “I told him how long it takes in the hospital, how much the baby cries. Once he saw this was a legit thing, we made it a family gathering. My husband read a beautiful letter about the name [of our son]. We had a breakfast — it was a celebration.”
Circumcision has gotten some backlash in recent years; those against it claim it isn’t medically necessary — that it’s only cosmetic and amounts to genital mutilation. The American Pediatric Association goes back and forth over the health benefits of the procedure, and the latest study published this year shows a 10 percent decrease in overall circumcision in the US in the past 30 years.
But the backlash hasn’t cut into — as it were — business for Sherman, who’s performed more than 20,000 brises and claims he can do it with his eyes closed: “I can, but I won’t.”
In the past few years, the mohel has seen a spike in requests from those outside the faith — up to 10 percent of his client base are non-Jews who contact him months in advance.
“They’re looking for someone spiritual, religious and experienced,” explains Sherman, 57. While hospital and sometimes home circumcisions are often reimbursed by insurance if a doctor performs it, Sherman’s rate is $800 and isn’t reimbursed — it’s not considered a medical procedure, and he has no medical license.
He recently presided over the faux-bris of week-old Lachlan Ni, who weighed 7 pounds, 2 ounces, at his home water birth in Clark, NJ.
Sherman hums Hasidic tunes while readying his instruments — a modified clamp, scalpel, probe and hemostat.
Why is the Ni family, who are Christian, bothering with an ancient Orthodox Jewish service? “When [my wife Andrea] brought it up to me, I didn’t even know a mohel was an option,” says husband Alan, a 36-year-old vice president at Goldman Sachs. “But now we have a pretty good idea of what it is. We had extensive conversations [with Sherman] on the symbolism of circumcision, a huge contrast to the procedure and risk factor discussion with a doctor. [Sherman’s] technique was very efficient — minimizing the discomfort for the little one — and never rushed.”
His only head-scratching moment?
“It still seems quite odd that people feast after their baby gets circumcised,” says Ni. “But then again, people do celebrate after a baby gets baptized, so who’s to judge?”
And it’s that sense of celebration that appeals to people like Angelilli, a still practicing Catholic.
“It was the draw of the intimate beautiful ceremony. I felt like less of a weirdo because [Sherman] has worked with non-Jewish families before,” she says.
“He talked about God and what a blessing the baby is — that you should attend every happy event you can, and this is one of the happiest events life can bring. There was definitely a spiritual component to it.
“My Orthodox friend laughs at me so much. Everyone jokes and asks, ‘How was your bris?’”