The completion of a circumcision ceremony is the time when most parents and relatives breathe a sigh of relief and wolf down some white?sh-usually, but not always, in that order. The job done, the mohel handed Isaac over to me, at which point my relatives joined hands and began jogging in circles-a practice the Jewish people refer to as dancing. He seemed much more upset by the preparation. Isaac only cried for about ?fteen seconds. The circumcision itself went as smoothly as the cutting of a penis can go. That Isaac’s circumcision was causing three generations of Apple men to weep might seem like an argument against the ritual, but at that moment, my father’s hand warm in mine, I felt more strongly than ever that it was the right thing to do. Seeing that there was nothing to be said or done, he took my hand and stood facing the corner with me. It is never easy to hear your baby scream, but minutes before the circumcision it was more than I could handle, and tears began to stream down my cheeks.Ī few minutes later, my father walked into the room and found me crying in the corner. Isaac, understandably enough, did not want a stranger examining his genitals, and he made his displeasure known. The changing table was near the back of the room, and, feeling too anxious to watch the proceedings, I turned to the corner. I didn’t particularly want to be present for the examination, but the mohel had placed Isaac on his changing table, and because the standing lamp next to the changing table only worked when held at a slight angle, I had to remain by the mohel’s side to tilt the lamp. The purpose of the sponge was to drip sugar water into Isaac’s mouth in the hopes of relaxing him while the mohel did her pre-circumcision examination. She turned around and left the apartment. Indeed, had thousands of people entered a contest to create a model of Isaac’s scrotum, I sincerely doubt that even one would have come up with a more perfect replica. It turned out that what Jennifer saw was a small oval-shaped sponge that, after having been dipped in a mixture of red wine and sugar water, looked astonishingly similar to our newborn son’s genitals. Then Jennifer walked into our bedroom and witnessed the mohel dangling Isaac’s testicles above his head. It looked like everything was going to be okay, that we would share this frightening but important moment together as a family. I was disappointed that Jennifer wasn’t going to attend the ceremony and was delighted when she walked back into the apartment ten minutes before we were to begin. Despite being in favor of circumcising Isaac, Jennifer had decided that the entire event was too much to bear and had taken refuge in a neighbor’s apartment. The only thing I did not have was a wife. Thirty minutes before the start of my son Isaac’s circumcision, I had almost everything I thought we needed for a successful event: white?sh salad, bagels, regular and low-fat cream cheese, orange juice, coffee, and topical anesthetic for Isaac’s penis. The following is an excerpt from Sam Apple’s new book American Parent: My Strange and Surprising Modern Adventures in Babyland.
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