Mishneh Torah, Circumcision 2-3

You signed up for Hebrew school, maybe. Or maybe you just absorbed Jewish culture through osmosis, family seders, or a well-meaning relative’s insistent nudges. Whatever the path, you likely bounced off some traditional Jewish concepts because they felt… well, a little dusty. Rigid. Unbending. Like ancient rules designed to keep you out, rather than invite you in.

Let’s unpack one of those stale takes: Jewish law is a monolithic block of "thou shalt nots," where every ritual demands an expert, perfect conditions, and zero wiggle room. We’ll dive into a text about brit milah (circumcision), a ritual often seen as the epitome of strict tradition, and discover a surprising amount of flexibility and profound meaning that speaks directly to the messy, imperfect reality of adult life. You weren't wrong about feeling overwhelmed before—let's try again, with fresh eyes and an open heart.

Context

Let's demystify a common misconception: that Jewish rituals are always performed by highly specialized, exclusively male, adult experts, under strictly controlled conditions. The Mishneh Torah, Maimonides' foundational code of Jewish law, shows us a different picture, especially regarding brit milah.

Who can perform a brit milah?

The text opens with a surprising breadth: "Circumcision may be performed by anyone. Even a person who is himself not circumcised, a slave, a woman, or a minor may perform the circumcision, if an adult male is not present." This isn't about professional certification; it's about the inherent validity of the act itself, prioritizing the mitzvah's fulfillment. While an adult male is preferred (lechatchila), necessity broadens the field considerably.

What tools are needed?

Forget the gleaming surgical steel (though that's preferred lechatchila). The text states: "Any utensil may be used for circumcision, even a flint, glass, or any article that cuts." This pragmatic approach ensures the mitzvah isn't held hostage by a lack of specialized equipment. The emphasis is on the function of the tool—its ability to cut—rather than its material or sophistication.

The Gentile Exception and the Act's Validity

The only significant exclusion from performing the brit is a gentile, who "should not be allowed to perform the circumcision at all." However, immediately following this, the text adds a crucial caveat: "Nevertheless, if he does so, there is no need for a second circumcision." This distinction is key: ideally, a gentile should not perform it, but if they do, the physical act of circumcision is considered done. The commentaries, like Yitzchak Yeranen, elaborate on this, suggesting that the act itself holds weight, even if the actor's intent or religious status is not ideal. This highlights a fascinating tension between ideal performance and the intrinsic validity of the deed.

Text Snapshot

Here are a few lines from our text, Mishneh Torah, Circumcision 2-3, that capture this surprising blend of flexibility and profound significance:

"Circumcision may be performed by anyone. Even a person who is himself not circumcised, a slave, a woman, or a minor may perform the circumcision, if an adult male is not present."

"Any utensil may be used for circumcision, even a flint, glass, or any article that cuts."

"How great is the circumcision! Behold, our Patriarch Abraham was not called 'perfect' until he was circumcised, as [Genesis 17:1-2] states: 'Proceed before Me and become perfect. And I will place My covenant between Me and you.'"

New Angle

This ancient text, seemingly about a specific, perhaps intimidating, ritual, offers profound insights into how we approach commitment, action, and meaning in our complex adult lives. It pushes back against the paralysis of perfectionism and reminds us of the power of foundational agreements.

Insight 1: The Power of Presence Over Perfection

We often delay, avoid, or outright abandon important tasks, conversations, or personal growth because we don't feel "ready," "qualified," or equipped with the "perfect" tools or ideal conditions. We wait for the expert, the perfect moment, or the certainty of a flawless outcome. But the Mishneh Torah's discussion on brit milah offers a radical counter-narrative: the act itself, performed with sincere intent, often carries more weight than the perceived "perfection" of the actor or circumstances.

Consider the text's surprising flexibility: "Circumcision may be performed by anyone... Even a person who is himself not circumcised, a slave, a woman, or a minor... if an adult male is not present." And, "Any utensil may be used... even a flint, glass, or any article that cuts." The ideal is an adult male with an iron knife, yes, but the mitzvah is so critical that it makes space for almost anyone, with almost anything, to perform it. Even if a gentile performs it, the physical act is done, requiring no repeat, though it's not ideal ab initio. The Ohr Sameach commentary, discussing whether a "disqualified" person (like a woman, in some views) can start the milah and a "qualified" person finish it, highlights the tradition's deep concern for the completion of the act itself, even if the process is shared or imperfectly initiated. Yitzchak Yeranen further reinforces this by explaining that a milah by a gentile, while not ideal, is valid b'dieved because "the act itself is done." The core principle here is that doing the essential deed, getting it done, often trumps waiting for the elusive perfect scenario.

This matters because in our adult lives, we are constantly faced with situations that demand our action, but for which we may not feel fully prepared.

• At work: You might hesitate to take on a new project or leadership role because you don't have all the skills, or feel like an imposter compared to a more "qualified" colleague. This text suggests that showing up, starting, and being present in the act of leadership or creation can be more impactful than waiting to be the "perfect" expert. Your willingness to step in, even if not the ideal choice, can fulfill a crucial need.
• In family life: Perhaps you're putting off a difficult conversation with a loved one, waiting for the "right time" or the "perfect words." The Mishneh Torah reminds us that sometimes, simply initiating the conversation, being present in the attempt, even if it's imperfectly articulated, is what truly matters. The "flint" of your honest effort can be more powerful than the polished "iron" of a perfectly scripted speech that never happens.
• In personal growth: Many of us dream of learning a new skill, starting a creative project, or dedicating time to a personal passion, but we get stuck waiting for the "right" equipment, the "perfect" uninterrupted block of time, or the feeling of being "good enough." This text is an invitation to embrace the low-lift ritual of starting, of simply being present in the act of creation or learning, even with makeshift tools and imperfect conditions. The value is often in the doing, in the commitment to the act, rather than in the flawless execution. It empowers us to participate authentically and meaningfully, rather than being paralyzed by perceived inadequacy. The act itself carries weight, even if the actor isn't ideal, fostering resilience and agency.

Insight 2: Covenants, Connection, and the Unseen Foundations

Beyond the mechanics of the ritual, the Mishneh Torah elevates brit milah to a profound level of cosmic significance, speaking of "thirteen covenants... with Abraham, our Patriarch, with regard to circumcision." This isn't just a surgical procedure; it's a foundational agreement, a sacred promise that underpins existence itself. The text quotes Jeremiah: "Were it not for My covenant, day and night, I would not have established the laws of heaven and earth." This idea of covenants as the unseen bedrock of reality offers a powerful lens through which to view the deepest commitments in our own lives.

In our bustling adult world, we're often focused on explicit contracts, tangible outcomes, and visible achievements. But beneath these, there are "unseen covenants"—the unspoken agreements, the foundational trusts, the deeply held values that structure our relationships, our communities, and our sense of self. These are the covenants that give shape to our "day and night," to the "laws of our heaven and earth."

• In family life: Think of the unspoken covenant between parents and children: the promise of unconditional love, protection, and guidance, even when tested. Or the covenant between partners: a commitment to support, growth, and shared life, often expressed more through consistent action than through formal declarations. These are the foundational agreements, like Abraham's brit, that make family life possible, providing stability and meaning even through turbulence. The text's emphasis on the father's unique blessing for his son at the brit underscores the deep, specific covenantal bond within the family unit, distinct from the community's general participation.
• In professional life: While contracts define roles, an effective team or organization often thrives on an "unseen covenant" of mutual respect, shared purpose, and trust. It's the implicit understanding that colleagues will support each other, uphold ethical standards, and work towards a common goal, even when no explicit rule dictates it. This covenant, when strong, creates a resilient and productive environment, much like the thirteen covenants that strengthen the bond between God and Abraham's descendants.
• In personal meaning: We all live by internal covenants – the promises we make to ourselves about who we want to be, the values we commit to upholding, and the purpose we strive for. These might not be written down, but they guide our choices, shape our character, and provide an inner framework for our lives. Just as Abraham was not called "perfect" until he entered this covenant, our own journey towards integrity and meaning involves forging and honoring these deep, personal commitments. The text’s powerful statement that "Anyone who breaks the covenant of Abraham our Patriarch... does not have a portion in the world to come, despite the fact that he has studied Torah and performed good deeds" starkly illustrates that some commitments are so fundamental they redefine one's very existence and destiny. It’s not about legalism, but about identity and belonging.

This matters because it reminds us that our deepest commitments—the "covenants" we make with ourselves, our families, and our communities—are not just optional add-ons, but the very structures that give our lives stability, meaning, and purpose, even when they're challenging or require sacrifice. They are the unseen bedrock upon which our personal heavens and earths are built. Acknowledging and honoring these covenants allows us to live with greater intention and connection.

Low-Lift Ritual

This week, take two minutes to intentionally engage with a foundational, perhaps unspoken, covenant in your life.

Think of a key relationship (partner, child, close friend, parent) or a core personal value (honesty, creativity, compassion). Spend 60 seconds reflecting on how this commitment quietly supports your daily life, even when you're not explicitly thinking about it. Acknowledge its presence and power, like an unseen foundation. Then, for the remaining 60 seconds, perform one small, deliberate act that reinforces this covenant. This could be a genuine compliment to your partner, a focused five minutes of playtime with your child, a quick text to a friend, or choosing to act in alignment with your chosen value in a small decision. No need for grand gestures; just a conscious, small act of honoring the "unseen covenant."

Chevruta Mini

Here are two questions to discuss with a partner, or to reflect on yourself:

1. Where in your life are you waiting for "perfection" or the "ideal conditions" before taking action? What small step could you take this week, embracing the idea that "anyone may perform" (i.e., you are capable enough to start), even if you feel you have only a "flint" and not an "iron knife"?
2. Reflect on a "covenant" – an unspoken but deeply felt commitment – that shapes your family, professional, or personal life. How does this "covenant" function as an unseen foundation, and what would it mean to explicitly acknowledge its power and perhaps reinforce it with a small, intentional act?

Takeaway

The ancient ritual of brit milah, far from being a rigid, impenetrable tradition, reveals a surprising flexibility and profound depth when re-examined. It reminds us that often, the simple act of doing – of showing up and taking action, even imperfectly – is more powerful than waiting for ideal conditions or expert intervention. Furthermore, it elevates our everyday commitments into sacred "covenants," the unseen foundations that give our lives stability, meaning, and purpose. Jewish tradition, even in its most technical texts, invites us to re-engage with purpose, acknowledging our agency, honoring our commitments, and finding profound meaning in the acts we perform.