Covenant without Cuts || Faith in Flux

Marking a Covenant

God really loves a good deal. In Genesis alone, He makes what feels like a million covenants with His chosen people—Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to name a few. But one covenant stands out above the rest for its... memorability. And no, I’m not talking about the rainbow one. I’m talking about Brit Milah, the covenant of circumcision.

In this covenant, God commands Abraham to circumcise himself and every male member of his household. This act becomes the defining mark of God’s chosen people, a visible and, shall we say, intimate sign of their faith and identity. It’s taken so seriously that the Torah says those who don’t uphold this covenant risk being cut off (pun intended) from their community. Ouch—on multiple levels.

For conversion to Judaism, Brit Milah has long been a required ritual. And if the Beit Din didn’t give you anxiety, this one just might. But before you start squirming, let’s talk specifics.

The Traditional Path

For someone already circumcised, Brit Milah doesn’t require a redo, thank goodness. Instead, a symbolic ritual called Hatafat Dam Brit is often performed, where a drop of blood is drawn from the penis as a symbolic reaffirmation of the covenant. In some cases, this can be done from the inner thigh instead. It’s a symbolic act, but let’s be real—blood rituals aren’t everyone’s vibe. And for those who view circumcision as a form of bodily harm, the idea of engaging in this ritual, even symbolically, can feel deeply uncomfortable. So where does that leave people like me?

I knew from the start that a traditional Brit Milah—or even Hatafat Dam Brit—wasn’t going to work for me. With my history of sexual assault and an immobilizing fear of nudity in public settings, the traditional ritual felt like an impossibility. But I still wanted to mark this momentous transition in a way that held deep meaning and set me apart, both spiritually and physically. I wanted a ritual that embodied my connection to Judaism but didn’t retraumatize me in the process.

Finding a New Path

I began brainstorming ways to create my own ritual. At first, I considered marking my body in some other way. A tattoo seemed like a good option—a permanent, visible sign of my Jewish identity. But as much as I love tattoos (in theory), I don’t have any. The idea of committing to a design and artist—and then living with it forever—felt overwhelming. A piercing didn’t feel meaningful enough, and branding myself (while dramatic) seemed like overkill. I needed something symbolic, personal, and permanent in its significance, if not its physicality.

And then it hit me: a necklace.

From the beginning of my Jewish journey, I’d envisioned wearing a Star of David necklace. It felt like a small yet profound way to outwardly express my Jewish identity. But I refused to wear one until I was officially Jewish. For me, this wasn’t just jewelry—it was a sacred emblem, a public declaration of pride and belonging. As I thought about how to adapt Brit Milah, the necklace felt like the perfect fit.

Building My Ritual

Creating this ritual wasn’t just about picking an object—it was about infusing it with meaning. I decided that my mother, who has been a steadfast supporter throughout my journey, would place the necklace on me during the ceremony. This act would symbolize not only my commitment to the Jewish people but also the bond and blessings of my family supporting me in this transition.

When the time came, my mother spoke these words as she placed the necklace around my neck:

“This Star of David symbolizes the connection you have with the Jewish people and the Divine. It represents your commitment to walk boldly in your faith, to wrestle with God as your ancestors did, and to carry forward the enduring light of Jewish identity.”

Her words brought me to tears. This simple yet profound act became the cornerstone of my affirmation. It was a moment of pride, love, and connection—not just to Judaism but to the people in my life who support me unconditionally.

Letting Go of Others’ Expectations

If there’s one thing this journey has taught me, it’s that you can’t please everyone. There will always be people who think your way of doing things isn’t traditional enough, meaningful enough, Jewish enough. And, let me tell you, it’s exhausting trying to meet everyone’s expectations.

But rituals are personal. They’re about creating meaning for yourself. And for me, this necklace has become a constant reminder of my identity and my journey. Some might say it’s not enough—that it can be hidden or removed too easily. But it’s not for them to decide. This ritual is mine.

A Covenant Made

The Star of David now hangs around my neck every day. It’s more than just a piece of jewelry—it’s a tangible reminder of the promises I’ve made to myself, to the Jewish people, and to the Divine. It’s my way of saying, “I am here. I am part of this.”

And I don’t think I’ll ever take it off.