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Pregnant Pause
Pregnancies are fertile ground for superstition, especially for those who assume their traditions and lucky charms are based in Jewish law
But how do you draw the line between what counts as superhalachic and what is just super weird? One person I spoke with mentioned, offhandedly, the idea that pregnant women shouldn’t step on cut toenails for fear of having a miscarriage—an idea that, according to Michele Klein, is tied to long-forgotten fears of witchcraft. “When I was pregnant, I loved the idea of biting the etrog,” Rabbi Mychal Springer, who directs the center for pastoral education at the Jewish Theological Seminary, told me, referring to the custom of eating the blossom end of the citron fruit to ensure an easy delivery. “Did I believe it would ease the pain of labor? No, but I didn’t need it to—it was about having something to take with me as a source of support.”
It doesn’t help that the main branches of Judaism offer little or no guidance. “Since customs and folklore are generally passed on orally in families, there are no innately Reform customs,” wrote Rachel Adler, a professor of modern Jewish thought at Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles, in response to my query about whether the Reform movement had made any effort to systematize or catalog any of the folk customs. But I was surprised to find just as little regard for them at the other end of the spectrum. “Superstition and old wives’ tales, people don’t get into that,” Shoshana Samuels, an expert in Jewish family law who consults for Orthodox synagogues across the country, said when I reached her by phone. “People are concerned with the ritual laws, with the women’s health side.”
Some people find the absence of official sanctions for superstitions freeing. “There are opportunities for creative thought,” said Amanda Bradley, a London mother who has set up a website devoted to helping Jewish parents find ways to grieve for miscarriages and stillbirths, including observing elements of the traditional shiva mourning ritual. But what looked like freedom to Bradley felt, to me, overwhelming—and threatened to drain even what few superstitions I had fixed on of their value. Then I remembered something Vyse had told me. “Superstitions are intuitive and based on the psychology of feeling good,” he said. “There are psychological incentives for people, even though they know intellectually that it doesn’t matter.”
So, I’m still not telling anyone what name we’ve picked for our son, and I’ve still got my husband using Go-Go—a nickname we came up with not long after I found out I was pregnant—when he talks about our prospective child. But it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I didn’t enjoy a flood of relief when I got an email from Reichman last weekend, reassuring me that we didn’t have anything to fear from saying our son’s name aloud. “It is not forbidden to announce the name of a baby before his bris,” Reichman wrote. “The boy only receives the full measure of his soul at the bris, and a person cannot be truly ‘named’ until attaining that completion.” Just like that, the shadowy fear seemed to pass, and I spent the rest of the night saying the magic words quietly to myself, with nothing to hold me back.
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Deb
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http://www.barbarasofer.com Barbara Sofer
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B
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http://www.marjorieingall.com marjorie
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eli
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Lindsay Simmonds
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rachael
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http://kosherhomecooking.com Carol
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Jessica in NJ
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David Zarmi
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Sophi Zimmerman





