Many of us grew up being told by our families or congregations that the Torah absolutely, unequivocally prohibits Jews from having tattoos. It turns out, there’s a bit more to the story than that.
As well, there is a popular misconception that one cannot be buried in a Jewish cemetery if they have tattoos. Despite this popular myth, there is no truth whatsoever to that claim.
So what is the proverbial “deal” with tattoos in Judaism? Furthermore, why can’t halakhah—Jewish law—ever seem to be a simple “yes” or “no” answer? Moreover, when it isn’t a simple “yes” or “no” answer, why do so many try to pretend that it is?
Making the issue even more confusing, Western Jews of the Galut have often gone on Birthright trips only to see countless Israeli Jews with tattoos.
For most, socio-religious claims regarding tattoo prohibition have been accepted as a foregone conclusion. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. There is something I admire and even envy about those who can put aside their faculties of reason and unquestioningly accept whatever they are told. This seems like a rather easy way to live. If one is looking for ease, I strongly suggest that approach to life and certainly to religion. Unfortunately, for me, I am not wired for that approach.
In the martial arts, this is the attitude to at least initially display. That is, one should act in this manner prior to “mastery” (an unfortunately loaded concept) has been achieved. If you openly question everything, you will never have time to practice and learn. At a certain point, you have to accept that you do not know enough to ask informed questions – you have to just shut up and train.
During my martial journey, however, I have been told many things. Many, maybe even most, have been true to one extent or the other. Others have been false and when investigated or “pressure-tested,” I have disregarded the dogmatic certitude with which such things were imparted to me.
Some knew applications which were more fantasy than real world in application. Others knew correct theory, but could not execute what they were saying against a resisting partner or adversary. Others still, knew exquisite forms with amazing applications… the only problem was they did not know those applications, and it was not until i continued my martial journey elsewhere that I came to truly understand what they were.
Some things that I was taught turned out to be right within a certain context. Wing Chun, Silat and such systems are not particularly focused on long-range exchanges. For such bouts or prolonged contact arts like Muay Thai or Tae Kwon Do excel. Once in Close Quarter Combat “Krav Maga” range, however, the long-range systems’ strengths break down. None of these are “wrong,” they are all contextually “right” and “tools” in a “toolbox” so to speak.
The Torah too has contextual teachings. Though this may on the surface sound like anathema to some, there is no question that many laws are related only to interactions between fellow Jews, while others are relevant only to regional practices within Eretz Yisrael – the Biblical Land assigned to the Jewish people, and the origin of Jewish ethnogenesis.
Obeying, Listening and Feeling…
Others, feeling some intrinsic falseness to unquestioning, uncritical acceptance, disregard certain popular admonitions and follow their hearts. The artists, free-thinkers, self-described intuitives and the like, often simply cannot swallow rules and regulations which religious authorities fail to logically explain.
If, for instance, tattooing is forbidden because it is a body modification, then all body modifications should be prohibited. But no one argues that they are. Moreover, the body modification of Brit Milah in fact characterizes Jewish identity.
We were told that as Ha’Shem made the body just as intended we shouldn’t change it. This, no doubt, has struck some of us as a bit odd and ironic, in that they are fine with piercings, many even with nose-jobs (sadly) and of course, male circumcision.
So clearly, for the Jewish people—according to the Torah—our bodies are not “as intended.”
For others, the Torah is not about asking questions, it is about shutting up and doing. Indeed, there is an element of that. At Har Sinai we famously declared “We obey, and we will listen” (נעשה ונשמע)—by which it was meant we accept any Mitzvah which Ha’Shem gives to us first and foremost—before even having heard them. But it does not end there. When we receive them, and begin doing them, we inquire into them. So first and foremost, we must understand what the actual, historical, Sinaitic Mitzvot were and thus are. This means investigation, research and critical thinking.
We obey and commit then to “inclining towards” Understanding—as indicated in the word Shem`a—“listen” or “hear.” Indeed, in the ancient Israelite Selah, the first posture raises the hands to the ears as this word is orated and the individual bows at the waist forward.
Thus, to achieve this critical “listening” and “inclining towards” there is an indication that we lean forward from our place of firm standing rootedness and listen for what is “out there.”
As such, what we accepted at Sinai was not simply the written Torah—indeed, it is highly imaginative to posit Mosheh Rabbeinu twice descending the Mountain with more than the iconic tablets. The first public gifting of a complete written Sefer Torah scroll appears to have been delivered by a prophet like unto Mosheh—Ezra Ha’Sofer.
Indeed, throughout Sefer Berashit, the first book of the Chumash, we read about various people having the Torahs, plural, or receiving what later rabbinic commentators would describe as the “Birthright” or Bekhorah of the Torah, orally, before any word was ever set to pen and parchment. How does one accomplish such a monumental task and feat? That’s where the Oral Torah comes in to discuss and explain—and that is where the “listening” comes in.
Thus, at Har Sinai, we were given not only the Written Law of the Torah, but the Oral Torah found within Talmudic discourse. This Oral Torah was and is essentially the very action of pilpul, exegetical argumentation and discourse.
In short, the Jewish people have for millennia been characterized by critical thinking skills. While most of the world remained illiterate, we had the Mitzvah to write a Sefer Torah within each of our lifetimes.
How does one accomplish such a monumental task and feat? This too is where the Oral Torah comes in to discuss and explain—and that is where the “listening” comes in.
Have you ever wondered why the nations have hated the Jewish people for so many thousands of years? If you have ever been a classroom where you excel, score perfect grades while most of the rest of the class cannot even read the homework, then you will recognize a familiar distaste and distain for the educated.
Even within the United States of America, in recent decades there has been an overwhelming shift to devalue and degrade education, the educated, science, scientists, academia, scholars and so on. Essentially, folk knowledge and popular assumptions came to hold greater currency in the public perception than did the knowledge of the educated.
Two Jews, Three Opinions
The language of the relevant passage in the Torah has induced diverse interpretations amongst the Talmudic Sages, of whether there is a general or specific prohibition delineated. At the same time, the discussion and discourse in question never actually specifies an act involving ink at all, but instead, of “engraving” inscription into the skin.
We often hear the often-negative mnemonic phrase that “the devil is in the details,” but here we might then say, “the context carries the Commandment,” or “the Sacred is discerned from the setting.”
Indeed, understanding of the Commandments of the Torah blooms as knowledge of the context increases. Truth, as it were, is in fact tethered to its time. Scripture speaks through its setting…
I’m on a role here.
The underlying point thus being made, realizing the “context is key,” it is logical to posit that the Torah’s prohibition—whether it is in fact speaking of tattooing or not—refers to Canaanite rituals that were prevalent in the societies opposite Israelite return to the Land in the Bronze Age.
So where does this view that the Torah prohibits tattoos come from? The Orthodox answer is that it comes from the Torah itself. But the concept of orthodoxy itself is a tricky thing… even amongst Orthodox communities, there have been countless debates—even very passionate and heated ones.
It is worth bearing in mind, for the critical thinker, that “Orthodoxy” has never actually been an intrinsically Jewish concept, regardless of the term’s prolific modern use. The term itself originates in Christianity and refers to the authorized or generally accepted theory or doctrine. Even the rabbis today who are lauded as heavyweights of history were in their days openly opposed by huge segments of the Jewish people. The most obvious example is the general Mitnagdim opponents of the Modern Chassidut movement of the Ba`al Shem Tov (1698 – 1760) and his dynastic progenies.
The Rambam, Rabbi Mosheh Ben Maimon (1138 – 1204); my Altar Zeidy, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (1772 – 1810), the great grandson of the aforementioned Besht (and he would say, his gilgul, reincarnation); as well as similarly prominent figures, were hated by many within what we could term “orthodoxy.”
Even in considering the Rambam’s now famous 13 Principles, which might on the surface seem to exemplify the concept of “orthodoxy,” we must remember that each and every one of these points was opposed and argued against by one religious authority or another.
The humorous maxim of “Two Jews, three opinions,” did not arise in a cultural void. Argumentativeness and dissent are the bread and butter of Jewish intellectual engagement and critical thinking. One could, in fact, make a strong case that teaching critical thinking and the ability to defend one’s position or argument in a philosophically and textually consistent manner, is the primary purpose of Talmudic study itself.
Are Tattoos a Sin? Christianity, Islam & Judaism Weigh In
The Origins of the Traditionalist Assumption
The question of whether the Torah comprehensively prohibits tattoos is much more multifaceted than one might initially suspect. Answering this question requires an analysis of not only relevant religious texts, but also their historical sitz im leben. It must also consider broader anthropological themes regarding identity and culture.
Tattooing has historically been tied to rites of passage. The term itself, in English, derives from Indigenous Pacific Islander language and culture. As such, it should not be a foregone conclusion that this particular, very narrowly defined term and practice is mentioned in the Torah at all.
In the Post-Shoah Era, Jewish engagement with tattoos can be seen as a reflection of personal narratives inscribed on skin, representing stories of resilience and identity among Jews who have experienced trauma, or descendants of Holocaust survivors who inscribe tattoos to reclaim power over their bodies, family and ethno-religious narratives.
The origins of tattooing extend far back in history, originally serving various purposes across different cultures, including therapeutic uses. As tattooing became popularized in Europe, various religious traditions, including Judaism, began to reject it.
Conversely, among more progressive Jewish denominations and movements, there has been a recent trend towards accepting tattoos as valid forms of personal expression, embodiments of personal stories, affiliations, loss, trauma, or resilience, especially for Jewish populations that have faced persecution.
Though a tertiary historical consideration, it is interesting to note that within the Islamic world, prohibitions against tattooing only emerge late in the historical record. It is as thought the topic itself was not particularly relevant to the earliest generations of Islamic discourse. While Sunnism came to prohibit tattoos outrightly, Shi`ism—most often associated with and accused of having historical roots in Judaism—permits them.
The customary interpretation that tattooing is prohibited by the Torah derives from a singular passage in Vayiqra (Leviticus 19:28). As noted, however, before one can examine this verse, they must look at the preceding textual context.
We read two verses before that of the well-known prohibition on sorcery. With that said, it is well known that there is only a certain type of “magic” prohibited in halakhah. Other forms are widely practiced within Jewish esoteric or Kabbalistic circles. In fact, most of the ritualism in the Torah itself could rightly be described as “magical” practices.
Thus, in examining this passage, we see the phraseology and roots employed are actually very specific. A literal translation would accordingly read as follows:
You may not consume [that which contains] the blood; neither may you practice guesswork of the Serpent (תְנַחֲשׁוּ) nor false-prophesy soothsaying (תְעוֹנֵנוּ).
לֹא תֹאכְלוּ, עַל-הַדָּם; לֹא תְנַחֲשׁוּ, וְלֹא תְעוֹנֵנוּ
From the outset then, we see that the surrounding context of the presumed prohibition, is referencing very specific and nuanced matters. The Talmud teaches in tractate Sanhedrin (66a:2), that “the Sages taught regarding the verse: ‘neither may you practice guesswork of the Serpent (תְנַחֲשׁוּ) nor false-prophesy soothsaying (תְעוֹנֵנוּ).’ (Vayiqra/ Leviticus 19:26), refers, for example, to those who divine and receive guidance according to what happens to a weasel, to birds, or to fish.”
תנו רבנן (ויקרא יט, כו) לא תנחשו ולא תעוננו כגון אלו המנחשים בחולדה בעופות ובדגים
The Rambam, as well, elaborated on what this meant. He said that the verse means that one cannot view what happens to another animal or being as a guideline or sign to do or not do something.
In his Mishneh Torah, on the `Avodah Zarah, or Foreign Worship and Customs of the Nations (11:4), the Rambam explained that: “It is forbidden to practice guesswork of the Serpent (תְנַחֲשׁוּ) nor false-prophesy soothsaying (תְעוֹנֵנוּ) as the idolaters do (19.26).”
He elaborates that this refers to those who would say the following:
‘Seeing that the bread fell out of my mouth,’ or, ‘my cane fell out of my hand I shall not go to—day to that place, for if I do go, my desire will not be fulfilled; seeing that a fox passed by my right hand I shall not leave my door step today, for if I do leave a false person will encounter me.’ Likewise, those who hear the chirping of a bird say: ‘It will be so, but not so; it is good to do that thing and bad to do the other thing.’ So are those who say: ‘Kill this rooster, he crowed during the evening; kill that hen, she crows like a rooster…’”
Thus, we see that despite the presentation in overly simplified translation, and the exegetical assumptions of Christian theologians over the millennia, the prohibition was never on “magic,” across the board, but of engaging in superstitious paranoia, borne of false assumptions.
We read in the next verse—just one preceding the tattoo reference—that one must not round the corners of their heads, nor mar the corners of their beards. So, what does this mean? Is any and all trimming of such hair forbidden? There is no reasonable argument that this is the case.
The Biblical phrase, in the verse that follows, is ketovet qa`aq`a (כתובת קעקע). Today, in modern Israeli Hebrew, the word qa`aqu`a (קעקוע) is often used. We see in Vayiqra, the Torah prohibition that b’vsarkhem ukhetovet ka`ak`a lo tittenu—meaning “you will not give ketovet qa`aq`a in your flesh (19:28).
The verb qa`aq`a specifically means to destroy. A tattoo, as given today, destroys nothing. The skin is pierced and quickly heals within days. If, indeed, this is what the Torah was referring to, it would be a rather peculiar and inaccurate way to say it.
The term is also sometimes correctly rendered “incision.” Piercing is not incising. This passage is referring particularly to two types of scarifications employed in Canaanite religious rituals.
In the first, there is simply incision for scarification alone with no ink. In the second, there is incision to write through scarification. This could be with or without ink—the verse does not indicate either way. The point is that it is speaking of ritual scarification cutting, whether in patterns or in the form of letters and words.
Far from being the only proof for this, the `Arabic Qa`ar (قعر), means “to be deep” or “of a well,” or “to come to the “bottom” of a well or vessel. The preceding Nabatean Aramaic also used this same word to mean “carve out.” It was never used in any context or society to mean “pierce” or anything of the sort. In the Syriac Aramaic, the use is even more direct, referring not only to a well, but to the calyx of various flowers, including the deep juts of tulips and the jagged edges of cannabis leaves. Look for a more detailed discussion on this point in future works, related to Biblical references to this kosher, medicinal and incense herb.
All of these Semitic forms apparently derive from the preceding Egyptian use wherein an oven was made by carving a recess ma`qaar. There is no mystery as to what such ovens look like. Not only do they continue to be used in rural parts of Egypt, but they are depicted in ancient hieroglyphics. Additionally, we have countless examples of them from archeology. In every case they are more or less the same: carved out, open, empty spaces within which to bake.
Since the B’nei Yisrael out of Mitzrayim would have naturally understood not only what Egyptian ovens were like, but that this strange word was derived from this root and term.
The Ancient Khemetic-Egyptian term for tattoo was in fact a curious term of mentenu, from which the later Latin Manu-tenere derived. It means, in its later form—from Alexandrian, Egyptian influence—to “hold” (tenere) or “preserve” literally “in hand” (manus). From this, we receive later French maintenir and the English rendering of “maintain.”
The key phrase ketovet qa`aq`a (כתובת קעקע), which we now know means “incised writing” with scarification, is what is known as a hapax legomenon. This means this phrase occurs only in this verse in the entire Biblical corpus. By contrast, the term associated with the prohibition of a man “lying” with a male, as they lay with their wife, is used one other time—in association with the heterosexual incest of Reuben with his father’s wife. The usage here is thus even rarer and more specific.
The Torah, speaking to an audience fluent in this etymological root, could have easily used this well-known term for a tattoo, or even a Hebrew equivalent from the Ch-Z-Q (ח-ז-ק) root, indicating strength and retention. It does not.
Instead, it utilizes an expression found nowhere else, indicating its foreign origin—that is, from Egypt—as a term for a “cut-into” oven. This would be a convoluted and unnecessary word choice, had the intention been to relay a prohibition against the well-known Egypt mentenu. Logically, this should tell people of reason that the Torah simply was not talking about mentenu, it was talking about ma`qaar.
The use of a term derived from the Khemetic ma`qaar fits with the “cutting into,” rather than “piercing” and allowing a healing back over (as we will see in later rabbinic exegeses). Thus, for this Torah prohibition to be applicable, the Hebrew phrasing indicates the skin itself must be carved into literally and thus “ruined” according to the root employed.
Canaanite Ritual Scarification and Self-Harm
In the invading Canaanite cultures of the time—being a satellite of Egypt—scarification served as a way to express grief for the deceased. A full discussion of these practices is beyond the scope of this work and the limitations of its narrow focus. Nevertheless, the distinction must be made between these practices and that of injecting ink under the skin in tiny dots.
It is beyond any dispute that there existed a Canaanite practice of cutting the body with swords in mourning, as reflected in Melekhim Alef (18:28). Professor Aaron Demsky of Bar-Ilan University, notes that this practice “is still reflected today” in the more extreme of contemporary Shi`ah `Ashura rites of Azadari and Matam beating rituals of mourning for the death of Hussein bin `Ali, the grandson of Muhammad who was murdered by the Ummayad Caliph, Yazid bin Mu`awiyah while the former was fasting on Yom Kippur! That, of course, is another story for another day, and is far beyond the scope of this work.
More to the point, and akin to this ancient Canaanite death ritual, we hear of the unfortunate and tragic practice of self-harm. In this, the individual, in an act of utter depression and dissociation—often to “feel something” or to feel anything—the individual cuts themselves. This seems thus to be most closely akin to what the Torah is forbidding in this well-known Mitzvah. The Torah, however, seems to be even more specific, in that the prohibited act was also apparently associated with religious devotion, used in the `Avodah Zarah worship of their often blood-thirsty deities.
A few chapters following this initial prohibition in Vayiqra, the Torah makes a similar negative Commandment or Mitzvah. This time, we read that the Levitical priests “shall not make baldness upon their head, neither shall they shave off the corner of their beard, nor make any cuttings in their flesh” (21:5).
There is no repetition of the alleged “tattoo” verse here, because the verse never mentions tattooing, nor ink whatsoever. It mentions two types of cutting of the flesh—shapes or writing. Here, there is no need to repeat the two types, so it simply says no cuttings in the flesh whatsoever.
Any scholar would be amiss if they failed to differentiate Canaanite scarification from modern tattooing. While both involve body modification, Canaanite practices unquestionably focused on cutting, slicing, or branding the skin for ritualistic purposes rather than inking the body through tiny pinpricks, as is the method of administering a tattoo. Again, one need only note the absence of any mention of ink itself in the Torah’s relevant passages, to know that tattooing is, in fact, not at all what is being discussed.
The Torah’s reference to the prohibited Canaanite cutting ritual method bears no similarity to modern tattooing, nor tattooing in tribal contexts throughout Indigenous societies globally. This alone should be enough to shut down any further ahistorical entertainment of the idea that the Torah or Talmud were speaking of what we think of today as tattoos. But for the sake of thoroughness and critical discourse, let us continue…
The Greek Origin of the Misconception
The confusion of this with tattooing does not originate in the Torah, nor in later Rabbinic Jewish sources, but in the Greek Septuagint, which the Sages of the Talmud regarded as a literary “Golden Calf”—akin to idolatry in a sense.
The Septuagint renders this passage as grámmata stiktá (γράμματα στικτὰ) which indicates “dotted” lettering. This Hellenistic interpretation does indeed imply tattooing, which is created through countless “dots” or “stiktá” (στικτὰ).
The Aramaic Targum Onqelos, however, returns us to the idea that this must be roshmin charitin (רוּשְׁמִין חֲרִיתִין) meaning literally “engraven”.
Sa`adiah Ga’on’s Tafsir in Judeo-Arabic indicates only that it is a “writing-drawing” (כתאבה רשם) of some sort. There is no mention of piercing with dots, nor of incising. Thus, if this prohibits tattooing, it would by extension also prohibit drawing on one’s skin.
The Targum Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Targum), which came to be known as the Targum “Jonathan” instead of “Jerusalem” (in reference to Yonatan ben Uzziel, the talmid of Hillel the Elder) contains an even more expansive rendering of the Torah’s relevant prohibition. Once again—no surprise here—Yonatan ben Uzziel specifies that the prohibition never referred to the piercing of the skin with a needle but required instead that it be khetav chaqiq liram charit tzira. That is, this must be “engraved writing, to mark a figure through incision” (כְתַב חָקִיק לִרְשַׁם חָרִית צִיוּרָא).
By the Medieval period, Rashi, Rabbi Shlomo Ben Yitzchaq (1040 – 1105), refers to writing She’eino nimchaq l`olam (שֶׁאֵינוֹ נִמְחָק לְעוֹלָם), that “can never be erased.” Today, however, we know that tattoos can be erased, and in many cases are.
Similarly, Rabbi Yosef ben Isaac Bekhor Shor (c. 12th century) referred to the Torah’s prohibition being to an incision that “will be forever visible” (נראה לעולם). Again, this means that anything which can fade or be erased does not qualify.
My very first tattoo read across my stomach “Destroy Babylon,” which readers may recognize from the Bad Brains song by the same name. Today, there is not one dot of this tattoo which remains visible on this body. It simply faded away into oblivion. So, was this tattoo not in fact a tattoo? For those who believe tattoos to be prohibited, was it not prohibited since it faded away?
Had this been an “incision,” the words could not possibly have disappeared. Thus, what the two aforementioned rabbinic exegetes were referring to, was no doubt still something requiring scarification. In Medieval and ancient times, tattoos faded with even greater frequency than today.
One might rebut that this line of reasoning and discourse is “argumentative” or even “pedantic”, to which I respond: exactly! Isn’t that the point?
Again, from the reception of the Torah at Sinai itself, we proclaimed not that we understood immediately but that we would obey, do and listen or incline towards deeper understanding as time went on. One cannot do this but through reasoning and argumentation. Indeed, Ha’Shem calls up on us, through the prophet Yeshayahu, to “come” and “reason together” (1:18).
Thus, returning to the previous point, there could be no misconception that tattoos could never fade, nor that they could not at some point in the future—just as today—be able to be erased. One might say that the Torah could not possibly have foreseen tattoo-erasing technology such as what we have today. For religious Jews, however, such a statement would assume that Ha’Shem could not foresee tattoo erasure in this age. This would thus, ultimately suggest that the Torah is of human and not Divine origin.
Talmudic Argumentation and Clarification
The Talmud, especially in Tractate Makkot, addresses the aforementioned Biblical prohibition—whatever it is speaking of. It examines different interpretations of this verse, with a particular focus on the contextual connection with Canaanite idolatry.
In the Mishnah, tractate Makkot, we read no mention whatsoever of ink being put into the skin, or body (3:6). For the sake of illustrating this beyond a shadow of a doubt, the relevant passage is reproduced in full below:
One who creates a bald spot upon his head, and one who rounds the edge of his head by shaving the hair adjacent to the ear, and one who mars the edge of his beard, and one who cuts one incision in a display of mourning over the dead, are all liable to receive lashes. If he cut one incision over five dead people, or five incisions over one dead person, he is liable to receive lashes for each and every one. For rounding the edges of his head, one is liable to receive two sets of lashes, one from here, the hair adjacent to one ear, and one from there, the hair adjacent to the other ear. For marring the edges of his beard there are two edges from here, on one side of his face, and two from there, on the other side, and one from below, on his chin. Rabbi Eliezer says: If he removed the hair on all the edges of his beard in one action, he is liable to receive only one set of lashes for all of them. And one is liable for marring the edges of his beard only if he removes the hair with a razor. Rabbi Eliezer says: Even if he removed the hair with malket tweezers or with a rehitni plane he is liable to receive lashes.
הַקּוֹרֵחַ קָרְחָה בְרֹאשׁוֹ, וְהַמַּקִּיף פְּאַת רֹאשׁוֹ, וְהַמַּשְׁחִית פְּאַת זְקָנוֹ, וְהַשּׂוֹרֵט שְׂרִיטָה אַחַת עַל הַמֵּת, חַיָּב. שָׂרַט שְׂרִיטָה אַחַת עַל חֲמִשָּׁה מֵתִים אוֹ חָמֵשׁ שְׂרִיטוֹת עַל מֵת אֶחָד, חַיָּב עַל כָּל אַחַת וְאֶחָת. עַל הָרֹאשׁ, שְׁתַּיִם, אַחַת מִכָּאן וְאַחַת מִכָּאן. עַל הַזָּקָן, שְׁתַּיִם מִכָּאן וּשְׁתַּיִם מִכָּאן וְאַחַת מִלְּמָטָּה. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר, אִם נְטָלוֹ כֻלּוֹ כְאַחַת, אֵינוֹ חַיָּב אֶלָּא אֶחָת. וְאֵינוֹ חַיָּב עַד שֶׁיִּטְּלֶנּוּ בְתָעַר. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר, אֲפִלּוּ לִקְּטוֹ בְמַלְקֵט אוֹ בִרְהִיטְנִי, חַיָּב:
With respect to tattooing the name of a deity (Makkot 21a), one interpretation, based on the phrase “I am Ha’Shem,” suggests the prohibition specifically applies to tattooing the name of a deity other than Ha’Shem—that is, the Divine Verb that is Y-H-V-H.’
One who imprints an incision, by inserting a dye into recesses carved in the skin, is also liable to receive lashes. If one imprinted on the skin with a dye but did not carve the skin, or if one carved the skin but did not imprint by adding a dye, he is not liable. He is not liable until he imprints and carves the skin, with ink, or with kechol [kohl], or with any substance that marks.
Rabbi Shimon ben Yehuda says in the name of Rabbi Shimon: “He is liable only if he writes Ha’Shem [the Holy Name of Y-H-V-H] there [in the incision], as it is stated: ‘And writing incisions will not be given upon you: I am Ha’Shem’” (Vayiqra 19:28).
הַכּוֹתֵב כְּתֹבֶת קַעֲקַע, כָּתַב וְלֹא קִעֲקַע, קִעֲקַע וְלֹא כָתַב, אֵינוֹ חַיָּב, עַד שֶׁיִּכְתֹּב וִיקַעֲקֵעַ בִּדְיוֹ וּבִכְחֹל וּבְכָל דָּבָר שֶׁהוּא רוֹשֵׁם. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן יְהוּדָה מִשּׁוּם רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, אֵינוֹ חַיָּב עַד שֶׁיִּכְתּוֹב שָׁם הַשֵּׁם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (ויקרא יט) וּכְתֹבֶת קַעֲקַע לֹא תִתְּנוּ בָּכֶם אֲנִי ה’:
Here it seems that literally, the prohibition is taken to be against claiming “Ani Ha’Shem” in such an incised scarification writing. In any event, the same term is at play here—indicating the indentation and incision of flesh, whereby it remains permanently inverted.
The Talmud, in the Gemara commentary on the Mishnah, quotes Bar Kappara, who conversely states that one is not liable to this prohibition unless they inscribe in some manner, the name of an idolatrous deity—not the Divine, Ineffable “Verb” of Ha’Shem.
Rabbi Yehudah suggests in the Talmudic text that such incisions—not tiny needle piercings—are tied to polytheistic practices and therefore should be avoided by Jews wishing to maintain a distinct religious identity.
The Bavli Talmud, tractate Gitten clarifies that engraving, indenting is the prohibition across the board. One can make use of beveled, raised lettering in all sorts of things, from documents, which even bevel out with ink, and Ureminhu lo hayah ketavo shoqe`a, ella bolet – kedinrei zahav. Veha dinrei zahav tokhot hen (וּרְמִינְהוּ: לֹא הָיָה כְּתָבוֹ שׁוֹקֵעַ, אֶלָּא בּוֹלֵט – כְּדִינְרֵי זָהָב. וְהָא דִּינְרֵי זָהָב תּוֹכוֹת הֵן)! That is, “the writing of the [Kohen Ha’Gadol High Priest’s] Urim Frontplate was not embedded,” it was not carved into the frontplate, “rather, it protruded like the form on gold dinars” (Gitten 20b).
Later Codifications of Halakhah
In his Mishneh Torah, in the section on Laws of Idolatry, we read of this as a prohibition against a form of servitude (12:11) to a foreign deity. Based upon the Talmudic discussion, the Rambam states the prohibition originated from polytheistic practices where people would mark themselves with incisions to show they were slaves or dedicated to a particular idol.
The most widely consulted of the various legal codes in Rabbinic Judaism, the Shulchan Arukh, Rabbi Yosef Karo in 1563, makes it clear that those who bear these marks are blameless, explaining that “if it was done in the flesh of another, the one to whom it was done is blameless” (Shulhan Arukh, “Yoreh De’ah” 180:2).
Considering this legal code was never purported to be, nor taken as a work of prophecy, we cannot anachronistically link this explanation with the forced tattooing in the death camps of the Shoah. As such, one must ask who exactly was having things tattooed on them by force in the 16th century?
To date, history bears no surviving record of such tales. Yet, for millennia, people have been held down and had things carved into them—whether random cuts, shapes or words. It would seem that Rabbi Karo is referring to this here. Once again, there is no mention of implements of tattooing, but here we see one of the first references to filling the cut with chol.
The Hebrew reads: ketovet qa`aq`a hayinu shesoret `al bisru umemale meqom hasritah b’chol o deyo o she’ar tziv`onim ha’roshemim (כתובת קעקע היינו ששורט על בשרו וממלא מקום השריטה בחול או דיו או שאר צבעונים הרושמים), meaning that this ketovet qa`aq`a refers only to making a gash in the flesh and filling it with chol, where there are “impressions” made in the flesh—that is, cutting rather than tiny needle piercings. This is confirmed by the final phrasing of tziv`onim ha’roshemim. The term tziv`onim refers to the flower of tulips.
Ancient Israelites… with Religious Tattoos?
In his 1923 book, the Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C., Arthur Ernest Cowley documents a now well-known historical reference to Jews of Alexandria, or Elephantine Hellenistic Egypt, who had tattoos. The term they use, in all its forms is שנת and שנית and שניתת—nothing even remotely akin to what is being described in the Torah nor later Rabbinic discourse.
Astonishingly, the Talmud even suggests that certain inscriptions, including Ha’Shem’s name, were permitted as acceptable forms of body art, as legitimate in expressing Jewish piety. The Hekhalot literature even describes practices where individuals voluntarily inscribed Holy Names of Ha’Shem as a form of devotion, as we will see.
Demsky goes even further to suggest that non-idolatrous tattooing may have been permitted or encouraged in Biblical times. He cites the Biblical passage that, in what seems to me to be a reference to a future religious zeal and teshuvah of a wayward generation of `Am Yisrael:
One shall say, ‘I am [dedicated] to Ha’Shem,’ and another shall use the name of Ya`qov, and another shall mark his arm ‘l’Ha’Shem’ and adopt the name of Yisrael (Yeshayahu/ Isaiah 44:5).
זֶה יֹאמַר לַיהוָה אָנִי, וְזֶה יִקְרָא בְשֵׁם-יַעֲקֹב; וְזֶה, יִכְתֹּב יָדוֹ לַיהוָה, וּבְשֵׁם יִשְׂרָאֵל, יְכַנֶּה
In Sefer Iyov, we read what is potentially the closest description of a tattoo in any ancient Jewish source. There, it is written as follows, that:
“In the arm and hand of every [true] Human [Kal Adam] it is sealed (יַחְתּ֑וֹם) that all of mankind may know the Works, the Ma`aseho [of Hu].” (Iyov/Job 37:7).
בְּיַד כָּל אָדָ֥ם יַחְתּ֑וֹם לָ֜דַ֗עַת כָּל־אַנְשֵׁ֥י מַֽעֲשֵֽׂהוּ
That which is sealed within the arm or hand of the true Human Being, every “Adam” is explained in the preceding verses as the “Voice” or Qol of Ha’Shem—a term Biblically and Kabbalistically synonymous with the Ruach Ha’Qodesh, the Spirit of “Prophecy.”
Demsky cites the example of certain Righteous Tzadiqim in the Prophet Yechezqiel’s vision. In Sefer Yechezqiel (Ezekiel 9:4, 6) one man clothed in white linen is seen surrounded by six others. The man in linen had a writer’s or “the inkhorn of the sofer scribe on his side” (אֲשֶׁר קֶסֶת הַסֹּפֵר, בְּמָתְנָיו, asher qeset ha’sofer, b’matenav).
And Ha’Shem said unto him: ‘Go through the middle of the city, through the midst of Yerushalayim, and set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry for all the abominations that are done in the midst thereof…’
וַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה, אֵלָו, עֲבֹר בְּתוֹךְ הָעִיר, בְּתוֹךְ יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וְהִתְוִיתָ תָּו עַל מִצְחוֹת הָאֲנָשִׁים, הַנֶּאֱנָחִים וְהַנֶּאֱנָקִים, עַל כָּל הַתּוֹעֵבוֹת, הַנַּעֲשׂוֹת בְּתוֹכָהּ.
…but do not approach any man upon whom is the mark. [Instead] begin at My Sanctuary.’ Then they began at with the elders that were before the House [of Ha’Shem, who had no qualms with the abominations within the city].
וְעַל כָּל אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר עָלָיו הַתָּו אַל תִּגַּשׁוּ, וּמִמִּקְדָּשִׁי, תָּחֵלּוּ; וַיָּחֵלּוּ בָּאֲנָשִׁים הַזְּקֵנִים, אֲשֶׁר לִפְנֵי הַבָּיִת
It would seem that the mark in this case was not just topical ink which could have easily been rubbed off. The vision seems to indicate a permanent nature to what was seen in the vision. Demsky notes, that “this text is well-known,” and that the “Christians took it as a living testimony in Antiquity.”[1]
He adds that “some even comply with the decree found in this text in a specific manner today, on Ash Wednesday.”
As well, he notes that “this was also a practice of the Falasha Jews in Ethiopia.” Tattooing was historically common among Ethiopian Jewish women, especially in Gondar, Tigray, and Gojjam. These tattoos, known as Niskat or tukurat, appeared on the forehead, temples, chin, neck, and hands. Ethiopian Jewish men have also occasionally tattooed, primarily on their hands.
The Rabbis, Demsky explains, “have several legends concerning the historical authenticity” of the aforementioned prophecy.” He adds that “for according to their [theological] tradition a prophet cannot innovate a new practice that is not in the Torah.” Thus, he reasons, for this to imply a future righteous tattooing of Tzadiqim, such an act could never have been prohibited across the board, but only restricted contextually (at the most).[2]
The Bavli Talmud (Yoma 88a) explains that if one has the Name of Ha’Shem inscribed upon their body, they must cover it with reeds which can absorb water through to the skin while immersed, when they are in an impure state.
In order to restore a Tahor state in a formal, constructed miqvah or general tevillah in a halakhically appropriate place of immersion, they are obligated to cover what is apparently a tattoo bearing the Tetragrammaton, “provided he does not rub off” the covering before being fully cleansed.
Though many translations interpolate exegeses which conclude it is a topically written Name that is being covered over so as not to be rubbed off, the nature of the reed covering mentioned here would in fact render that covering useless.
The use of a water-permeable covering would only be relevant if one was trying to cover the name in an impure state yet make certain the skin was in fact still submerged and contacted by the water. Otherwise, if this were water-tight, then the tevillah would be null and void—in fact—having never been properly performed.
Clearly this cannot refer to the ink being on the surface of the body, as rubbing it off would in fact have been a halakhic prerequisite before Tevillah immersion. The problem then is that one is not permitted to erase the Tetragrammaton, so immersion would be thus pointless until the Name written upon the surface of one’s skin wore off on its own, naturally.
We therefore see that there would be no purpose to giving such paradoxical instructions on immersion unless they were to those with this Name within their skin, in such a manner that it could not be removed.
Thus, it is clear that the Talmud not only knew of Jews who had tattoos, but tattoos of the Holiest of Divine Names! Far from repudiating this, it simply explains that this sacred name must be treated differently than other tattoos when one enters the miqvah for restoration of ritual purity.
Modifying What is Natural
The Torah instructs us that each natural process contains inherent negative aspects that must not be overlooked. A common misconception is that everything natural is inherently good. However, the Torah deliberately highlights these adverse elements, even within contexts that may seem entirely positive. This principle is exemplified in the discussion surrounding milah, circumcision.
The Midrash Tanchuma (Tazria 5) recounts a notable exchange between Rabbi `Akiva ben Yosef (50-135 CE) and the antagonistic Roman procurator, Turnusrufus Ha’Rasa (c. 90—131 CE). This Quintus Tineius Rufus was senator and provincial governor under the Roman Empire, known for his unsuccessful role in suppressing the early uprising Bar Kokhba Revolt.
When Turnus Rufus inquired of Rabbi `Akiva, “Whose deeds are greater, man’s or God’s?” Rabbi Akiva asserted that man’s deeds surpass those of God.
Turnus Rufus countered by stating that the Heavens and the Earth, as Divine creations, are beyond human comparison. But Rabbi `Akiva deemed this argument invalid, as it fell outside the realm of human capabilities, rendering the comparison itself unjust. The conversation progressed to the topic of milah, circumcision. Anticipating Turnus Rufus’s question, Rabbi `Akiva produced sheaves of wheat and cakes, declaring that while the sheaves are the work of the Creator, the cakes represent human innovation.
Taking the bait, Turnus Rufus argued that the cakes did not surpass the sheaves. He rephrased his initial inquiry: if God desires circumcision for children, why are they not born circumcised?
Rabbi `Akiva replied by questioning why a child’s umbilical cord remains attached until the mother severs it. He concluded that the absence of circumcision at birth signifies that God bestowed the Commandments of the Mitzvot upon the Jewish people in order to refine and require deliberation in ritual purification from the base, animal form.
What Rabbi `Akiva illustrates in this dialogue is the notion that natural states do not automatically equate with good. Judaism does not advocate for an uncritical acceptance of the natural world; rather, we are called to refine and develop the resources provided by God. Rabbi Akiva’s analogy of wheat and cake exemplifies this concept—humankind benefits the most from wheat, when we process into a refined product, rather than consume it in its raw state.
Tattooed Jews of the First and Second Temple Eras
Rabbi Aibu, who lived in the 4th century (fourth generation of Amoraim)—a contemporary of Yehudah ben Shim`on (ben Pazzi)—along with his companions and talmudic, stated surprisingly that at the end of the First Temple Era, the B’nei Yisrael were commonly inscribed in ink with the Holy Name of Ha’Shem—the Tetragrammaton.
In the Midrash on Tehillim (Psalms 36), we read that Rabbi Abba bar Kahana taught that “two generations made use of the Ineffable Name” of Ha’Shem. The first was “the men of the Great Synagogue.” The second was “the generation of [King] Chizqiyyahu [Hezekiah, late 8th century BCE] and of the generation of [King] Tzidqiyahu [Zedekiah, early 6th century BCE],” who “also knew the Ineffable Name.” Therefore, it is asked regarding the Psalm “what weapons of war could Hu have meant except the Ineffable Name?”
The rabbis thus taught that in these former times, when the Temple stood, “when Israel went forth to war, they had no need to fight battles, for their enemies fell before them. But after sins brought it about that the Temple was destroyed,” in each case, “the B’nei Yisrael fell at the hands of their enemies.”
Thus, it is here that Rabbi Aibu interjects his belief that the angelic Malakhim “scraped off the Name, which was on them.”
One might understand this to mean that those spiritual, angelic forces over time removed the practice of magical inscription from the hearts and will of the people in relation to their abnegation and weakening of their Jewish identity—as we see in case of the Northern Israelite tribes-now-lost, in the case of the destruction of the First Temple, and in the case of the Hellenizing of the Jewish population in weakening the support for the Jewish Resistance against the Roman imperial monster when the Second Temple was destroyed (and thereafter).
This Midrash Tehillim continues, stating that the Rabbis elaborated that “it scraped itself off,” further lending to the allegorical meaning of the angelic Malakhim scraping it off. “After the Temple was destroyed, when the children of Israel went forth to war, they would say: There is no Matom, Soundness in my flesh, because of Your Rage; neither is there any Shalom, balance and health, within my bones because of my having missed the mark, in error (Tehillim 38:4).”
Almost like the story the shorn Nazirite Shimshon, without the amuletic sign, the Israelites were physically weakened and thereby, swiftly defeated in battle.
Diving Deeper with Kabbalah
Similar examples can be found within the Hekhalot literature.[3] In these works, on the Heavenly Palaces or “Hekhalot” we find deeply esoteric discussion on how one makes a journey to the heavenly Hekhal as well as how they might draw down Divine Powers to the physical realm of `Olam `Asiyah, the World of Physical Action, through meditative and ritual processes.
Among these works, in Sefer Ma`aseh Merkabah, a Jewish mystical text discovered by Gershom Scholem (1897—1982) and is a form of pre-Kabbalah Jewish mysticism. Scholem observed that the text, penned just on the heels of the destruction of the Second Temple, is essentially a spiritualization of Chagim pilgrimages to the terrestrial Hekhal of the Second Temple—the Bet Ha’Miqdash.
In this text, the talmid is told exactly where they should inscribe the Holy Name of Ha’Shem on their body.
For the purpose of ascending to The Prince of the Torah, called Yophiel, we read that one must prepare engaging in the Fast of Mosheh Rabbeinu—a fast for forty days. Unlike the Samadhi-like state of the Law-Giving heavyweight, the talmid is here permitted to consume bread and water—presumably before sunrise and again after sunset. When they do eat at night, they must absolutely abstain from eating flesh food. They must immerse twenty-four times a day—every hour on the hour.
Additionally, they should refrain from seeing, or thus wearing, garments of any color whatsoever. They must wear only white, just as in the Qumran practice of the Second Temple Era Chassidim Rishonim of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which itself designates its Yachad community as `Ossiyim Ha’Torah. As an aside, the observant reader is astute if they noticed a common thread, theme and terminology at play: the `Ossiyim, the Ma`aseh or Ma`asim, and the world of `Asiyah.
Beyond this, the talmid is to “keep their eyes focused on the floor and pray with all of their focused energy. They must put intense feeling into their prayers. Lastly, they will be best served if they are inscribed with Divine Seals and Names:
“He should then lift his eyes toward Heaven to prevent dying,” the text reads. He must “stay in one place and utter a [Divine] Name.”
Finally, he should adorn himself with such Holy words all ver his body, so that he is inscribed in all his limbs. With Wisdom he must search for Understanding in his Innermost Heart. He must then immediately pray to Ha’Shem in the Holy Name.
At this point, as a final protection, he should make a circle for himself with myrtle leaf and stand within it. The purpose of this is so that demons or sheddim do not deceptively approach and presenting their image as angels and, with his guard lowered, kill him.
In these preparations one should make prior to appearing before which later Kabbalistic literature would term the Ze`ir Anpin, the Small Face, the lengthy ritual begins with a prayer and ends with “beautifying” the body through detailed inscribing on the physical limbs of the body with the Holy Name of the Tetragrammaton.
This meticulous description is followed by another description of the same type further on in the same text. It is stated that Rabbi Yishma`el said: “I inscribed myself with seven seals upon the descent of Pedrakas the Prince of Divine Presence.” These were on my leg; on my chest; on my right arm; on my left arm; on my throat… on my head.”
Another of the Hekhelot literature potentially relevant here is Sefer Shi`ur Qomah. The title translates, with loaded mystical terminology, to “The Book of the Standing Measurement” or “Height” of the Primordial Human—the hermaphroditic spirit of Adam Qadmon. The wording can also imply an allegorical Gate, or even “Portal.”
This work was regarded as dangerously implying corporality to the Divine. The Rambam believed it to be potentially dangerous that it could be misunderstood and could lead Jews astray if taken literally by the uninitiated. As such, he advised that copies literally be burned.
Of course, the proverbial “Catch 22” here is that the only such copies that would be burned would have been those being made public. Who would ever know of any copies besides these? The call, therefore, was less to destroy the text and the knowledge therein, and more to return it to a completely “Closed Door” status.
The title references not a physical “measurement” of the “height” of the Verbal Name (Y-H-V-H), but to the spiritual Malakh Ha’Shem—the Biblical name for the Chief of the Archangels, Metatron, who is synonymous with the Primordial Adam Qadmon. The allegory is intended to break the reader outside of the “box” of three-dimensionality of Space-Time (the latter being the fourth dimension, ever-permeating the three). Thus, the “measurement” of this being is rendered as 236,000 parsanga. This term is thought to derive from the Ancient Persian pharsank—equaling approximately 4 miles.
Ironically, this is not at all indicative of physicality but of coded gematria, denoting the “Fear and Awe of Yah” (יראייה), which can also be read as “Vision.”
Using the same geometric association, we see this as the Har-El, the “Mountain of God” (הר אל). In terms of Kabbalistic Tzimtzum cosmogony, the pre-Big Bang “compact” state of the physical Universe is indicated with the gematria of 236 (מוצק), as well as indicating a “solid” and “firm” standing—multiplied, as it were, by the symbolically endlessness of the conceptual thousand. As the Qomah references the “Height” we see here that this is a “Pillar” (מצוק), of the same 236 value, once again multiplied by the endlessness implicit in a thousand.
In this text of Sefer Shi’ur Qoma, the Primordial Malakh Ha’Shem—Metatron, or Adam Qadmon—is said to have inscribed upon his chest seventy names; on its forehead there were seventy letters. While it would stretch the limits of exegetical credulity to suggest that this was a reference to words borne of physical tattooing, there is nevertheless a common midrashic notion of the physically incarnate, material “Adam” (and thus, B’nei Adam), modifying the physical body to reflect a Celestial, Cosmic, and Primordial Ideal.
For instance, this Primordial Adam was said to be naturally circumcised. We are told midrashically that this is the case with Mashiach as well. Indeed, this is no coincidence, as the primordial concept of a pre-incarnate Mashiach “at the gates of Rome” (Bavli Talmud, Sanhedrin 98a), outside of the boundaries of physical time-dilation, is essentially alluding to and intentionally overlapping with the Kabbalistic Adam Qadmon idea.
Works of Midrash such as Midrash Tanchuma, Avot de’Rabbi Natan, the Bavli Talmud (Sotah 12a) and Shemot Rabbah (1:24), ascribe natural, inborn “circumcision” to figures such as Mosheh Rabbeinu. This, as well as more or less everything else in such texts, is allegory. This, however, as with so much else this narrow topic peripherally touches, is beyond the scope of this current discussion.
In the Hekhelot work Sefer Harba De’Mosheh, meaning The War-Sword of Moses, was written in a combination of Aramaic and Hebrew, for the purposes of relaying various kosher magical formulas. In the process of executing these, the practitioner is instructed to fortify themselves through inscribing seals upon themself with the Name of Ha’Shem composed of 42 letters. Details of this 42-letter Name are not delineated in the text, nor does the pseudepigraphic author explain where on the body the Expansive Divine Name should be inscribed.
Though not written in the text, these 42 letters were grouped into three parts of the body, with 14 inscribed upon each in places which are not permitted to be relayed. Indeed, there are ways in which these letters may be inscribed secretly, amongst other words and verses upon the body, with the intention or kavvanah being made for the magical work—hiding these letters in plain sight of other words. Through this kavvanah intentionality, the specific letters would naturally (or supernaturally) be “activated” within the spiritual realms and would thus be perfectly apparent to spiritual beings as standing apart from the surrounding letters. The details of this transmission are necessarily imparted orally, from teacher to student—lest these skills be misused… or so I am told.
Conclusion
While the discussion at hand has focused on historical origins and contexts, such things are not the focus nor concern for the majority. This is, of course, only natural. The modern conversations surrounding tattoos have evolved beyond issues of religious condemnation to encompass discussions of personal expression, art, and societal norms.
Contemporary tattoo culture tends to celebrate the body as a canvas for self-expression and even religious piety and pietism—challenging past interpretations that framed body modification strictly within negative or forbidden contexts.
This shift underscores a significant cultural evolution where personal choice intersects with historical antecedents, providing a poignant reminder that interpretations of body art are continually in flux and influenced by broader socio-religious dynamics. Yet while this contemporary trend that embraces tattoos exists, it has too often run parallel to the idea of upholding of religious tenets that are popularly interpreted as discouraging such practices. As this work has amply demonstrated, this need no longer be the case.
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