Would you tattoo?
For Jews born before the 1980s, tattoos have historically carried a stigma. Associated with criminals, bikers, and sailors, tattoos were not a thing most self-respecting Jews would choose to have. Additionally, tattoos are explicitly prohibited by Jewish law.
This understanding was commonly accepted throughout much of the Jewish world until around 1990, when tattoos started trending as a form of self-expression. Today, tattoos are so ubiquitous among millennials and Gen Z that virtually no one in those demographic cohorts associates them with anything negative.
But what about older Jews who grew up with the cultural stigma around tattoos and an understanding of the traditional perspective of Jewish law? To learn more, we spoke to five Jews who got their first tattoo later in life.
Tattooed Jews
Jerusalem resident Timna Seligman grew up in London and has lived in Israel since 1987. She doesn’t recall tattoos being spoken about when she was young, nor were there “any people with visible tattoos who were part of my parents’ social circle,” she said.
Her interest in tattoos began when she was a teen. “I was interested in ethnography as a field of study and found the different traditions of tattooing and skin art fascinating. This transferred over into Western tattoo traditions as well.”
Over time, she said, “I have become more interested in the personal stories behind the tattoos, as opposed to the societal/traditional aspects of tattooing.”
Her personal journey to her tattoo was a lengthy one. “It took me years to get my tattoo – not because I was agonizing over the decision itself. That was clear. I wanted a tattoo. But I couldn’t decide what image I wanted. For years, I flirted with different images – mainly floral or abstract. But I knew that the decision was irreversible and had to be right.
“In the end, a good friend who has many meaningful tattoos helped me make a decision. It was in 2021. I was 54. My only regret was that it took that long. And now, I am deliberating a second tattoo. I hope I can make up my mind sooner,” she said.
Seligman acknowledged that Jewish law regarding tattoos “wasn’t a factor at all.” She said she works in the arts, where “tattoos are not an issue.” People are surprised when they see her tattoo, but “the responses are positive.”
Describing the significance of the image on her leg, Seligman related, “My tattoo is a rising phoenix. The cultural meaning is of rebirth from flames. In 2021, post-COVID, I had been looking at many images of flying birds and symbolism of freedom, flight, fresh air. The final image combined an almost tribal line with the classic bird. It just felt right. I guess I needed to wait that long to find it.
“The place where I got the tattoo also holds meaning. My connection to Jerusalem and its history is an important part of my life here. So I went to Razzouk Tattoo in the Old City. Wassim Razzouk, who did the tattoo, carries on the family tradition, which has been tattooing people in Jerusalem since 1300,” she elaborated.
WHEN LISA DAVIDSON of Jerusalem made aliyah from Scotland in 1993, she had no body art. Growing up in Glasgow, she believed that tattoos were reserved for working-class people and navy men.
After living in Israel for 25 years, at the age of 47 Davidson felt a desire “to make a mark at this stage in my life on my body.” Her first tattoo depicted two stars on her wrist, representing her father and her grandmother, who had both passed away. “They would hate to know that that is how I remember them!” she exclaimed.
Today, she has six, “all small, all in places that aren’t immediately obvious but that I can see.” One of her more significant tattoos is “a purple wave to memorialize and remember my dad, who died from pancreatic cancer.”
Her latest tattoo is in memory of Hersh Goldberg-Polin, who was kidnapped by Hamas on Oct. 7 and murdered in captivity.
“I didn’t know Hersh personally, but in the summer of 2023 I met his amazing parents, Rachel and Jon, at a wedding reception, and the half-hour acquaintance enchanted me. Through the stories at that meeting, I heard about a special child. From what I heard, Hersh was a warm and loving person, full of optimism, positive, with love for others, and spreading light wherever he went.
“In October 2023, I was looking for a meaningful tattoo. Since I’m interested in tattoos, I get ads about tattoo artists all the time. One from a young man named Omer with a tattoo place in central Jerusalem spoke to me.
“We made an appointment. We talked, and he prepared the design I wanted. He welcomed me wearing a ‘Bring Back Hersh’ T-shirt, and it turned out that Omer and Hersh were good friends. Omer charmed me, and we stayed in touch.”
IN NOVEMBER 2023, Davidson began volunteering at the Hostages and Missing Families Forum, where she is still active. “Getting to know three people in Hersh’s circle was the inspiration to do everything to return the abductees,” she said. “On January 9, 2024, when they announced the death of the six kidnapped in the Hamas tunnels, I knew I wanted another tattoo. I knew I wanted to mark and remember the beautiful and special boy that I had so hoped to meet. And the inspiration for the tattoo came to me after the words I heard at his funeral.”
Davidson contacted Omer again, and he designed a special tattoo for her because every tattoo of hers has a personal and special meaning. “I know this will sound strange, but while Omer was tattooing me, I felt this warm, enveloping pain. Maybe this is nonsense, or maybe Hersh was really there with Omer while he was tattooing me. So, Hersh, although we didn’t meet, you have been in my heart and with me since I heard your special name,” she said.
Admitting that she’s become “addicted” to getting tattooed, she said that “I enjoy the process, and I love my tattooist.”
Journey to tattooing
Raised in New Jersey with the belief that “Jews don’t get tattoos,” Beth Arnstein of Modi’in made aliyah in 1988. Over time, as she “saw the beautiful artwork in tattoos,” her opinion changed. She called it a “natural progression.”
For years, she joked about getting a tattoo. “I kept burning the inside of my forearm when I would cook, and I would joke around that I need to get a hamsa tattooed over any burn marks.” As a 60th birthday present, her daughter and her granddaughter offered to pay for the tattoo she had been joking about for years.
“When they made the offer, it took me five minutes to say ‘Yes, why not?’” Ultimately, she had a hamsa tattooed on her leg rather than on her arm. “I love the hamsa, and these days a bit of protection never hurts,” Arnstein commented.
If there were negative reactions, she “didn’t pay attention or care.” The ones she remembers are people who said, “Wow! It’s beautiful. You really did it!”
“I love having my tattoo showing, so I prefer warm weather when I wear skirts or shorts and it isn’t hidden. I’m proud of it, even seven years after getting it,” she shared.
MANNY ROSENBERG was raised in New York, made aliyah at age 19, and served in the IDF. For the last 29 years, he’s been living in Brisbane, Australia.
His journey with tattooing goes back to 1980. “I was hoping to get my first tattoo in 1980. I wanted to get the 1980 Moscow Olympics logo tattooed on my upper leg. I was `nominated to make the Israeli Olympic Team, but since Israel also joined the boycott initiated by the US, the tattoo idea never happened.”
Twenty-five years later, “while vacationing in Eilat, my wife and I walked into a tattoo parlor and chose a design. I was told that the wait for an appointment would be two to three days, but we were already leaving to go back to Tel Aviv. So it [also] never happened.”
Rosenberg was in his early 50s before he finally got inked. “A tattoo with me is more than some graphic design. It’s about a message of what matters most to me. Each of the six tattoos I have is about my love for my family and my Zionism,” he explained.
His tattoos are a beacon to other Jews. “The people who can read Hebrew understand. It starts up a conversation… I was walking on a trail in Noosa, Queensland, [a few] weeks ago and heard three young people walking behind me. They were speaking in Hebrew. When they got closer, in Hebrew, [one] told the other, ‘Look, he has Hebrew on his arm.’ The younger lady asked me if I knew what it said. I laughed and answered her in Hebrew. She said she was proud to see those words on my arm.
“Sometimes, as a people, we can feel alone, but we are not. Maybe it’s like me telling them, ‘I am a safe place if they need help,’” he said.
His tattoos signify “my love for my wife and family. My absolute belief in Zionism. My belief in Hashem.” Rosenberg’s Hebrew name is Emanuel. “God is with me. I’ve always carried this thought around with me and believe it to be very true,” he revealed.
Five of his six children also have tattoos. “I think three of them were influenced by me, but they made their own decisions. One has the Magen David in calligraphy fashion, which reads Am Yisrael Chai [the nation of Israel lives].”
AMY BEARMON, originally from the Minneapolis area, made aliyah in her 20s, lived in Jerusalem for a decade, met her husband, and then moved to Seattle, Washington. Back in Israel on vacation, she got her first tattoo last month at the age of 60.
Acknowledging that she “was definitely taught that tattoos were taboo, that one can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery with tattoos, and ‘why would anyone willingly get a tattoo after the Shoah?’ [I] definitely got the ‘memo,’ if only tacitly, that tattoos are associated with the ‘other,’ that is, not ‘us’ – bikers, criminals, etc.” She also absorbed the idea “that one would be essentially unemployable with tattoos. I can’t think of anyone in my immediate world growing up who had a tattoo.”
Meeting many people with tattoos began to change her impression. “I saw beautiful – and to my mind – tasteful tattoos that held profound meaning for folks, which appealed to me.
“I had been thinking about getting a small tattoo on my ankle for a very long time, not sure how long, but certainly years. I was waiting for synchronicity to take over and offer up the right time, place, and tattoo artist,” she said.
The inspiration for her tattoo design was Sophie Scholl, a 21-year-old non-Jewish German “who defiantly resisted the Nazis, along with her brother and others, by distributing leaflets encouraging the overthrow of National Socialism. The group called themselves The White Rose.”
Scholl and others were executed for their acts of resistance.
“I have always been inspired by folks standing up and doing the right thing – especially because in the world, we see far too little of it. Therefore, a white rose is deeply meaningful to me and will be an indelible reminder that there were and are people like Sophie and the other White Rose members who courageously act when life requires it. And I aspire to live by their example of what human life ought to be about,” she expressed.
Bearmon further revealed that she made the Sheheheyanu blessing, which Jews say to bless God for new experiences, before her process began.
Bearmon’s white rose tattoo was done at the Bizzart Tattoo Studio on Yosef Rivlin Street in Jerusalem. Bizzart claims to be the oldest tattoo and piercing shop outside the Old City walls and is home to six tattoo artists whose experience ranges from five to more than 30 years.
Bizzart staff member Liga Alisova acknowledged that “We’ve been seeing a growing number of older clients getting tattoos. There are significant differences between older and younger people getting their first tattoos, from the design they choose to how they care for their new ink. And tattoo artists need to use specific techniques to avoid damaging the skin” of older clients.
According to Alisova, at least 30% of the older clients at Bizzart request Jewish or Israel-themed tattoos.
Tattoos and Jewish law
There is a verse in the Torah that explicitly prohibits tattoos. “You shall not make cuts in your flesh for a person [who died]. You shall not etch a tattoo on yourselves. I am the Lord” (Leviticus 19:28).
There are two main reasons why tattoos are forbidden according to Halacha (Jewish law). First, in Jewish thought tattoos are traditionally associated with idolatry, a sin the Ten Commandments prohibit.
Second, tattoos are considered a violation of the idea that we were each created b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of God. Our bodies were entrusted to us during our lifetimes to complete the mission that we came into the world to accomplish. Seen this way, our bodies are not ours to do whatever we want with.
The prohibition refers only to tattoos that are voluntary, not to those imposed against a person’s will, such as those done during the Holocaust or tattoos that are part of a life-saving medical treatment.
Even though Jewish law is clear about the prohibition against tattooing oneself, the belief that Jews with tattoos cannot be buried in a Jewish cemetery is a myth, and there is no reason to exclude a Jew who has tattoos from being part of any Jewish ritual.
The writer is a freelance journalist and expert on the non-Jewish awakening to Torah happening in our day. She is the editor of Ten From The Nations and Lighting Up The Nations.
