Podcast Episode 4 - Ethics
In this episode we explore a question that lies at the core of our work: the ethical considerations of tattoos for Jews. Is what we do guided by moral responsibility? What is our commitment to the text? And what is our commitment to the people who carry these words on their bodies?
The conversation moves from questions of cultural appropriation to Holocaust tattoos, and further into Zionism and the ways it has reshaped Jewish self understanding.
Ethics and Hebrew Tattoos
In the work with Hebrew tattoos we sit at the meeting point of language, story, body and also some ethical questions. The people I meet come in very different stages and from different places in their process. Some arrive with a specific Hebrew word or verse they already love, while others come only with a story, a memory, a difficult transition, or a feeling they want to mark somehow without yet knowing which phrase could hold it for them. Even before we find the text, the ethical questions are already present, because we are asking what this mark will say, to whom this language belongs, and which histories it touches. From the very beginning we are doing more than choosing words and an image, we are making a moral choice about meaning.
When I think of morality I do not understand it as a set of external rules that police people, and I am not interested in purity for its own sake. For me morality has to do with consequences, with what an act does in the world and in the lives of conscious beings. A moral act is one that supports life, connection and psychological as well as cultural growth and wellbeing. This idea resonates with the work of contemporary philosophers such as Peter Singer, who describe morality in terms of the wellbeing of sentient beings rather than obedience to a fixed code. In my daily work this is not an abstraction, because I constantly ask whether a choice increases understanding, coherence and respect, or whether it produces confusion, erasure or harm.
This becomes very concrete around questions of cultural appropriation. Hebrew is not just another aesthetic script but a language that carries prayer and trauma, exile and return, everyday speech and sacred text. So when someone who may or may not be part of that history asks to place a Hebrew word on their body, I cannot answer only with yes or no. I need to engage with the ethical dimension of that choice.
I think the key word here is coherence. We look for coherence between the person, the story they bring and the word they want to inscribe, and I listen for a sense of relationship. Do they understand where this text comes from and what it carries in Jewish memory. Do they have a genuine connection to it, and that connection does not have to be the obvious religious one. Or does it function mainly as an ornament. When there is coherence, when a person can inhabit the word with awareness, I experience the act as morally grounded, even if it might still be controversial for some observers.
Respect is central in this process, because you cannot work with Hebrew responsibly without it. These words are emotionally and culturally charged for many people and they carry generations of stories of grief and hope. When I help someone choose a text, I feel that I am handing them something that is not only theirs but also belongs to a wider community of speakers, readers and prayers. That is why I ask questions that might feel demanding, since this questioning is part of holding that responsibility.
At the same time I do not believe it is possible or even desirable to avoid all friction. If the main goal were never to offend or disturb anyone, meaningful art and meaningful relationships would become impossible. The philosopher Byung Chul Han describes our time as a kind of palliative society, one that constantly tries to smooth away pain, conflict and negativity so that everything feels easy and agreeable. I recognise this in my work and in the culture around me. When we remove every sharp edge, we also remove depth, resilience and the possibility of real encounter. Friction itself is not the enemy. The real question is what we do with it. If a client brings a difficult or charged word, my first impulse is to slow down and invite them to explain their link to this word in detail. Sometimes this process reveals that the choice is shallow and needs to change, and sometimes it reveals a deep, thoughtful connection that can deal gracefully with the potential pain or misunderstanding that might arise. In that case the friction becomes part of the meaning rather than an accident.
I see the same pattern in how we relate to history. There is a strong tendency today to remove what is uncomfortable, to edit books or reject art because it does not conform to current moral standards. Of course moral standards have changed and that is a sign of growth, but if we erase every trace of older views, we lose the ability to see that growth at all. Our friction with the past is a valuable source of knowledge that shows us where we once were and how our ethical sense has evolved. As a linguist I see this clearly in language, where words that were once common can become unbearable to the ear, and that gap is something to study and understand as progress that mirrors our change.
Since language is our medium, the whole concept of words as representations of reality and thought plays a central role in all of this. Language is not just a neutral vehicle for thoughts, but something that shapes what we are capable of experiencing and articulating. Wittgenstein wrote that the limits of my language mean the limits of my world. So when we go deep to express and fine tune, we expand our world.
So to close, ethics in my work is not about being correct but about being attentive, about noticing what a word does when it leaves the mouth or the pen or the needle. In the end, when someone chooses a Hebrew tattoo, they are not only expressing themselves, they are also entering a conversation with a long and complex tradition.
