Getting a tattoo is a deeply personal act, a permanent statement etched onto the canvas of your skin. I know this firsthand, having chosen to carry stories and symbols with me – ravens, totems, family history, even a favorite song lyric – each a deliberate mark of identity.
For many, the decision is simple. But for some, particularly within the Jewish community, it carries a weight of tradition and interpretation. Ancient texts, specifically Leviticus, contain a prohibition against marking the body, a directive rooted in the belief that the body is sacred and not ours to irrevocably alter.
Yet, despite this historical context, tattoos are increasingly common among modern Jews, especially in Israel. The debate, once fervent, seems to have shifted. It’s a testament to evolving beliefs and the individual’s right to self-expression.
But even when the religious considerations are set aside, the act of getting a tattoo remains profoundly significant. It’s rarely impulsive; it’s a carefully considered declaration of self.
Benjamin Miller, a 50-year-old from Toronto, understood this intimately. After surviving cancer, he envisioned a small tattoo: a Star of David, embracing the Hebrew word “chai” – meaning “life.” A symbol of resilience, faith, and a reclaiming of identity.
The Star of David, the Magen David, is a powerful emblem. It represents Jewish identity, unity, and a connection to something larger than oneself. It’s a symbol woven into the fabric of Jewish history, from the national flag to the tragic markings imposed during the Holocaust.
Miller approached a Toronto tattoo artist with his design, a simple expression of hope and heritage. What followed was a shocking refusal. The artist simply wouldn’t do it.
“I wanted to get a tattoo…after being discharged from Princess Margaret Cancer Centre,” Miller explained. “Since October 7, 2023, I have often felt afraid to be visibly Jewish in public. Getting this tattoo was my way of reclaiming my identity.”
The sting of rejection was profound. Miller, already vulnerable from his battle with cancer and heightened anxieties about public displays of Jewish identity, felt silenced and diminished. He turned to the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) for guidance.
CIJA’s legal counsel, Richard Marceau, recognized the gravity of the situation. The refusal, they believed, was a clear violation of Ontario’s Human Rights Code, which guarantees equal treatment in services, regardless of creed or ancestry.
This code extends beyond public institutions, protecting individuals from discrimination even in the private sector – like a tattoo parlor. Refusing service based on religious identity is unequivocally unlawful.
“Refusing someone service because they are Jewish is unlawful,” Marceau stated firmly. “This is precisely the type of conduct that human rights legislation is designed to prevent.”
Miller filed a human rights complaint last summer, and the case is now in mediation. While details remain confidential to protect the artist’s identity, Miller has bravely chosen to share his story.
“I am proud of my Jewish identity and wanted a tattoo to reflect that,” Miller said, his voice resonating with quiet determination. “Instead I was made to feel that being visibly Jewish was a problem. No one should have to hide who they are.”
Benjamin Miller’s case is a stark reminder that prejudice, even in subtle forms, persists. The outcome of his complaint remains uncertain, but his courage in speaking out is undeniable. It’s a powerful statement: no one should ever be denied the right to celebrate their identity, to reclaim their story, and to simply…be.
If someone attempts to deny another the expression of life and faith, it leaves a lasting mark – not on the skin, but on their own conscience.
