Jews with tattoos: a post October 7 trend

Since October 7, Brentan Wolf, a Jewish tattoo artist in Melbourne, has been busy. He has noticed a steady increase in 18 to 25-year-old clients coming in to have Am Israel Chai (The people of Israel lives), a Star of David or Chai (life) inked onto their bodies.

Guy Shoval, an Israeli tattoo artist working at Fine Line Tattoos in Melbourne, has noticed a similar trend. He says many clients are female, first-timers who are choosing small but meaningful Jewish tattoos.

“They want a delicate thing to give them power, to give them their symbol, like a talisman.

“I think tattoos are very empowering. I see a lot of people that get a lot of comfort from them, and a lot of strength, and a feeling of belonging. There is definitely a big influx of Israelis and Jews getting tattoos in Hebrew or something to symbolise the land of Israel,” he says.

October 7 prompted Israeli-born Maya Feder, 27, to get her first tattoo: a map of Israel with a quote from a poem by Shaul Tchernichowsky that says, “Hoy, my land, my birth land”.

“Being far away from my country, I wanted something that is close to my heart… Post October 7, that really made me want to have something that will remind me of Israel,” she explains.

The trend observed by Australian Jewish tattoo artists echoes the pattern in Israel, where tattoos have become a way of processing grief after October 7, and a form of healing for some survivors.

That’s a dramatic change from traditional Jewish culture, where religious law forbids permanently marking the body (although there are a range of interpretations of the prohibition), and the shadow of forced Holocaust tattoos entrenched the taboo.

One dramatic turnabout is descendants who choose to have Holocaust numbers tattooed as a tribute to their grandparents or great-grandparents.

“I personally have tattooed the numbers of deceased relatives, or relatives that went through World War Two, on their relatives now – especially on their great-grandchildren – just to remember what we have been through, and what we could go through again,” says Wolf.

Mia Fine, 27, felt she had to ask her grandmother, an Auschwitz survivor, before getting a tattoo. “She was dead against it… After some tears were shed, mostly by me, she basically said, ‘It’s your life, it’s your body, you’re going to do what you’re going to do. I just want you to be happy and I’m not going to stand in the way of your happiness’.”

Fine chose an interpretation of the national flower of Hungary in honour of her grandmother – but she didn’t feel ready to show her the tattoo for some time. When she eventually showed it to her, her grandmother was touched to hear that she got it for her, and said it was beautiful and that she loved it.

Wolf has noticed a change in views about tattoos among older Jewish people. “My grandparents didn’t let me into their house for two years after I got my first sleeve [tattoo],” he says.

“They were very against the tattoo industry and tattoos in general, because it was mainly bikers and gangs that owned studios and were tattoo artists. Nowadays, my grandfather, who is 87-years-old, will sit down with me and pull up tattoos and say, ‘Oh, you should see this. Have you done something like this? What about doing something like that?’”

Fine also checked with the Chevra Kadisha to ensure having a tattoo wouldn’t affect her access to a Jewish burial. They assured her “in no uncertain terms” that she could still be buried in a Jewish cemetery.

“That was so heartwarming to hear that. It doesn’t matter what an Orthodox organisation might think about tattoos traditionally, the overarching important thing is that Jews belong with Jews, if that’s their wish, and family belongs with family. I thought that was beautiful.”

She is now considering getting a tattoo in memory of Shani Louk, a tattoo artist who was murdered by Hamas militants on October 7. “I would love to get that done by a Jewish artist so that I can start conversations about October 7th and about Shani.”

Holocaust associations were also significant to Jacqui Kay Goldenberg, 52, one of an increasing number of Generation X also choosing to get tattooed. She has a heart, a sun and a Magen David, representing her three children, tattooed on her wrist.

“Previously I’ve been someone who wouldn’t even get a nightclub stamp on the inside of my wrist because of the association with the Holocaust tattoos. I thought, ‘Oh, maybe I’ll do an ankle one,’ and then I decided I wanted to look at it all the time and gain strength from it, and I wanted to reclaim the wrist as being mine, and not a negative. It was one of the most empowering things I’ve done,” she said.

Hannah Thompson, 45, had Jewish tattoos before October 7. “My mum’s family are Mizrachi Assyrian Jews, so I got myself a Hamsa, and I had the eye changed to a Maltese eye because my Dad’s Maltese. I was trying to do a blend.”

After a tour of Yad Vashem, in 2018, she also had the word Chai tattooed on the back of her neck. “After all the death and destruction of learning about the Holocaust, I felt I needed something life affirming.

“I think for people on the outskirts [of the community], it’s a bit of a way to reaffirm [my identity]… it has sort of made me feel a bit more, ‘Okay, I can come into this space and I don’t have to be apologetic or explain myself or watch what I say’.”

Those with Jewish tattoos are conscious that there are risks associated with being visibly Jewish. Some choose visible tattoo sites as a statement that they will not be cowed by antisemitism.

“I had a couple of people say, ‘You’re very brave getting obviously Jewish tattoos, because you never know when it’s all going to turn’… The one on the back of my neck I can cover up with my hair, but it does make me a bit uncomfortable going to certain sorts of places at the moment,” says Thompson.

However, she adds, “I see it very much as a fuck you, like I’m not going to hide. I’m not. We’re done hiding in attics and crawl spaces, and I wouldn’t fit in a crawl space anyway. I’m done running.”

Says Shoval: “It is very powerful to be proud of it and to wear it on your skin, to not be afraid of it or ashamed of it to the extent that you will wear it on your body.”

But when Feder came to him with an idea to have the map of Israel tattooed on her hand, he suggested somewhere less visible. She is glad she took his advice, even though she wasn’t worried about people seeing it. “I wanted something that is close to my heart that is connected to Israel. It’s intimate.”

Wolf says a lot of Jewish clients want their tattoos to be visible, and he always discusses the options and potential impacts. “I have a Chai on my chest and a Magen David that was on my back. I covered my Magen David up when I was younger because I had antisemitism that came my way on Bondi Beach. Not everyone needs to know what your religion is all the time.”

To Fine, visibility is part of the point of a tattoo: “I wouldn’t feel right having it hidden. I wear it for myself, but I also wear it for the world, and I wear it for my ancestors, and I wear it for my family that was killed in Auschwitz.

“In the same way that I don’t want them to be forgotten, for me it doesn’t feel right to hide my Judaism. I completely understand why people feel like they have to, but I won’t.”