Taboo Torah: Tattoos and Jews

Stats

According to a 2007 Pew study, almost 40 percent of Americans between the ages of 18 and 40 have tattoos, but only 10 percent of those between 41 and 64.

According to research conducted by Rabbi Rochelle Tulik, about two-fifths of Jews’ tattoos can be identified as Jewish in some way.

http://www.thejewishweek.com/news/short-takes/tattoo-stil-taboo#VYIeHzLgl6VoyDED.99

Rabbi Alan Lucas, Jewish Committee on Laws and Standards (Rabbinical Assembly of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism)

In our day, the prohibition against all forms of tattooing regardless of their intent, should be maintained. In addition to the fact that Judaism has a long history of distaste for tattoos, tattooing becomes even more distasteful in a contemporary secular society that is constantly challenging the Jewish concept that we are created b’tzelem Elokim (in the image of G-d) and that our bodies are to be viewed as a precious gift on loan from G-d, to be entrusted into our care and [are] not our personal property to do with as we choose. Voluntary tattooing even if not done for idolatrous purposes expresses a negation of this fundamental Jewish perspective.

As tattoos become more popular in contemporary society, there is a need to reinforce the prohibition against tattooing in our communities and counterbalance it with education regarding the traditional concept that we are created b’tzelem Elokim. But, however distasteful we may find the practice there is no basis for restricting burial to Jews who violate this prohibition or even limiting their participation in synagogue ritual. The fact that someone may have violated the laws of kashrut at some point in his or her life or violated the laws of Shabbat would not merit such sanctions; the prohibition against tattooing is certainly no worse. It is only because of the permanent nature of the tattoo that the transgression is still visible.

Reform Judaism and Tattoos/Burial

As Jews, we believe that the human body is created b'tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. The body is our vehicle for performing mitzvot, our sacred obligations. For that reason, we are vigilant about honoring and caring for the body, in life as well as in death.

In the Bible, we find that respect for the body translates to keeping it free from unnecessary permanent markings: "You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves. I am the Eternal" (Leviticus 19:28). This aversion to tattoos was likely a response to customs of the Israelites' pagan neighbors. After the Holocaust, many in the Jewish community became even more opposed to tattoos, since many Jews had been forcibly tattooed while imprisoned in concentration camps.

In recent years, tattoos have become more common in the Jewish community. Some of them even display Hebrew words or Jewish symbols and are an expression of a person's Jewish identity. Additionally, there are instances where a person might be tattooed as part of necessary medical care, such as radiation therapy or reconstructive surgery. These tattoos are absolutely permitted for the purpose of pikuach nefesh, saving a life, a value that transcends almost any other Jewish law.

While the Jewish community might still be divided over tattoos, the prohibition against burying a tattooed person in a Jewish cemetery is a myth. Caring for the body after death is also a mitzvah, and we don't exclude people in our communities from that care simply because of markings on the skin.

Chabad Q&A

Question:

Is it true that if I have a tattoo I cannot be buried in an Orthodox cemetery? I’m not referring to Holocaust markings.

Answer:

The Torah forbids us from tattooing our bodies. Nonetheless, one who has had tattoos can still buried in a Jewish cemetery.

That said, every Jewish burial society has the right to enact its own criteria for who may and may not be buried in their plot. This stems from people’s desire (or right?) to be buried in proximity to others of their choosing. So while technically there is nothing in Jewish law which prohibits a tattooed person from being interred in a Jewish cemetery, certain burial societies—not the majority of them, or even close—will not bury among their own a person who willingly tattooed him- or herself, as it is a permanent exhibition of violation of Jewish Law.

This practice by certain burial societies led to the common misconception that this ban was an inherent part of Jewish law.

Chani Benjaminson,

Is it true that Jews with tattoos can’t be buried in Jewish cemeteries?

Rabbi Victor Reinstein is the rabbi of Nehar Shalom Community Synagogue, an independent congregation in Jamaica Plain. OCTOBER 23, 2012

As with so much of Jewish life and learning, in regard to Jews and tattoos there is the straightforward, surface response, and then there are the layers of meaning and the challenges to be wrestled with that wait and beckon beneath the surface.

I’ve heard so many different things about Jews and tattoos. Is it true that Jews with tattoos can’t be buried in Jewish cemeteries? What about if they are Holocaust survivors?

As with so much of Jewish life and learning, in regard to Jews and tattoos there is the straightforward, surface response, and then there are the layers of meaning and the challenges to be wrestled with that wait and beckon beneath the surface. The straightforward response is clear, and immediately dispels popular misconceptions. Jewish law does in fact prohibit permanent tattoos, but if a tattoo does not reflect idolatrous practice, there is no consequence or sanction against the bearer of a tattoo. There are no restrictions of any kind on participation in Jewish religious and communal life by a Jew with a tattoo. This includes burial in a Jewish cemetery, for which a tattoo poses no barrier whatsoever.

While in ancient times, an idolatrous tattoo may have expressed fealty to a pagan deity, we may more likely consider today the inappropriateness of symbols of other religions or the expression of values that most Jews would recognize as counter to our deepest values, such as the objectification of women or the celebration of death. The rabbis ruled long ago that a Jew tattooed under duress by another bore no culpability. It would be obscene to consider a Holocaust survivor bearing an Auschwitz number on her or his arm as being in any violation of a Jewish norm.

As we go beneath the surface, it is helpful to consider the verse in the Torah by which tattoos, at least before the fact, are prohibited: “And you shall not make a wound in your flesh for one who has died nor put a tattoo upon yourselves; I am God” (Lev. 19:28). The second part of the verse is clearly the direct source we are concerned with, but there is a connection with the first part. That we are not to harm ourselves in grief is an affirmation of life, encouraging us to go on in the face of loss, to see the value of our own life that is still to be lived. While the connection between the two parts of the verse may seem far-fetched at first, the prohibition against tattoos is also an affirmation of each individual life. Every person is beautiful as they are, each one created in God’s image: “b’tzelem Elohim” (Gen. 1:27).

In a society obsessed with body image, the image of God is too often obscured in the quest for perfection. While for many, body art is a sincere and meaningful expression of personal creativity and uniqueness, there is an ironic danger that such expression can play into a devaluing of the way we are and offer subtle pressure to do something about it. Beyond popular misconception among Jews, tattoos represent in effect a prohibition without sanction, inviting us in the asking to wrestle with deeper questions than consequence. In today’s ubiquitous presence of tattoos on celebrity flesh and ordinary folk, there is an opportunity to consider meaning beneath the surface of skin and text.

Tzarich Iyun: Jews with Tattoos

Rabbi Dr. Ari Zivotofsky

Misconception:[1] A Jew with a tattoo may not be buried in a Jewish cemetery.

Fact: This belief has no basis in Jewish law. Just as a Jew who violated other Torah laws may be buried in a Jewish cemetery, so too may one who violated the prohibition against being tattooed.

Background: This misconception is widespread amongst American Jews. References to it are often found in general American culture;[2] for example, it was mentioned on the TV show The Nanny[3]

Tattoos are Biblically prohibited.[4] The Torah states (Vayikra 19:28): “You shall not make gashes in your flesh for a dead person; you shall not etch a tattoo on yourselves. I am God.” The Torah uses the term ketovet ka’aka when referring to a tattoo; ketovet is derived from the root letters kaf, tav, vet, which means to write, while the second word, ka’aka, is difficult to translate as this is the only time it appears in the Bible.[5], [6] Onkelos translates the term as “rushmin charitin, incisions.” The Septuagint translates it as “grammata stikta, tattooed writing/drawing.”

Clarifying the Biblical prohibition, the Mishnah (Makkot 3:6) and Gemara (Makkot 21a; Yerushalmi, Makkot 3:6) state that it only applies if the individual performs a two-step process: perforating the skin and filling the resulting hole with ink. Injecting ink into the deep layers of the skin causes the mark to become permanent. Rashi (Leviticus 19:28; cf. Rashi on Makkot 21a) explains that the writing is done with a needle that yields a mark that is permanent.

Rabbi Shimon, as explained by Bar Kapparah in the Gemara, claims the prohibition only pertains to a tattoo that includes the name of an idol. Tosafot (Gittin 20b, s.v. beketovet ka’aka; see Beit Shmuel, EH 124:16) asserts that there is a rabbinic prohibition against applying temporary writing that appears like a tattoo and the Minchat Chinuch 253:1 prohibits permanent marking of the skin even if no ink is applied. Rambam and Shulchan Aruch rule that in order to violate the prohibition one needs to pierce the skin and apply color, in either order (Hilchot Avodat Kochavim 12:11; Yoreh Deah 180:1; Shach 180:1; Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 169:1). They both rule that the one being tattooed is not culpable, the tattoo “artist” is. If, however, the person being tattooed assists in the tattooing process, he is culpable, similar to the laws regarding the shaving of one’s beard and peyot (Rambam ibid.; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 180:2). Some rabbinic authorities maintain that the one who is tattooed is guilty of violating the prohibition and should receive lashes (Kesef Mishnah 12:1, Shach, Yoreh Deah 180:4).

It is not known how prevalent tattooing was in Biblical times. Rambam (Hilchot Avodat Kochavim 12:11) says that tattooing was customary among pagans as a means of declaring the individual indentured to a certain idol.[7] However, with regard to the prohibition, intent is immaterial.

The prohibition against tattooing has many ramifications in modern times. Tattooing has become very popular, both in Israel and the US, and many Jews are not even aware that such a prohibition exists. What happens when someone with tattoos does teshuvah? Is he obligated to have the tattoos removed, an often difficult and painful process? There would seem to be no obligation to have them removed, although one may wish to do so as a middat Chassidut; all the more so if the tattoo is of either an immoral or idolatrous nature. Nowadays, there are creams that can fade a tattoo over time. Laser removal is also an option. Undergoing plastic surgery to remove tattoos is, halachically speaking, questionable because it involves inflicting wounds upon oneself.[8] Another method of removal involves “covering up” the tattoo by injecting new dye. This method is also halachically questionable as it is possible that the removal process itself is considered tattooing.[9] A woman once asked Rabbi Ephraim Oshry (1914-2003), the well-known posek who wrote responsa during the Holocaust, if she could remove her concentration camp tattoo via plastic surgery. He advised Holocaust survivors not to remove their tattoos, but rather to wear them as badges of honor (Teshuvot Mima’amakim 4:22).

Much rabbinic discussion surrounds the relatively new semi-permanent cosmetics (also known as cosmetic tattooing) that are applied via needle.[10] Several leading rabbinic authorities believe that if the cosmetics are indeed long lasting, and applied to the deep layers of the skin, it is prohibited to use them.[11] Others note that Rashi emphasizes in both his commentary to the Chumash and to the Gemara that in order for a tattoo to be prohibited, it must last a lifetime, and semi-cosmetics do not. Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, chief rabbi of Ramat Gan, wrote in an online responsum that the prohibition is with regard to writing words or pictures, but mere color on the skin does not constitute a tattoo and is, therefore, not prohibited. Despite this, the general consensus among posekim is to prohibit semi-permanent makeup for a variety of different reasons.[12]

Rabbi Shmuel Wosner also raises some philosophical problems with regard to semi-permanent makeup. In a discussion unrelated to tattoos (Teshuvot Shevet HaLevi 6:33), he discourages women from putting on too much makeup and cites the Gemara (Shabbat 62b) that states that one reason for the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash was the excessive use of cosmetics.[13] He brings this argument up again with regard to semi-permanent makeup, and insists that makeup, when appropriate, should be used in moderation.

The question of whether a tattoo is considered by halachah to be a chatzizah with regard to hand washing before eating bread or with regard to bathing in a mikvah is also raised, but most authorities determine that a tattoo does not constitute a chatzitzah. Other rabbis have questioned—and ultimately permitted—the writing on the skin by a doctor to mark the location where surgery should be performed (Rabbi Avraham Sofer Avraham, Nishmat Avraham 5:67-8). Mishpitei Uziel (II Yoreh Deah 22) ruled that for a need, tattooing is permissible.

Since tattooing is Biblically prohibited and has a possible connection to idolatry, one can easily understand where the misconception comes from. There is a Biblical obligation to bury a dead Jew (Sanhedrin 46b; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 348:2; 357:1-2; 362:1), even an evil one (Shu”t Chatam Sofer, Yoreh Deah 341). Furthermore, the halachah states that one should not bury an evil person near a tzaddik, nor even a very wicked person near a mildly wicked person, nor a good person near an outstandingly pious individual (Sanhedrin 47a; Rashi, ibid.; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 362:5).[14], [15] This law is derived from the incident in II Kings 13:21, where the body of a false prophet was thrown into the Prophet Elisha’s grave and then arose from the dead because God did not want the rasha buried with Elisha. The Gemara explains that there were therefore different cemeteries even for different levels of rishut, evil. For example, there were different burial areas for those killed by beit din via stoning and those killed by sword.[16]

This halachah led to the formation of burial societies—groups of people with common values who purchase burial plots near each other. Thus, only in a Jewish cemetery does one find separate burial sections for societies of like-minded individuals. Indeed, a halachically conscious person should be alert to this issue when purchasing a burial plot, and should try to purchase one with a group that is particular about whom they accept. Burial societies were created specifically for this purpose. Membership in such a society is different than membership in, for example, a shul, which does not necessarily guarantee the religious observance of its members.

In general, a sinner is not excluded from a Jewish cemetery on the basis of his having violated certain laws, and thus Shabbat desecraters are buried in Jewish cemeteries. There are, however, rare exceptions. Since cremation was introduced in the late 19th century, there has been a great deal of rabbinic discussion about how to deal with a Jewish person’s cremated ashes. Some authorities maintain that excluding them from a Jewish cemetery will help discourage the practice of cremation. Three different positions emerged: exclude the ashes of cremated Jews from a Jewish cemetery, permit their internment in a Jewish cemetery, or permit the burial but in a separate section (see e.g., Seridei Aish 2:123-124; Melamed L’hoil 2:113-114; and Gesher Hachaim 1:16:9). Cremation is so frowned upon in rabbinic literature that in a lengthy response (Chelkat Yaakov, 2:4), Rabbi Mordechai Yaakov Breisch ruled in 1957 that it is better to be buried in a non-Jewish cemetery than to be cremated. This truly highlights the negative attitude halachah has towards cremation.

Oftentimes uninformed Jews think that because they violated various Torah laws (such as having a tattoo), they will be denied a Jewish burial; they therefore conclude that they would like to be cremated, since they prefer cremation over a non-Jewish burial. However, there is a terrible irony here. For almost no one is excluded from a Jewish cemetery due to lack of halachic punctiliousness. When one is cremated, however, one denies oneself the privilege of having a Jewish burial. In fact, cremation is one of the only ways to guarantee that one will not have a Jewish burial.

Another related misconception is that suicides are buried outside of the cemetery. In fact, they are not buried outside of a Jewish cemetery, although they are buried at a distance from the other deceased, sometimes in a separate section of the cemetery (Gilyon Maharsha, Yoreh Deah 345; Sidney Goldstein, Suicide in Rabbinic Literature [New Jersey, 1989], 60-61). In other cultures, such as the Greek and Roman cultures, suicides were excluded from cemeteries. However, there is no Talmudic source for excluding suicides from being buried in a Jewish cemetery, and this practice was discouraged by halachic authorities (see Tzitz Eliezer 10:41 and Benjamin Gesundheit, “Halakhic and Moral Analysis of Masekhet Semahot,” Tradition 35:3 [2001]: 40 and sources on 48).

Ab initio, those of similar religious and moral stature should be buried next to each other. If, however, a tzaddik and a rasha are buried next to each other, it may not be necessary to move the rasha, although some separation, such as a halachic partition, is usually advised (see Gilyon Maharsha, Yoreh Deah 362:5; Shu”t Chatam Sofer, Yoreh Deah 341; Minchat Yitzchak 6:136; Shevet HaLevi 7:193). If, however, fraud or bribery was involved in acquiring the desirable plot, then the rasha should indeed be moved (Shu”t Maharsham 7:47). Although moving graves is for the most part discouraged,[17] it is sometimes recommended. Rabbi Shmuel Engel (Shu”t Maharash, 3:65) permitted one to move his wife’s grave when it was discovered that she was mistakenly buried in a section of the cemetery reserved for Shabbat desecraters.

Despite the lack of any halachic basis, the misconception about tattoos continues to prevail. The Jerusalem Post Magazine (“In the Flesh,” by Malina Sarah Saval, March 21, 2003, 12-13) reported: “True, in past generations rabbis responded to the biblical injunction by denying the tattooed a taharah [purification]—the traditional cleansing and preparation of a Jewish body for burial. However, in today’s predominantly secular society, where tattoos are usually acquired for decorative and not idolatrous reasons, that sanction has been unofficially lifted.” The author quotes an individual who performs taharot in Los Angeles as stating that no chevrah kadishah today would deny a taharah to someone merely because he had a tattoo. The article also states that taharot had historically been denied to those with tattoos because of their association with idolatry. I managed to locate the journalist who wrote the article and the individual quoted in the article. Neither of them could provide a source for the assertion made regarding taharot.

The bottom line is that just as those who ate treif, violated Shabbat, took interest on loans or cheated on taxes can be buried in a Jewish cemetery, so can those who violated the prohibition of tattooing. If sinners were excluded from Jewish cemeteries, our cemeteries would be empty. A person with a tattoo is buried in a Jewish cemetery, no questions asked.

Notes
1. I thank Rabbi Joel M. Finkelstein, rabbi of Anshei Sphard-Beth El Emeth Synagogue in Memphis, Tennessee, for alerting me to this misconception and Rabbi Elchonon Zohn, chevrah kadishah director of the Vaad Harabonim of Queens and national director of the National Association of Chevra Kadisha, for his helpful comments on the presented material.

2. Geraldo Rivera, interview, TV Guide, 13 May 1989, 21; Curb Your Enthusiasm, HBO, season 3, episode 6, “The Special Section.”

3. The Nanny, CBS, season 4, episode 9, “Tattoo,” aired November 20, 1996.

4. Rabbi Itamar Machpud wrote Kedushat Yisrael, a book on this prohibition. The book does not mention that a tattooed individual cannot be buried in a Jewish cemetery, and in a personal conversation I had with the author, he said he knows of no source for such a claim. This misconception seems to be predominantly American and is not well known in Israel.

5. Rashi points out similar words in Bamidbar 25:4 and II Samuel 21:6.

6. See Ralbag on the verse for a summary of positions. Ibn Ezra says that there are those who interpret ketovet ka’aka not as a prohibition against tattooing but as a prohibition against having a procedure done with fire, i.e., branding, as was done with cattle or slaves. Seforno says that there should only be one physical mark on one’s body—circumcision.

7. See Steve Gilbert, Tattoo History (2001); many ancient cultures tattooed, often for the purpose of branding. The Greeks in Plato’s time marked slaves so that if they escaped they could be recognized. Ancient Romans tattooed mercenary members of the army to prevent desertion. Samoans tattooed the noses of criminals. In eighteenth-century Japan, criminals had a pictograph of a dog marked on their foreheads.

8. For interesting discussions on the topic, see B’mareh Habazak 5:78 (Jerusalem, 5765), 164-5; Dayan Weiss, Minchat Yitzchak 3:11; Rabbi Eliyahu Bakshi-Doron, Techumin 22:387-391.

9. See Rabbi Ezra Batzri, Techumin 10: 282-287 and Rabbi Betzalel Stern, B’tzel Hachachmah 5:82 who discusses many aspects of the prohibition.

10. I thank Rabbi Professor Aryeh Frimer for pointing me to many of these sources.

11. See Rabbi Ezra Batzri, Techumin 10: 282-287; Rabbi Baruch Shraga, Techumin 18: 110-114; Rabbi Shmuel Wosner, Shevet HaLevi 10:137; and B’mareh Habazak 2:81.

12. For an excellent summary of this topic, see Rabbi Chaim Jachter, Gray Matter, vol. 3 (New York, 2008), 67-78.

13. For a discussion of many reasons offered for the Temple’s destruction see: Ari Z. Zivotofsky, “What’s the Truth about . . . the cause of the Destruction of the Beit Hamikdash,” Jewish Action (summer 2004).

14. Because death and burial atone for sins, rabbis have questioned whether the deceased, irrespective of who he was, could be deemed fully righteous after death such that anyone can be buried next to him (Sha’agat Aryeh, new Shu”t, 17). For a similar discussion, see Maharsham 3:343.

15. Regarding burying a non-Jew in a Jewish cemetery, see: Gittin 61a; Rambam, Avel 14:12 and Melachim 10:12; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 367:1; Kesef Mishnah, Melachim 10:12; Megillat Ruth 1:17; Targum, ibid.; and Yevamot 47b.

16. Based on this, the Chatam Sofer was asked the following interesting question (Shu”t Chatam Sofer, Yoreh Deah 333, cited in Pitchei Teshuvah, Yoreh Deah 362:4). The Talmud (Sotah 8b; Sanhedrin 37b) states that the four types of death penalty that a beit din can mete out still exist and that if, for example, a person is guilty of a capital crime warranting stoning, he will fall off of a building. The Chatam Sofer was thus asked whether a murder victim may be buried in a regular cemetery. After all, a person put to death by beit din was not buried in a regular Jewish cemetery. The Chatam Sofer responded that he may be buried in his family plot for a variety of reasons [although note that this was often not the practice]. One reason is that the rabbis were careful about their words. According to the Talmud, a person guilty of a capital crime gets the due punishment. Thus, one deserving of stoning may fall off a tall building. But the rabbis did not state that all those who fall off of buildings are necessarily guilty of a capital offence.

17. It is not always prohibited and when there is a need, a grave may be transferred. See Rabbi Yisrael Rosen, Techumin 18 (5758): 254-273.

Reprinted from JEWISH ACTION Magazine, Summer 5770/2010 issue

JEWS AND TATTOOS: A NEW YORK STORY

The legacy of the ink industry’s founding fathers is alive and well

By Marjorie Ingall June 22, 2015 • 1:50 PM

Every time I read yet another personal essay by a young Jew or Jewess about “how I got a tiny tattoo and my parents are rilly upset but guess what I can still get buried in a Jewish cemetery,” my eyes roll back so far in my head I worry that they will get stuck that way, and I will walk around looking like a zombie extra in a Christopher Lee movie.

A little-known fact: The tattoo business as we know it was largely created by Jews. Lewis “Lew the Jew” Alberts, Charlie Wagner, Brooklyn Joe Lieber, William Moskowitz, Milton Zeis … these are the founding fathers who created the art of American tattooing and the technology that helped establish an industry.

The most artistically talented of this group, arguably, was Lew the Jew. According to Don Ed Hardy’s new art book Lew the Jew Alberts: Early 20th Century Tattoo Designs, Lew was born Albert Morton Kurtzman in 1880. As a teenager, he attended Hebrew Technical Institute, where he studied drawing, then began work as a wallpaper designer. But the Spanish-American War cut his career short; Kurtzman joined the Army and fought in the Philippines, where he began learning about and collecting tattoos. When he returned home, he opened a tattooing business.

Lew was one of the first creators of flash, the familiar drawings and paintings on the walls of tattoo shops. A glance at Hardy’s book shows the influence of wallpaper design on Lew’s art: bold, graphic roses, sailing ships, pretty ladies, snakes, eagles and sharks—much of this familiar iconography came from Lew. And much of it was originally drawn on the backs of wallpaper samples.

Tattoo collector Brad Fink (“I’m German-Jewish, probably”) is co-owner of New York City’s Daredevil Tattoo on Division Street, itself just steps from one of Lew’s early shops at 11 Chatham Square. “At a time when there was a stigma to being Jewish, Lew the Jew actually claimed it,” Fink told me. “This is just speculation, but there were a lot of tattooers back in the day; changing his name was a way to distinguish himself.”

For a while, Lew was in business with Charlie Wagner (né Weigner), another groundbreaking turn-of-the-century Jewish tattooer. Wagner had a shop on the Bowery as well as one in Chatham Square. Both men designed tattoo machines based on “perforating pen” technology, patented by Thomas Edison. “Part of the reason for the first heyday of tattooing in America was the rise of electricity and the industrial revolution,” Fink said. “Doing tattoos by hand was time-consuming and painful. Tattoo machines—which basically were derived from the principle behind a doorbell—changed everything.”

Wegner was better known for commerce than for art. He pursued publicity with a relentlessness that would make any tattoo reality show star proud, winning gushing profiles in newspapers and women’s magazines (some of which grace the walls of Daredevil Tattoo), and drastically undercutting other artists’ prices. In undated letters from the late 1940s or early 1950s printed in Hardy’s book, Lew and Brooklyn Joe Lieber (1888-1953) snarked about Wagner’s business practices (“that cheapo Wagner”) and lamented the loss of artistry among younger tattoo artists (“today the country is run with bums and louse tattooers not fit to tattoo a billy goat”). They were right about Wagner’s casual relationship with carefulness: In 1944, Wagner was fined by the city for not sterilizing his needles.

But Wagner seemed to know and work with everyone, at least for a while. Another Jew he collaborated with was Willie Moskowitz, a Russian immigrant who moved to the Lower East Side in 1918 and opened a barbershop on the Bowery in the 1920s. Moskowitz figured out that tattooing was a bigger money-maker than hairstyling, and Wagner taught him to tattoo. “Moskowitz was a businessman,” Fink said. “He saw an opportunity. He might as well have opened a produce stand as a tattoo stand.”

In a memorable piece published in The Forward over a decade ago about three generations of the Moskowitz tattoo dynasty, Gabrielle Birkner wrote: “By day, Willie’s son Walter studied Torah and Talmud at a Brooklyn yeshiva. By night he learned the tattoo trade in his father’s shop, located beneath the old Chatham Square elevated train station at No. 4 Bowery.” Walter and his brother Stanley inherited the Bowery shop when Willie died in 1961, but like many generations of post-war Jews, they left the city for the bucolic joys of Long Island, where they opened S&W Tattooing in Amityville. Walter, who died in 2007, recorded a funny, foul-mouthed CD called The Last of the Bowery Scab Merchants, about the history of this now-lost community of Lower East Side artists. Walter’s son Marvin continues the family business. Now a grandfather, Marvin still tattoos on a freelance basis.

These artists were rough-and-tumble guys, but they tattooed the elite as well as the hoi polloi. The dewy youth of today might believe that tattoos among privileged people is a new fad, but it’s actually been a cyclical trend throughout modern history. A 1943 New York Times article observed with characteristic stuffiness: “Back in the Nineties it was the fashion to be tattooed. The British, Russian, German and Scandinavian heirs-apparent, along with lesser royalty, were tattooed while junketing in their respective navies. The late George V of England returned from the Orient with a dragon tattooed on his arm. Continental royalty and nobility imitated the English.” Socialites through the 1920s had dainty tattoos on their wrists and shoulders, and it became trendy among the NYC wealthy to visit Japanese tattoo artists.

But what with that whole cyclical thing, tattooing fell out of favor during the Depression and war years. Soon it became associated with low-class, seedy types. Using the pretext of a hepatitis outbreak (never actually linked to tattoos), New York City banned tattooing in 1961.

A Jewish tattoo artist, Fred Grossman (aka Coney Island Freddie) sued the city for illegitimately crushing his business. (Mike Bakaty, the founder of Fineline Tattoo and an East Village tattoo legend, who died last year, told a journalist that Grossman felt that the Health Department’s motive was to “clean up the city” before showing it off at the 1964 World’s Fair.) Grossman lost, then lost again on appeal. State appellate judge Aron Steuer (the son of Max Steuer, my husband’s cousin who defended the Triangle Factory owners—the New York Steuers were clearly charming people) ruled that the city had the right to decide what was healthy behavior and what wasn’t. And furthermore, he noted, “the decoration, so-called, of the human body by tattoo designs is, in our culture, a barbaric survival, often associated with a morbid or abnormal personality.” (Another Jewish judge, Samuel Rabin, dissented, saying that “the testimony of the defendants’ medical experts indicates that the practice of tattooing can be safe, if properly conducted in accordance with appropriate principles of asepsis. That being so, I am of the opinion that the outright prohibition of the practice of tattooing is an unwarranted extension of the police power and therefore is invalid.” Medically correct, but societally unpopular.)

The tattoo ban was lifted in 1997. It was obvious that unregulated, underground tattoo studios existed all over the city. In fact, then-Mayor Rudy Giuliani stated, “There has not been a single documented case of Hepatitis B in New York City transmitted by tattooing in almost 40 years since the ban was enacted.”

That same year, Brad Fink and Michelle Myles opened Daredevil Tattoo on Ludlow Street on the Lower East Side. Two years ago, a 50 percent rent hike made them relocate their business to Division Street, right where tattooing began in New York City. Fink decided to display his personal collection of tattoo memorabilia, and last week, he and Myles launched a Kickstarter campaign to build a museum documenting the early roots of NYC tattooing.

Perhaps soon the stories of these unheralded immigrant pioneers will be less obscure.