Mayim Rabim

Hirhurim has had some interesting posts recently on what is often called "halachic" or "Orthodox" inferility -- the infertility that results when an observant woman ovulates before the end of her seven "clean" days.

The posts (here and here) are based on a media controversy that began in the Israeli religious Zionist publication HaTzofeh. In a March article, Rivka Shimon, a kallah teacher who advocated the abolition of the seven "clean days" in a Maariv article two years ago, interviews Dr. Daniel Roznik, a religious gynocologist whom she evidently persuaded. Subsequent articles by Rabbi Benjamin and Noa Lau and Rabbi Yoel Katan argued that abolishing the "clean days" is not halachically feasible, and that halachic infertility should be addressed on a case-by-case basis. (The controversy is summarized in this Haaretz article, though with a somewhat anti-Orthodox bent, IMHO.) Rabbi Chaim Jachter subsequently took up this position in the Jewish Press.

Orthodox rabbis currently have certain limited means of addressing the problem at their disposal. First, there are the halachic options. Women who ovulate early may be given a heter to shorten the mandatory five-day period before hefsek taharah -- but of course, this is only effective for women with short periods who can produce a clean hefsek. Additionally, rabbis may be lenient regarding bedikot and stains during the "clean days" -- but this only limits the "clean days" to the prescribed seven; it does not help women who ovulate very early. Secondly, there are medical options. Women may use hormonal treatments or (questionable) herbal remedies to delay ovulation, or they may resort to artificial insemination (with their husbands' sperm) prior to tevilah.

Dr. Roznik is clearly a learned Jew, and he advances a number of halachic and hashkafic objections to maintaining a chumrah (stringency) that results in suffering and reduces the Jewish birthrate. He also objects strongly to the use of medical treatments for addressing a halachic problem. When Shimon asks him about hormonal treatments, he responds (my translation):

I'm shocked at this question! Where do we find that one must take medication in order to fulfil a commandment? One must realize: we are talking about hormonal treatments that definitely have no benefit for the body, and may even cause severe medical damage in time.

There may be a philosophical impasse here. For those who view rabbinic law as the human manifestation of God's will and who maintain that established Jewish custom has the status of halachah (if not a higher status), the issue is moot. The rule may be inconvenient, or even cause suffering, but if so, that is God's will. Halachah is halachah is halachah. For those of us, on the other hand, who view the sages as merely human beings (albeit holy and learned human beings with the weight of tradition on their side), the idea of halachic infertility is deeply troubling, and the idea of using medical treatments to circumvent it is, in fact, nothing short of shocking.

What can I say? We have different worldviews. Let's just hope that this remains a machloket l'shem shamayim, an argument for the sake of Heaven.

I knew it was, on paper at least, the right thing to do. Touch with an erva is forbidden. I was a nidda, and therefore an erva to my beloved fiancée. Every hug, every hand-holding- assur at least derabanan, possibly deoraita. But one magic dip and- not even a derabanan.

We’d stopped being shomer negiah three months into our courtship, with firm agreements as to “this far and no further.” I knew we would never transgress an issur karet, and aside from the terminology of issur and heter, we were both totally committed to not having sex before we got married. Going to the mikva seemed out of the question for us.

For one, it would put me in the awkward position of living out an urban legend, the frum single girl at the mikva. I thought casually about buying a twenty-dollar ring to match my engagement ring, throwing on a scarf and heading out to the suburbs. Or going to the heimish mikva, not all the women who go there wear wedding bands anyway.

I grew up in a very intellectually open household. Knowledge of mikva and sex and holiness was as accessible as the English books on Nidda I devoured as a teen and later in college from the original sources. I knew how to do a bedika, could have told you what was and wasn’t a hatzitza according to who and why. I wanted to go. It would have been so easy. Hafifa at home, clip my nails short, untangle my hair, hide it under a hat- inconspicuous enough in wintertime- pumice scrub on my heels and elbows, scabs carefully peeled away, nail polish meticulously removed.

We decided to go through with it. I sat with him and hugged him one last time. We were going to be shomer negiah through my next period and I’d count 7 clean. Then I’d prep and we’d make the trip out together. He’d be waiting for me outside, I wouldn’t be alone. We were both glowing with the excitement of choosing goodness, righteousness, and purity.

I cut up an old white t-shirt. Inspected the cloths. Made a hefsek on day 7. Bedikot, bedikot, and more bedikot. They hurt a bit, (more than I expected really, I’d used tampons before), even though the cloth was soft and thin.

I got back from work early, about to get in the bath and soak. It had been a cold, grey, unfriendly day and I certainly needed a hug and an its-all-going-to-be-ok more than an unknown trip to a place of utter nakedness where my flimsy disguise could be pulled aside at any moment. Something in the way I’d done my nails, some innocent remark I would let slip- anything could tip the mikva lady off that I wasn’t your standard scarf-wearing-but-modern housewife. I hated more than anything this Sabbatean inversion, this lie necessary to become pure. Sometimes, something just feels weird or wrong, even if it is intellectually honest or a better option halakhically.

I called him and let him know that we weren’t going to the mikva that night. I explained to him that even if he came with me, I would still be utterly alone and exposed, and I didn’t think I could bear it. He understood.

~ Bat Planya

Bat Planya is a very ordinary observant girl in her twenties who reads more than
she should. She lives in a major metropolitan area and has had dreams about mikvaot. She is very into sociology and halakha, although she sometimes struggles with both.

I approached my first after-baby mikvah appointment with trepidation. No, nothing to do with my husband, my feelings had everything to do with the mikvah itself. It had been on the order of 11 months since my last visit, when I had suddenly realized that I wasn't actually afraid of the water anymore. And I worried that I had imagined it, that maybe I was actually still afraid of putting my head under the water. In fact, I wasn't sure if I was more worried about still being afraid, or of having no fear.

As I walked down the steps, I knew that I was not still wary of the water, that I felt no fear at all. The attendant, someone I knew socially but had not seen at the mikvah before, was completely unaware that I had ever been afraid of the water, and I felt no compulsion to enlighten her. I skipped my usual shpiel completely. No explaining that I was terrified of putting my head under, no mention that I had a heter for only one Kosher tevilah, and that having that heter made it possible for me to get the three, et al. No, I simply told her that I dip 3 times, making the bracha after the first dip. Out of habit, I had brought a washcloth with me, so I gave it to her to hold until I would use it to cover my head during the brocha. (Still not sure how I feel about the need for that, but I've fallen into the habit, as I said.)

I composed myself before each dip, formulating my prayers each time, (I can't think while under the water) then pulled myself under by the handrail, letting go before resurfacing.

"Kosher"
"Kosher"
"Kosher"

And then I came out of the mikvah, got dressed, paid her, and went home to my husband.

And yet, was that it? While I don't claim to have felt that deep connection to other women, past, present and future, who have used and will use the mikvah, I've always felt something after, stronger somehow, empowered by the knowledge that I had once again conquered my fear, and the security of knowing that my mitzvah observance was pure: Obviously, I was doing this only because I believe it to be a G-d given commandment. Without that, you wouldn't have gotten me into the building! But this time I hadn't had my fear to overcome. Was my mitzvah somehow lessened by this lack of fear, by not having this huge wall to climb over? When we don't worship idols because we don't have a Yetzer Hara (evil urge) for worshiping idols, are we stronger or weaker than those who felt the pull to worship idols and overcame it?

I don't have all the answers, obviously, but in the days that followed, I realized that I did feel different. Not stronger, as in the past, but somehow lighter. Like a heavy weight I hadn't even known I was carrying was lifted off my shoulders. And I realized that perhaps Becky was right when she suggested that the removal of my fear was my "reward" for fulling the mitzvah in spite of my phobia, and a sign that I no longer needed this fear. And I think that my future mikvah visits won't be less of a mitzvah for me: All those past visits will accompany me, and remain a part of me. I will remember them each time, and I will give praise to G-d for removing my fear... and using the mikvah, like every mitzvah we do, will continue to bring me closer to him.

You know, I thought I had something specific to say about this topic, but the more I read about it the less coherent I get. All I can say is, I'm struggling with it.

For those unfamiliar with the term, a "ben niddah" is a child conceived while the mother was a niddah. I don't have access to a Bar Ilan CD right now, so I can't give you a comprehensive list of sources. I'll quote an excerpt from an article by Rabbi Weinberger (that appeared in the Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society) instead:

all the Rishonim agree that a ben-niddah is more likely than another person to diverge from the path of Torah observance and acceptable ethical behavior because of the qualities inherited from his parents.88 They, therefore, concur that it is preferable to avoid marrying an individual who is known to be the child of a niddah.

Why do I care about this? I'm not entirely sure. It's not any more upsetting than the law that a Yisrael may not marry a Mamzer.

In fact, it should be much less upsetting. The majority of gedolim in my circle have dismissed the ben niddah concern nowadays. But the reasons they have come up with for doing so seem so strained. To paraphrase some examples from the same article:

The Steipler Gaon: The concern regarding a ben niddah's character is merely statistical. If an individual shows good character, he is obviously an exception and the warning can be ignored.

Another opinion cited by the Steipler Gaon: The blemish of ben niddah is hereditary for an infinite number of generations, not just one, and in fact all of us are likely to have it (or some other blemish) somewhere back in our lineage. So we're all on equal ground and have no reason not to marry each other.

Rav Moshe Feinstein: In many cases we can't be certain the mother was truly a niddah mide'oraita, because maybe she went swimming after her period in a body of water that qualifies as a mikvah, and thereby became tehorah. (Rav Moshe does not discuss the fact that she would most likely have been wearing a tight-fitting bathing suit at the time.)

In the case of a firm halachic concern, these kinds of apologetics would impress me; it would show how far rabbis will stretch credibility in order to find a way to be lenient. But the thing is, this ISN'T a question of halacha. It's a question of "pagum" (taint):

What is the definition of pagum? The Beit Shmuel quotes the Oarchei [sic] Moshe:

He is tainted and his family is not meyuchas  [genealogically pure] and it is proper to keep a distance from them [in terms of marriage]. Nevertheless, he is not pagum in terms of any actual issur and [if it is a girl] she can marry a kohen.

So, how do you feel about the concept of taint? Personally I have a violent reaction to it: I find it reeks of mysticism, superstition, irrationality, unfairness. I believe very strongly in judging potential spouses on their own merits.

I do think his or her family background is important insofar as it may affect your own marriage, and there's certainly statistical evidence for some of these effects: for instance, that abused children can be more likely to become abusive parents, or that being the child of a bitter divorce can set a negative example for conflict resolution in a future marriage. Maybe the concept of ben niddah is just the ancient equivalent of that kind of research? It seems to me more like saying that someone is fated to display certain traits, but then again, fate used to be considered more of a science, too.

But I still can't help noticing how much this reminds me of everything we go to such lengths to deny about niddah status: That it is not derived from a superstitious fear of women's blood. That it is not a state which reflects negatively on anyone, but a natural, normal, and expected part of the life cycle.

And I guess maybe I'm a little extra touchy about ben niddah now that I've learned some rabbis cite it as an additional reason (besides the primary issue of obtaining sperm via masturbation) to forbid artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization while a woman is a niddah. Gee, that rules out a whole line of treatment for early ovulation, right there.

None of the rabbis I follow, obviously. And again, this shouldn't bother me any more than the fact that some communities consider yichus of paramount importance. In fact there's probably some overlap: bias against marrying a ba'al teshuva, for example, might be based partly on the fact that he is most likely a ben niddah.

But it does bother me. Maybe because this is a belief that affects not just how those people view me and my husband, which I could care less about, but how they will view my future children. That's personal. That's very personal.

What do you do if you go away on holiday towards the end of your 5 days and you don't have a bedikah cloth? And there's nothing you can makeshift into a cloth. However did our foremothers manage without ready-made cloths? Oh, that's right - that was before the rabbis mandated that a woman couldn't possibly know when her own period ended without some sort of external gauge.

Am I supposed to wait until I return from vaca and can do a bedikah? And why does the bedikah have to be "clean" anyway? As long as it's not bright red, indicating fresh blood, or saturated with brown, indicating my lining is still shedding, what does it matter? If my examination shows I'm not still actively menstruating, that should be enough. If I can be enstrusted to ensure that my mikvah prep is kosher (controlling over-zealous attendants notwithstanding), why can't I be trusted to know if my bedikah is okay?

Okay, rant over.

Of course, I'm not waiting until my holiday is over. I know full well when my period ended, and I'm counting my 7 days. I'll do a bedikah when I get home, just to be official.

Ironically, I'm surrounded by ocean, and if we were staying long enough for my mikvah night - all this ocean, and there's not a single safe place to immerse.

Mikvah as such is a mitzvah shrouded in secrecy. There are both good reasons for this and bad, and that's essentially why mayimrabim exists, to break some of the secrecy without breaking the laws of tznius (modesty and decency in speech, dress and actions.) I've been contemplating recently: exactly how much do non-mikvah users (including those in the frum community not yet obligated in the mitzvah) really know about mikvah use at all?

I've heard at least one woman (who was not raised observant) assure me that in these days of indoor plumbing, the shower really suffices, and there's no need to go to mikvah. We know it isn't about personal hygiene but about spiritual status. But that's hard to explain to someone who doesn't feel spiritual status matters anymore, in this "scientific" world we live in. And it's not exactly a topic studied in depth by the unmarried even in Observant communities, at least not before they are engaged to be married and ready for the famed "Kallah and Chosson Classes."

I was thinking about this as I read on a young man's blog how he tried to get his friend's fiance to go to mikvah at least once before the wedding... his last request to the bride and groom being the Thursday night before a Sunday wedding. His heart was in the right place, but he didn't really understand all the details, and therefore got nowhere in convincing them, especially at that late date, when according to Orthodox standards of halacha, a quick dip without the proper preparation would not have changed her status. (To be fair, he says he had spoken of it with them many months ago, and this was just his last ditch attempt to emphasize how important he felt it was. If he had realized it was "too late," he probably wouldn't have said anything.)

Okay, so maybe he was (initially) thinking she was like a dish? Go toivel and *poof,* you're tahor. And why should he think any differently? He's not married, he's a man (and that's pretty much how it "works" for men too if it affects a change of status at all) and so his only basis for comparison is with regard to dishes.

[Disclaimer: Yes, I know there are women who post here and women who read here who don't keep T"H to Orthodox standards, who don't wait the prescribed 5+7 days and/or who don't do bedikos, etc., and I would never tell them "don't go to mikvah, it won't change anything anyway." I think it's wonderful that they make the effort, that they realize T"H is important and keep some aspect of it at all... even if it isn't to my standards. But this young man is Orthodox, and he was trying to enforce Orthodox standards on his friends without understanding that he really couldn't.]

So now I wonder. If indeed all the rumours are true, and there are many otherwise-observant unmarried women using the mikvah before premarital sex, how premeditated is it after all? How many of them are really going through the whole 7-day tahorah process? How many of them even know the details? And if they do, where are they acquiring bedikah cloths, at least the first time? (Outside of Eretz Yisroel, where SYBA tells us bedikah cloths are available at every corner drugstore, you might not even know what one is if you haven't had instruction in using it!) Yes you can make your own, but unless these women have also made a point of reading a sefer on HiIchos Niddah or attending Kallah class, why would I even assume they know that they need to?

And how many of them, otherwise observant but too far tempted in this one area, do take traditional kallah classes before getting married, intend to fully (or partially) keep T"H once married, and suddenly realize that all that time they were "using the mikvah" really didn't help one bit? Maybe none, but I wonder.

This photo and extended caption from the New York Times (free registration required) is somewhat interesting and somewhat inspiring. It's also somewhat about men, but I've never been one to turn down a chance to ogle some shirtless men.

I'm very possessive about mikva'ot. I feel like men have been given so many mitzvot - tefilin, tzitzit, minyan, learning Torah (among others) - and we have been given so few. Yes, when the Temple stood mikva'ot were used by both women and men for ritual purification. But in those days many things were different, and I get the impression that gender roles were both more and less polarized. It's rather irrelevant today, as the Temple is not there and ritual purity for men is basically a nonissue. Today, only women are required to use a mikvah. Tumah and taharah are practical concerns directly for married women, and for their husbands only by extension.

When Orthodox women try to edge into the world of "men's mitzvot," they are often told to be happy with their roles as women, to appreciate the differentiation between the sexes and to first seek meaning in those mitzvot which are incumbent upon them before venturing into the world of the voluntary. Why, then, do these same men feel the need to share in our special mitzvah?

OK, I know this shouldn't bother me as much as it does -- misconceptions about the "biological" reasons for many mitzvot have floated around, it's not unique to taharat hamishpacha -- but if I have to see this particular misconception one more time I may scream:

Two weeks after a woman has begun to menstruate, she is most fertile and likely to conceive. At the same time, a man who has abstained from sex for two weeks will have an increased sperm count. Thus, observing this period of separation can increase the likelihood of conception.

I found nearly the same language repeated here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Worst of all was this explanation:

The fertility benefits of this practice are obvious and undeniable. In fact, it is remarkable how closely these laws parallel the advice given by medical professionals today. When couples are having trouble conceiving, modern medical professionals routinely advise them to abstain from sex during the two weeks around a woman's period (to increase the man's sperm count at a time when conception is not possible), and to have sex on alternate nights during the remaining two weeks.

That is a LIE. Doctors most certainly do not advise men to abstain for two weeks when a couple is trying to conceive. While the first explanation is more correct, in that a man's total sperm count does increase the longer he abstains, this strategy has severely diminishing returns: there will be more sperm, but fewer and fewer of them will be able to swim.

All the doctors my husband and I have seen recommend that men abstain only 3 days before trying to conceive, and certainly not more than 5. A recent study suggests that perhaps that recommendation should be reduced to 2 days.

Likewise, as you probably know because I've mentioned it so many times, for a sizable minority of women, mikvah night is too late to conceive.

Now, there is probably a way to formulate this idea which is true. Namely: if a woman is able to go to mikvah on Day 12, and if she doesn't ovulate until Day 14, by the time she has intercourse the second time, the husband's sperm should have had a chance to replenish themselves before her ovulation window is over. It still would probably not be true that this "maximizes" fertility -- ideally, healthy sperm should be there a day before ovulation, not the same day -- but it should work fine in most cases.

However, the cycles of some women simply don't fit this picture. From a biological point of view, they would be more likely to get pregnant if they were allowed to have relations starting at about Day 7 of their cycle. Maybe this explanation would have held more water back in the days when women kept only 7 days of niddut.

The only other thing I can think of is that perhaps, in its original form, this explanation was meant to highlight the fact that at least couples who practice taharat hamishpacha are likely to have relations sometime around ovulation; otherwise they might go for months accidentally (or deliberately) having relations only at times when conception is not possible.

But I hope it's clear why I think this sort of explanation for T"H, and for mitzvot in general, is so dangerous. It's not enough that infertile women like me are denied what are popularly considered the relationship benefits of T"H; we're denied the "obvious and undeniable" fertility benefits as well. Hearing these explanations over and over is enough to make me quite angry. And if I wasn't clear on the fact that the halacha is simply because it is, regardless of whether it works out to our harm or benefit, it might be enough to cause a serious crisis of faith as well.

I appreciate the desire to find understandable reasons for keeping the mitzvot; it's a very old and respected endeavor. I also know that, especially in this age of kiruv (religious outreach), apologetics are everywhere. I've been moved and enriched by many of them myself. But when the "reasons" are vulnerable to being disproved by science -- such as alleged health benefits for keeping kashrut, or even brit milah -- then in my firm opinion, they're doing more harm than good.

Perhaps I'm being overly dramatic, but I wept when I read GoldaLeah's recent post, "Troubled Waters. She is on her congregation's mikvah development committee, and in discussing her changing view on their current mikvah plan, she writes:

I am behind the idea of a mikveh for this congregation, but I don't see a pressing need for one. There is one within an hour's drive of here, and there are also natural, outdoor mikvahs (mikvaot?) that we can use. The demand for a mikveh in our congregation for halachic reasons is almost nil. The demand for other uses is moderate, but I'm still betting only a few people will use it, and very few on a regular basis.

Contrast this with Rivka Slonim's famous quote from Total Immersion, which is also reprinted on the front page of our site:

Most Jews see the synagogue as the central institution in Jewish life. But Jewish Law states that constructing a mikvah takes precedence even over building a house of worship.

I understand that GoldaLeah's personal priorities may be different, and I'm pretty sure that no one's going to change her mind about that (though she is asking about the best way to go about making her views known, or not). Still, I'm sad. I'm sad for the handful of families in her community (if even that many) who are observing T"H and have to juggle other responsibilities to make the two-hour round trip to the nearest mikvah. I'm sad for the others who may be considering mikvah use, but who will decide that it's just "too much trouble" without a community mikvah. I'm sad for the (probably hypothetical) couple already struggling with T"H, perhaps contending with short cycles or halachic infertility or frequent weekday business trips, who finally throw in the towel when the wife's tevilah night turns up on Friday one too many times and there's no mikvah within walking distance. I'm sad for the children growing up in her town who will never learn to value T"H (even if they choose not to observe it as adults), because their elders did not place enough value on having a mikvah.

My husband hates it.

Unfortunately, using a diaphragm is our only option without having a halachic or medical issue. I'm terrified of an IUD, and hormonal birth control (pill, norplant, seasonal, etc) are contra-indicated because of a medical condition (not to mention the fact they make me NERVOUS). And my husband is complaining because he can "feel" the diaphragm.

So I have a conondrum - I am using the diaphragm on mikvah night and in that first week when I know I'm ovulating. And so far, I've been using it the rest of the time, but I'm beginning to consider not using it towards the end of my cycle. BUT! that puts me at some risk - because my cycle is irregular, without a ovulation kit or a sonogram really, I don't know if I'm ovulating at the time we're together. So there is a chance, no matter how small it is.

But the percentage of that chance is about the same as the percentage of me that secretly wants to get pregnant again. But my marriage can't handle another pregnancy right now.

My husband says he is willing to use a condom (!) but that I'm the one that has to ask the Rov (he's too embarrassed). I don't feel like I can do it.

To this is what goes through my head about this whole thing:
Does this make me a bad Jew because I am using birth control? Does this make me a bad mother because I can barely take care of the kids as it is and now I want another one? Does this make me a selfish woman because I want to be pregnant? Does this make me a weak person because I can't be "man enough" to ask the Rov such a shayla?

I can't afford to get pregnant now, even though I want to. My body, mind and soul can't handle it. But I really, really, really have the baby fever, bad.

The last time I went to mikvah, the attendant was really friendly and nice and casual and laid-back. I like it when it's laid back. Like a frivolous hair appointment, like happy girl-time. There's an excited kindness, a glad enthusiasm in the air that's more appropriate to mikvah night than the serious, grave attitude some mikvah ladies give you.

She even asked me if it was warm enough when I got in. It was toasty warm! just like the enclosed, safe, comfy womb it's meant to symbolize. She also asked if the chlorine level was too much, or if it was okay. It was better than it had been, for sure. I've asked the mikvah to use hydrogen peroxide instead of chlorine in the water, because you can use a lot less of the former, so it's safer & less smelly. It also breaks down in the environment & dosn't go on to poison fishes & ultimately us.

Anyway, I was glad that the chlorine amount was down. The last couple of mikvah visits I have come home stinking of it. Even though I washed again afterwards, I think it may have contributed to my developing a UTI.

Anyway, if any of you are a mikvah attendant or have the opportunity to serve that deeply holy purpose, please keep in mind to encourage joy in your women as they transform from niddah to tehorah.

My husband directed me to this on the web today and it looks interesting. I wonder if he is 'threatening' to send me off for a week every cycle on a relaxing retreat? How I wish!

I found this a positive aspect of their break:

Each month, during their period, women leave for the Bashali.

Hazrat Gul, mother of one son, looks forward to her break from the
routine of housework.

"We make rice, chapattis, eat lots of food and sing all day," she
says. "It's fun because it's all girls and no men."

But, like many mikvehs, sadly it isn't all sparkley white tiles and luxurious baths...

Just hoping that everyone (who is in the USA) took a moment today to think about what Independence Day means for us as Jews.

Without guaranteed Freedom of Religion, we might still be breaking the ice in the middle of the night to toivel. We might never have had children because we had never been to the mikvah. We might have to hide our practices from the public instead of freely speaking anonymously on a website.

So I say, thank you our founding fathers - for giving me the ability to freely practice my religion (no matter how much I complain) in this day and age.

Why in the world anyone would choose to follow all the intricacies of TH when it seems that they engender so many difficulties and inconveniences? What follows is, of course, my personal viewpoint, and I realize that others' views may differ. I do not intend to address here the extreme emotional anguish experienced by someone going through infertility or other special conditions. I believe some of the following may apply even then, but I leave it up to those
actually there to judge for themselves.

Many times on this site I have seen comments alluding to the difficulties involved in keeping Taharat Mishpacha and the suffering engendered by it. This may sound a bit strange to some of you, but I must admit I never really saw things this way. Sure, there are difficulties approximately equivalent to those of a shomer shabbos person who wishes he could go to the football game on Saturday. Or the average somewhat observant Jew who gets a terrible headache while fasting on Yom Kippur. So why do you continue to fast, if it causes you such suffering?

There are several possible answers to this question. One answer is that on the whole the benefits of living "the Torah way" out-weigh the difficulties. It's sort of like choosing schools – one has a nicer building, better teachers, and higher academic standard. But it's far away, has very high tuition, and has a crummy yard. If only you could choose the location of school A, the yard and tuition of School B, and the other features of School C, you'd be all set. But you can't. You're stuck. So you settle for School C despite its obvious drawbacks. But how could you send your kids there – isn't it really expensive? Sure, there's a price to pay, but Judaism is a package deal, and if we choose to accept it, we must accept it all.

The above "cost-benefit" approach, is one way of looking at things. However, it's not really the way I believe we were meant to view our mitzvah observance. Rather, we must realize that whatever challenges Hashem puts in our path, they are there for a reason, and try to accept them B'simcha (with happiness) even when on the surface they seem difficult. We can't possibly know what's best for everyone, yet we're smart enough to realize that if we did know the whole plan from beginning to end we might see things differently. Since we acknowledge that only Hashem is privy to all the details, we realize that only He can know what's truly in our best interests.

Back in the days when shomer Shabbos Jews in America were fired from their jobs every week for refusing to work on Saturdays, many of course reluctantly stopped observing Shabbos. Yet even among those families who demonstrated tremendous mesirus nefesh to continue observing Shabbos, only some succeeded in passing these observances on to the next generation. What distinguished these families from the others? Their attitude! There were those families who would come home every Friday with their notice from work, and moan and groan over how difficult it is to be a Jew and what tremendous sacrifices it requires. Others in equivalent situations would remark on what a tremendous zchus (privilege) it is to be doing Hashem's will despite the apparent hardships, acknowledge that Hashem really knows what's best for us, and proceed to observe Shabbos B'Simcha. It was the latter families who merited children and grandchildren who continued to observe mitzvos despite their inherent challenges.

So, where does this leave us? Obviously, none of us are perfect or have perfected our emunah and bitachon (faith and trust) to their utmost. And I see nothing wrong with discussing with others the hardships entailed in keeping TH if this helps us better to handle the challenges. However, in conjunction with the "gripes" we might be doing ourselves a favor if we continually remind ourselves of the unknown benefits as well, and leave the rest in Hashem's very competent hands...

~SYBA

SYBA is a thirtyish mother of several (kein yirbu). She is still getting over the culture shock of moving to the most uniformly Yeshivish city in the world just days after graduating from an Ivy League University...but she is very happy to be there...

Several of the discussions here lately have me thinking about when and why people believe it's proper to ask for heterim (leniencies) -- not just in matters of taharat hamishpacha, but birth control, and all the other things that come up in a relationship between husband and wife.

On the one hand, the fact that it's sometimes hard to keep the halacha -- sometimes very, very hard -- is sort of the point. It might seem wrong to onlookers that we follow halacha even when it denies what seem like basic human needs, even when it conflicts with what seems like basic human kindness. It might even seem wrong to us, sometimes. And yet, what would be the value of observing halacha only when it coincides with what you felt like doing anyway?

This is how I always thought of taharat hamishpacha. I knew it was going to be hard. I never thought of that as an excuse to ask for personal leniency; after all, it's hard for everyone.

But being married has drastically changed my perspective on this. Shalom bayit (peace in the home) is a powerful halachic factor in many decisions to grant leniency, and I think that's so for good reason. It's one thing to be hard on yourself. But being more strict than necessary on someone else -- that's a different story, isn't it.

The hard part, of course, is figuring out what's more than necessary. Should we be trying to keep every harchaka to the letter of the law, even if it takes a toll on our marriage? Or should we be asking for help much earlier than that? Personally, my threshhold for asking for leniency has moved up greatly now that what I do has the potential to make my husband unhappy. Even if it's not horribly unhappy, even if it's a level of unhappiness I might try to tolerate myself, I couldn't live with myself for inflicting that on him. It goes against everything I'm trying to do as his wife.

If you're reading this and thinking "oh, but even though it seems like you're hurting him, it's actually to his benefit, because you're helping him to keep the halacha in the ideal way," to me that all depends: on whether both of you want to keep taharat hamishpacha the same way. If you both want to shoulder the burden no matter how hard it gets, then you're helping each other towards a mutually valued goal. But if one of you wants a heter and the other doesn't -- to me being too devout to ask for the heter is no longer one helping the other. I can't reconcile an element of coercion with helping. At least not between me and my husband; we are not each other's parents, but equal partners.

Obviously this is a decision only a couple themselves can make. I'm certainly not telling anyone else what to do. Just laying out my thoughts in writing.

The other reason I think is a "right" reason for asking for a heter is when manageable sadness verges on clinical anxiety or depression. Mental health issues can be independent of halacha, of course, and they might need to be treated independently too, but I think it's clear that some aspects of the halachic lifestyle can contribute to them as well. I had my own experience with anxiety around mikvah preparations. Others might struggle with having children too close together, and so on.

It can be hard to know when you're not just having normal difficulty but slipping over the edge, but I think deep down, we know. And if we don't know, the loved ones around us do. If someone in your life is telling you that you need help, please, don't assume that you will not be religious enough if you ask for it -- whether it's with taharat hamishpacha, birth control, or anything else. (In this case I guess I feel strongly enough to be pushy!)

And keep in mind what I said above: even if you don't want to do this for yourself, please, think about what it might be doing to your husband to watch you suffer. And what a gift you'd be giving him if you could find a way to stop.

I like to visit the Yoatzot website once or twice a week to read through the recently posted questions and answers. Today I came across this one regarding T"H and mourning, and read this bit about being in niddah when one partner is dying:

In the autobiography of Glueckel of Hameln (17th-18th c.), there is a moving account of her husband on his deathbed when she was in niddah. He tells her that they had observed the halacha all their married lives and shouldn't violate the harchakot now. They are united by their constant, unflagging mutual commitment to something beyond themselves, halacha.

Maybe our commitment to halacha isn't strong enough, because neither my husband nor I can imagine being in that situation and not holding each other's hands or exchanging a final soft kiss. It's not like we're going to jump each other, right? The harchakot are fences; why have the fence when the ikkar (main point) is basically non-existant?

If you affiliate with a modern Orthodox community (or ever have), you've probably heard of "tefilin dates." For the uninformed: these are occasions on which the gentleman brings his tefilin (phylacteries, if that helps) along on a date, because he does not plan to return before the time for the morning service, when Jewish law requires that he put them on.

I remember discussing this phenomenon with a friend early in my college years. She mentioned a night when she was unable to sleep because of a loud thumping noise coming from the dorm room above her. In the morning, when she went upstairs to complain, her neighbor's boyfriend was wrapped in tefilin, in the midst of prayer.

At the time, we both thought this was terribly hypocritical. Many years later, however, the subject came up again, and we had both changed our minds. Maybe we'd seen too many Orthodox boys turn away from religious observance in part or altogether after finding a transgression that they enjoyed too much to give up. Or maybe we were simply older and had had our own brushes with temptation. Either way, it now seemed to both of us that the very best thing a young, religious Jewish boy could do the morning after having premarital sex would be to wrap himself in tefilin and pray.

It seems to me that this issue isn't much different from the dilemma that faces observant women debating whether or not to use the mikvah before premarital sex. Psychologically, it's easier not to go. That way, you don't have to think too much about what you're doing, and later, you can pretend it never happened. Isn't it better, though (halachic particulars and divine retribution aside), to make the effort to bring Jewish observance into your life, even when things get complicated? Or, maybe, especially when they get complicated?

By way of DovBear's blog, I found this bit about a woman who was denied tevila at a Brooklyn mikvah because she was wearing artifical (nail) tips. Of course, this sparked a long and interesting string of comments back on DovBear, but I was wondering what the readers here would have to say about it.

A woman wants to tovel with artifical nails, or nail polish, or hair extensions, or some other such thing that is probably but not definitely a chatzitza. Or she didn't do the right number of bedikot, or any at all. Or something else that makes the mikvah lady say (or want to say), "You should not tovel like that." Should she prevent the tevila? What if the woman is going to go home and have sex with her husband anyway? Or what if she won't have sex with her husband - is it really within the attendant's rights to force that kind of separation between husband and wife?

...that is the question. I was considering not going back to the mikvah, but have since thought better of it and I'll tell you why all of this has even crossed my mind.

The miscarriage was over three months ago now, so I have been un-pregnant longer than I was ever pregnant. In that time, my husband and I have been fighting like cats & dogs. Yes, we're getting help, but it is not working.

It occurred to me that I could simply just not go back to the mikvah. Not to punish him, you understand - that's not my style. It's just that in the past three months he has displayed much autocratic and separation-type behaviour and our marriage has been severely jeopardized. My reason for remaining in niddah was that I have deep misgivings about sleeping with a man who has, by leaps and bounds, suddenly become a stranger to me.

And then I started reading all about it. There are so many entries in our history and law about mikvah use and marriage, but what it all really comes down to is sex. Who gets to have it, under what circumstances and why. More importantly, who gets to control sex.

There is a story of how all the women in Maimonides' community a thousand years ago refused to return to the mikvah until they were treated better. Although their wives were all threatened with divorce, the men caved.

In Jewish law, we learn that if no marital relations take place, then a divorce is mandated. But what I wanted from my husband was not a divorce. I just want him back. I also had no desire to hurt him by remaining in niddah. It just felt like he wasn't so married to me anymore and nothing we do seems to help, so physical separation seemed ideal to me.

Then I began thinking about the positive aspects of mikvah, like its soul-cleansing, spirit-liberating power and I thought to myself: that's what I really want.

I need the mikvah to take away the following:
niddut, stress, fear, anxiety, pain, grief, and all the other things in daily life which leave a crust of schmutz over my heart.

I need the mikvah to grant the following:
open-heartedness, safety, purity, faith, trust, groundedness, and all the other things that are required to have a deep, intimate relationship with G-d and others, especially with my spouse.

So even though my inclination to withdraw is valid and only a method of protecting my most vulnerable parts, I recognize that I will reap more expansive benefits from continuing my mikvah practice. It will help heal me each month ever so slightly so that I am rejuvenated and can once engage in the fray that our marriage has become.

For those of you in the New York area, Nishmat is hosting "Women’s Health and Halacha Day" this Sunday, May 15.

There's info here: http://www.yoatzot.org/healthday_LI.php

This is appropriate to Mayim Rabim:

Opening Session: “Scenes from a Jewish Marriage:
Taharat HaMishpacha from Chupah to Menopause".
Deena Zimmerman, M. D., Yoetzet Halacha

This intrigues me:

Infertility and the Orthodox Couple.
Matthew A. Cohen, M. D., Dassi Jacobson, Ph. D., Zamira Ostrowski, Yoetzet Halacha

Has anyone noticed that infertility is the hot topic among Jewish organizations these days?

And this was just funny:

"Baby is available from 10:30 a.m. through 4:15 p.m."

Hmmm... for rent or purchase? ;)

Each month it seems my husband and I take our level of observance of t'h one more step. Since my husband didn't take any classes, and relies on my knowledge, I'm constantly having to remind him of the "rules." Like not passing me things directly. And that gets tedious month after month to have to constantly remind him. And the touching thing. We decided initially that we were not going to have separate beds, mainly because we couldn't afford it, we don't have the room, and nobody deserves to sleep on our crappy futon for two weeks. So we'd just be really careful and sleep on our sides of the bed, and oops - if we're both sleeping on the same sheet, well, so be it.

But now that's also becoming tedious, because I have to constantly remind him that he's got to keep to his side of the bed, and no, it's not okay if your toes accidently brush mine. Okay, not tedious, more like erotic, and that's definitely not good. The weird thing is, these little touches aren't erotic to him. Aren't men the ones who are supposed to be weak and need all these fences for their protection? I thought continuing to share our bed was going to become difficult for him, and that would eventually force us into a two bed situation, but nope. He's quite happy with the status quo. I also thought he'd be happy if I gave up t'h all together, but it turns out that he actually likes it. Just the Torah-mandated 7 days and mikvah part, though. Ironically, it's all the other rules which prevent non-sexual contact, like hand-holding, that he doesn't like. And passing the salt, please.

But this month, we seem to be working harder on remembering not to pass things to each other. Or maybe we're just more aware that we do pass things to each other, when we shouldn't. Or maybe it's just bothering me more that we're not so machmir [strict adherence] with the "fences." Or maybe I'm just plain bothered.

I just finished reading Rivkah Slonim's Total Immersion: A Mikvah Anthology, and I have mixed feelings about it. That's only to be expected, I suppose; each essay offers a slightly different perspective, even if they do all ultimately advocate observance of T"H.

What bothered me most was the continual rehashing of the idea that Judaism is a "golden mean" between hedonistic paganism and ascetic Christianity (or, alternatively, between ascetic Chritstianity and contemporary secular culture). As one friend put it, "pagans have sex all the time, and Christians never have sex, so since we have sex almost exactly half the time, that means it must be a happy medium." Mathematically speaking, she pointed out, "it could just as easily be an unhappy medium. . . either of the extremes could be the right approach, and we're just hedging our bets."

There are a number of other problems with this notion (which, incidentally, is pervasive in contemporary Jewish apologia.) First, "paganism" is far too general a term to accurately associate with any particular attitude toward sexuality. Greek pagans described Canaanite pagans as hedonists, and Christians described Babylonian pagans as hedonists, but neither account can be reasonably considered unbiased. True, pagan mythology typically depicted the gods in highly sexualized terms, but that hardly means that humans were expected to behave in like manner. Certain Greek cults were, in fact, serviced by celibate priestesses.

Second, it is not entirely fair to contrast early Christianity with contemporary Orthodox Judaism. Christianity is a product of the first century, a time when ascetism was all the rage among pagans and Jews alike. Christianity is thus "rooted" in asceticism in a way that Judaism is not, but we Jews have had our fair share of ascetics as well. Philo of Alexandria (20 BCE-40 CE), for example, stated that Jews have sex only for the purpose of procreation; in other words, he considered sex a "necessary evil." As recently as the 1950s, a T"H book was published that stated that a man's life force is in his semen and that the purpose of T"H is to minimize the number of times that a couple has sex so that the husband will live longer. These writings certainly aren't representative of Jewish tradition, but they do illustrate that the Jewish attitude toward sex has not, historically, been entirely monolithic.

Further, if we are to bring contemporary secular culture into the picture, it is only fair to consider contemporary Christianity. Today, the vast majority of Christian denominations do not have celibate clergy. Even the Roman Catholic Church, which arguably places the highest premium on sexual abstinance, describes sex between husband and wife as a sacred act in some of its apolgetic literature. The bottom line: Christianity isn't monolithic, either.

In truth, the factual weakness of this line of argument isn't the aspect that I find most troubling. What really bothers me is the idea that we have to denigrate others to illustrate the beauty of our own tradition. The truth is, we don't. The parts of Total Immersion that most affected me were the personal accounts by women. These women, who had come to T"H by many different paths, all found it to be a worthwhile, meaningful observance, in spite of the difficulties and challenges that it posed. That, in my opinion, is a persuasive argument for mikveh use.

Once, at a family simcha, about 10-15 years ago, my cousin tried to explain to me why men need the discipline of time-bound commandments like davening three times a day, wearing tzitzit and tefillin, kiddush lavanna, etc., and women don't need it the same way. This was many years ago, so my memory of the discussion is a bit hazy, but it seemed to revolve around the fact that women menstruate and men don't.

Her basic premise was that women have an innate sense of time, due to their hormonal cycles, and men need it forced upon them through ritual. Whether or not you believe that, the same set-up exists in T"H. Basically, the women call the shots, based on their cycles, and the men are left hanging, muttering, can I or can't I? What state is she in now? This is not necessarily a bad thing, since it seems to be the way the world of halacha works in general, but it does seem a bit unbalanced, if not unfair.

After all, during the beginning of niddah, my body doesn't want to be physically touched. I even involuntarily pull away from my kids (difficult with a nursing baby, let me tell you!) when they want to cuddle. I'm perfectly happy to be left alone. But by the sheva neki'im, I've had enough and long to be touched again, although I'm still "healing" (studies show the cervix is still raw and open to infection for the week after a woman's period ends), and the anticipation builds the whole week.

But for my husband? It must seem so arbitrary! For him it's all external forces being, well, forced on him. Does it bother him? Does it matter? (Not to be so cavalier with his feelings, but if davening three times a day "bothers" him, that still doesn't let him out of it!) I know he starts to get antsy if I haven't told him what "the schedule is," i.e. have I made a hefsek yet, and what day will I be ready to go to mikvah.

On the other hand, T"H forces him in tune with my wants, my needs, my cycle... with me. And who doesn't want her husband in tune with her?

Tall Latte's experience and the attached comments reminded me of something that's been bothering me for a long time. Whose business is it, exactly, why you use the mikvah?

If you've been to more than one mikvah, you've probably run into a range of degrees of intrusiveness on the part of the mikvah staff. At some places, they're trained to do nothing more than ask if you want them to look at your hands, feet, & back of the neck; they don't want to scare anyone away. At some places they ask if you've read the preparation checklist on the wall. At some places they actually READ you every item on the checklist, and you have to answer yes, I did that. None of these surprise me, although I think the last one is excessive - it still might be helpful to hear the items out loud, maybe you'll remember one you missed.

But then it starts to get hairy. At some places they ask you when you made your hefsek tahara. Now they're not just helping you prepare on mikvah night, they're checking up on what you did for the entire past week. Again, maybe this is meant to be helpful - perhaps once out of every hundred or thousand women, they hit one who doesn't realize she did the math wrong.

But to me it's a lot more like peeking into your bedroom. What if you have some kind of unusual heter to make a hefsek on an earlier day, do you have to explain that to some stranger now? What if she doesn't believe you? Do you have to give her your rabbi's phone number so she can check up on you? What if he's not home, or you asked the shaylah anonymously because you didn't want him to know your name?

And what if you're deliberately not making your hefsek on the right day: is that any of her business?

Which brings me to the next examples. I know of one mikvah attendant who was told that if she realized a woman had been sent to the mikvah by the nearby Kabbalah center, she should call the rabbi, and he would as diplomatically as he could turn the woman away. I don't even know what his issue was: whether he suspected they were not keeping T"H correctly, or maybe they were doing some kind of non-traditional rituals at the mikvah, or maybe these women weren't Jewish altogether.

That's probably a unique geographical issue, but here's a more universal one: I had the experience of going to an unfamiliar mikvah during Rosh Hashana, and when I called to make the appointment the mikvah lady asked me if I was single. I was flabbergasted. Was she wondering, just because she didn't know me, if I was going to the mikvah because I wanted to have premarital sex? When she insisted that I come by on Erev Yom Tov (the eve of the holiday) to pay her, even though most mikvaot just ask you to mail the check later, I was sure it was because she wanted to see if I looked religious and married.

Months later it occurs to me that maybe she was just asking because of the custom for single women to immerse in preparation for the High Holidays - if I said I was single, she would have explained that I should make my appointment before the holiday rather than on it. But I don't know. This was an area with a large single Jewish population; it seems just as possible that the mikvaot there are rumored to be unwittingly helping single people to sleep together, and maybe in defense they've decided to be aggressive about questioning everyone new.

Most likely none of this is the mikvah attendant's idea. In every case I've listed, it's almost certainly a policy decision by the rabbi, who has told the mikvah attendants that they must ask such-and-such question. And I can see why a rabbi would feel the responsibility to take action based on what he sees as a communal concern - whether it's asking too many questions, for fear of encouraging single women to become tehorah so they can sleep with men they're not married to; or not asking too many questions, for fear of women deciding to give up mikvah altogether and sleep with their husbands while niddah.

But I can't help feeling this is not what a mikvah should be. What business is it of theirs who comes, or what their story is? Why can't the mikvah just be a place that makes it possible for those who want to observe the halacha, to do so, and not worry about the rest? When I go to mikvah, I expect the attendant to tell me my tevilah was kosher. That's it. What I did beforehand, what I do afterward, I don't think of her as pronouncing "kosher" on any of that. Why does she think she is? If I volunteered something I was doing wrong, maybe then I can see her feeling she couldn't knowingly help me commit a sin. But why go asking?

Frankly I think this would be a problem for me, if I was asked to work at the mikvah; I don't think I could enforce such a policy. When it comes down to it, taharat hamishpacha is a private responsibility. What goes on in your bedroom, it seems to me, is your business.

From the crowd here I tend to expect at least some agreement. Not all of you are Orthodox, and I assume you'd be upset - as Tall Latte was - if you were turned away because your practice did not conform to the rules of the mikvah. But I don't think we're representative of the thinking of traditional mikvah staff, or the rabbis who supervise them.

What do you think the rationale is: concerns about communal behavior? A belief that they are somehow responsible, if they aid & abet you in sleeping with someone against halacha? Do they think you might taint the mikvah water? What?

If you ran the mikvah, what would you do?

On my way to the mikvah one month, I met the attendant heading over to open the building, and she said to me, "Wow, that’s amazing. I was just going to call you." Are you recruiting too? I asked, because the other two attendants had already approached me about whether I was willing to replace one of them (who is – you guessed it – about to give birth.) “No,” she said, “but there’s a woman in her ninth month who has to immerse in the mikvah tonight, and it’s a big segulah to immerse right after her.”

I'd never heard of this before. Just to clarify, I asked - You mean, you were going to call and see if I wanted to come and immerse, even if it wasn’t my time of the month to go? “Right,” she said, her eyes shining at this example of what she saw as Divine providence. “Isn't it amazing how things work out? You were coming here tonight anyway.”

Others might disagree with my definition, but to me, a “segulah” seems pretty much like a good luck omen. I don’t believe in segulahs. As a general rule. But it’s pretty clear from the context what the good luck omen must be FOR, yes? For getting pregnant. The attendant clearly thought of me because she’s seen me coming to the mikvah every month without pause for the past five years. And so, although we don’t know each other socially at all, it's obvious to her that I have not been pregnant once in that whole time.

I was so surprised by my reaction. My husband thought I would be upset that she approached me like that, upset that she broached a topic I’ve never brought up with her, upset that people are thinking about or talking about or pitying us. And I wasn’t, not at all. It’s the first time I’ve had any evidence that she noticed. I’ve wondered, for a long time, and although in the past the idea of the mikvah attendants feeling bad for me has made me cringe, lately I’ve been more amazed that no one seems to recognize it might be difficult for me to keep going back every month.

I’m not proud of it, but I have to admit that was part of my reaction when the other attendants asked if I was interested in working there: I thought, don’t you realize this is a painful place for me? For all I know they approached me for the same reason: just trying to think of a way to help me. Maybe they thought that if I give my time for the community in that way, if I make it possible for other women to conceive, perhaps Gd will finally reward me with a child too. I don't personally think it works in that neat measure-for-measure way, but who knows?

So on the whole I was touched by the gesture. And I think it helped that I’ve known her all this time, and she’s always been so discreet. I don’t have even a shred of concern that she’s gossiping about me. Just wishes she could help.

So I said thank you. And I didn’t make light of her belief in signs, or Divine arrangement of events, or immediate reward & punishment, or whatever it was. I tried to take it as a prayer on my behalf by all these other women -- just a prayer they had made more concrete. And I do believe that prayer counts with Gd, especially prayer coming from people more devout than I am. I tried to think about the woman who had immersed before me as I went under the water, although I didn’t quite know how to do that. Were there pregnant vibes emanating through the water, or what? I’ve been too cynical, for too long, to have any practice at this.

And there’s the rub. The mikvah attendant, when she approached me, had no idea why I’ve not been getting pregnant. It was a risk she took, in fact, because for all she knows I might have no uterus. And no amount of prayer or segulah would change that. In fact she was on target, and there is no reason anyone can come up with for why I’m infertile.

But in this case I’m pretty sure I ovulated before I went to mikvah, as I so often do. And it comes to the same thing: I don’t really believe in miracles, not blatant going-against-nature ones, not in this day and age. In my heart I didn’t believe any amount of prayer was going to get that egg back, and I certainly don’t believe that if my prayers and efforts to be a good person – to somehow deserve this pregnancy, if that's possible – have made no difference, what will finally do the trick will be a bit of symbolic theater.

I tried to believe, a little. But I think I failed.

As we found out two weeks later.

~ Anonymous

I’m not a big fan of Vagina Monologue feminism (“the more we talk about our genitalia, the fewer women will be beaten and raped”). Separating public from private is part of being human, part of being civilized, part of being holy. Still – many of you will disagree with this, I’m sure – the concept of modesty can become oppressive, and it is often used to oppress women, in particular. Sometimes, I think that the emphasis on modesty with regard to T”H falls into this category.

At other times, I just think it’s an unnecessary nuisance. Like Desde, I don’t like lying, and I often feel that T”H is forcing me into a position of dishonesty. It’s hard to come up with plausible excuses for going out alone at night, and I can’t retroactively go grocery shopping if someone asks me where I’ve been once I’ve gotten home.

I appreciate that we all have different sensibilities, and I don’t begrudge Desde her right to keep her mikveh visits from her kids. My question is whether T”H must necessarily be regarded as such a private matter. Certainly, sex between husband and wife is private, but not everything related to sex is or can be. In the nineteen fifties, American women were expected to remain out of sight while they were visibly pregnant, pregnancy being a clear sign of having had sex. To my knowledge, Judaism never endorsed such an attitude toward pregnancy. Moreover, even in the fifties, Americans had public weddings, went on honeymoons, and were not generally ashamed of having children.

In many ways, observant Jews are actually more open about sex than other members of modern society. We congregate in the waiting rooms of mikvaot every month to be guided through a ritual that will allow us to resume relations with our spouses. We send rabbis our stained underwear, asking whether or not we can have sex at any given time. The Gemara is loaded with detailed discussions of sex and anatomy that would shock the uninitiated. With all this frankness, what harm would it do to say to a friend or acquaintance, “I can’t meet with you on Monday; I’m going to the mikveh”?

In my previous post, I mentioned that when I began to learn about T”H, I didn’t know where to turn for guidance. I did ultimately find someone: a recently married female Conservative rabbi who was willing to sit down with me, talk through some of the issues, and study some of the sources. Our concerns were not quite the same (she was still deciding whether to commit to mikveh use at all), but it was immensely helpful to have someone to talk to who was at least in the same philosophical universe as me when it came to T”H.

If only opportunities for this sort of learning and discussion were more available in the non-Orthodox world, I might have been better prepared for T”H before I got married. Comments on Tall Latte’s post, What I wish I would have learned in a Kallah Class, emphasized the lack of halachic consensus in the progressive movements, but I think that problem is surmountable. The key is to empower couples to make their own decisions regarding T”H, rather than simply offering practical instruction.

An ideal course of this nature would have the following components:

1. An overview of halachic source material, tracing the development of the laws from the Torah through the Gemara, and culminating with practical proposals by non-Orthodox rabbis. The Talmudic portion of the overview would have to be very selective, and should be geared toward giving students a sense for the halachic process. This portion of the course may as well be co-ed.

2. Theoretical discussion of the biblical and rabbinic conceptions of tum’ah and taharah (“purity” and “impurity”) in general and T”H in particular, preferably with reference to some of the contemporary scholarship on the subject. Relevant literature by progressive Jewish thinkers should also be discussed. This portion of the course may also be co-ed.

3. A non-dogmatic introduction to common T”H practices, on roughly the level of detail offered in the FAQ’s at the Nishmat site. Students should be informed of resources that can help them learn more about specific practices on their own. Teachers must realize that in order to be comfortable using what in most cases will be Orthodox-run mikvaot, women must be able to understand their surroundings, and this entails familiarity with even those practices that they may not personally adopt.

4. Practical guidelines for using the local mikveh. In order to maintain a reasonable comfort level, women must know exactly what to expect.

5. An opportunity for both men and women to discuss practical, philosophical, and emotional concerns relating to T”H in a non-co-ed setting.

As long as no such class exists, non-Orthodox women interested in T”H are left to either (a) take an Orthodox class, (b) try to learn as much as possible on their own, or (c) abandon the practice altogether. For those who choose (b) as I did, here is a list of recommended reading material:

Biale, Rachel. Women and Jewish Law: An Exploration of Women’s Issues in Halakhic Sources. New York: Schocken, 1984, chs. 5 and 6.
(A clear presentation of halachic source material in translation, along with Biale’s analysis.)

Cohen, Shaye. “Menstruants and the Sacred in Judaism and Christianity.” In Women’s History and Ancient History, ed. Sarah B. Pomeroy. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991.
(An excellent overview of the development of the laws of T”H. Cohen argues that the laws are not fundamentally misogynistic, though they have been used to misogynistic ends during certain periods of Jewish history.)

Greenberg, Blu. On Women & Judaism: A View From Tradition. JPS, 1981, pp. 105-123.
(A defense of T”H by an Orthodox feminist, with a few suggestions for modifying the theory and practice of T”H. Appropriate for those who tend toward the traditional end of Conservative Judaism as well as those who practice a liberal form of Orthodoxy.)

Grossman, Susan. “Feminism, Midrash, and Mikveh.” In Conservative Judaism, Winter 1992, pp. 7-17.
(A practical and theoretical rethinking of T”H from a liberal Conservative perspective. IMO, this article is also appropriate for Reform and Reconstructionist women thinking of bringing mikveh use into their lives.)

Hauptman, Judith. Rereading the Rabbis: A Woman’s Voice. Westview Press, 1998, pp. 147-176.
(An insightful, provocative analysis of the rabbinic sources on Niddah.)

Wasserfall, Rahel R. (ed). Women and Water: Menstruation in Jewish Life and Law.
(Essays by scholars in various disciplines on the ways in which T”H has been understood in diaspora Judaism.)

Feedback and additional recommendations are more than welcome.

NOTE: I composed this post before reading about Tall Latte's strikingly similar experience. Next time: thoughts on chatan and kallah classes for non-Orthodox couples.

You might call it a sign of the times.

I was raised in a Modern Orthodox home (perhaps more “modern” than “Orthodox”). My mother tells me that she never visited a mikveh. I no longer consider myself Orthodox, yet I visit the mikveh every month.

There was never any question in my mind that I would observe the laws of Taharat Ha-mishpachah (T”H) in some form. My husband and I both attended Modern Orthodox day schools, and, although they left us skeptical of Orthodoxy in many respects, they also left us with a certain respect for the halachic system. It seemed hypocritical to observe so many of the “public” aspects of halacha (Shabbat, kashrut, etc.) while rejecting the “private” aspects.

There were decisions to be made, however – decisions that my husband insisted upon leaving up to me. Certain Conservative authorities permit a lenient approach to T”H, allowing couples to share a bed during niddah and maintain a (non-sexual) physical relationship, and allowing women to use the mikveh one day after menstruation rather than seven. I could see the logic behind this position (and I had no intention of discontinuing my physical relationship with fiancé after getting married), but I was uneasy with the idea of eliminating the “seven clean days.” Stringency or not, the “clean days” have been part of Jewish observance for millennia, and cannot (I thought) be abrogated without reasonable justification. At the very least, I wanted to know that my practice was in keeping with the standard of an observant community. This was a problem, since T”H is such a private matter. One doesn’t know how many couples observe the laws in any given way.

A related decision that I faced was whether or not to take a “kallah class.” As far as I know, all such classes are taught by Orthodox women, and I was uncomfortable with the idea of learning halachah l’ma’aseh (“practical law”) from a real live person and then failing to observe it. If I took lessons, I would have to commit to traditional practice.

As my wedding day approached, I decided that I was not prepared to make that commitment. Unfortunately, I made my decision without grasping the complexity of the laws and customs that surround T”H, and without being aware of the nuts-and-bolts issues that accompany visits to the mikveh. Entering the building was like landing in a foreign country. A woman in a sheitl escorted me into a preparation room, where I encountered two rather distressing signs. One sign warned of the importance of consulting a rav regarding ambiguous “colors.” The other was a list of instructions, including a few unexpected ones, such as “remove all hair that is usually removed,” and “clean genitals and anus – also internally.” After 45 minutes of obsessive-compulsive preparation, I asked to be escorted to the mikveh, only to realize that I did not know when to say the blessing, and was suddenly uncertain of the words. (Having removed my contact lenses, I did not realize that the blessing was written on the wall.) I left without paying, because I did not realize that there was a fee.

After this first visit, I was naturally inclined to do a bit of research. Like most research, it made me only more cognizant of my ignorance. I began to realize that there were many more decisions to be made than I had thought. Would I do a hefsek taharah? Would I observe vestot? If I found ambiguous “colors” on my underwear or bedikah cloth, would I show them to a rabbi? If so, who? Then there were the minor issues: Bath or shower? How many dunks? Should I worry about the color of my underwear? How low should I file my nails? It was all a bit overwhelming, and I didn’t know where to turn for guidance. More than halachic guidance, I wished that I could talk to someone with experience, someone who had made decisions similar to mine and had ultimately found a practice with which she was comfortable.

I would have been thrilled if this blog had existed at that time. Now that it does, I hope that my presence can provide an opportunity for those with a less traditional approach to halacha to ask questions and share thoughts on the practical and philosophical issues that T”H raises. I am also looking forward to hearing from women who don’t approach these matters the way I do. Because T”H normally applies only after marriage, we all experience the laws as new and strange at some point, and that experience is prolonged by the aura of secrecy that surrounds the practice. Many thanks to the woman who started this blog, for giving us a chance to clear some of that secrecy away.

Do you all know about the Mikvah Project? When I first saw the photographs I was in love. Although the idea of looking at images of other women using the mikvah was jarring, considering the degree of tzniut we usually try to preserve, for me the photos really do capture something of the poetry I feel in those moments under the water -- which is part of what made me want to write about mikvah, too. But I must say, I'm a lot less excited about it now that I find out they used models!

I suppose I should have realized, right? Orthodox women, for example, would never agree to pose nude, whether or not their faces were showing. And it's not that I object -- I'm all for people using the mikvah once even if they never plan to go again; I don't mind people making up their own "purifying" rituals that may have nothing to do with normative Judaism; I don't even have a problem with non-believers using the mikvah. But still, for me, it takes something away from the viewing to know that many of these people probably didn't really get what mikvah was about. It's not just about being naked underwater, although that can be profoundly affecting. It's not just about the mystery of something larger than yourself; there are plenty of mystical rituals in other religions, and I don't consider them interchangeable. It's about Gd -- our Gd -- isn't it? Or at least, about connection to the centuries of Jews who did this because they believed in Gd... and if you don't believe that Gd commanded this, or even leave a question in your mind open to that belief, are we even having the same experience?

So to be clear, I don't object to their using models, or to the models using the mikvah. And it's clear from the rest of the project that they wanted it to be as authentic as possible, but for the photo part that was just an impossibility. Still, I see myself in those photographs less than I did before I found out. I'm wistful about that, because mikvah is such a private, maybe even isolating practice. I know intellectually that I share it with many other women, but it was nice for a moment to feel it was shared.

I guess it goes back to the whole nature of this observance, and the question of what we're trying to accomplish by writing about it here. Can an experience so private really ever be conveyed or understood? Should it be?

There's so much to do, but I don't see how it will be more different or difficult for me to learn than keeping kosher, shabbos, learning Hebrew .. but it will. Even though by and large this is for me it's not -just- me... I need to include my chosson [husband].. and that's where the difficulty begins.

He's not yet fully shomer mitzvot and except for being completely shomer negiah I am. He did have a modern orthodox yeshivah education, then an ivy league university (where we met)... he grumbled over my instituting more kashrut in his life, but he's now doing it on his own .. he grumbles still over being shomer shabbos (it's about 3 years now), so I haven't pushed him too hard to be home on time .. if he gets really restless over shabbos afternoon (I won't mention shul attendance) .. I don't complain too loudly if he turns on his computer as he promised me he wouldn't do any online shopping or sign onto work. It's progress and it doesn't completely affect me if he isn't shomer shabbat (yet).

HOWEVER T"H is proving to be a very difficult concept for him as he knows very little about the subject and it's existence and he's having a rough time. B"H [baruch hashem, thank g-d] our classes are taught by really wonderful couple.. and I see it helping him. I've spoken to him about this since I first learned of it many years (ok, 3.5) ago. But he likes his double bed and has said that he didn't see a problem with us sharing it. Last class they went over (among many other things) beds .. i still haven't had a good chance to talk with him about that class becuase I'm curious how it's explained to the men. Hopefully it's sinking in. I have this horrid feeling at the moment that I'll be the one spending 2 weeks on the couch ...

I am lucky .. he does know that it's important to me, 5 things are: shabbos, kashrut, negiah, tznius, and tzeddekah. So he said he's willing to give it a go (at the moment only if he can keep his mattress)

Next posts (soon, bli neder [without a vow]) I'll talk about my thoughts on my kallah class and how I feel about group/individual ... and my complete confusion as to why many don't know anything about this until they take their kallah class!

I defy denominational pigeon holing and don’t fit neatly in one box. I began observing T”H when I married a non-observant guy. He’s now my ex-husband. Mikvah was a part of the marriage – and a thorn in his side. It helped me keep time, mark a miscarriage and acknowledge the birth of a child.

Fast forward a few years. Remarried. Great spouse. Resumed observing T”H. Had a second child. Currently still nursing so no mikvah. I miss it.

We belong to a Conservative shul but I’m not satisfied. We are striving toward enhancing our Shabbat observance. We’re busy with our full-time careers and full-time family. We attempt to prioritize and sometimes we're even successful. We live in the Northwest -- Starbucks land -- and survive on caffeine. We’re active in our community, involved with our day school and, we’re doing our best to survive now that the only kosher pizza shop in town closed.

Mikvah fascinates me and connects me to Jewish women worldwide. I can only hope I do justice to this mitzvah.

OK. I’ll come right out and say it. I am a contradiction in terms. I can just hear my grandfather asking “Are you on foot or on horseback?” I’m not sure.

I’m not exactly Conservative - although I currently attend a Conservative shul. I grew up Reform, left it behind at 13 and I’m definitely not that! I know I’m not Reconstructionist because I’m not sure what it even entails. And, yup, I’m not Orthodox either.

For years I tried to be frum. I lived in Israel and New York. I did the no pants, long skirt thing. I did the mid-length skirt look. I did Chabad. I did the Upper West Side/East Side shtick. It didn’t work. Or it didn’t stick. I’m not sure. I don’t think I wore the right length skirts.

It’s not just that I’m too much of a left-leaning liberal and sometimes feminist (most of the time really). It’s that I can’t tow the line. It’s not that I have a commitment problem. It’s more that I have trouble being told what to do. I’m a wannabe though. In my dreams I’m FFB. I’m even hassidishe. I’ve tried. G-d knows I tried. But then I just have to tear toilet paper on Shabbat…or drive to shul in the pouring rain because I’m running late and I’m dverse to being soaked. Little things like that.

On a good day, I’m Conservadox. On a really good day I think I could buckle down and follow the laws completely. On a medium day I’m confused. On a bad day I’m guilt ridden. So, here I am.

And how does this ganse megillah relate to mikvah? Honestly, it does.

Back in 1995 I was engaged to be married. That’s a story in and of itself. Look for it in a future contribution. Anyway we were to be married by a local Sephardic Orthodox rabbi.

I knew I wanted to keep the laws of T”H. My not-at-all-religious fiancé had zero choice in the matter. I bought several books on the subject and dutifully plowed through them. Aryeh Kaplan. Tehilla Abromov. Some little blue book with a detailed calendar section. I was neither inspired nor instructed.

The wedding date approached and I made my mikvah appointment. Then I panicked. I was put in touch with the wife of the local Ashkenazic rabbi. She agreed to give me an hour’s crash course in the laws of T”H. (Side note: she was a very cool person. She put on a skirt over jogging tights when she went running in the neighborhood.) OK, I can tell you that an hour with this rebbitzin was not enough. I learned basically bupkes.

My first trip to the mikvah was not a magical experience. I was not transformed. I did not feel the mystery. There was no Shekinah. There was no connection to the past or to the future. There was a kindly Holocaust survivor who checked for a stray hair on my shoulders. There were funny paper slippers, a decaying building with out-of-date tile in need of caulk and a bulletin board with hand-lettered signs offering sheitel styling and bedikah cloths. Huh?

I’ve heard that some kallahs are accompanied by ululating friends and relatives. I’ve heard that others come with their mothers. My experience was like much of what I did in my Jewish life: I was alone and clueless.

My then- fiancé tried to be supportive. He even drove me to my appointm