Mayim Rabim

(Alluded to in my post "Something was Missing" from 2006! This post was written around then, but got buried and just now came to light again.)

So usually when I go to mikvah, all of three people know about it: Me, my husband and the Shomeret. Okay, and the Bookkeeper/Treasurer, who is presumably the same person who deposits the checks. (Yes, I write a check. I don't make a habit of carrying cash.) I found out that they really do keep records when I got a phone call just after the end of the year, "reminding me" that I had one unpaid visit. We tracked down my check (the shomeret still had it, oops!) and I was glad that it had been a check and thus there was an actual paper trail to track down, and I also found out about how good their records are! So make it 4.

This time, however, well by the time I was done, there were just too many people involved! First off, the local mikvah was closed for repairs. They had sent out a notice to that effect, and while we may be a one-mikvah town, there are several other 1 and 2 mikvah towns within commuting distance, some of which I'd been to before.

Now, my husband and I are usually verrry circumspect about exactly when I'm going to mikvah. It was very unusual for me to consult others, but in trying to decide, I asked a friend her opinion, without letting on exactly which night it would be. Let's call her Amanda. (I was weighing the farther drive to a mikvah I'd been to before against the shorter commute to one that was totally unfamiliar.) Amanda had also only had experience with the farther one of the two I asked about, but offered to ask around on my behalf (with me remaining anonymous) because she knew people in the closer town. So she asked Betty and Cynthia. (I'm making these names up, obviously, in alphabetical order.)

That at least was useful: I found out it was by appointment only, no open hours. Calls for appointments are usually returned the day of the appointment, so members in this small community receive a calendar so that they can call the individual shomrot directly and not have to sit by the phone all day not knowing when the appointment will be. Cynthia had a copy of the calendar, but it stopped a day or two before I needed to go. This was all going from me to Amanda to Cynthia to Amanda to me, and took several rounds before Cynthia and the calendar were in the same place at the same time and I actually got the info, only to find out that the calendar had run out!

So I weighed the closer one being smaller and by appointment only against the farther one being familiar but having official "hours" where they took drop-ins too, and there might be a wait for a room. Once I realized that more than just the extra driving time was (possibly) involved, I decided to stick with the closer one, so I called and left a message. But I still wanted a chance of knowing when my appointment was at least earlier on that day, since the message said they would return all calls around 5pm the day of the appointment. I'm used to having an appointment the latest by a whole day before, so this was making me very nervous.

After I left the message, I realized that I knew people in that town myself, and needed to talk to two of them anyway, so I called (I'm Desde, so let's leave D and E for me and my husband) Francine and Gwen. Francine wasn't home, so I left a message about something else. I did actually get to talk to Gwen, and asked her if she had a copy of the new calendar yet. I was still being very careful to be vague about which day I needed to know for. It turned out that Gwen is one of the shomrot, but no, she didn't have a copy of the calendar. She added that Helen was in charge, and Isabel was her assistant, and she knew Isabel had the calendar because she had called her when she needed to switch which night she was on call, so she gave me both those numbers. Gwen also didn't tell me which night she'd been on call for, or which night she'd switched for.

By this time it was getting late, so after trying to call both Helen and Isabel and getting voice mail for each (I hung up, not having an alternate message that I could leave, and not wanting to leave my real message on what was obviously the family answering machine) I gave up for that day.

The next night, Gwen called me back. "I just got my new calendar in the mail, so I was going to call you, but then I checked the mikvah line," she said, "and you didn't tell me you were coming that night! That's the night I was on call for, and I switched with Josie! Let me give you Josie's number."

Meanwhile, Cynthia got her copy of the new calendar too, and forwarded the first week's worth of names and numbers to Amanda, who sent it on to me... and there was Gwen's name on it, who of course had switched with Josie after the calendar was printed.

So I finally talked to Josie, and we agreed on a time. And I suppose Betty and Cynthia don't know who I really am, Francine doesn't know that the message I left her wasn't the only reason I was calling, and Helen and Isabel don't know who hung up on their answering machines or why, although one of them or an additional person (Katie?) will have to deal with my check... but to me it still seemed like there were far more people involved than were supposed to be!

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Just when I thought I had it all under control, Hashem threw me a curve ball.
The mikvah thing was getting so much easier now that I wasn't dreading the water, didn't panic just thinking about putting my head under, wasn't shaking with fear as I walked down the steps into the mikvah. I thought I had the routine down pat. And then this.

Let's just say that my hair was very very long. It definitely would have gotten in the way of tying a sash, were I inclined to wear dresses with sashes. It reached my waistband in the back. It was long. In the mikvah, I swept it all off one shoulder and held it as I went under, letting go as I came back up. But not only was my hair long, it was thick and heavy. It was starting to pull my snoods and tichels off my head, unless I kept it braided and partially up. It wouldn't fit under a sheitel, which is usually no great loss, since I rarely wear one. A family simcha was coming up, and I wanted to wear a sheitel to it. Since I needed to cut my hair anyway, I decided to cut enough to donate it, while my hair is still mostly a dark chestnut brown, before it starts going silver/white. After all, I'm not getting any younger, and my family has tendency to premature grey. So I put my hair in my usual two braids, and cut them off.

I cut off a foot of braid and my hair still comes just to my shoulders. Did I mention it was long? My hair hasn't been this short since I was first married! Oh. I forgot, but was reminded the very next time I went to mikvah, exactly why my hair hasn't been this short since I first got married. It's just too short to hold with one hand as I go under, and umm, when my hair is this length, it FLOATS!

That had to be the most traumatic mikvah experience I've had in years. I was practically in tears, because the shomeret couldn't be sure my hair had all been under too. I might no longer be afraid of the water, but I still can't swim, and I don't exactly enjoy being under the water, so I'm fast. Too fast. And it didn't help that the mikvah water was especially deep and buoyant that day. I just couldn't get far enough under, or stay down long enough. I finally had to rely on my old heter, for at least 1 Kosher tevilah. I had one definitely good dip, two probably okay ones, (and at least half a dozen "sorry, I couldn't tell if all your hair got under" ones) and I was done. Oh and next time, I am bringing a hairnet.* It's already in my purse.

*ask your own shaylah, by all means, but I already have permission to use a hairnet from my early married days.
Comments go here

I came across a comment on beyondbt (a blog for and by "returnees" to observant Judaism) that I found very very disturbing.

as a bt in progress, i just have to say that it’s so hard to fit in sometimes. bt’s do things differently but honestly. we try so hard, and when the ffb community snickers because we might not know as much, it can be a major turn-off.

years ago, i had a horrible experience at a mikvah, where a mikvah lady yelled, yes, yelled, at me because i was having trouble with the bracha. i had only gone to mikvah a few times at that point, and it was still new to me, and i was still getting used to the whole ritual, and because of that one episode, i actually stopped going, and then gradually stopped practicing for many years. it wasn’t until recently that i came back to odoxy.

what the ffb community needs to do, instead of snickering and criticizing, is to give support (yes, i realize that many odox communities are very supportive) and constantly remind themselves that there are jews out here who struggle just to remember the things that most ffb’s learned in kindergarden.

This poor woman actually stopped using the mikvah and practicing T"H and all other mitzvot because a mikvah attendant criticized her for having trouble with the brocha? Instead of helping her? As familiar with the "basic brocha on a mitzvah" (asher kidishanu...) as many of us are, it's generally posted on the wall (in many mikva'ot) for a reason!!!! It's easy to trip up on the words, especially if you can't see the poster without glasses or contacts, or to just blank for a moment, since after all, you're standing there naked, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the water, which I would assume isn't the most comfortable situation for most of us! How dare she!?! (The attendant, not the woman using the mikvah)

Okay, I'll stop steaming out my ears now, and I'll jump down from my soapbox in just another minute, but as I said, I was deeply disturbed by this woman's comment. Before I end, I just want to say, please, please, please, anyone who is in the position of being an attendant, make it easier, not harder! And for G-d's sake (literally), don't yell or intimidate, or laugh or poke fun at someone using the mikvah. We don't want to drive her away from the mitzvah entirely!

This haunting feeling that something was missing lay over me the whole week. The first inkling that something was strange was when I realized I had a chance of getting that elusive day 5 hefsek! Okay, so maybe it was only day 5 (and not 6) if you don't count the spotting on day 0, but I've always counted this way, and still never gotten a day 5 hefsek taharah before. So I tried anyway, and surprise number two was that it worked!

There was a bit of anxiety over where I'd be going to mikvah (That's a story in itself, which I may post about eventually!) when half way through the week dh uncovered the notice from the local mikvah that it would be closed for repairs.

And that was when I realized. I was perhaps anxious about the hoops I jumped through to figure out how to obtain an appointment (actually making the appointment was the easy part, it was figuring out who to talk to that led me in circles!). I was maybe nervous about the longer drive and timing it so that I arrived on-time. (I can do early and I can do late, but promptness has often been about as elusive for me as that day 5 hefsek.) I was somewhat apprehensive about visiting a mikvah I'd never been to before. But I wasn't the least bit scared.

Now, some of you may be thinking, okay, Desde, this is what, your third post about not being scared of the water? We hear you, you're not scared anymore, get over it, okay? But please understand, being scared of the water has colored my entire life, even before I was observant. It took on additional importance when I first decided that I would be living an Orthodox lifestyle and learned about the mikvah's prominent role in that lifestyle. It gave me panic attacks when I became engaged and started Kallah classes.

It hung over me each time I made a hefsek taharah and started counting the days until my next mikvah visit. I tried not to think about what I was counting toward, trying to instead focus on the reunion with my husband. Each month was a balance of putting off making that appointment so I wouldn't have to think about it, and making it early enough that I didn't have the additional fact of not yet having an appointment to panic about. I forced myself to make the trip to the mikvah. I did my preparations, (actually, I'm surprised that I've never been obsessive-compulsive about the preparations, so that at least I had no excuse besides my fear for not calling myself "ready") and took an extra few minutes to compose myself, searching for something else I hadn't checked, but finding nothing, before calling for the attendant. I then had to compose myself again in the water before each dunk, gathering my courage each time. My fear was so very REAL and so very PRESENT, a constant companion.

I hesitate to say I miss it, but I definitely notice its absence. So I counted the days, without any fear. I (mostly) prepared at home, without any fear. I drove to the mikvah, without any fear. I finished up my preparations there, without any fear. I called for the attendant, made small talk while she checked my hands and feet and picked three million hairs off my back, without any fear. I entered the water, without any fear. I took a moment to compose myself before each dunk... to daven for myself, and others, not to gather courage. And it was a much shallower mikvah than I am used to, so I had to make an extra effort to get all the way under, but I did it without any fear. I did it all without any fear.

And while once I was afraid (ha!) that my mitzvah was somehow diminished through the lack of fear, this time I exulted in my lack of fear. Like a cancer patient in (permanent!) remission who will always be a "survivor," I have survived and surmounted my fear, and while it no longer follows me, it haunts me by its absence, and adds an extra dimension to my observance.

This raises an interesting question: (comment copied from here)

Kelloggs wrote:

BTW, color isn't the only area in the laws of TH that one might think is predetermined and yet sometimes rabbis find ways to be lenient anyway. I once forgot on day 7 (DAY 7!!!!) to do my bedikah until 5 minutes after shkiah (you can imagine the feeling - after doing mikvah prep I suddenly realize OH CRAP!), did the bedikah just in case, and then called a yoetzet. She was extremely sympathetic and said she'd call a rabbi to confirm, but basically told me there wasn't much hope. Well, she called me back 5 minutes later to say the rabbi she'd spoken to said it was okay, and she thought it was a combination of my having done it so close to shkiah and because for other reasons I wasn't going to be able to go the next night either, so saying "no mikvah" that night would mean 2 extra days of niddah. The point is, here's something that someone intenseley trained in the laws of niddah (the yoetzet) thought was pretty open-and-shut but because of the human consequences here, the rabbi went out of his way to find a way to be lenient.

Which brought to mind something very important that I learned from my Kallah teacher. Not specifically about the 7th day, but in general, she told me to make sure we had at least one accurate clock in the house at all times and that if I "missed" shkiah, to make a bedikah anyway, because as long as it was within 9 minutes of sunset, b'dieved it counted as the previous day!

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.

Our dear friend RenReb (I hope I'm not being presumptuous, because she never actually said she wanted to be my friend.) has posted an exhaustive article on bedikos, in two parts: "A slight "oops," plus "Bedikot Part I: Definitions and clarifications" and Bedikot Part II: Love of grossness, and a grossness of love

She does an excellent job. The part that made me giggle, though was the scenario I imagined after reading this:

It so happens, for example, that my husband thinks I'm an immature ninny for being grossed out by bedikot. He has never been grossed out by a bedikah. He doesn't see "vaginal secretions" on the cloth at all; he just sees a color, perhaps an ambiguous color, that needs his clarification. The fact that the color is a vaginal secretion doesn't even come back to haunt him later. He wasn't even grossed out when he received his training, and had to, among other things, spend some quality time with a big ol' scrapbook full of bedikot that were done by actual women. I never got to see such a book myself, but being an immature ninny, I squealed my little head off when my hubby told me about it, and he promptly rolled his eyes at me and changed the subject.

What jumped into my head was the following conversation between a husband and wife after the husband returns from showing his wife's bedikah to their Rav.
Wife: Honey, what did the Rav say?
Husband: Umm, he said it was fine. But, umm, he wants to keep it for his scrapbook.
Wife: HE WANTS TO WHAT?
Husband: He asked if he could keep it for his scrapbook.
Wife: HE ASKED WHAT?
Husband: He asked if he could keep it for his scrapbook.
Wife: The Rav collects bedikot? What kind of crazy person collects bedikot? Tell him to collect his own wife's bedikot! This is the person we want for our Rav? He actually has a scrapbook of bedikot?
Husband: Well, yeah, but he wouldn't put your name next to it or anything.
WIfe: Great. Well, there's a load off my shoulders. Why does he collect bedikot? Don't you think that's kind of, I don't know, creepy? Even from the Rav?
Husband: I think it's for training other Ravs. you know, they have to learn from something!
Wife: Oh. (long pause) Well, I'm not sure I want anyone learning from mine!

At first I was apprehensive about my approaching labor. After all, childbirth would render me niddah, forcing a separation from my husband. After 9 months of being tahor, I dreaded once again being niddah.

But then as the contractions grew more intense, and I shifted into real labor, my focus shifted as well. Shifted and narrowed. I was forced to concentrate on each contraction as it washed over me, and I no longer wanted to prolong labor. My husband's presence in the delivery room was
important to me, but he sort of faded into the background. After all, he could offer me nothing in the way of physical support, being forbidden to touch me once labor began in earnest. But his emotional support was important to me, and very real. I needed him there: If he had been absent, I would have felt the wrongness, but since he was there, it was just part of the bigger picture, part of the harmony of the universe.

And then suddenly the baby was here, (wasn't there supposed to be a pushing stage? I think I missed it!) and being niddah meant nothing at all. I was exhilarated and exhausted, and between the baby nursing and the other kids climbing on me, the better see their new sister, I think if one more person touched me I would have screamed!

And my body is so tired, tired from pregnancy and tired from delivery. I do need time to recover before resuming my physical relationship with my husband. At first the harchakot seemed a bit silly, since I wasn't up for much more than cuddling anyway! But I remembered that he hadn't just gone through childbirth, and so they were mainly for him. And after a week or two, I needed them too, as I began to long for his touch once more, however much my body is not yet recovered.

While I "miss" the physical side of our relationship, I remember that my husband truly is my best friend, and we can relate on so many different levels. In fact, we have to remember to stop talking late into the night so that we can both get the sleep we need!

And I realize again the beauty of this arrangement, that not only gives me time to rest and recover, and helps us to develop the other aspects of our relationship, but also insures that our physical intimacy will resume, without any mixed signals, without each side wondering if
the other is "ready" yet. At some point I'll tell him I've made an appointment for the mikvah, and when I go, we'll both be on the same page, and (more than) ready for our reunion.

..Moshiach, of course. But along the way, also awaiting the end of pregnancy and the birth of a new baby. And as the birth neared, I found myself with very mixed feelings.

As the days of non-productive contractions dragged on, (this often happens when you've had a lot of babies, as I have) I found my focus was not on this new life I would (with G-d's help) merit to bring into the world within the next week or so, but on the fact that childbirth would leave me niddah. And all I wanted was for my husband to hold me and never let go.

As he put it, the baby will need me more than he will for a little while, and I'll need the space and time to recover from the trauma to my body (and let's face it, childbirth is traumatic to a woman's body.)

And yet I feel so silly and shallow, because becoming niddah is my focus, and shouldn't I instead be joyfully anticipating the birth of my baby?

It will be hard, though. Hard to not reach for him as he passes by, hard to remember not to pass things to him (after all, it's been 9 months since we had to worry about such things), hard to not be able to hand him the baby. We've done this before, many times, and we'll adjust, settle into the "new" old routine, have somewhere safe to put the baby for passing in most rooms of the house, even remember to put something on the table between us... and although it will be longer than the 2 weeks of a standard cycle, this too shall pass, and mikvah night will eventually come. Somehow knowing all that doesn't make it any easier!

So the last time I went to mikvah, I had an epiphany. The mikvah attendant was new to me (well, new as an attendant, I had met her socially before) so I launched into my usualy spiel about being afraid of the water, and having a heter to only get one Kosher tevilah, but always trying for three anyway, and how having the heter had helped me not need to use it... (For the history of my fear of the water and mikvah use in spite of it, see here, here, and here.)

And while I was talking, I changed the beginning to "When I first started using the mikvah, I was afraid of the water, so..." Half way through, I heard what I had said, and realized that I was not afraid! I hadn't even noticed exactly when the fear disappeared. I'm still not sure I wouldn't be afraid in another setting, were I to try putting my head under water at the beach, for example, instead of for the mitzvah of mikvah. But it didn't matter.

I wasn't afraid!

Naturally, the mikvah lady invited me to come back during the week in a bathing suit and "practice." "It's great that you aren't afraid," she said, "But you should be comfortable." Why everyone always jumps to try to get me there in a bathing suit, I have no idea. I didn't even know where my bathing suits had been packed away, or if they even still fit, not having used them in 10 years or so. (I since found them, just so I would know where they were, but haven't tried them on.) But I wasn't interested, then, or ever. What I really wanted to do was go home and savor the realization that I wasn't afraid!

So that's what I did.

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.

I was moved by a comment made by "visiting" over here.

I'm repeating her comment here so I can expand on it:

When I got married I was on birth control. When I got off, for the next year, I had a 24 day cycle. I feel this has deep ramifications for the turbulence that I am feeling in my marriage, even now, five years later. I got used to sleeping alone, I got used to not having DH to hold on to or support me physically. I also have a hard time transitioning from famine to flood (as another poster has mentioned.) I harbor resentment toward T"H in general. I harbor resentment toward my DH, when of course it is not his fault.

I ovulated regularly and of course could not get to the mikvah in time. So when I wanted to have sex I was not permitted. With me working and DH working, there were months when we were together once or twice. And of course there is the embarrassment of the mikvah lady looking at you like "weren't you just here?"

For some people, T"H seems to be a beautiful thing. But I wonder if they are just telling themselves that? To me it is not.

Ouch. This woman is obviously still hurting, 5 years later! and I feel for her. I don't think I would have put up with a 24 day cycle for a whole year! But maybe she didn't know there were other (chemical) options to delay ovulation? Maybe she wasn't working with a Rav who knew that and could have directed her to ask her doctor some very important questions? Or maybe she was, and it still took a year to get everything "under control."

But what I really wanted to address was that she grew to resent the halacha, to resent T"H. This pains me the most. Maybe I'm just blessed with a "pollyanna" personality, but I try to see the benefit in even the hard times. Maybe getting used to sleeping alone could be a good thing? Maybe being able to survive without constant physical support from your husband could be a good thing? Maybe you were supposed to take the time to work on the other aspects of your relationship? Maybe you were supposed to... oh, who knows.

As for people finding deep meaning and beauty in their observance of T"H, psychologically, "just telling themselves that" can and often does lead to actually believing it. And if finding that meaning and beauty makes it easier, than that too is only for the good.

No one ever said it was easy to be an Observant Jew. It's much easier today than it ever was... beautiful assortments of head coverings, a plethora of assorted prepackaged Kosher food available, jobs that don't require violating the Shabbos, shuls and mikvahs in practically every sizeable community... but easier isn't easy. We all agree that T"H is hard. And that we don't do it for the benefits, but that they do exist. But if you grow to resent the halacha, well, then you make it that much harder on yourself! I don't resent having to eat Kosher food, although sometimes it would be much easier to not bother. And I don't resent T"H, even when it means I sometimes can't have the physical contact I crave... because it's the way things are, and resenting it would only make me feel worse. Instead I seek to beautify the mitzvos, which in a way makes them easier to do.

I feel like I'm rambling here... did any of this make any sense?

Well, I went searching, because comments on this had me curious.

In short, no one had heard of the custom I thought I remembered being taught, that of wearing white underwear on vestos (anticipatory days).

The sefer I looked in was Rabbi Binyomin Forst's "The Laws of Niddah." I found nothing in the many chapters on vestos, so I finally looked under kesems with regards to colored underwear. Interestingly, I found this in the footnotes, on page 208 of volume 1:

27. Rambam writes that Chazal established that a woman should wear colored garments. Kesef Mishnah and Beis Yosef 190 note that the Talmud (Niddah 61b) seems to indicate that a woman may wear, not should wear colored garments. Rema 190:10 seems to follow Rambam's opinion that women should wear colored garments. However, Toras HaShelamim para14 explains that Rema merely advises that a woman wear colored garments to prevent kesamim problems. Chochmas Adam 113:9 and Chasam Sofer, Y.D. 161 seem to follow Toras HaShelamim's approach.

and, more to the point:

31. See Pischei Teshuvah para22, citing Amudei Kesef. Amudei Kesef also writes that a woman should not wear colored garments on her "niddah days." His intent is unclear. Badei HaShulchan (Tziyunim 190:205) interprets this to mean her expected vest day. Thus, a woman is required to don white during the days that she expects her period. Igros Moshe also suggests that a woman wear white during her vest day as a means of effecting a constant bedikah. However, since all other authorities make no mention of this halacha which relates to all women, they seem to disagree.

Which seems to say to me, that while I didn't necessarily make it up, it doesn't seem to be halacha l'maaseh and is certainly not obligatory on anyone who doesn't currently hold by this custom. Oh, and I also submitted a question on this topic to Nishmat... I'll try to post their answer here as well.

I have a hard time taking onot seriously. I'm glad eden does even though it caused her a major head- and heartache this time.

Not that we don't separate on them, not that I don't observe them, umm, religiously, wear white underwear and do the required number of bedikos.

Which reminds me, I'm not exactly clear on what the exact number of required bedikos is! My period is irregular enough that we do keep the "or zarua's onah" (ie the day or night before), so I'm counting out the 30th day, night and day; the 31st day, night and day; the date of the Hebrew month, day or night (based on when my last period started) and the night or day previous; and the interval, day or night and the previous night or day. That's a lot of days to keep track of! At least I'm not also carrying through intervals (haflagas) that haven't passed... that was too complicated for me to deal with! And my Kallah teacher never mentioned it, Baruch Hash-m! (Thank G-d!)

The Lubavitch custom seems to be one bedikah during the onah ("around the time you got your period") while the Ashkenaz custom is (I think!) one after the onah is over before resuming relations. Do I have that right? I generally do both, at least one during the onah, and definitely the one after.

The reason I can't take them too seriously, though, is that in many years of marriage, I've actually gotten my period on an onah, umm, once? maybe? That might have been the month I counted wrong and we separated what was supposed to be a day too early. I've become niddah the day before an onah, the day between the onahs, one or more days after one... but rarely (if ever) on it. So what exactly is the point of keeping all those "anticipatory" days?

Michal mentioned getting pregnant after her worst mikvah experience and others had noticed a similar correlation.

Funny, for me it was the opposite... I tended to conceive after my most comfortable mikvah experiences. But then, for me, going to mikvah was always uncomfortable, since I needed to face the water.

Still, the years passed, and as I didn't spend them all pregnant, and didn't nurse clean for very long, there were multiple mikvah visits to get through. Every time I went, I dreaded it a little less, was a little more comfortable. One time the attendant even commented on it, on how much more comfortable I was than when I'd first started using that mikvah. But I still began each visit with an unfamiliar attendant by explaining my fear of the water and my heter for only one kosher tevilah, followed immediately by assuring her that I hadn't had to use the heter in a very long time. But I needed them to know, because each time I was to go under, there was a long pause as I gathered my courage, then pulled myself under by the handrail... and the last thing I needed was to feel rushed.

Oh, and I always face the mikvah attendant, because I need to know that someone is there if I don't come back up on my own. Again in a reversal of other's comments, it never occured to me to not face her!

I think I have a better understanding now of Avigayil's (and other's) complaints about making the transition from tamei to tahor and tahor to tamei.

Ironically enough, what gave me this understanding had nothing to do with Taharat HaMishpacha. No, it was Pesach. (Passover) We spend however long running around getting ready for Pesach. The last two weeks especially are pretty intensive. Then there's Yontif, Chol HaMoed, more Yontif. (Holy days, intermediate days, more holy days.) Then poof it's over, and you're supposed to just put everything away as fast as you can, pull out your chametzdik (Non-Passover) pots, go shopping maybe, start eating "normal" food again, and everyone goes straight back to work or school as if we never had Pesach.

This year I couldn't deal. I sat there in my mostly empty kitchen, having just had a dish-washing, drying and putting away marathon. Everything was still covered in aluminum foil and/or contact paper. And I couldn't take out the chametzdik pots. My husband came home from the store (he took the day off to help me switch back... it would never have happened at all without him) and gently yelled at me for not making lunch yet. Then he reminded me that I had to switch the drip pans on the stovetop back too... so I guess it was a good thing I hadn't taken out my pots yet.

I forced myself to rip the taped X's off the closed off cabinets, to unfoil my stovetop... to find that pot and make the hotdogs for lunch. But I was crying inside. I wanted to scream, "No, we're doing Pesach for a whole month this time! It's too much preparation work for just a week!" In fact, I did say something of the sort, and they just laughed at me. Because it doesn't work that way.

The transition from tamei to tahor and tahor to tamei must feel the same for some people. It's too much, too fast. I don't know why this particular transition was so difficult for me this year. We've "made Pesach" and unmade Pesach for many years now. But now I understand a little, what it must be like. And I feel for you. It's tough. Avigayil is finding ways to make it easier. I hope others can learn to do the same.

On Avigayil's post "and how are the benefits" there's a discussion in the comments about the different waiting times to be purified from niddah vs from zavah, and Avigayil adds this: At some point 2500 years ago "the women" decided that it was too difficult to keep track of which bleeding was niddah bleeding and which bleeding was zavah bleeding so they took a stringency upon themselves to consider all bleeding zavah bleeding and wait the seven clean days in all cases. This has become the custom, and thus the practice of observant women even today.

From Beneath, among others (myself included), would like to slap these women "upside the head" and Swurgle wants to know why we can't just undo that decision.

So in the interest of clarification, I did a little research into what exactly is the difference between niddah and zava and how can you tell? And my first instinct is to duck and run! You think the current niddah laws are complicated? Here's the link I found. It's a pdf file, and the part about distinguishing between niddah and zava starts on page 5.

Please remember I am not a posek, consult your own Rav, etc., but this is the way I understand the shuir.

To summarize: first you have to decide which opinion you are following. (There seem to be at least two) Let's say you hold by the Rambam. First you have to remember the exact date of your first "discharge," ie period. Anyone? I can tell you how old I was, approximately, and whether it was day or night, but after all, it was about 20 years ago, and I don't even remember which month it was, or what day of the week, much less the exact date! Now why is this date so important? because the Rambam holds that from there you start counting alternating "windows" (the shuir calls them periods, but that's too confusing for me, so I changed it) of 7 days and 11 days, whether or not you experience any bleeding on those days. Are you following so far? Any bleeding that comes during a 7-day window is Dam Niddah (dam is blood) and any bleeding that comes during an 11 day window is Dam Ziva. ("Ziva" blood makes you a "Zava"... the vowels don't really count in Hebrew. They change conjugation and usage but not meaning.)

A bit of halacha on "waiting times": Dam Niddah requires a seven day wait from the first day of blood, as long as bleeding has stopped by that seventh day. Dam Ziva that lasts only 1 or two days requires a one day blood-free wait, but Dam Ziva that lasts three or more days requires sheva neki'im, the seven days of no bleeding at all, before immersing in a mikvah.

To be fair, most poskim make it a little easier than the Rambam does. Any discharge renders you Niddah... the first seven days are all niddah days, then the next 11 are Ziva days, then it goes back to Niddah days (but not back again) so you wouldn't really become a Zava unless your cycle was less than 18 days long. At this point I was beginning to think it wasn't so difficult after all, and we really should go back to distinguishing between niddah and zava. Then I noticed something from an earlier page in the shuir that I'd glossed over the first time I read it. The point about what exactly is "Dam Niddah."

It sounds like the real killer, the real reason we don't distinguish anymore, has nothing to do with Niddah vs Zava days, but everything to do with colors. Yes, colors. To insure that blood is really Dam Niddah, it not only needs to come during the "Dam Niddah Days," but it also needs to be one of 5 very specific shades of blood that are actually tamei (impure). Without showing every single stain to a Rav trained in distinguishing those colors(all of which are different reds, by the way), a woman wouldn't know for sure that the blood qualified as Dam Niddah.

For that reason, the Rebbeim instituted that where there is no such trained Rav available in a community, women must do the following:

For a one day discharge, a woman is almost definitely a Zava Katana, ("little Zava")which would require one blood-free day before visiting the mikvah. However, just in case it really was Dam Niddah, she waits the full seven days of Niddah (not seven blood-free days, just seven days, but since this was from a one-day discharge, 6 of them are blood-free)

For a two day discharge, she waits 8 days, in case the first day was Dam Ziva, and the second day was Dam Niddah, so the seven day minimum starts from the second day.

For a three or more day discharge, she probably becomes a Zava Gedolah, a "big" zava, which necessitates the sheva neki'im, or seven non-bleeding days. If any of the blood is really Dam Niddah, the seven day waiting period is included within this by default.

Eventually it became the custom to hold by sheva neki'im even for one day's discharge, on the basis that it was too confusing otherwise. Now that last bit doesn't seem reasonable to me... but I do see how it might be confusing, and, after all, I didn't make the rules.

Okay, everyone take a deep breath. Just one more thing I want to mention.

No one said anything about a 5 day minimum before starting the sheva neki'im, right? Doesn't appear in the shuir at all. So where does that come from? How did we get from even with being extra stringent, 7, 8, or 10+ (if you bleed for 3 or more) days to a minimum of 12? Well, it seems you can't count a day as a "clean day" if you are dripping... semen. This is where the math gets very funky. The sages tell us that after sex, you drip semen for up to three days. Semen being clear, you can't tell by looking at a bedikah cloth (without a microscope) whether it is present. So you need to wait three days before starting sheva neki'im. Wait, but 3 days isn't 5! Even assuming you don't have eden's mazel, and had sex 5 minutes before you became niddah, that's still only 3 days! Well, see, for the 5 days, 1 minute before sunset counts as a whole day of bleeding. But the 3 days of dripping are really 72 hours, so that could halachically stretch over pieces of 4 days, and if the days are in the process of getting shorter, (during the time of year where it drops by over a minute a day) and you time it just right, those 72 hours could possibly overlap a tiny piece into a 5th halachic day. (I think... I didn't actually do the math, but I think that's what I remember.) So Chazal threw in that extra day just for fun. That's why Kallahs only need to wait 4 and not 5... the 5th day is a stringency. Also today's Rebbeim can play with the 5 day thing in cases of need. And the whole thing is moot if you didn't actually have relations right before you started bleeding, but apparently that's too much to expect us to keep track of as well.

So I'm still not a posek, and those of us who agreed to follow halacha l'maaseh (practical halacha) as it stands are kind of stuck, but as an intellectual exercise, now you have all the details for figuring out what the "real" halachic way to do things was before Chazal started taking pity on us poor math and memory challenged women and making it more difficult so it would be less confusing for us.

And yes, it is confusing, and yes, it is a lot to keep track of, and yes, we are all busy women who can't remember from one end of the sheva neki'im to the other which day we made the hefsek taharah on... but that's why we keep calendars, right? So keep in mind most women were basically illiterate during the times of Chazal, and even if they could write they didn't have (and couldn't have afforded anyway) our neat little pocket calendars and a pencil, and then maybe it all makes sense.

And if anyone wants to challenge my reasoning and/or math, or correct any mistakes I've made, go right ahead. I'm not any sort of expert, I've just done a bit of reading on the subject.

Michaela's posts here and here reminded me of a really dumb thing I did a few months ago.

Background: I'm nursing. While in the past this has not stopped me from getting pregnant again, ie I do not nurse "clean" for extended periods of time (the most was 8 months, and that was with my "milk twins") it does muck with my cycles. 35 and 45 day cycles are not abnormal for me while nursing hormones run rampant in my system. Then again, I might have spotting at 14 days, right after getting to mikvah, necessating my starting all over again as niddah (yes, I did ask a shaylah that time!) after just one night together, or extended spotting before and/or after a "real" period, making the time we're apart longer than the minimum 12 days, and often a day or two past 14 as well.

So when I hadn't had a period yet and it was day 35, I wasn't so concerned. I didn't even run right out and buy a pregnancy test. However, I did start spotting... or did I? Something triggered my doing a bedikah. I don't remember exactly what, but it was probably similar to Michaela's situation, some sort of unidentified dark discharge on dark underwear. I should have left well enough alone. Anyway, the bedikah wasn't clear. If I remember right, it was dark yellow and mucousy with dark brown streaks. Pretty gross, actually. So I figured my period was about to start, and stupidly tossed the bedikah cloth.

I told my husband I wasn't niddah yet, but probably would be soon. We slept in separate beds, and curtailed most casual touching, but still handed things between us. Days passed. The spotting didn't turn into a period. It disappeared, then I would notice a little brown streaked mucous again, then nothing. Now I was really upset I had tossed the bedikah... I didn't have it to ask about! Anyway, a full 10 days later, I actually started a real period. And I had more spotting than usual afterwards too, and more difficulty getting that hefsek taharah than I had ever had before, (not counting post-partum) making mikvah day not day 12 after my actual period started, not day 14, but day 20! Which was a full month from that initial spotting.

That was a hard lesson in "save questionable bedikos" so that you can actually ask a question if it turns out you have one!

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?

After my first baby was born, it was a long time before I got to mikvah. (I was stupid, and didn't ask about my brown and then yellow bedikahs that were probably fine, for many reasons, including the fact that putting off going to mikvah, while not fair to my husband, was just fine with me! Getting those bedikahs to a Rav would have been complicated, but it could have been done. There's always the US Mail.) I wanted to have gone to mikvah, I just didn't want to go to mikvah...

But eventually I went. And when my period returned at 5 months post-partum, boy was I upset. Whatever happened to nursing clean! I was robbed! And no, he wasn't on solids yet! Since then I've spoken with a lot of women who've had similar experiences (usually, we all have children born really close together!). Okay, so I learned nursing wasn't adequate birth control for me. It didn't even save me from having to use the mikvah. Totally unfair! So I got pregnant again, fast. Another hiatus, truly earned.

But I couldn't do that forever. I mean, I like kids and all, but sooner or later, I had to come to terms with my fear of the water.

My fear of the water had earned me one thing: A heter. No, not special permission not to use the mikvah, no Orthodox Rav is going to say that! The attendant had asked on my behalf, and I was granted a heter to only get one Kosher tevilah. That's it. Not 3, not 9 or 7, as some have the custom to do, 1. (As in all things, this was my heter, not yours, ask your own Rav. The normal minimum is 2 without extenuating circumstances, one before and one after the brocha.)

This was the deal we made... one to get wet, don't worry if it's kosher or not. Make the brocha, dip again. I would make at least three tries, and then additional dips as necessary to get my 1 Kosher Tevilah, but I would no longer be trying for 3 times Kosher. One was enough, and I could get out!

The true turning point came one night when after 8 or nine tries, the attendant said, "I'm 98% sure that was Kosher," and let me out of the mikvah. Half way up the steps, I stopped. Could I really go home and say, "I'm 98% sure I'm tahor."? I turned to the attendant. "Should I go back in?" I asked. We agreed we would both be more comfortable if I did. And no, it wasn't one more try, but more like another 5! But by then, we were both sure it was 100% Kosher.

After that, it got easier. I was still uncomfortable in the water, still tried to "not think about it too much" during the sheva neki'im, but that was the one and only time I truly used my heter. After that, I was much more relaxed about my ability to get under, and I usually got my three Kosher tevilot, although we still agreed that after one, I could give up and declare myself done. I started every mikvah visit by telling the mikvah attendant of both my fear and my heter. Knowing I didn't "have to" gave me the strength to dip the additional times.

Discussing mikvah just isn't done. Because of its inheret tie to the resumption of marital relations, the fact that you're going is something shared with your husband and the mikvah lady, and that's it. (Maybe your hostess if you're traveling and staying in someone's house and can't come up with a reasonable explanation for your absence.) One of the problems with all the secrecy surrounding going to the mikvah is that it's really hard to keep secrets from your kids. Although they know nothing of the details, sooner or later they start asking questions. Where is Imma going? Why aren't you taking any of us with you? Imma, you never go anywhere without the baby. Why aren't you taking him/her? I had to start leaving the baby more often, going shopping by myself, going to shiurim (lectures) and not explaining myself every time, so it wouldn't be so strange when I left without any of them.

I make a point of being honest, with myself and with others. So even though I may manage to slip out without telling the kids where I'm going, my husband and I prepare a cover story. Then I call home before I actually come home, and ask if he had to use it. If he told them I was going to the grocery store, I have to actually stop at the grocery store on the way home, and come home with groceries!

We did the same thing once when my parents were visiting. Feeling a little guilty, we asked them to babysit so that my husband and I could go for "a long drive." My leaving by myself would have looked a little strange, but us both leaving, and leaving them with the kids made more sense. When he picked me up after, he insisted on taking that "long drive" (rightfully so, I was just feeling more guilty about how long the whole process was taking, since I couldn't really prepare at home with a house full of guests!) before we went back.

And preparing at home with kids... well, I often wind up borrowing a trick I learned from my kallah teacher the first time I needed to go to mikvah Friday night. "I can't take time to prepare right before Shabbos!" I protested. "So take a long bath in the morning when you get up," she suggested. "Then do all the little things thoroughout the day, and just before Shabbos go take a good shower."

I know, many of you have heard that you can't eat or do anything else once you begin preparation. That's the ideal, but it's not the only way. [Like the people who tell you a hefsek taharah must be done within half an hour of sunset. Ideal, but not the only way. But that's another post.] Anyway, preparing over the course of the whole day gives the preparation more meaning for me, somehow imbues it with more sprirtuality. I'm not sure why, or how, but the whole day becomes more focused, but in a more relaxed way.

In comments to my previous post, My first time... I said I had always thought taking the mikvah lady up on her idea of "practicing" sometime in bathing suits (to get me more comfortable with the water) was a good idea, but had just never gotten around to it. In retrospect, that was a lie. Since I pride myself on being honest, here's the real reason I never accepted what seemed like a perfectly reasonable offer.

First, understand that we're talking about real fear here. I had a brief but traumatic experience as a child, where I was swallowed by a wave (on the beach). I've blocked out any actual memories of this event, but I can assume that for a moment there, I was completely engulfed by the water, and had no sensation of which way was up, no firm contact with the ground.

I'm plenty comfortable in a pool. (I've never since liked the beach.) At least before I realized mixed swimming was an issue, I'd happily put on a bathing suit and go "swimming," either meet a friend at the neighborhood pool, or join my sister in the hotel pool on vacations. I had two rules, though. Rule 1: I had to be holding onto something... either my feet firmly on the bottom, or my hands firmly on the side or on a handrail... I was slightly less comfortable holding onto a person, but that was also acceptable. Rule 2: No dunking me. My head must remain above the water at all times.

You can see how both of these rules are incompatible with the whole mikvah experience (especially the second one!). Just thinking about it sent me into panic mode and left me shaky. It was bad enough I was having trouble getting a kosher tevilah and needed to try many times when I had to go to mikvah. Obviously, meeting the mikvah lady at the mikvah in a bathing suit would entail my having to put my head under additional times, or what would be the point? I was perfectly comfortable in the water with my head out of it.

Simply put, I wasn't willing to submit myself to water torture for anything less than a divine commandment. Especially when I got pregnant so soon after marriage... I saw it as a gift, not just of the new life I was carrying, but the gift of not having to dunk myself for almost a year. I needed that hiatus, and I was darn well taking it!

I put off making a hefsek taharah as long as I could, but I finally did it. Partially I stalled because I wasn't supposed to see my future husband once I did it, and we had paperwork to take care of if we wanted to be married legally, not just halachically. Mostly it was because it started the count-down to going to mikvah. As it was, we wound up seeing each other anyway, to take care of that paperwork. Once I went to mikvah, though, we didn't even talk on the phone, except through intermediaries.

I was supposedly frum, but I was very new to everything, and I was far from home. The community had adopted me to a certain extent... made my bridal shower, made sure I had invitations for Shabbos meals, a place to stay the Shabbos before my Sunday wedding so I wouldn't be alone... but it occurred to no one to offer to accompany me to mikvah.

Yes, I was scared of the water, but I was determined to go anyway... I wanted to be married, and that was stronger (minimally) than my fear, but I had panic attacks and an adrenaline rush that left me weak and shaky every time i thought of my upcoming "trial by water." I was to be married on Sunday, and my kallah teacher decided I should go to mikvah Friday morning rather than Saturday night.... so my preparations wouldn't be rushed, and so my time in the mikvah wouldn't be rushed by knowing others were waiting. She told me to meet her at the mikvah, and that I could bring a friiend, but I didn't know who to ask... people are busy Friday morning. So I came alone.

When she met me there, there were three of us on the front steps. "Oh, good, you did bring some friends," she said. But they were there for the same reason. One of them was also getting married on Sunday, and her sister accompanied her. (They had arranged to meet a different shomeret there.) Still, it was nice to not feel completely alone, and I wished for my sister's company. As alien as my life style seems to her, she would have come and offered moral support... but she wasn't in town yet, and she was traveling with Nita, who would definitely not have been invited! So it was just as well.

I don't remember anymore how many times it took me to actually get my three kosher dunks. My long hair floated, so they offered me a hairnet. I found it hard to remember not to breathe under water, and choked as the chlorinated water burned the inside of my nose and mouth. I especially found it hard to get far enough under, as I felt that I was drowning as soon as the water closed over my head. And picking up my feet at the same time was another hardship, as I lost my connection with solid ground.

All I really remember is that, pale and shaking, I accomplished my objective: a kosher tevilah. Oh, I was still terrified of the water. I would still spend the sheva neki'im in subsequent months trying not to think about what exactly I was counting up to. But now I knew that scared or not, I could and would do it. In a way, it was empowering. And imagine what it meant to my husband: here I was, doing something that scared me to tears, all for him. (Well, that's how he saw it!)

Over the next few times, we (the shomerot and I) worked out some details to make it easier. I held onto the metal hand rail, as far down as I could reach, with one hand, held my nose with the other. Wore the hairnet so I wouldn't have to worry about stray floating hairs. Pulled myself down by the handrail, pulled my feet up as I let go of my nose, then broke the surface of the water. It still took me many tries before I heard the shomeret say "Kosher!" And everytime I met a "new" shomeret, I had to start by explaining that I was scared of the water. One time when I went to mikvah the shomeret said, "So get pregnant. Then you won't have to come for a while." "Fine," I said, through gritted teeth, "but I still have to get through this first!" (And yes, I did, in fact, conceive that night.)

So I got a hiatus, some needed time off. At least until after the baby was born...

The post about not actually going to the mikvah in La Paz reminded me that every mikvah is different, and if you've only ever been to one, you might find a very different experience at a second one, while traveling, if you move, etc. I wanted to share some aspects that were different at some different mikva'ot I've been to. (For anonymity, this post was edited to be point by point instead of mikvah by mikvah, well after it was initially posted.)

Point A. At one busy mikvah in a smallish but not tiny community there's a waiting room, you ring the doorbell and are buzzed in, but you pass throught the waiting room, and if all the preparation rooms are full, you stop there and wait... very likely to see other women you know... but while appointments are prefered, you don't actually need one if you come during "standard mikvah hours" At two others in smaller communities, you must make an appointment, and they try to schedule it so you don't meet anyone coming or going. One is extremely careful about this... you knock before leaving your room when you are dressed. The other will ask you both if you mind seeing anyone before allowing the person leaving as you come in to walk past you... but doesn't require you to get permission to leave your preparation room.

Point B. Making appointments: At one place you leave a message on an answering machine, only expecting a call back if there's a problem with the time you want to come (one example I was given is if you live in the same city as your MIL, you probably don't want to run into her at the mikvah.) At another, you call voicemail to find out who the attendant is, then call her at home to make the appointment. In a third, you call a voice mail line and leave a message... the attendant calls you back to set a specific time.

Point C. Some preparation rooms may have their own toilets, but in at least one mikvah you must walk back down the hall to use the bathroom... and if they are very busy, someone may be using the bathroom to prepare!

Point D. One mikvah gives you a white sheet, one mostly has robes, a third only gives you the towel. (Towels are provided by all of the ones I've been to... the robe or the sheet are for wrapping yourself in.)

Point E. Standard procedure in one place is to ask you what you want checked. Standard procedure elsewhere is to check your hands, feet, and back. Some places the attendants are slightly more paranoid, and will check anything you'll let them, even on Shabbos, where at least one attendant told me "well, you can't really fix anything, so we don't really check..." as she checked my hands, feet, and back... But one place told me to check myself on Shabbos, and she didn't check me at all.

Point F. Some places they are much more careful about not looking as you descend into the mikvah and ascend after dunking (sheet, towel or robe in front of their faces for this part) but some are less obvious about it. Also, some attendants have a practice of specifically touching you after you come up out of the mikvah, shaking your hand or patting your arm and again saying "Kosher."

Point G. Buying Bedikah cloths: at one place, a woman in the community sells them and you contact her separately. (she's also an attendant, but only brings them with her if you ask in advance) The others have them available at the mikvah if you remember to ask... get the extra-soft if they give you a choice. There are fewer in the packet for the same price, but it's worth every penny.

I was born frum, to non-frum parents. Not exactly a comfortable situation, but I made the best of it, although I did struggle mightily against being made to wear jeans! Ha, I won, I get to wear skirts all the time now!

Eventually I grew up, went to college, and fell head over heels in love... with Shabbat and orthodoxy. It was like coming home... well, that's why they call it Ba'alat Teshuva, right?

Met a nice guy, first generation frum (second generation ba'al teshuvah? you know, frum parents, non-observant grandparents) eventually convinced him there was a future for us, and we got engaged.

Then I met up with the first real snag with my becoming observant, besides the parents not being thrilled: Going to mikvah. Oh, I always knew I'd go, at least once, before I got married. That info was ingrained in me somehow, perhaps by my grandmother, who helped raise me. And since I was now an Observant, Orthodox Jewess, it would be more than just that one time, if I wanted to stay married!

There was just one small problem.

I was afraid of the water.