Mayim Rabim

I feel burned. I was so excited when I heard about this blog. I loved the mikvah. I loved going, I loved prepping, I loved knowing I was maintaining a mitzvah that goes back so long. My heart stops when I read about mikva’ot found at Masada or buried under buildings in Europe or hidden away cisterns in S’fat. The stories that we’ve all heard about Russian women chipping through the ice in frigid temperatures so they can immerse gives me goosebumps. The danger women put themselves in to immerse during inquisitions, progroms, the Holocaust just astounds me. Would I be as strong as they, I often wondered.

I even liked the wait. The first week of “freedom” – not having to respond to pressure from my husband, not having to feel bad if I wasn’t in the mood, enjoying the space in the bed and the shyness of covering up. The second week of anticipation, building to frustration and annoyance. Isn’t it mikvah night, yet?! Then of course, there’s the actual mikvah night. Full of expectation, nervousness, anxiety, but regardless of how we – ahem – observed the night, finally being able to fall asleep in each other’s arms again. Bliss. I couldn’t wait to write about all that, and share my enthusiasm and maybe, possibly, even get someone else to start observing taharat ha’mishpacha.

Now I just find it annoying and painful. Yet another month in a long, unbroken chain of months of going to the mikvah. A long, unbroken chain that will keep going and going and going until menopause hits. Everything is compounded. I’m dealing with mild depression as a result of the infertility treatments not working, which is pounded into my head each month when I get my period, and then when I get to the mikvah: “YOU’RE NOT PREGNANT. YOU NEVER WILL BE. And you’ll have to do all of this again next month. And again. And again.” So I get more depressed. And because, while I’m niddah, I can’t get any hugs or other physical comfort from my husband, I get more depressed. Then comes the mikvah, and well, you get the idea.

So it makes it very hard to be enthusiastic about mikvah. And very hard to write about it. I had no idea so much time had passed since my last post. I made a commitment to post a certain amount and I have not been able to live up to that. And I didn’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud, only writing “boo hoo, poor me” posts, but that’s all I’m feeling lately. So if y’all will just bear with me, I might not have the most upbeat posts, but I’ll at least try to do better about posting at all.

Thank you all for your comments and responses to my last posting. We weren't staying in a hotel, so the pillowcase wasn't an option, although I'd have never thought of that myself. And there were no stores around, so buying hankies wasn't possible. And a good point was brought up by Shira, about starting the 7 days without a hefsek. I'll have to ask about that.

Another thing I never would have thought of was this, from Renegade Rebbetzin. Scroll down to "RenReb goings-on of late" number 8.

RenReb rocks.

I have to say, I don't think I could ever bring myself to use a t-shirt out of the hamper. But then again, I'm a pretty big wuss.

The bedikah cloth. Don't leave home without it.

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.

Um. This just doesn’t seem kosher.

My husband and I are going away on a well-deserved vacation tomorrow. We’re leaving very early, and of course, it’s late and we still aren’t done with everything we need to do. And yeah, I’m niddah, but we kinda figured that would happen and there’s no other time we could go. So, we’ll just suck it up and deal.

Meanwhile, tonight I notice my husband is wearing pants that he wants to bring on the trip, and I want to get the backpack packed and closed. I hand him a pair of shorts, and say, “I know you’ve dreamed of hearing these words: take off your pants.”

You know what the jerk darling goes and does? He clicks something on his laptop, and the next thing I know, my husband is doing a mock strip tease to Barry White’s “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love.”

Now I ask you, is that fair?

I think not.

(Revenge is sweet: hubby says that song no longer does anything for him, since thanks to “that ad,” now all it does is remind him of erectile dysfunction. HA!)

Argh. Why do things have to be so hard?! Okay, so we decide on TaB (this, not this), only to find out the day before (and too late to call for a mikvah appointment, even though I really, really, didn’t want to use the mikvah, and yes, I know, I could have called anyway and the attendant might have been a little put out, but she still would have had to fit me in) that there was a giant concert at the beach. And thousands of people would be there.

Okay, well, that’s the best beach for tevilah, but there are a couple of other places to try. So we pick a nice beach, drive out there, and hey – they close at 10. Yep, pretty much right around the time for me to immerse. They have big, mean-looking gates and big signs saying, “giant ocean monsters come up onto the beach after dark and will eat you, so stay out.”

Fine. So the signs didn’t really say that. But I don’t get it. Why close the beach? We have lots of beaches that are unattended, so it can’t be a lifeguard issue. Whatever. Now we have to find another beach. In the dark. Ah, we have a brainstorm and head out to the only other beach we can think of – very far away. Their parking lot is closed off, but there are no finger-wagging signs (can’t you just hear your Aunt Gertie now: “what are you thinking coming out here when there is a perfectly good mikvah?! You don’t know what’s in this water or what kind of people might be lurking in the bushes. And it’s not like it’s August, you know – you could catch cold in this water.”).

sigh

We walk past sign after sign warning that swimming is not advisable in this area. Um, why? Fecal count? Boat traffic? Jellyfish? Why, WHY?

Anyway, we finally find a clear spot (and no signs!), and make it down to the water. I should mention that while I love the ocean and beaches more than any other place in the world, I’m not a big fan of being in the ocean (there are waves, unseen dropoffs, riptides, crawly things…) and add to that that it’s dark and things were bumping into me (turned out to be parts of a branch, but still). Anyway, I finally mustered up the courage, got down to my skivvies, dunked my 3 times, hightailed it back to the beach, got myself completely modest again and realized that there had been a couple on the beach the whole time.

Of course, it was dark, and they couldn’t see me, but still.

The highlight was walking back to the car along the beach, holding hands, looking at all the stars. Very romantic.

My husband really enjoys these TaB’s, but then, he’s not sticking his head underwater. Next time, if there is a next time, I’m making him go all the way under, too. Naked. Three times. See if he still enjoys it. Oh, yeah, and next time, I’m checking the community schedule at least 3 days before my mikvah day!!

Okay, so I’ll put it right out there: sorry I haven’t posted. It hasn’t been a good month. Our first attempt at IVF failed, in spite of everything looking good and going well. So my mind was on things other than t’h and mikvah.

But now my mind is on t’h and mikvah because I got my period and am now faced with going back to the mikvah. I have to say, I didn’t really get what other infertile women were saying about the difficulties of facing the mikvah. On an intellectual level, yes, I got it. But now I understand. I so don’t want to face the mikvah again. And again. And again.

But it’s much warmer now. Maybe we’ll try the beach again.

I do have to say that I am extremely grateful, b"h, that my period came a few days after we got our negative results. It gave me and my husband a few blessed days of being able to hold and comfort each other. The hugs were a blessing.

This month when it was time for me to go to the mikvah, I couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t make the phone call. Not that I didn’t want to be with my husband, that wasn’t it at all. I just couldn’t face yet another month of making an appointment, going to that place, making small talk, having some relative stranger stand over me, declare me kosher, then pay money we don’t have because every stinkin’ penny we earn is going to fertility treatments.

So instead, I had the brilliant idea of going to the beach. I thought my husband and I could go, sit on the beach and watch the sun set, and when it was dark, I would go immerse. Of course that’s not what happened. Because there was no “appointment,” he felt no pressure to be timely, so we completely missed the sun setting. By the time we actually got to the beach, I was really frustrated and angry that my grandiose, romantic plans were shot. It was also quite dark, so I didn’t have the chance to pick a nice, secluded spot – I had to go where the path was. And I couldn’t tell if there were people on the beach, but figured if there were, they could probably tell that I was in the water, so I had to go in with all my clothes on, and take them off underwater. Then hope that they would float long enough for my husband to grab them before they sank to the bottom. He did bring a towel, and held that up. I should point out that with all the discussion about immersing at the beach instead of the mikvah, my husband didn’t pick up on the part about how he would have to get into the water, too! Once he stopped complaining about getting wet, I immersed, he said “kosher,” I said the bracha, he said “amen,” I immersed, he said, “okay.” I said, “what?” He said, “okay.” “Does that mean it was kosher?” “Oh, yeah, sorry – kosher.” sigh

The hard part was getting my sopping wet clothing back on underwater, while my hubby tried to help AND keep the towel up. That caused lots of giggling, and walking back to the parking lot across the beach holding hands was delightful. We even laughed over the fact that my husband forgot his wallet and the flashlight were in his pocket when he went into the water. I’m so glad we did that instead of going to the mikvah.

Except for one thing: Y’all do realize it was May, right? There’s not a single beach north of the Mason-Dixon line that is WARM this time of year…

Sh|t. I have a friend in the computer who is just like me: similar age, modern orthodox, going through fertility issues. We weirdly parallel each other. We’re both extremely regular with our cycles, never being late. And we’ve both been late with our periods this month. Just late enough to spark that glimmer of a thought, “maybe….”

We both got our periods today. She told her husband and cried together with him, but separate. I told my husband, said, “f*ck it, I don’t care,” and let my husband hold me. With everything I have, I am fighting the desire to curl up in his lap and cry. I think that hurts us worse than not being pregnant.

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? ;)

I finally used another mikvah! After years of using only my local mikvah, while I was away for Pesach, I finally got to see how other women do it. For starters, I always thought my mikvah was weird for requiring us to make an appointment. In the movies, the women just show up. I also thought that most mikva'ot have paid attendants, not a-different-woman-every-night roster who generously volunteer their time. And I thought that it was just my mikvah that had this weird thing about the women being hidden from each other while there.

Nope.

And just like my mikvah, I had to go through a whole phone system to get the number of the attendant who was on the night I needed to go. She hid me in one room, the other woman was secreted off to another room. Buzz in, buzz out. Nobody seems to care that you (well, I) can always hear the other woman immersing. I hear conversation, too, but I can't make out the words. Nor do I try to, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, what was different, was the woman who went before me dunked many more times than I'm accustomed to, and she said at least two blessings (I heard the "amen" both times). When I immersed, the attendant asked after my second dunking if I said "y'hi ratzon" and after my third dunking, "do you do any more?" I said no, my minhag [custom] is to do 3 and I wondered what "y'hi ratzon" she was referring to.

So that got me thinking, what are your various customs? The only thing I had heard of was the custom in some ultra-Orthodox communities to dunk 12 times. Other than that, I naively assumed everyone dunks 3 times and says the one bracha [blessing]: "...al hatevilah." As I've mentioned, I have the additional custom of asking the attendant to give me some minutes of privacy after my 3rd dunk, and before I come out of the water, so that I can have some one-on-one time with G-d. I'd love to hear what the customs are of other women.

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.

Thanks to a comment, I've been reminded that I actually like observing t'h. I enjoy it. Really, I do.

First of all, I love having two hours to myself, free of interruptions. I get to soak in a tub, with a good book, candles, and a CLOSED BATHROOM DOOR. No one interrupts. If the phone rings, I pretend I can't hear it. I get to spend two hours on me, me, me. Okay, so part of that two hours is spent compulsively checking my body for loose hairs, but it's still me-time. I get to go to a spa-like setting (we have a great mikvah) with heated floors and soft, fluffy towels.

Then I immerse in (usually) toasty warm water. Some voice behind me declares me kosher. I'm kosher! Then, in the water, I have my time with G-d. I don't know if I can describe it well, but standing in the warm water, knowing I'm "kosher," the water lapping against me, the sound echoing off the walls of the room, and having G-d's attention - it's the most amazing moment for me.

Then I rush to get dressed and get out of there, but I usually wind up chatting with the mikvah attendant for a minute or two. After I leave, I head towards the parking lot, which contains my car, which contains my husband. Then I get the best kiss of the month. I get great kisses throughout our permitted time, but that first one always seems like the first time my husband ever kissed me.

Whatever happens when we get home, happens. Sometimes we just cuddle together on the couch and watch a movie. But there's two-plus weeks of holding hands, hugs, cuddling, and being able to enjoy something as simple as my husband pouring me a cup of coffee and handing it to me. And hugs. Did I mention hugs? ;)

Those are the immediate, tangible results. Then there are the moments when I'm reading a history book, and the author will be discussing a 1500-hundred-year-old mikvah that was discovered and I feel this unspeakable pride and connection to Judaism that I am practising the same mitzvah, more than a thousand years later. Or when a friend comments to me about something at the mikvah, and I have this unbelievable sense of connectedness to this woman, because we both share this special, holy act. Or when I read this blog and realize we all have similar issues and concerns, with a few tweaks here and there. But even the tweaks are shared.

And yes, there are times when t'h sucks. When you really, really need to be held and you can't be. When you have to rearrange ten different appointments because your mikvah night falls on a really inconvenient evening. But these things are all part of observing t'h.

I have read the stories of the hidden mikva'ot; people who risked their lives to maintain and hide the mikva'ot from the oppressor of the day. The people who risked their lives to use the mikvah. The women who cut holes in the ice in frozen lakes just so they could immerse. The lengths that people have gone to to ensure that this mitzvah would be observed. I am honoured to be carrying on that tradition. I am blessed to be able to fulfill this mitzvah. I am a better person for it.

The first year of observing t'h I truly believe brought me and my husband closer. We were starting to get into that married couple rut of being too tired to be intimate. We didn't seem to be as excited in each other, and t'h brought that back for us. Always affectionate, not being able to hold hands or touch became sort of a game. Then we started trying to have children. Now, I need those hugs. I need the hand-holding. I need the cuddling. It's no longer a game. I'm in a limbo stage where I can't start treatment just yet (probably about two months), but, as my doctor said, I'm "old." Every month when I get my period, I feel like that's x many eggs closer to being depleted. What if those were my last good eggs and next month's will be worthless?

Now, I get worked up about going to the mikvah. Our fertility problems aren't mine. At least not yet. We haven't officially started any treatments yet, so we're assuming my systems are a "go". The stress of wondering if that's true is starting to wear on me, though. And that stress always rears its head at mikvah time.

I'm not a deep person, or particularly profound. I appreciate things for what they are, and don't go looking for the deeper meaning. As long as I know it all came from G-d, that's good enough for me. Oh, don't get me wrong - I enjoy discussion. I was excited about this blog, because I loved observing t'h, and participating in a spiritual ritual that's been observed by women for thousands of years. I get chills when I read about/see pictures of mikva'ot on Masada, or uncovered by archeologists at a tell dig. That amazes me. I was looking forward to writing about that, the highs of observing t'h, while recognizing the occasional temporary lows.

But these days it all makes me sad. Even though I know I can't start treatments for a few months, even though I know there's no chance of me getting pregnant, I get depressed when I get my period. And all I want is comfort - to be held - from my husband, during the one time when I can't have it.

This seems to be a common theme. Infertility and the mikvah. Sucks.

Before my husband and I got married, I really wanted to go to the mikvah. I had no idea what t"h actually entailed, nor did I think it was something that I would observe, but I felt very strongly I wanted to go to the mikvah before we got married. I didn't. There was too much to do, I didn't know how to tell our non-observant families that I needed time to go to the mikvah, oh, and could someone find a mikvah for me. I regretted that deeply.

I still don't remember how the topic actually came up, but I started becoming more and more interested in t"h, and like the new kid standing on the sidelines of the dodgeball game, afraid to ask to be let into the game, I wanted to play, but was scared. I talked to everybody about it: my friends, my rebbetzin (we'll call her rebA), a rebbetzin (rebB) with whom my husband and I are friends. RebB loaned me Rivka Slonim's book, Total Immersion. I greedily consumed it, but it didn't speak to me. There were wonderful stories there; some inspiring, some moving, some astonishing, but none of them touched me. Nothing addressed issues of being naked in front of another person. In every story each woman talked about her private time, her private conversation with G-d, her personal space, being all alone - but I kept thinking, "YOU'RE NOT ALONE! There's a mikvah lady there! Talk to me about the mikvah lady staring at your naked cellulite!"

Then came the film Tehora (Purity). It caused a lot of angst in the Orthodox world, and also inspired a lot of conversation. Even though I still wasn't yet observing t"h, I found myself defending the practice to women who insisted that this practice was yet another way of subjugating women and saying that women are unclean. I don't think I won any of those arguments, even when I got the whole of idea of tamei (ritually impure) and tahor (ritually pure) clear to myself. But it did reinforce my desire to start practicing t"h. But I just couldn't get over this apprehension over being naked in front of someone else, whose job it is to stare at my body. Back in highschool, I hatedhatedhated gym class because the girls' shower room was a bunch of stalls with no curtains. No way was I going to shower naked in front of a whole bunch of other girls. So how was I going to be naked in front of a woman who is supposed to be looking at me?

Finally, rebB and I were talking one day, and she asked how things were going with my t"h quest. From the look on my face, she pulled me away from the other people around. I explained to her my naked apprehensions, and bless her, she proceeded to explain to me in detail what she does when she is the mikvah attendant. How she checks for hair, looks at nails and feet, and most importantly, holds the towel up in front of her, and doesn't drop it until the woman says she's ready. Relief! It was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders! I could totally deal with someone looking at me after I was already in the water. The water distorts, so they wouldn't have a real view of me.

My husband and I discussed this some more, and we felt strongly that since we were about to start trying to get pregnant, we wanted to ensure that we did everything according to G-d's will. So my next cycle, we started. After my period, I counted my clean days, realized my mikvah day would be motsei Shabbos (after Shabbos was over) and had no idea what to do (understand, I was counting every day because I wasn't sure I was understanding the whole erev plus the day, versus just the day). So on Shabbat, I asked my rebbetzin about counting and we figured out that I was right, and that night I should immerse. I was disappointed, because at that point, I already knew that the mikvah appointments need 24 hours' notice, and I am SO not one to cause trouble with rules, no matter how hard you try to convince me that this is a higher priority. My rebbetzin does not share the same hangup, thankfully. She called the attendant immediately after Havdalah, who said "of course I'll make room for her." The attendant happily gave me plenty of time to prepare, they both made sure I knew what to do and where to go, and off I went.

After all that buildup, it was not special.

IwishIwishIwish mikvah attendants would leave after I'm technically finished in the mikvah. I feel like there's an unwritten law: 3 dunks and yerrrrrrr OUT! I was inspired by someone special to me to spend a few minutes alone with myself in the mikvah after my 3 dunks, 3 "ko-SHER"s, and 1 bracha. This is private time, I'm squeaky clean, I'm sparkling fresh, I'm blessed, I'm holy again. I'm in the re-birthing waters. Now is the time when I feel like I have a direct line to G-d; it's as if He's waiting for me to speak. Persephone said it exactly in her blog, In the Barren Season:
"...I felt, in the water, like this is the moment when there's nothing between me and Gd."

Except, it's me and G-d... and the mikvah attendant. I have to break the spell and ask if she minds if I "take a moment." Usually, the attendants get the idea and quietly leave. Sometimes, the person attending doesn't get it, says "sure" and then stands there. I should work up the courage to say right up front, "after my 3rd immersion, I like to take a moment alone in the water; I can see myself out." But I'm a little intimidated by the mikvah attendants. They have the power. If the attendant decides I'm not kosher, she can make me go back and re-wash, immerse 20 more times, or come back the next day... She can keep me from my husband. Granted, I don't really think any attendant would ever do that. But they could.

Anyway, when the attendant gets it, and leaves the room, and I have my few moments of solitude with G-d, I feel holy and heard. I really feel like, unlike other times when millions of us are praying relatively the same thing at around the same time, when I immerse, G-d is watching me, G-d is with me, purifying me with each submersion. So naturally, He'll stick around to hear what I have to say afterwards.

He's never answered me at the mikvah, though. from Beneath the Surface

To further expand on my profile: As I noted, I am fascinated by the mikvah: stories, films, other women's experiences, mikvah attendants, all the different types of mikva'ot. I've been amazed to discover that it's not just orthodox women who observe t"h. I never knew about it growing up; never heard anything about special laws for Jewish couples. Well, except the ol' hole-in-the-sheet rule, of course, but then hasn't everyone heard that one?

Despite my afore-mentioned amazement, I am orthodox. I have issues with denominational categories, however, because if I identify myself as something, then some people expect a certain type of behaviour from me. I'm ba'al teshuva, a returnee to religious Judaism. My husband and I belong to an orthodox shul, we try to be shomer Shabbat (observant of the laws of Shabbat), I am mostly shomer mitzvot (observant of the laws of how to live Jewishly - for example, keeping kosher or hey! observing taharat hamishpacha). I'm still learning, so what I know, I observe. We started practicing t"h - also known as the family "purity" laws (I saw them referred to as "family sanctity laws," which I like better as a translation) - a few years after we were married. We met and married in our thirties, and are currently trying to have children. Which actually was our impetus for starting to observe t"h. We decided if we were going to have children, we wanted them conceived in a kosher, holy manner, according to halacha.

And that's my story from Beneath the Surface