Mayim Rabim

Another link in the chain...another mikvah opens.

Someone forwarded this article to me. Rather than send a link, based on what happened when Kuzo linked to the Atlanta article, I thought I'd just cut and paste...with full attributions.

Jews' ritual bath makes comeback
Tuesday, November 15, 2005 by Nancy Haught The Oregonian

For many Jewish women, keeping mikvah -- immersing themselves in natural, flowing water -- is a private matter. Their husbands probably know when they leave home to visit a mikvah. Attendants may know if a woman immersed herself so completely that not a strand of her hair floated to the surface. But only God knows, quite literally, the sincerity of a woman's prayer.

Water flows through many religions in rituals that symbolize transformation, from death to life, rebirth and renewal. The mikvah is an ancient Jewish tradition still practiced in the modern world both because it is required by Jewish law and for a handful of other more contemporary reasons.

The word mikvah is Hebrew for a "gathering" of mayim chayim, or "living water." Centuries ago, in accordance with Jewish law, women immersed themselves before their weddings and monthly thereafter, seven days after their menstrual periods ended. Only then did they resume physical contact with their husbands. Jewish men immersed themselves, sometimes as part of their daily spiritual practice and, in other cases, before Jewish holy days.

Today, many Jewish men and women never set foot in a mikvah, but the practice is preserved for those who find it meaningful and for those whose conversions to Judaism demand a ritual immersion. It is probably most important to Orthodox Jews, but some others use it for nontraditional reasons, immersing themselves before or after surgery or after a divorce.

Portland has two mikvot (the plural of mikvah), one that dates from 1958 and another that, after five years of fine-tuning, will be dedicated this spring. The Jewish Federation of Greater Portland has undertaken a fund-raising effort on behalf of the older community mikvah, which is administered by the Oregon Board of Rabbis. The newer facility, Mikvah Shoshana, was built by Chabad of Oregon, and at their invitation an expert on the mikvah is visiting Portland on Thursday for a lecture.

Sara Karmely of New York City is a traveling authority on keeping mikvah and the ancient tradition's power to revitalize modern marriages. Married for 40 years herself, she is past menopause and misses her monthly visits to the mikvah. In a telephone interview, she is almost wistful as she recalls her monthly preparation.

"It meant that that morning, I would wake up with a sense of anticipation," she says. She would soak in a bath for half an hour, scrub herself from head to foot and shower to remove any foreign particles from her body. A woman may not wear nail polish or even contact lenses when she steps into the mikvah.

"Each month you come out of the mikvah and see your face glowing," she says. "It is a rebirth. As soon as I came home from the mikvah, I became a new bride and my husband was a new bridegroom for me."

Avoiding physical contact during a woman's period and for seven days afterward encourages a couple to work on communication and respect for each other's sexuality, she says.

For Sima "Simi" Mishulovin of Portland, a member of Chabad-Lubavitch of Oregon, a Hasidic group that encourages Jews to practice mitzvahs or "commandments," sees the mikvah as a link to the Jewish women who preceded and will come after her.

She remembers her first visit to the mikvah, before her wedding almost two years ago.

"I felt a strong connection to the women of the past and, being the first grandchild (in her family) to be married, I felt like the beginning link of this mitzvah for the family."

Karmely and representatives of other community mikvot see a resurgence in the spiritual practice, but because visits to a mikvah are so private, it is difficult to tell whether the number of women using them is on the rise, and still more difficult to describe their reasons for doing so.

But Rabbi Joseph Wolf of Havurah Shalom, a Reconstructionist community that meets in Northwest Portland, understands the wariness that many Jews feel about the mikvah. It originated in a time, they say, when women were judged to be inferior to men and in need of purification after their periods.

"Spiritual practice is everything," Wolf says. "If women are finding this empowering to their own mind, far be it from me to want to undermine their practice."

Nancy Haught: 503-294-7625; nancyhaught@news.oregonian.com

Just wondering if anyone else goes through the stomach churning anxiety that surrounds making a mikvah appointment for motzei Shabbat?
Maybe if you live in a larger community with many mikvaot this might not be a problem. In my community, it's an ongoing issue, and add to it that the particular attendant on duty for Shabbat and Saturday has a habit of returning calls rather late.
The mikvah's voicemail recording announces that one should make a Saturday evening appointment at least 48 hours in advance. OK, with bedikot and counting, I'm fine with this. And being the Type A person I am, I often give even more notice with a caveat.
But, what gets me is that I don't get a return call in a timely fashion. I mean, hey, hello. It's Friday afternoon. I don't have all day!
Any suggestions...aside from taking a deep breath?

OK, so it was a river. That's a technicality.
Remember how I volunteered to go in the freezing mikvah waters in La Paz, Bolivia? Well, I just got my chance...albeit stateside.
We were on vacation and my night finally came. I might add we were on vacation with my entire family...siblings, their spouses, kids, parents...the ganse mishpocha.
We were three hours from the closest mikvah but minutes from a river. So during the daylight hours on the day of the spouse and I scouted out a likely location and I made my preparations.
We found a calm spot -- not far from the Class 5 rapids. The only challenge we figured would be spectators. You see the "marina" (the dock and shallow access to the water) was in sight of a restaurant.
I should add the spouse said we could wait until we got home late Monday if I didn't think I could do it. I dipped in a toe to test the water beforehand. Brisk but bearable. I told him that if women in Siberia could do it, so could I. And, anyway, since we'd be getting home at midnight Monday, and he was leaving until the following Sunday on business and I was leaving on Tuesday for business that would leave us all of 2 days or so of together time. I decided that we might as well try to carve out another day or two.
Luck was on our side. When we came up to the site, it was deserted. While I know this was probably not the most "kosher" we had the toddler tucked in the car seat as we drove to the spot. There was no way to leave the child with the aunts/uncles/grandparents. Trust me on this.
The spouse served as my mikvah attendant. He didn't check my toenails quite as thoroughly, but then he was rather a good sentry.
We had a tiny flashlight; the restaurant was closed. Good signs. We clambered onto the dock and he held up a towel as I stripped in the cooling night air. On the count of three I plunged into the water. YOWIE. COLD.
But, I did it. I immersed, said the bracha with chattering teeth and heaved myself back onto the dock. I didn't do my usual number of dunks or the Yehi Ratzon but it was kosher.
As I got out of the water and shivered, I looked up at the night sky. It was gorgeous -- clear and sparkling with twinkling stars. So far from the city the air, the quiet and the smell of the trees was magical.
The spouse wrapped a towel around me and draped another one over my head. The we looked over at each other, giggled and held hands as we walked back to the car.

So tonight's the night.
The spouse has been sweet and kind and looking forward to it. He promised candles, kids asleep!, a romantic atmosphere...just like those first times.
And wouldn't you know it, I've picked up a stomach virus from Child #2. How sexy is that? Instead of looking forward to the evening, I'm spending the day in my pjs and barely moving.
At least I can get a backrub tonight.
If this is a joke, I'm afraid I fail to see the humor in the punchline.

Someone explain this to me…why did I go from niddah to niddah? Strength to strength I can understand…

Backing up: I made the decision to wean…after all, the child has turned two. OK, so said child only nursed sometimes before bed and each morning upon waking.

I’d been on a low-dose pill since my post-partum check up. When the child was nursing lots (earlier on), there was no spotting, no nothing. I nursed clean and counted myself very fortunate. But, when the child started really cutting back last Spring, I thought I had a period. I asked a shailah, counted, checked and went to the mikvah for the first time in almost two years. And then, nothing…for several months.

A few weeks back the spouse and I were going through a challenging couple of weeks. I was probably being not the best example of an Eishet Hayil and his work schedule wasn’t helping matters. Add niddah into the mix and you have a couple of cranky people.

After doing the counting and checking, I discovered that mikvah night fell out on the same night the spouse has a big deal work dinner. Have to admit it was rather odd to get a baby sitter for late on a weeknight for basically a half hour. Oh and factor into the mix that I was frantically preparing for the biggest Shabbat dinner of our lives. We were hosting an internationally-known Jewish figure and his spouse. It was a make-or-break dinner for the spouse and his career. No pressure there.

After going to the mikvah (the first time using the new one in town…gorgeous!) I resume power cooking. It’s nearly 1 am, the spouse is not yet home and the challah dough is finally made. I’m standing at the counter reading up on how many cups of flour are needed in order to “take” challah. I start to feel some cramping. Weird.

Just after 1 the spouse staggers in, complements me on the Shabbos table and my preparations and goes upstairs. I follow. He’s zonked but remembers to ask how the mikvah was. I excuse myself to brush teeth and go to the bathroom. And, whamo!

I know one isn’t supposed to look at the tissue but this was full on. No hedging or getting around it. No pretending. We were back to the “no fly zone” without ever being cleared for take off. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

Next morning I hold the baby and say that this is the last time we’re nursing. I tried to engrave the image and feeling in my heart and made a bracha. I also called the doctor, who said that it’s normal to experience this situation as my body readjusts to weaning. Um, great, thanks.

We’re back to that ketchup commercial. Remember “Anticipation?” And I could really use a back rub. Oh, and that special pedicure I had arranged for Friday morning – the one with the bright nail polish…it’ll all have to come off again soon. Still, the dinner was an amazing success and the spouse and I are closer than ever. Perhaps this was what we needed?

The last time I went to the mikvah was in late August 2003 after my post-partum checkup.

Since then, my nursing hormones have been in full swing. While I was dealing with a three-week early baby who couldn’t nurse properly for the first few months, a colicky baby like you wouldn’t believe for the first six months and a baby who wouldn’t sleep more than two hours at a stretch until 18 months, at least there was no staining. Of course I was too frazzled and tired and cranky for intimacy. And then there was the post-natal depression and the Zoloft. But I digress.

Things had been getting better lately. The spouse and I were closer than ever. The baby was turning into an amusing toddler who loved to shout “Imma, nurse” or "Imma, nipple" loudly in shul. And both the older child and said baby were sleeping soundly enough for the parents to have some fun.

Then last Shabbat came. The spouse was out of town on business for a week and the older one was with the ex. It was just baby and Imma alone for the weekend. We came home from shul and whammo. Hmm...that's odd. The mini-pill is, in theory, working. The baby is still nursing--regardless of whether or not I want to. I still have a couple months left to go from my 24-month nursing clean clock. What’s up? Wait, scratch that. I know what it is. The question is why it is. My body is going wonky.

After phoning the OB, it was time to place a call to a local kallah teacher for a refresher course. Not a moment too soon, I guess.

I’d been thinking about mikvah for weeks, months. All of this available time does that. You know, I’ve been thinking about how I didn’t always take advantage of the available time. I’ve been thinking about how my body belonged to everyone but me -- nursing baby, wanting spouse, demanding older child. I’ve been thinking about how I missed having that regular time to myself and marking the month by my body’s calendar. But, I’ve been thinking in the theoretical. I haven’t really been thinking about checking and bedika cloths and slinking off in the dark of night and praying I wouldn’t run into anyone I know.

I’ve also been thinking about mikvah in new ways as I’ve read a variety of blogs and followed the development of this site. I’ve sat here in my cube at work sniffling as I read accounts of infertility and wishing I could loan out my functioning uterus – here take mine, I’m not using it. I’ve smiled as I imagine kallahs going off for that first visit. I’ve imagined the emotional power of the g’yoret coming out a changed person.

I am excited that I can again mark time with my body. I am looking forward to immersing again and feeling that moment of “kosher.” But I am also sad and scared. I’m sad that I didn’t take advantage of the together time as much as I should have…my own insecurities and inabilities to initiate. My mishegas. I’m also sad – a bit like Vaibel. This may be my last child. With work, community demands, the cost of day school, shul memberships, camp, daycare and on and on…I’m probably done.

I feel guilty even saying this here. I mean, here I am with two healthy children. What more could I ask for? A third? That’s pushing my luck. Yes, I want a third child – and one of the other gender – but what am I doing in this venue asking for more? For those who have none and yearn so, I feel like a complete heel wishing for one more go-round. I wish I could share more than just my prayers for those looking, trying, wishing to become parents. Still, the thought of re-entering the mikvah solely for the right to reconnect with the spouse without the intent to procreate is a little weird. It’s one thing to think "not now." It’s another to say, “I’m done.” Again, my mishegas.

So now I’m waiting, dealing and watching. The spouse came home from his trip last night to find me dealing with the latest emotional terrorism from the ex, the possibility that we’re have to look for a new house ASAP and that our shul voted to hire a new rabbi – one he and I don’t want. Anyway, what I wanted when he walked in the door I couldn’t have. And I’m told that since I’m staining mid-cycle, I could end up staining again later in the month. Classic.

Figures. I guess all this means is that I’m coming back to the real world. It’s been nice while it lasted.

While married to the ex, my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. For days and days the doctors went back and forth: blighted ovum, viable, heartbeat, no heartbeat, missed abortion, D&C, mexotrethate, and on. A half or dozen so internal ultrasounds later and it was over.

Miscarrying was painful but not emotionally wrenching. There was sadness at the loss of potential but somehow I never really “felt” pregnant.

Niddah didn’t seem like such big deal. For some reason that escapes me now, the ex and I started fighting bitterly. We discussed whether or not to try again when given the go-ahead. We wondered if we should split up there and then. We’d been in counseling since a month into the marriage and there’d been little improvement.

The crisis passed, my body emptied and then righted itself. I remember immersing and wondering which way things would go. My mother and both grandmothers had a long history of reproductive problems. I questioned if I’d take after them?

I became pregnant right after mikvah night. There was this feeling almost immediately: I just knew I was pregnant. It was totally different this time. Discounting scares and bumps along the way, I was blessed with a healthy child.

At a week old, the baby ended up back in the children’s hospital. The ex and I fought and fought. He threatened to take the baby away and never let me have access to the child. Those threats continued for the remainder of the marriage.

Fast forward a year and a half. Again, right around mikvah time, we finally called it quits. We never should have married. I know that now. But then we would never have had our amazing child. No need to continue that thought.

We filed for divorce. I wondered: do I still need to immerse? I won’t be having relations but I am still married. What do I do? I did nothing. I didn’t immerse. And, when you’re racking up thousands of dollars in legal bills, being threatened by said ex, fearing that you’re going to lose your child, wondering how you’ll get through the day, praying you’re going to have enough money to make it through the month…well, mikvah becomes a little less important.

Nearly two years after it began and just over five years from the first time I went to the mikvah, I received my civil divorce. One hurdle down. No surprise, the non-religious ex had been refusing to give a get. That was the threat during the entire divorce proceeding. And trust me, that was as real a threat as fearing the loss of my child.

B”H, I got my get on a rainy Friday afternoon. I became a free woman only an hour before Shabbat. I so wanted to mark the occasion. My child, my parents, who were visiting, and I attended Kabbalat Shabbat services. That helped. But what I really wanted to do was cleanse myself of the legalities, the screaming, the fears, the sleepless nights, the threats. I wanted to go to the mikvah.

Nope. There are no “approved” rituals for personalizing divorce. Yes, there is the get process. But that was awful. There you are, a woman, alone with a group of old bearded men. The ex told everyone there that he wanted to stay married and all sorts of hooey. The ex also stuck me with the entire tab for the get. Whatever. So, what do you do when…

In a small community I couldn’t go to the mikvah. I couldn’t or wouldn’t want to be in a position of having to explain my absence. I asked the Orthodox rav who performed my wedding. I asked a close relative, a Conservative rabbi. No go. Although I’ve been attending a Conservative shul for a couple of years now, I still go back to an Orthodox rabbi for mikvah and kashrut issues. He said no, so no.

The next time I went to the mikvah was just before I remarried. I was more excited to go this time than ever before and was lucky to be accompanied a friend who also was immersing that night. OK, I know it’s supposed to be private and all…but it was tremendously special nonetheless.

Obviously a lot has gone in only a few years. The point of this rambling essay was in a sense, less about my story and more about a gray area. It’s murky if you’re not Orthodox. It’s a big question mark if you want to acknowledge a loss or a transition with mikvah. There’s not the big “kosher” stamp of approval. Sure, I could go to a lake. But legitimacy is missing. Keeping mikvah as a Conservative Jew (or Conservadox) is like hearing Zero Mostel sing about a Fiddler on the Roof.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately (including an unpublished master’s thesis from someone at JTS on the intentions and uses of mikvah). I made the halachic decision. I’m not sure if I made the right decision. I still wish there would have been a way to clean myself of my marriage (or its end) in those rejuvenating waters.

I leave it out there for the other learned women on this forum to continue the discussion. I hope one day using mikvah to mark life transitions (in addition to those already accepted) in modern, culturally sensitive ways will be accepted in some way, shape or form. Or maybe I just defined Conservative Judaism.

The ex and I took a trip to Peru and Bolivia to celebrate the end of his medical training. The trip was amazing: the Amazon, Macchu Picchu, surviving off granola bars and canned tuna, the gold museum in Lima, the alpaca wool shops (I knit). It was such a learning experience and culturally enriching.

But, let me tell you, getting your period in the Andes and having it continue while in the Amazon was no picnic. First off we were pretty high up in the Andes. Like needing to take medication up. Like crisp cold air up. Like some people needing additional oxygen up. Like altitude sickness up. And then down in the Amazon – below sea level – it’s hot, buggy, muggy and muddy. Oh, and did I mention the pit toilets.

OK, so the trip continues. The cans of tuna dwindle. The staining stops. The counting begins. Everything goes like clockwork.

We arrive in La Paz a day before it would be time to use the mikvah. I’d done my homework and knew there was a mikvah. This, being in the days before ubiquitous email addresses and Internet sites, I had a phone number and the name of the attendant. Of course, like many telephone numbers over seas, this one was not working.

I tried looking up mikvah in the phone book. Yeah, right. Baño religioso? Nada.

I tried looking up the synagogue in the phone book. For security reasons, not listed.

OK, so now what? At least the ex spoke Spanish.

So, being the resourceful person I am I said let’s look up Jewish names in the white pages. I found one Esther Levy. Sounded promising. Said ex got on the phone and asked 1. if she was Jewish (she must have been more than a little concerned) 2. and if affirmative did she have the contact information for the baño religioso? Si!

Ex then called the rabbi and explained – in his high school level Spanish – that he was Ploni ben Ploni and a member of Congregation XX in City, U.S and that Rabbi So and So was our rav. He then said that his wife, Plonit Plonit bat Ploni Ploni ha Kohen, needed to use the mikvah. The rabbi seemed more than a little surprised at the request. He did, however, pass on the name of the attendant.

Ex then called the attendant (a man?!). He repeated the same spiel. No dice. Mr. Attendant said that the water was cold. So, I could handle a few dunks in unheated water. I thought back to the many stories of women in Communist Russia who braved ice covered mikvahs in secret. Nope. Mr. Attendant said it would take several days to bring up the temperature in the mikvah and no, I could not use it – freezing or otherwise.

I’m not sure if Mr. Attendant thought I was some nut bar who wanted to get into the mikvah for nefarious purposes. Right. Malicious skinny dipping. Face it, if I listed my Hebrew name, my father’s Hebrew name, the location of my shul and the name of my rav and if I actively sought out using the mikvah wouldn’t that say something? Guess not.

I remained unavailable for the rest of the vacation. Considering that part of my marriage and ex's lack of abilities in that department, it wasn't such a hardship. Notice: he's my ex.

We flew home two days later and I was back to using my community mikvah by nightfall. Later I shared this story with our rabbi who was mildly amused. Happily I’ve arranged subsequent vacations to coincide with my available times or pregnancies. And so ends my South American vacation and my attempt to use the La Paz mikvah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My then- fiancé tried to be supportive. He even drove me to my appointment on the Thursday before our Sunday ceremony and we made plans to go out for dessert afterward. So, what did I know about not seeing each other the week before the wedding?

When I think back to my first mikvah experience, I feel a tinge of regret. I didn’t know fully what I was doing but I knew why I was doing it. I wanted to start off my marriage on the right foot. I wanted to keep T”H because HaShem said so. That was good enough for me. That I wasn’t sure then – or now – if I have any real faith is irrelevant. I’m hedging my bets.

But here’s the thing. If you’re not frum, BT or FFB, there really aren’t kallah classes out there – at least not in my community. There aren’t enough Jewish weddings here even to merit a formal educational system.

Our average Conservative or Reform rabbis don’t point engaged couples toward using the mikvah to sanctify an impending wedding or as part of a Jewish marriage. For conversion? Yes. Marriage? No. Most of the women who use our mikvah are frum. Those handful of non-Orthodox women come to using the mikvah with different stories and with varying degrees of preparation.

Anyway, I wish there were kallah classes for the non-Orthodox. I wanted to do things right. I still do. I had no idea then about bedikah or veset or charting or candlelighting times and so on. I knew to clean my ears and belly button. Gee, that’s useful. I knew to take off my contact lenses and nail polish. OK, that’s helpful. But the actual mechanics of the white days, checking and not passing the salt to your spouse? There’s still so much to learn.

The years have passed. Mikvah is still a part of my life. It’s like these two things are bookends. In the middle the chapters have definitely changed and the book is not at all the one I started reading. I still want to take a class to learn how to observe T”H properly. Perhaps being a part of this new venture will spur me into action. I’m looking forward to learning from you, toward growing in my observance and to finally, hopefully, really, doing it right.