I've waited 15 years for this.It took 15 years for my immersion in a mikvah to be a neutral experience. Not traumatic. Not painful. Neutral. From the very first time immersing in a mikvah, a few days before my wedding, I was on my own. Searching in the dark, in unfamiliar territory.

There is a moment in the day that belongs neither to daylight nor to night. The sun has already slipped behind the mountains, the sky glows first orange, then crimson, and finally deep blue, while the stars are still reluctant to appear. It is a suspended moment - delicate, elusive, impossible to grasp. The Sages call it ben hashemashot, literally "between the suns": the interval stretching from sunset, shkiyah, until the appearance of the stars, tzeit hakochavim.

Ever been at a gathering and something breaks accidentally and, at the sound of shattering glass everyone jokingly shouts “Mazal tov!”? It’s one of the most ironic reactions embedded into our Jewish culture – that the sound of breaking glass triggers a raucous shout of joy and celebration.

Nobody looks at me and thinks: she's suffering from a mental illness. That's the thing about trichotillomania — it hides. It hides under eyeliner, under wigs, under thick headbands, under the perfectly ordinary face I show the world. And once a month, at the mikveh, it can't hide anymore.

I just started a PhD program in Jewish Studies. The first course is in research methods, and as we work to articulate what we want to study, this week we were taught about the "why." Academic interest is something — but being motivated beyond just the theoretical is something more.

Exploring how Jewish families upheld Taharat HaMishpacha and mikveh during the Holocaust, and how their quiet heroism helped rebuild Jewish life.