When the war broke out over Shabbat, I wasn’t sure how we would even be able to open the mikvaot. Although it wasn’t technically my problem to solve, it weighed heavily on my mind. Somehow, I knew we would find a way. It just meant opening during our shifts and working around the sirens ensuring each mikvah had a safe room.

Taharat hamishpacha and mikveh are often spoken about in the language of closeness, renewal, and anticipation. When you are going through challenges in your marriage (and/or considering divorce), those same practices can feel heavy, confusing, lonely, or even painful. The halachot themselves do not change, but the emotional landscape around them absolutely does.

When I was learning to become a balanit , one of the main messages that was woven through each session is that the women who come to the mikvah are people, each with their own story. As balaniot we rarely are privy to those stories: struggle with niddah/mikvah, a fight with her husband, a sick parent, infertility, stress at work—or anything else we carry with us throughout our day.

As a Mikvah attendant, I have witnessed many moments of deep emotion and transformation. But one evening stands out with particular tenderness — when I had the honor of guiding a woman, a friend, through her Mikvah immersion following a hysterectomy due to breast cancer.

For many years, one of my most personal companions was the mikvah. It arrived in my life when I was young and newly married — a little nervous, a little unsure, clutching a towel and a sense that I was stepping into something ancient and intimate.

For many women, immersing in the mikveh is one of the most private and spiritual moments of the month, a time for reflection, renewal, and connection.  Yet, even in such a sacred space, it’s not only allowed but essential to advocate for your comfort and sense of dignity.