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.

Pesach is a time of deep meaning, filled with ritual, family, and the retelling of our journey from Mitzrayim to Geula. But for many women, the rhythm of the holiday can intersect with another important rhythm, the mitzvah of tevillah. When mikveh night falls on or around the seder, it can raise both practical and emotional questions.

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.

What happens when mikveh night collides with drinking, seuda, and Purim revelry? Can you go to the mikveh after drinking? What if one spouse is intoxicated and not aware of boundaries when in niddah?

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.

I was 35 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. At the time, I had four little kids, ages six to one and a half. Overnight, we were thrown into a new world — genetics, surgery, chemo, and radiation.