Last Mikvah

Image by thabisfotowelt from Pixabay

I finished my 27 years of mikvah going on November 15, 2022 (22 Marheshvan). That means I have spent close to half my life going to the mikvah. For much of that time, I have gone to the mikveh monthly. I have dunked over 600 times and, I am proud to say, I have had only 1 redo. 

Mikvah is a tour through my married life. My mikvah life began with that first uncomfortable visit right before my wedding where my mother took me to the Pittsburgh mikvah. In retrospect, I understand that having my mother, who faithfully went to the mikvah herself, initiate me into this private practice is a blessing, but at the time it was embarrassing. 

But nowhere near as embarrassing as the second time. The first time I went to the mikvah after our wedding was the second seder at my in-laws. This would become a pattern. I have gone to the mikvah 5 times on seder night, not that I keep count or anything. 

But other than providing many embarrassing moments and crazy adventures, my mikvah-going is a statement of my values and reflects an evolution of my character and of my marriage. Like many girls of my time, I didn’t learn about the laws of niddah at school or from my mother, but from peeking at one of the few English language guides to the laws of niddah or taharat hamishpacha (family purity), as it is euphemistically known. In my case, it was Eliyahu Kitov’s A Jew and his Home, a rather ironic title for the book that introduced me to the laws of niddah. Other than that, we girls watched our mothers like hawks looking for signs of mikvah attendance. The standard giveaway was the nighttime grocery shopping. 

We had one class in school when mikvah was mentioned - no discussion about sex or the specifics of niddah. It was impressed upon us that going to the mikvah was our sacred duty ensuring the sanctity of our future homes, and that women through the generations had sacrificed to go to the mikvah. As Lubavitchers are Russians, we were told about the women who dug through the ice to immerse in the frigid waters of Siberia. 

After hearing some of my mikvah adventure stories - driving 60 miles each way while on a family vacation; the above-mentioned seder nights; going to the mikvah which is next door to my shul during shul dinners, one of my friends asked me why I hadn’t just delayed going for the one night. It had not even occurred to me. Going to the mikvah is inconvenient; sometimes there are blizzard conditions (though not Siberia level) and sometimes it’s awkward. But it’s a sacred commitment I’ve made - to God, to myself, to my husband; no one else can do this mitzvah for me. And, like my foremothers, I am proud of my commitment, my sacrifices - sometimes small, sometimes significant - that I make to observe this mitzvah.

Going to the mikvah reflects where I am on my life journey. In the early days of marriage, I went to a mikvah that was definitely not spa-like and I don’t think I ever really noticed exactly how decrepit it was - the aesthetics were of little interest as the “off days” were finally about to be over. As a young mother, I looked forward to the time spent alone grooming, bathing and leaving the house to get to the mikvah. As I entered my 40s and my friends with IUDs had years between mikvah visits while I was still going every month, I couldn’t properly share these moments with my peers and that was certainly true in my early and mid-50s when I felt like I was the only gray-haired woman at the mikvah. Thank God for crazy mikvah stories! Telling these stories, eliciting the laughs, affirmed that I was doing something special, even unique. 

And then there was COVID. I was still using the mikvah every month when COVID struck. After speaking to a friend who’s an infectious diseases specialist and who had consulted on hundreds of mikvaot during the pandemic, I was reassured that the mikvah was as safe as it could be and continued going. Many women called me to share their concerns and I was able to give them a monthly update on what safety measures our mikvah was implementing. 

I’m finally done with this lengthy period of my life. I can’t say, at least yet, that I miss it but I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye. My mikvah going ended without warning. There was no guessing - will this be the last time? It just ended, full stop. I have no memory of the last time I went; it was no more remarkable than the time before. I wish I had known and that I could’ve marked that last time - the last “kosher,” the last bracha, the last dunk. I missed that chance and that, I grieve.

Rabbanit Devorah Zlochower is Senior Scholar, mashgicha ruchanit and has taught Talmud and Halakhah for 30 years. She is currently writing a memoir on her journey to learning and teaching gemara.