Mayim Rabim

NOTE: I composed this post before reading about Tall Latte's strikingly similar experience. Next time: thoughts on chatan and kallah classes for non-Orthodox couples.

You might call it a sign of the times.

I was raised in a Modern Orthodox home (perhaps more “modern” than “Orthodox”). My mother tells me that she never visited a mikveh. I no longer consider myself Orthodox, yet I visit the mikveh every month.

There was never any question in my mind that I would observe the laws of Taharat Ha-mishpachah (T”H) in some form. My husband and I both attended Modern Orthodox day schools, and, although they left us skeptical of Orthodoxy in many respects, they also left us with a certain respect for the halachic system. It seemed hypocritical to observe so many of the “public” aspects of halacha (Shabbat, kashrut, etc.) while rejecting the “private” aspects.

There were decisions to be made, however – decisions that my husband insisted upon leaving up to me. Certain Conservative authorities permit a lenient approach to T”H, allowing couples to share a bed during niddah and maintain a (non-sexual) physical relationship, and allowing women to use the mikveh one day after menstruation rather than seven. I could see the logic behind this position (and I had no intention of discontinuing my physical relationship with fiancé after getting married), but I was uneasy with the idea of eliminating the “seven clean days.” Stringency or not, the “clean days” have been part of Jewish observance for millennia, and cannot (I thought) be abrogated without reasonable justification. At the very least, I wanted to know that my practice was in keeping with the standard of an observant community. This was a problem, since T”H is such a private matter. One doesn’t know how many couples observe the laws in any given way.

A related decision that I faced was whether or not to take a “kallah class.” As far as I know, all such classes are taught by Orthodox women, and I was uncomfortable with the idea of learning halachah l’ma’aseh (“practical law”) from a real live person and then failing to observe it. If I took lessons, I would have to commit to traditional practice.

As my wedding day approached, I decided that I was not prepared to make that commitment. Unfortunately, I made my decision without grasping the complexity of the laws and customs that surround T”H, and without being aware of the nuts-and-bolts issues that accompany visits to the mikveh. Entering the building was like landing in a foreign country. A woman in a sheitl escorted me into a preparation room, where I encountered two rather distressing signs. One sign warned of the importance of consulting a rav regarding ambiguous “colors.” The other was a list of instructions, including a few unexpected ones, such as “remove all hair that is usually removed,” and “clean genitals and anus – also internally.” After 45 minutes of obsessive-compulsive preparation, I asked to be escorted to the mikveh, only to realize that I did not know when to say the blessing, and was suddenly uncertain of the words. (Having removed my contact lenses, I did not realize that the blessing was written on the wall.) I left without paying, because I did not realize that there was a fee.

After this first visit, I was naturally inclined to do a bit of research. Like most research, it made me only more cognizant of my ignorance. I began to realize that there were many more decisions to be made than I had thought. Would I do a hefsek taharah? Would I observe vestot? If I found ambiguous “colors” on my underwear or bedikah cloth, would I show them to a rabbi? If so, who? Then there were the minor issues: Bath or shower? How many dunks? Should I worry about the color of my underwear? How low should I file my nails? It was all a bit overwhelming, and I didn’t know where to turn for guidance. More than halachic guidance, I wished that I could talk to someone with experience, someone who had made decisions similar to mine and had ultimately found a practice with which she was comfortable.

I would have been thrilled if this blog had existed at that time. Now that it does, I hope that my presence can provide an opportunity for those with a less traditional approach to halacha to ask questions and share thoughts on the practical and philosophical issues that T”H raises. I am also looking forward to hearing from women who don’t approach these matters the way I do. Because T”H normally applies only after marriage, we all experience the laws as new and strange at some point, and that experience is prolonged by the aura of secrecy that surrounds the practice. Many thanks to the woman who started this blog, for giving us a chance to clear some of that secrecy away.