Mayim Rabim

The following is my own unofficial translation of a Hebrew article to which Out of Step Jew linked recently (see "Contributions From Other Sites").

Oppression of Women by Women
or How I Almost Became a Mikvah Attendant:
The overbearing supervision of some mikvah attendants turns mikvah visits into humiliating experiences for women. One woman's personal testimony, which is somewhat funny and very sad.

I'm not the type of person to relate my experiences at the mikvah, or even in less intimate places, but I have to get this off my chest. Here's what happened: I found a nice mikvah. I rang the bell and waited, happily (because there was no line and because in ten minutes I'd be going home) to be called to immerse. I was called. A very nice attendant, smiling, signaled me to hold out my hand. A warning light went on: she was one of those, from the old mikvahs, the ones I'd run away from, where they check to make sure you've cut your fingernails and don't have any specks on your body or loose hairs clinging to your back. I held out my hands, like a first grade student holding out his hands to be checked for cleanliness. The attendant gently passed her finger over a suspicious finger of mine, but she decided to let it pass. Afterward she checked my face, proceeded to my hair, and remarked with a smile that it was short, so surely there was no reason to suspect any loose or hanging hair. I decided to subject myself to the pressure. (Why didn't I say anything? I have a response. I thought of it later, when I was dressed. It's easier to think when you're dressed.) Did she intend to continue checking my entire body? Apparently not. Instead of checking my body, she gave me a pop quiz. The nice, smiling mikvah attendant asked: had I done a hefsek tahara? I answered that I had, only so that she would let me in the water. But she persisted: when? At this point I was seriously nervous. I blanked: what is a hefsek tahara, when the flow of blood stops, or the final self-examination on the seventh day? I gambled on the seventh day. (Why didn't I ask her what it was? I have a response. I thought of it later, when I was dressed. It's easier to think when you're dressed.) I said: this morning. The smile on her face disappeared, and an expression of shock mixed with censure took its place: today?! I understood that the answer I'd given was incorrect. Make a mistake, try again. Like a child trying to guess the answer on an oral exam. What the hell is eight times four? Twenty four, right? Maybe thirty six? If only they'd leave me alone! Finally I said, yesterday morning. The shock on her face increased. Yesterday morning?! I realized that I was stuck, that I wouldn't get into the water, that there was a chance she might send me to the principal, to the religious court, to the chief rabbinate (and that wouldn't be pleasant, I still wasn't dressed, a towel hanging from my body -- how embarrassing). Or maybe, at that point, in the depths of my miserable soul, some consciousness was kindled, some tiny spark of self-esteem, a glimmer of awareness that I wasn't actually taking an exam, and even if I was -- why shouldn't I ask the teacher to give me some hint, even if it meant they would deduct a few points! So I asked: wait, what is a hefsek tahara, is it the end of the flow, or the self-examination at the end of the seven clean days? And the smiling teacher/ supervisor answered with a question: when did your flow end? That kind of question I could answer, without doubt. I straightened up and responded: seven days ago. This almost satisfied her, but then she remembered my previous lie, and asked: wait, then couldn't you have come here last night? My self-esteem was almost entirely restored and I responded, lamely: no, I couldn't have. Somehow, this satisfied her and I made it to the finish line, to the edge of the warm waters.

Big Sister is Watching
I entered the water, and I wanted to stay there, for the life of me, to drown myself from all the humiliation, from all the misery of the situation, and from my own misery. Why hadn't I said to her calmly: excuse me, I want to immerse, and I have no interest in answering these questions, I'm competent in Jewish law and observe it, and that's why I'm here. I'd be happy to talk to you when I'm dressed, whenever we have the time. Instead, I lied like a little girl! I got nervous, I didn't know the answer, I lied twice, and then I had to lie again in order to complete the picture. Why had I allowed her to humiliate me? Why had I taken part in the act? Why did she have to know whether and when I'd done a hefsek tahara? Her authoritative position in combination with her clothing, in contrast to my position as customer/ guest/ beneficiary in combination with my lack of clothing immediately made me an actress with a script that I would not have have allowed myself to be afflicted with under any other circumstances. If I came to the mikvah, presumably I wanted to immerse, presumably I needed to immerse. And what if the attendant had discovered that I hadn't counted seven clean days, would she have sent me home with a note to my parents and a copy for the Master of the Universe? Is this what they teach in the course for mikvah attendants? Is there any other commandment that the authority is so involved in making sure I fulfill properly, to the point of pedantry? Why don't deputies from the religious authorities come to my home from time to time to see what I'm cooking for the Sabbath, and how, and whether I finish all the preparation before the Sabbath begins? Why aren't there examinations of my meat and dairy pots? Why don't they help me avoid speaking badly of people, and prevent me from gossiping -- someone, some Big Brother -- each time I stumble (after all, I do stumble, and I do, after all, need help)?! Why don't they appoint an overseer in the synagogue to reprimand us when we, God forbid, chatter during prayers, or appear unfocused? After all these thoughts, all that was left for me to do was to dry myself off, feel sorry for myself, and be comforted by the fact that it would be another four weeks before the next time, and that at some point I intended to become pregnant again, and that in the more distant future I would be entirely free of this mix of emotions, this purification ritual. When I arrived at home, after being angry at the attendant and at myself and after laughing at the attendant and at myself, I suddenly cried out: I'm going to be a mikvah attendant. If you want to change something, it doesn't help to just complain. I'll be a different kind of attendant, I'll show that it's possible to do exactly what's necessary to help a woman, that I can ask each woman how she wants to be helped and not turn myself into an oppressor in the name of Jewish law and humiliate her. Later, I decided to sleep on it. I woke up in the morning and was no longer certain that I was such an idealist, that I would be able to join some women in the mikvah (since at this point I'm free of obligation for four weeks between immersions), and beyond that, I wasn't certain that I'd be able to be answerable to those women who did want me to examine them, or, worse than that -- I would scratch their bodies trying to locate any obstructions to immersion that remained on them. After all, there was a reason that I didn't choose to study medicine or the related fields, but rather, decided to involve myself in the spiritual realm, right?

Up to this point, I've related my experiences and feelings. Do I have something learned and reasoned to say, or am I just whining? Before I started writing, I said to myself -- if you're going to write something serious, and if you want people to pay serious attention to it, you have check: maybe this really is an exceptional area of Jewish law? Maybe there is some reason that, with regard to this issue, you aren't trusted, and they appoint overseers and examiners to make sure you're behaving properly?! Later, I thought it over and said to myself -- I don't care. Let them say that I don't really understand the subject of the purity of Israel, let them say that I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, let them say that, in the end, the nice mikvah attendant helped me fulfill the law, let them even say that it's an obligation and find proofs for it in the Torah. I'm not out looking for them.

I'm just not willing to take this. I'm not willing to have a woman oppress me, to oppress in the sense of acting as a helper from a position of inequality, under unfamiliar conditions and unnecessarily. I'm not willing to experience humiliation. Let me be clear: I want to immerse. It is a legal obligation and I want to fulfill it like the other commandments. It isn't clear to me why they have to add to my hardship. Why women think that when I'm naked, on the edge of the mikvah, that's the time to quiz me on my knowledge of Jewish law or my mode of religious observance. Why they think that after I've checked myself -- as Jewish law requires -- they have to check me again, in case they find something. After all, we're on our own, and there's no Big Sister to say "nu nu nu" and smile as a sign of approval. Or maybe this isn't something they think up on their own, but rather, something they teach them in preparation for the job? Then why is this what they teach them? And why don't they think a little for themselves and rebel or object, or at least temper this behavior a bit -- after all, they're dressed, they can think comfortably, weigh issues and make decisions. True, you could look at my formative experience and conclude: in the end, it's your problem that you got nervous and lied. The fact that you're a liar doesn't mean that world, or Jewish law, or the religious establishment has to change. Work on the way you respond to pressure, you could say, be mature. You could. But it seems to me that my little lies aren't only my problem. I go around lying or feeling sorry for myself or dreaming about being a mikvah attendant. Other women simply don't go. Everyone has her own struggles, but it seems to me that for most of us this is a struggle, and not exactly a religious experience, this mikvah. And if not -- then say so, after all, hardly anyone ever talks about it! And one more thing -- this is really what I think and feel, and I really want set this matter right in order to fulfill the commandment of immersion and not in order to mar it or to rebel. Really, I'm not lying about this (I'm dressed).