the forest for the trees
I know these are not the things to focus on. Taharat hamishpacha is not about the picky details; there's a grander drama going on, of separation and reunion, of longing and anticipation. It can be a pain, but it can also be high romance. As my kallah teacher memorably said (this will probably identify her to some of you), "If you come home from mikvah upset by the hairs the woman before you left on the tub, you've really missed the boat."
But the details can make a difference, at least for me. Being at an unfamiliar mikvah last month threw some of them into higher relief for me.
- All-white bathrobes, towels, and wash cloths. Why? Why??? Am I the only one who never sits down on anything white, from the moment my 7th day is over? Am I the only one who sometimes makes it to mikvah by the skin of my teeth, and worries until I'm actually under the water that I'll look down and see fresh blood? I don't need any more anxiety at the mikvah, thank you, I can manufacture enough of that on my own.
- The lack of consistency about how much of my backside the mikvah attendant wants to check. It's not a big deal to me, either way; check just under my hair, or check the whole thing -- I don't care. What I don't like is trying to feel out which it is, dropping the top of my robe first, then guessing from her hands whether she's trying to pull the rest of it off. What I especially don't like is shrugging out of the entire thing, then realizing she didn't want to see that much of me, at all. (But thanks for sharing!)
And here's one that made a difference in a good way: my home mikvah has recently switched from frumpy beige, never entirely clean, healthcare worker-looking slippers -- or paper slippers which fall apart at the first drop of moisture -- to embroidered plastic mesh slippers in girly colors: blueberry, lime green, hot pink. Does it matter that they obviously got them at the dollar store down the block? Not a bit. They make me feel pretty.
I don't know about you, but by the time I'm ready to immerse my hair is half sopping and half faster drying frizz, I'm wearing my never-leave-the-house glasses instead of my contacts, and my skin is splotched red from the steam and scrubbing. And of course I'm about to be naked in front of someone who has no reason to overlook my figure flaws out of love. I'm vulnerable, I guess. And I'm supposed to go home in fifteen minutes and feel like a love goddess?
Every bit of pretty helps, that's all I'm saying.
Comments
I know exactly what you mean, Latte...
And I forgot about the part where they say "Kosher!" too fast. I've still got water in my ears when I first come up, I have no idea what they just said -- but I don't want to talk between my first dunk and the bracha! So I turn around like an idiot and stare at them, hoping they'll say it again. This time the attendant said helpfully, "Oh, do you need a washcloth for your head?" instead.
Sigh.
Giggle. I wear glasses all the time, so there's no wearing my glasses issues...except that I'm so used to wearing them, I forget to take them off! One time the attendant didn't notice that I was still wearing them as I started heading down the steps into the mikveh...and I suddenly realized that the mikveh looked unusually crisp...oops.
Giggling here,too. Been there, done that - the water in my ears so I can't hear "kosher" AND the glasses still on. (but at least not the same time)
And eden - as far as "going home in 15 minutes . . " - I usually find that the relief that I'm DONE (no more stressing!) tends to slide into relaxation and anticipation as I get dressed. Because I'm heading home to the one who has every reason to overlook my figure flaws out of love.
Water in my eyes, the noise of the water, AND my hair forms a helmet around my head, completely blocking out all sound. I used to push back my hair from my ears as I came up, so I could hear, but I was told I can't do that. So now I intently listen to the noises coming from the attendant's direction. If it seems like a short burst, like a "k-SHARE" I keep dunking. If I hear a monotone drone, I asume she's saying "do it again" or something similar.
Of course, for the first immersion, I figure, if she's puttin' the doily on my kopf (head), it musta been kosher ;)
One of these times, I'm going to go in with my glasses on, and take them off just immediately before I immerse. Wonder if it will make a difference?
Is there an Inyan to hear the word Kosher?
I know once I immersed incorrectly and the attendant didn't say treif...but made sure I knew to do it again.
If there isn't an inyan to hear the word kosher, and you immerse more than once, I assume you can just carry on.
They know where to find you, if there's a problem!
i've also wondered about all those white towels...when i mentioned them to my husband he freaked!! (are they trying to make us find problems? i'm sure they're not, so why the white ?)on the topic of towels, though, when i first got married, one of my sets of bath towels was burgundy...i found out pretty quickly not to use those towels during 7 neki'im! the truth (of towel color!) must be somewhere in between!!
I hear you - we have a bright red netilas yadayim towel (embroidered and all that) that sheds like crazy. Am I glad it's only a hand towel!
And I once found a random loose red thread on an as-yet-unused bedikah cloth - good thing I looked first - that could have induced a real panic.
Adding to this is my own personal insecurity or nervousness each time I go to the mikvah. Without my contacts and often forgetting to bring my "please don't make me go out in public" glasses, when it comes to saying the bracha and Yehi Ratzon, there I am with a washcloth on my head, blind as a bat and panicking that I will mess up on the Hebrew. How can I focus on the moment when I'm stressing that I'll look like an idiot -- flubbing the prayers I know that I know -- as I stand in front of the attendant?