Mayim Rabim

If you read this post and this post, you know that I am now using two forms of birth control, and that I don't always remember to use both. This time I forgot the pill -- for three days! -- and I didn't realize it until I spontaneously started bleeding.

To be fair to myself, I didn't just "forget" for three consecutive days. I take several medications, and I usually put them, along with the BC, in a one-week pill holder. It's a good system, but you do have to remember to put all the pills in at the beginning of the week. And, as I've mentioned, I'm an idiot.

I know, I know. Don't be so hard on yourself, Ruchama! But I went to the mikvah less than a week ago. And I hate that this is my fault.

As I mentioned earlier, I recently had to start using a diaphragm because a medication that I'm taking interferes with horemonal birth control. What I didn't mention is that I continued to take the pill at the advice of the nurse practitioner who fitted me for the diaphragm. I gathered that this had something to do with the fact that diaphragms are only 80%-90% effective, and that it isn't a great idea to get pregnant while taking medication. This didn't strike me as an entirely satisfactory explanation, since the drug is class B, which means that I could stop taking it at the first sign of pregnancy with a very low chance of ill effects. I rarely argue with medical experts, however, so I took my two prescriptions -- one for a diaphragm, and one for birth control pills -- and left.

I filled the diaphragm prescription right away, but I still had a pack of birth control pills plus a few extras, so I set the pill prescription aside. I decided to give myself some time to decide whether to keep taking the pill, and maybe get a second opinion from my GP. So I put off filling the prescription until the last minute, and then I couldn't find it, and then I ran out of pills and it was Friday afternoon and I decided, to hell with it, I had a diaphragm anyway.

That was my first act of idiocy. My second was ignoring Avigayil's advice and looking at the diaphragm when I took it out yesterday morning. There was blood on it -- real blood this time. I emailed the new rabbi (more on her later) and quickly filled my prescription, but it was to late. I am still bleeding, so in accordance with her instructions I will have to consider myself niddah, barely a week after my last mikvah visit.

I couldn't bear to tell my husband that these seven extra days of celibacy are my fault for going off the pill in the middle of the month, so I told him that the spotting was probably the result of the new meds interfering with the pill. Now I feel doubly crappy -- I never lie to my husband. Maybe I'll tell him the truth when he comes home. Or maybe he'll read this post. Either way, it won't make the situation any better.

Ugh. My stupid period had to come at nighttime this time around, for possibly the first time since I got married. Calculating vestot is going to be a blast...

Wait, could this be possible? I have a 48-hour period blocked off in February for two successive vestot? Over a weekend, no less? Well, maybe not really, because I don't really have to keep 24 hours for both of them, but this time of year a nighttime veset is essentially the same as an all-day one.

The most ridiculous part of it is that I know I won't get my period then. Not without some drugs, anyway. Sometimes, I think halacha is just plain dumb.

Okay, so they told me, but I wasn't paying attention. Or maybe I just didn't have the information I could use to process what they told me. I was too busy getting annoyed about doing bedikot, and going to the mikvah, and covering my hair. When I was given a talk about the dangers of emotional distance during harchakot, or when my kallah teacher said, "I know you think it will be just like being shomer negiah now, but it's different when you have that intimacy and then it's taken away," I sort of acknowledged what they said but didn't really process it. How could I? I didn't have all the information. I didn't have the slightest idea what intimacy was.

Well, everything else went better than expected. My first visit to the mikvah was pleasant. Covering my hair turned out to be, while not something I'm thrilled with, not half as uncomfortable or annoying as my mind had built it up to be. I got married, and hugged my husband (husband!) for the first time in the yichud room. And partly because we had agreed we needed time to ease into things, and partly because of our comic cluelessness over how exactly to go about said things, I didn't become a niddah until we had been married for nearly a week. Despite the sheer exhaustion of sheva brachot, it was one of the best weeks of my life. In fact, when I did become a niddah, there was almost a sense of "it's about time" - like life had to become normal again, and this was the first step. I pulled the beds apart and went to shower without a second thought except, "I should probably review the harchakot again."

And then, the first night of the first niddah period of my marriage, I cried myself to sleep. At first I didn't even know why I was crying, but I couldn't hold back the tears.

My misery lasted for about four days before I started feeling normal again, but they were among the most unhappy days of my life – even though I had just gotten married a week ago, even though the week before had been one of the happiest weeks of my life. Then it got better, and I started feeling normal again. I thought maybe it was just the first time, because it was such a shock, because the method of becoming a niddah the first time is so discongruous. (Not a real word, I know, but it’s the best word I can come up with.) About a month later I became a niddah again, and for the first day and a half everything was fine. We were visiting my family, and I was distracted. The misery didn’t start until the car ride home.

I am now a niddah for the third time in my life, and even worse than the pain (crying myself to sleep, check; being ridiculously emotional about other things in my life, check) is the thought of going through this periodically for the next 30 years or so. I can’t do it. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and I think I’m a strong person; but all those problems, no matter how insoluble they seemed, were at least understood. This time, I have no idea what’s happening to me. Why do I feel this way? It’s not like my husband pays less attention to me when I’m a niddah; in fact, he spends a lot of time trying to make me feel better even though he has no understanding of what I’m going through. (And how could he, when even I don’t know what’s going on with me?) I feel like I miss him, but he’s right here.

I need help. I need help in understanding what I feel and how, and – if possible – finding ways to make this less intense, to make me feel better. I know from talking to my friends that there are some women who find niddah nothing more than a mild annoyance, but I know from reading this site that there women who find it as hard as I do (and thank goodness for this site, by the way). So it is here that I turn for help. Does anyone have any wisdom to offer me? Advice? Suggestions? Anything? Please?

- Jamie

Jamie is a recently-married woman in her late 20s. She is Orthodox, and fully committed even if not fully convinced.

You know, I thought I had something specific to say about this topic, but the more I read about it the less coherent I get. All I can say is, I'm struggling with it.

For those unfamiliar with the term, a "ben niddah" is a child conceived while the mother was a niddah. I don't have access to a Bar Ilan CD right now, so I can't give you a comprehensive list of sources. I'll quote an excerpt from an article by Rabbi Weinberger (that appeared in the Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society) instead:

all the Rishonim agree that a ben-niddah is more likely than another person to diverge from the path of Torah observance and acceptable ethical behavior because of the qualities inherited from his parents.88 They, therefore, concur that it is preferable to avoid marrying an individual who is known to be the child of a niddah.

In fact, it should be much less upsetting. The majority of gedolim in my circle have dismissed the ben niddah concern nowadays. But the reasons they have come up with for doing so seem so strained. To paraphrase some examples from the same article:

The Steipler Gaon: The concern regarding a ben niddah's character is merely statistical. If an individual shows good character, he is obviously an exception and the warning can be ignored.

Another opinion cited by the Steipler Gaon: The blemish of ben niddah is hereditary for an infinite number of generations, not just one, and in fact all of us are likely to have it (or some other blemish) somewhere back in our lineage. So we're all on equal ground and have no reason not to marry each other.

Rav Moshe Feinstein: In many cases we can't be certain the mother was truly a niddah mide'oraita, because maybe she went swimming after her period in a body of water that qualifies as a mikvah, and thereby became tehorah. (Rav Moshe does not discuss the fact that she would most likely have been wearing a tight-fitting bathing suit at the time.)

In the case of a firm halachic concern, these kinds of apologetics would impress me; it would show how far rabbis will stretch credibility in order to find a way to be lenient. But the thing is, this ISN'T a question of halacha. It's a question of "pagum" (taint):

What is the definition of pagum? The Beit Shmuel quotes the Oarchei [sic] Moshe:

He is tainted and his family is not meyuchas  [genealogically pure] and it is proper to keep a distance from them [in terms of marriage]. Nevertheless, he is not pagum in terms of any actual issur and [if it is a girl] she can marry a kohen.

I do think his or her family background is important insofar as it may affect your own marriage, and there's certainly statistical evidence for some of these effects: for instance, that abused children can be more likely to become abusive parents, or that being the child of a bitter divorce can set a negative example for conflict resolution in a future marriage. Maybe the concept of ben niddah is just the ancient equivalent of that kind of research? It seems to me more like saying that someone is fated to display certain traits, but then again, fate used to be considered more of a science, too.

But I still can't help noticing how much this reminds me of everything we go to such lengths to deny about niddah status: That it is not derived from a superstitious fear of women's blood. That it is not a state which reflects negatively on anyone, but a natural, normal, and expected part of the life cycle.

And I guess maybe I'm a little extra touchy about ben niddah now that I've learned some rabbis cite it as an additional reason (besides the primary issue of obtaining sperm via masturbation) to forbid artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization while a woman is a niddah. Gee, that rules out a whole line of treatment for early ovulation, right there.

None of the rabbis I follow, obviously. And again, this shouldn't bother me any more than the fact that some communities consider yichus of paramount importance. In fact there's probably some overlap: bias against marrying a ba'al teshuva, for example, might be based partly on the fact that he is most likely a ben niddah.

But it does bother me. Maybe because this is a belief that affects not just how those people view me and my husband, which I could care less about, but how they will view my future children. That's personal. That's very personal.

At first I was apprehensive about my approaching labor. After all, childbirth would render me niddah, forcing a separation from my husband. After 9 months of being tahor, I dreaded once again being niddah.

But then as the contractions grew more intense, and I shifted into real labor, my focus shifted as well. Shifted and narrowed. I was forced to concentrate on each contraction as it washed over me, and I no longer wanted to prolong labor. My husband's presence in the delivery room was
important to me, but he sort of faded into the background. After all, he could offer me nothing in the way of physical support, being forbidden to touch me once labor began in earnest. But his emotional support was important to me, and very real. I needed him there: If he had been absent, I would have felt the wrongness, but since he was there, it was just part of the bigger picture, part of the harmony of the universe.

And then suddenly the baby was here, (wasn't there supposed to be a pushing stage? I think I missed it!) and being niddah meant nothing at all. I was exhilarated and exhausted, and between the baby nursing and the other kids climbing on me, the better see their new sister, I think if one more person touched me I would have screamed!

And my body is so tired, tired from pregnancy and tired from delivery. I do need time to recover before resuming my physical relationship with my husband. At first the harchakot seemed a bit silly, since I wasn't up for much more than cuddling anyway! But I remembered that he hadn't just gone through childbirth, and so they were mainly for him. And after a week or two, I needed them too, as I began to long for his touch once more, however much my body is not yet recovered.

While I "miss" the physical side of our relationship, I remember that my husband truly is my best friend, and we can relate on so many different levels. In fact, we have to remember to stop talking late into the night so that we can both get the sleep we need!

And I realize again the beauty of this arrangement, that not only gives me time to rest and recover, and helps us to develop the other aspects of our relationship, but also insures that our physical intimacy will resume, without any mixed signals, without each side wondering if
the other is "ready" yet. At some point I'll tell him I've made an appointment for the mikvah, and when I go, we'll both be on the same page, and (more than) ready for our reunion.

..Moshiach, of course. But along the way, also awaiting the end of pregnancy and the birth of a new baby. And as the birth neared, I found myself with very mixed feelings.

As the days of non-productive contractions dragged on, (this often happens when you've had a lot of babies, as I have) I found my focus was not on this new life I would (with G-d's help) merit to bring into the world within the next week or so, but on the fact that childbirth would leave me niddah. And all I wanted was for my husband to hold me and never let go.

As he put it, the baby will need me more than he will for a little while, and I'll need the space and time to recover from the trauma to my body (and let's face it, childbirth is traumatic to a woman's body.)

And yet I feel so silly and shallow, because becoming niddah is my focus, and shouldn't I instead be joyfully anticipating the birth of my baby?

It will be hard, though. Hard to not reach for him as he passes by, hard to remember not to pass things to him (after all, it's been 9 months since we had to worry about such things), hard to not be able to hand him the baby. We've done this before, many times, and we'll adjust, settle into the "new" old routine, have somewhere safe to put the baby for passing in most rooms of the house, even remember to put something on the table between us... and although it will be longer than the 2 weeks of a standard cycle, this too shall pass, and mikvah night will eventually come. Somehow knowing all that doesn't make it any easier!

Even after an incredibly long cycle (we broke into the triple digits!), even after taking progesterone to make my uterus shed its lining, even after a week of farewell kisses and laughing about how I nearly forgot where the mikvah is...it hurts to be niddah again. This morning I woke up, felt a twinge of a cramp, noticed a tiny brown dampness on my thigh (not technically niddah yet)...leaned over, gave the husband a kiss, and headed off to the bathroom with a deep sigh.

I miss him already.

Before my wedding, I took an extra birth control pill each day for three days. I needed to put off my period for about twenty-four extra hours to be in the safe zone. As luck would have it, I got it the next evening.

It wasn't until a year later that I realized what the implications of this timing were: each year, for the next five years (provided that I remained on birth control), my wedding anniversary would fall during my period. For my first anniversary, I decided to repeat what I'd done for my wedding, taking an extra pill each day for three days. I did it even though the extra pills make me sick to my stomach, because of some silly notion that on your anniversary, you're supposed to have sex.

This year, for my second anniversary, I let it go. Insetad of lingerie, I put on a dress. We went to a nice restaurant, then came home and relaxed. It got me thinking: frum women (who aren't always pregnant) must face this sort of situation pretty often. Nearly half the time (as opposed to my 1/4), the "special occasion" sex touted by secular culture is out of the question. You have to come up with different kinds of presents, different kinds of celebrations. Some might say that's better than always being able to have sex; it gets you to focus on other aspects of your relationship. Still, it must be frustrating.

On the other hand, frum couples get something that secular folks don't: a "special occasion" for sex every month. Maybe that's better than birthdays and anniversaries. You can't have everything...

Um. This just doesn’t seem kosher.

My husband and I are going away on a well-deserved vacation tomorrow. We’re leaving very early, and of course, it’s late and we still aren’t done with everything we need to do. And yeah, I’m niddah, but we kinda figured that would happen and there’s no other time we could go. So, we’ll just suck it up and deal.

Meanwhile, tonight I notice my husband is wearing pants that he wants to bring on the trip, and I want to get the backpack packed and closed. I hand him a pair of shorts, and say, “I know you’ve dreamed of hearing these words: take off your pants.”

You know what the jerk darling goes and does? He clicks something on his laptop, and the next thing I know, my husband is doing a mock strip tease to Barry White’s “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love.”

Now I ask you, is that fair?

I think not.

(Revenge is sweet: hubby says that song no longer does anything for him, since thanks to “that ad,” now all it does is remind him of erectile dysfunction. HA!)

Well. That was a first, and hopefully a last.

I had to miss mikvah night in order to make a shiva call.

We actually got home before the mikvah closed, but only by about half an hour. If I had run straight from the car to the mikvah, I think they might still have felt compelled to let me in.

But I remembered learning that if you haven't been able to start preparing before dark, it's especially important to take a full hour to prepare thoroughly, because there might be an added temptation to rush. It didn't seem right to impose on the mikvah staff to stay late when summer hours are already so late, and especially not this month, when there was no issue of fertility for us.

But I was also not sure it was right to give up when there was a remote chance I could be with my husband that night. I compromised and ran a bath while we tried to call the mikvah. The line was busy until 1 minute before closing time. When I got through, the attendant said they were closed.

I was lucky in that, as I said, it was not an issue of fertility this month. And I was lucky too, although very sad, that there was not a doubt in my mind where I was meant to be that night: at the shiva house, not at the mikvah.

But it was still a little antsy, sitting out the evening, wondering if we would somehow get home in time after all. And even after I knew that wasn't going to happen, and let it go -- it was hard to take seriously the fact that harchakot had to remain in place until tomorrow night. Why can't we just sleep in the same bed tonight? Look, I counted my seven days. I made my last bedikah. I'm an hour away from tehorah.

Except not.

It made me realize that for all I've gotten used to T"H, even found meaning in it, maybe there's some element of it that I still don't buy. Tehorah status normally coincides with my visit to the mikvah, so I've never had to tease the two things apart. I apparently take mikvah night seriously enough to obsess about it. But on a visceral level, do I feel any different after I get out of the water than I did before I got in? Do I really believe that dip in the water is what makes me transformed?

It's still a mystery.

All my menstruating life, I've had irregular periods. I've gone as long as 8 months without a period (I wasn't ovulating), but generally I fall in the 35-45 day range. In fact, over most of my married life, I've had a 33-38 day cycle averaging about 35 days long. Even after my pregnancies I reverted back to my predictable irregular/long cycle.

I have gotten use to it; it has it's pluses and minuses.

Plus - I only get my period about 9 times a year. I have a long Tahor time. I have trouble remembering the harchokas because of it. I usually feel free to not have to worry about is my period coming? Do I need to wear a black skirt just in case?

Minus - I only ovulate about 9 times a year. I have a lesser chance of getting pregnant because I'm ovulating less. Right now, while on birth control, this is not such a big deal.

So I made peace with the whole long/irregular cycle deal a long time ago. G-d and I made a deal - he'll let me have those babies (even with an infertility issue) and I won't complain about not ovulating so much.

But G-d is screwing with the deal now. The last 3 months my cycle has come the day after my benoni or chodesh. That's right. I've got a flipping 30 day cycle now. This is not okay G-d. This is definitely a violation of our deal.

I am not used to this. I've never had a cycle this short in my life. I feel like I barely got home from the mikvah and boom, I'm niddah again. How do people deal with this? Or people with 28 day cycles who can never seem to make hefsek until the seventh day (or later)?

I don't want to try and mess with "nature", I'm taking enough meds as it is, but I would like to try and figure out a way to make my period longer again. I've been menstruating the same way for 15+ years and this is a big change for me.

The following appears in a draft of a responsum by Conservative Rabbi Susan Grossman:

We live in a society that, while sensitized to sexual harassment and abuse, also treats touching between sexes very causally. . . Therefore some physical contact can continue between partners during the woman's menstruation as long as it is limited to that which is generally accepted in society between siblings.

Under these guidelines, partners should not sleep in the same bed unless clothed and should exercise modesty in undressing and dressing in front of each other during this time period. Newlyweds. . . must be particularly careful not to be drawn into physical intimacy which we might colloquially describe as necking or heavy petting.

I am inclined to take these guidelines seriously, as they appear in a responsum that I otherwise consider quite lenient. On the other hand, it is evident that the details are based on practicality rather than halacha, so it seems only reasonable for me to take my own sensibilities into account.

Here's the thing: I come from a family that's big on physical affection and not so big on clothing. My parents and sisters and I hug and kiss and cuddle all the time, and it comes naturally to me to behave the same way with my husband, without giving possible sexual implications a second thought. I wouldn't say that my interactions with my husband while niddah are just like my interactions with my mother and sisters (or, certainly, my father), but they seem a natural extension of what I consider casual, non-necessarily-sexual physical affection.

As for clothing, this may strike some of you as exceedingly odd (to put it mildly), but everyone in my nuclear family walks around the house in their underwear most of the time. Growing up, the first thing I typically did after walking through the door was take off my shoes, skirt and stockings or slacks, and when applicable, bra. Granted, as I grew older, I became more inclined to change into an oversized t-shirt, whereas with my husband I often wear no more than a tank top and shorts. Still, I think, the principle of "natural extension" applies. I've grown used to wearing very little clothing and developed extremely low tolerance for restrictive garments (particularly bras). Removing them when I get home doesn't seem like innuendo. And, after walking around with so little on, finding a private place to change, or going to bed fully clothed, just seems silly.

On several occasions, I've asked my husband how he feels about all this. His usual response is that he's happy with the physical affection and doesn't much care how I dress. Since neither seems to result in uncontrollable temptation for either of us, I'm not particularly inclined to change my habits.

But then I come back to this responsum, and I think, out of respect for the mitsvah, shouldn't I make something of an effort? Buy a big ugly house dress like my bubbie's, maybe? Learn to keep my hands to myself? I mull over these questions every month, but I never make up my mind to change. It just doesn't seem worth it.

Someone explain this to me…why did I go from niddah to niddah? Strength to strength I can understand…

Backing up: I made the decision to wean…after all, the child has turned two. OK, so said child only nursed sometimes before bed and each morning upon waking.

I’d been on a low-dose pill since my post-partum check up. When the child was nursing lots (earlier on), there was no spotting, no nothing. I nursed clean and counted myself very fortunate. But, when the child started really cutting back last Spring, I thought I had a period. I asked a shailah, counted, checked and went to the mikvah for the first time in almost two years. And then, nothing…for several months.

A few weeks back the spouse and I were going through a challenging couple of weeks. I was probably being not the best example of an Eishet Hayil and his work schedule wasn’t helping matters. Add niddah into the mix and you have a couple of cranky people.

After doing the counting and checking, I discovered that mikvah night fell out on the same night the spouse has a big deal work dinner. Have to admit it was rather odd to get a baby sitter for late on a weeknight for basically a half hour. Oh and factor into the mix that I was frantically preparing for the biggest Shabbat dinner of our lives. We were hosting an internationally-known Jewish figure and his spouse. It was a make-or-break dinner for the spouse and his career. No pressure there.

After going to the mikvah (the first time using the new one in town…gorgeous!) I resume power cooking. It’s nearly 1 am, the spouse is not yet home and the challah dough is finally made. I’m standing at the counter reading up on how many cups of flour are needed in order to “take” challah. I start to feel some cramping. Weird.

Just after 1 the spouse staggers in, complements me on the Shabbos table and my preparations and goes upstairs. I follow. He’s zonked but remembers to ask how the mikvah was. I excuse myself to brush teeth and go to the bathroom. And, whamo!

I know one isn’t supposed to look at the tissue but this was full on. No hedging or getting around it. No pretending. We were back to the “no fly zone” without ever being cleared for take off. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

Next morning I hold the baby and say that this is the last time we’re nursing. I tried to engrave the image and feeling in my heart and made a bracha. I also called the doctor, who said that it’s normal to experience this situation as my body readjusts to weaning. Um, great, thanks.

We’re back to that ketchup commercial. Remember “Anticipation?” And I could really use a back rub. Oh, and that special pedicure I had arranged for Friday morning – the one with the bright nail polish…it’ll all have to come off again soon. Still, the dinner was an amazing success and the spouse and I are closer than ever. Perhaps this was what we needed?

Confusion... so often I find myself completely comfortable in all my thoughts on Taharat Hamishpacha only to find myself totally and utterly bewildered the next month.

My current niddah is the first cycle I've had since my surgery 2 months ago. Everything was going fine and my husband was actually really excited that I was able to start a cycle on my own (seriously, I think it might have been the first time ever recorded where a husband literally jumped up and down for joy at the announcement that his wife got her period), then it came to the 5th day and time to do the first inspection. Only I was still bleeding, and not just trickle blood, bright red blood. I thought this probably was normal because it had been a while since my uterus had emptied out. So the next day I tried for a hefsek and got one clean. I put in the moch and then had to run to the store to get ingredients to start challah before it got too late. Maybe it was the irritation from running around, but I ended up having a shailah on my moch dachuk. So I set it out to send to our Rav. The next day the morning bedikah was fine, which was a relief. But that night my evening bedikah looked a little odd, so I set it out as a shailah too and started to get nervous.

You see, every shailah I ever send into my Rav always comes back no good. The only time I have ever gotten a positive result was when I sent it to a Rav in another city one month when my Rav was not in town.

Sure enough my Rav told my husband that both bedikahs were no good. At that point I already had another shailah to send in, which (if negative) would push my mikvah day back to day 15, not day 12. Since this might be the first time ever in my life that I might actually ovulate on my own, being three days late is very upsetting. I started thinking that perhaps the reason all of a sudden I'm having so many questionable bedikahs was because of my surgery. Perhaps what I was seeing was residue not necessarily from the uterus. I expressed my concerns to my Rav before sending in the last bedikah. He said he would look at the next shailah and then if it is still negative he was going to send all three to anther Rav with more experience in women with surgical issues. It was negative, so he sent them away.

Relief, right? Wrong. Yesterday I sent an e-mail to my Rav saying that today was the original day that I was supposed to go to the mikvah and I am eagerly waiting to hear what the other Rav has to say. He wrote back saying that he is sorry if I had my hopes up, but his decision that the bedikahs are no good still stands, he is waiting to hear back from the other Rav on the basis of a diagnosis if something else is wrong. Diagnosis???? I thought I was getting a second opinion. The last bedikah did not look like blood to me so I was hoping to at least be able to go to the mikvah tomorrow night (only two days late) instead of Shabbos (three days late).

Maybe this is the result of the frustration of going through so much infertility treatments, but it is really difficult to take no on shailahs when so much is at stake, especially if they actually look promising. Is it this frustration that is blinding me into being upset, or should I be worried that every shailah is always negative?

My husband directed me to this on the web today and it looks interesting. I wonder if he is 'threatening' to send me off for a week every cycle on a relaxing retreat? How I wish!

I found this a positive aspect of their break:

Each month, during their period, women leave for the Bashali.

Hazrat Gul, mother of one son, looks forward to her break from the
routine of housework.

"We make rice, chapattis, eat lots of food and sing all day," she
says. "It's fun because it's all girls and no men."

But, like many mikvehs, sadly it isn't all sparkley white tiles and luxurious baths...

I thought long & hard about what to do about my blisters last time I visted the mikvah. I'd developed them the week before by wearing some very comfy shoes with no socks or hose & because I walked a long way in them, well...

...so I had these huge blisters which I left alone & by the time likvah night came, they ad "disappeared" in the sense that they had totally deflated & were invisible. The mikvah attendant wouldn't be te wiser. But I would be.

I thought about looking it up in hilchos niddah, but I decided it would be easier just to pick them off after my long, epsom-salty soak. I did. What a nightmare. I kept pulling more and more skin away, which luckily didn't tear deeper so I would bleed, but it just wouldn't stop. There was always more dead skin to remove. Like a Pandora's Box of chatzitzah. Oy.

And it was all in a really awkward place to get to on my feet - I had to me a six-year-old contortionist with Circe Du Soleil to really get at it all.

I like to visit the Yoatzot website once or twice a week to read through the recently posted questions and answers. Today I came across this one regarding T"H and mourning, and read this bit about being in niddah when one partner is dying:

In the autobiography of Glueckel of Hameln (17th-18th c.), there is a moving account of her husband on his deathbed when she was in niddah. He tells her that they had observed the halacha all their married lives and shouldn't violate the harchakot now. They are united by their constant, unflagging mutual commitment to something beyond themselves, halacha.

Surgery is a pain, literally... and even more so when it has to do with female areas. You already have to get over the fact that doctors are involved in every aspect of your cycle when you go through infertility, but walking into a cold room and positioning yourself on the operating table (complete with stirrups I might add) you start to feel like you no longer have any "private" parts.

All this aside, I'm finding myself in a weird place after having this surgery. I confirmed with my doctor repeatedly (actually my husband did since I was still "out of it"), that absolutely no uterine blood was shed during my surgery. So the blood that I am seeing is from other areas, and is not blood that will make me a niddah. The doctor said no intimate contact until the next visit, so I am finding myself in the position of being "allowed" to my husband via taharat hamishpacha, but "forbidden via doctors."

I've had "non niddah" spotting from other procedures before, but never this strong or for this long... and they haven't forbidden relations until now. I guess I'm starting to see how the harchochos are supposed to help us. The first few nights my husband slept in a separate bed so he wouldn't jostle me, and last night he slept in the same bed with me. It was easier to resist wanting to hug and cuddle with him when he was not right there next to me. Even knowing that if he were to hug me and accidentally hit my suture area it would SMART (which it did) didn't keep me away.

Still, I sort of feel like I am living in a parallel universe for a little while. It's weird to change a maxi pad and then go off to hug my husband. It's reminding me a little of my first marriage (where I did not keep taharat hamishpacha), and I am deciding definitively that I like life with the practice — despite all the rules and hurdles — much better than my life without it. Maybe it's just me, but day-to-day life seems more spiritual that way.

I guess this experience is helping me to appreciate what I have, by comparing it to what it could be... so I hope that next time I actually am bleeding niddah, I won't be so bothered by having to be separate from him. We'll see...

It's not the first time I've come across something like this, of course. Offensive readings of taharat hamishpacha are probably more common than positive ones.

Although this is the first time it's been so hilariously jumbled up with inaccuracies. Did you know you can't prepare food during your menses? Hee hee. Funny how I never noticed my husband taking over the cooking for two weeks every month. The misconception that a niddah can't touch the Torah is a prevalent one even among observant Jews, but I've never heard it extended to not going to synagogue at all! And personally my husband and I switch beds all the time when we're separate, each taking a turn in the big and the small bed. The idea that I'm contaminating him, the bed, the food is so alien it makes me giggle.

But is it? How much of this reflects my experience of observing taharat hamishpacha in the days when most ritual impurity is ignored? If there was still a Temple, would we be carefully refraining from touching anything but our own plates for half the month, lest we make it impure?

Anyone know?

I know going from tehorah to niddah (and back again) isn't fun or easy. It's why we are supposed to calculate onot, in anticipation of niddah. It's why we count clean days in anticipation of mikveh.

But I really wasn't prepared this month for my husband's reaction after I came home from mikveh.

We both had a difficult time with harchakot this past cycle. I was doing ok (some extreme physical pain made me really not want to be touched) but well, as the days wore on (5,6, shabbos) it was quite difficult.

Not to mention that the mikveh opened really late motzei shabbos. And I was a bit worried. Would they remember me? Would I have the same receptionist? Attendant? Would I remember to do everything? As it was late I convinced my husband to drive me to the mikveh.. there's a small patch I'm not to comfortable walking alone. He agreed and asked me how long it would take. I told him that all I had to do was shower and dip, I had already bathed as soon as shabbos finished. He agreed and brought along a nice thick book. We parked around the corner and down the block... I went in. I paid cash this time. I knew exactly what I needed, "a shower only please". I walked with a bit more confidence. I fit in how I felt, unlike last time (the "first" time). This time I was eager to reunite with my husband. This time I understood the look in others eyes. The anticipation, the unspoken stress. "Room 9" I was told... I went. Locked both doors successfully. Showered. Checked my feet. EEP! dry skin flaking everywhere. I fixed it the best I could (see extreme physical pain above. b"H I'm ok, it's just uncomfortable to bend). i called the attendant and hoped for the best. a very nice woman came. I apologized ahead of time for the flailing skin all over my feet. I could barely bend my leg for her to check it. She was very nice and gentle to me. She helped me to snip all the extra bits. We then went directly to the mikveh. She let me wear my glasses down so I wasn't too scared of the steps. Dunk. "kosher". Made the brachah successfully on my own. Omein. Dunk. "kosher". Ye'hi Ratzon. With help. Silly me forgot my glasses were right there on the step next to me. Oh well. Dunk. "kosher". With modesty I went back up the steps (she had the robe in front of her). A gentle warm touch. "How often have you been here?" she gently asked. "Twice". She smiled and wished me a gut voch and a pleasant evening. I left. Walking to the car I realized I forgot to leave a tip. Oops. Next time. We've decided we'll play this game for a year.

I got into the car and leant to kiss my husband and he responded by starting the car and getting out of the parking spot. No one would have seen us. I had been looking forward to that kiss for two weeks.

I hid my disappointment and we went home, stopping at the store for the next morning's breakfast. (not what *I* had been planning on, but whatever). Then we went home and he got ready for sleep.

I tried to snuggle with him but he sort of "threw off" my advances.

This happened more or less for the next two weeks. We advanced to hand holding, a wee bit of snuggling, and a bit of sex. Today I am niddah again. We were anticipating it but ...

But we still haven't fully resolved this er... not really his lack of his interest.. I think it's more an imbalance in timing? I think it also has to deal with some other areas of our lives (i.e. how I display my married status), but, well, his behavior surprised me.

In any case, I'm eagerly counting down to mikveh night again. It should be another motzei shabbos if my body continues to act on medicated clockwork.

We'll see what this cycle brings.

...that is the question. I was considering not going back to the mikvah, but have since thought better of it and I'll tell you why all of this has even crossed my mind.

The miscarriage was over three months ago now, so I have been un-pregnant longer than I was ever pregnant. In that time, my husband and I have been fighting like cats & dogs. Yes, we're getting help, but it is not working.

It occurred to me that I could simply just not go back to the mikvah. Not to punish him, you understand - that's not my style. It's just that in the past three months he has displayed much autocratic and separation-type behaviour and our marriage has been severely jeopardized. My reason for remaining in niddah was that I have deep misgivings about sleeping with a man who has, by leaps and bounds, suddenly become a stranger to me.

And then I started reading all about it. There are so many entries in our history and law about mikvah use and marriage, but what it all really comes down to is sex. Who gets to have it, under what circumstances and why. More importantly, who gets to control sex.

There is a story of how all the women in Maimonides' community a thousand years ago refused to return to the mikvah until they were treated better. Although their wives were all threatened with divorce, the men caved.

In Jewish law, we learn that if no marital relations take place, then a divorce is mandated. But what I wanted from my husband was not a divorce. I just want him back. I also had no desire to hurt him by remaining in niddah. It just felt like he wasn't so married to me anymore and nothing we do seems to help, so physical separation seemed ideal to me.

Then I began thinking about the positive aspects of mikvah, like its soul-cleansing, spirit-liberating power and I thought to myself: that's what I really want.

I need the mikvah to take away the following:
niddut, stress, fear, anxiety, pain, grief, and all the other things in daily life which leave a crust of schmutz over my heart.

I need the mikvah to grant the following:
open-heartedness, safety, purity, faith, trust, groundedness, and all the other things that are required to have a deep, intimate relationship with G-d and others, especially with my spouse.

So even though my inclination to withdraw is valid and only a method of protecting my most vulnerable parts, I recognize that I will reap more expansive benefits from continuing my mikvah practice. It will help heal me each month ever so slightly so that I am rejuvenated and can once engage in the fray that our marriage has become.

Sh|t. I have a friend in the computer who is just like me: similar age, modern orthodox, going through fertility issues. We weirdly parallel each other. We’re both extremely regular with our cycles, never being late. And we’ve both been late with our periods this month. Just late enough to spark that glimmer of a thought, “maybe….”

We both got our periods today. She told her husband and cried together with him, but separate. I told my husband, said, “f*ck it, I don’t care,” and let my husband hold me. With everything I have, I am fighting the desire to curl up in his lap and cry. I think that hurts us worse than not being pregnant.

Life has been a little hectic lately, but I was able to take the time to attend the Nishmat’s Women’s Health and Halacha Day this past Sunday. Sorry Persephone, but I opted for a semi-coherent post today rather than an incoherent one yesterday.

The day opened with an address by Dr. Deena Zimmerman which served as an overview of the various ways in which women’s health issues and halacha intersect, specifically highlighting the areas in which yoatzot can be most useful. The backbone of her lecture was sample questions from the “Ask the Yoetzet” website, some that have been posted on the site and some that have not been. She presented the issues in a kind of chronological order, from the kallah to menopause and from hymenectomy to hysterectomy. She emphasized that much of the frustration experienced by who observe Taharat ha-Mishpacha comes from a lack of education and unnecessary stringency. In her view the yoetzet serves an educational role, helping women in sometimes complicated situations to elucidate the issues in order to know what to ask. Most interesting were the things she has learned as a yoetzet that she would occasionally interject. One thing she was said is that she was astounded by the number of women who have admitted to her that they have slipped up and had sex while in niddah. To her there is sound reason for harchakot. I was amazed at the number of women who practice niddah based on misinformation.

After lunch the program broke up into four sessions. I chose the one on “Intimacy and the Married Couple” since I have never attended any type of lecture on the subject (though in light of the recent discussion on this site I would have loved to weigh in on what was said at the “Infertility and Orthodoxy” session.) Bracha Rutner, a paid yoetzet at Riverdale Jewish Center, went through various sources showing Judaism’s positive attitude toward sex and sexuality. She went further to show how Judaism views not as a means of receiving pleasure, but rather as a way of giving to your spouse. When this is done, sex is a balance of the physical, emotional, and spiritual, and of the highest level. The second half of this speech was given by Esther Feuer, a bubby-type woman who is an OB/GYN Nurse practitioner and sex therapist in Brooklyn. She went through female sexual dysfunction, showing that painful intercourse is never normal, and should be examined for either medical or psychological causes. She really was wonderful, and it is nice to know that there are people like her out there, helping even the most right wing among us.

I was not able to stay for the next round of sessions, so I apologize that the recap is incomplete.

Looking back, I’m glad I attended. While a lot of the information was not new to me, and there wasn’t so much by way of discussion because of time constraints, I’m happy I was able to support a conference on this topic. Walking away, I felt good to know that something that is so central to my life is like that for other women too, and that open dialogue on the subject will only serve to better the lives of observant women. So let’s do that, okay?

Does anyone have any ideas how to help my husband during the last of the "white days"? He's quite grumbly by about day 3 and has been grumbling about t"h (and some other things) anyway.. I don't want this to turn into a situation I'm not comfortable with. Each month we attempt to grow more. I think I've already "given up" on harchakot for this month but think that might have been a bad idea... We were doing well for a while and suddenly I don't know what's going wrong (spring fever?). I don't know how to approach my rabbi about this.. my husband isn't big on rabbis as is...

primal waters of
soul stirring live drown the howls
from my empty womb

On Avigayil's post "and how are the benefits" there's a discussion in the comments about the different waiting times to be purified from niddah vs from zavah, and Avigayil adds this: At some point 2500 years ago "the women" decided that it was too difficult to keep track of which bleeding was niddah bleeding and which bleeding was zavah bleeding so they took a stringency upon themselves to consider all bleeding zavah bleeding and wait the seven clean days in all cases. This has become the custom, and thus the practice of observant women even today.

From Beneath, among others (myself included), would like to slap these women "upside the head" and Swurgle wants to know why we can't just undo that decision.

So in the interest of clarification, I did a little research into what exactly is the difference between niddah and zava and how can you tell? And my first instinct is to duck and run! You think the current niddah laws are complicated? Here's the link I found. It's a pdf file, and the part about distinguishing between niddah and zava starts on page 5.

Please remember I am not a posek, consult your own Rav, etc., but this is the way I understand the shuir.

To summarize: first you have to decide which opinion you are following. (There seem to be at least two) Let's say you hold by the Rambam. First you have to remember the exact date of your first "discharge," ie period. Anyone? I can tell you how old I was, approximately, and whether it was day or night, but after all, it was about 20 years ago, and I don't even remember which month it was, or what day of the week, much less the exact date! Now why is this date so important? because the Rambam holds that from there you start counting alternating "windows" (the shuir calls them periods, but that's too confusing for me, so I changed it) of 7 days and 11 days, whether or not you experience any bleeding on those days. Are you following so far? Any bleeding that comes during a 7-day window is Dam Niddah (dam is blood) and any bleeding that comes during an 11 day window is Dam Ziva. ("Ziva" blood makes you a "Zava"... the vowels don't really count in Hebrew. They change conjugation and usage but not meaning.)

A bit of halacha on "waiting times": Dam Niddah requires a seven day wait from the first day of blood, as long as bleeding has stopped by that seventh day. Dam Ziva that lasts only 1 or two days requires a one day blood-free wait, but Dam Ziva that lasts three or more days requires sheva neki'im, the seven days of no bleeding at all, before immersing in a mikvah.

To be fair, most poskim make it a little easier than the Rambam does. Any discharge renders you Niddah... the first seven days are all niddah days, then the next 11 are Ziva days, then it goes back to Niddah days (but not back again) so you wouldn't really become a Zava unless your cycle was less than 18 days long. At this point I was beginning to think it wasn't so difficult after all, and we really should go back to distinguishing between niddah and zava. Then I noticed something from an earlier page in the shuir that I'd glossed over the first time I read it. The point about what exactly is "Dam Niddah."

It sounds like the real killer, the real reason we don't distinguish anymore, has nothing to do with Niddah vs Zava days, but everything to do with colors. Yes, colors. To insure that blood is really Dam Niddah, it not only needs to come during the "Dam Niddah Days," but it also needs to be one of 5 very specific shades of blood that are actually tamei (impure). Without showing every single stain to a Rav trained in distinguishing those colors(all of which are different reds, by the way), a woman wouldn't know for sure that the blood qualified as Dam Niddah.

For that reason, the Rebbeim instituted that where there is no such trained Rav available in a community, women must do the following:

For a one day discharge, a woman is almost definitely a Zava Katana, ("little Zava")which would require one blood-free day before visiting the mikvah. However, just in case it really was Dam Niddah, she waits the full seven days of Niddah (not seven blood-free days, just seven days, but since this was from a one-day discharge, 6 of them are blood-free)

For a two day discharge, she waits 8 days, in case the first day was Dam Ziva, and the second day was Dam Niddah, so the seven day minimum starts from the second day.

For a three or more day discharge, she probably becomes a Zava Gedolah, a "big" zava, which necessitates the sheva neki'im, or seven non-bleeding days. If any of the blood is really Dam Niddah, the seven day waiting period is included within this by default.

Eventually it became the custom to hold by sheva neki'im even for one day's discharge, on the basis that it was too confusing otherwise. Now that last bit doesn't seem reasonable to me... but I do see how it might be confusing, and, after all, I didn't make the rules.

Okay, everyone take a deep breath. Just one more thing I want to mention.

No one said anything about a 5 day minimum before starting the sheva neki'im, right? Doesn't appear in the shuir at all. So where does that come from? How did we get from even with being extra stringent, 7, 8, or 10+ (if you bleed for 3 or more) days to a minimum of 12? Well, it seems you can't count a day as a "clean day" if you are dripping... semen. This is where the math gets very funky. The sages tell us that after sex, you drip semen for up to three days. Semen being clear, you can't tell by looking at a bedikah cloth (without a microscope) whether it is present. So you need to wait three days before starting sheva neki'im. Wait, but 3 days isn't 5! Even assuming you don't have eden's mazel, and had sex 5 minutes before you became niddah, that's still only 3 days! Well, see, for the 5 days, 1 minute before sunset counts as a whole day of bleeding. But the 3 days of dripping are really 72 hours, so that could halachically stretch over pieces of 4 days, and if the days are in the process of getting shorter, (during the time of year where it drops by over a minute a day) and you time it just right, those 72 hours could possibly overlap a tiny piece into a 5th halachic day. (I think... I didn't actually do the math, but I think that's what I remember.) So Chazal threw in that extra day just for fun. That's why Kallahs only need to wait 4 and not 5... the 5th day is a stringency. Also today's Rebbeim can play with the 5 day thing in cases of need. And the whole thing is moot if you didn't actually have relations right before you started bleeding, but apparently that's too much to expect us to keep track of as well.

So I'm still not a posek, and those of us who agreed to follow halacha l'maaseh (practical halacha) as it stands are kind of stuck, but as an intellectual exercise, now you have all the details for figuring out what the "real" halachic way to do things was before Chazal started taking pity on us poor math and memory challenged women and making it more difficult so it would be less confusing for us.

And yes, it is confusing, and yes, it is a lot to keep track of, and yes, we are all busy women who can't remember from one end of the sheva neki'im to the other which day we made the hefsek taharah on... but that's why we keep calendars, right? So keep in mind most women were basically illiterate during the times of Chazal, and even if they could write they didn't have (and couldn't have afforded anyway) our neat little pocket calendars and a pencil, and then maybe it all makes sense.

And if anyone wants to challenge my reasoning and/or math, or correct any mistakes I've made, go right ahead. I'm not any sort of expert, I've just done a bit of reading on the subject.

It's Day Five, and I'm gushing.

Although I'm pretty confident it's going to take more serious medical intervention, I've tried not to become resigned to missing my ovulation date, not to throw out my hefsek tahara on Day 5 as hopeless, or worse, not even to attempt one. I do one this morning, in case I don't have time later. It looks faintly pink to me, but I set it aside to dry, then bring it over to the rabbi's house. Often he says something is fine when I think it's no good. Especially when the color is as light as this. I put on black underwear for the rest of the day; I'll change to white tonight after dark.

Later in the day I try to ignore the sensation of wetness, knowing that I often feel a little discharge at various times of the month, knowing that a small spot or two is still fine. But this isn't a momentary sensation. It persists longer than a spot should take to dry, though I am still not thinking it could be a real flow. Finally I can't stand the suspense any longer and go to look.

Bright red. It has soaked through my underwear, my slip, even making a small damp spot on the back of my (fortunately dark brown) skirt. My body is taunting me. Pointing at me and my fragile hopes, and laughing.

I flash on the second night of Pesach: I am sitting at the seder miserable in the knowledge that I'm not pregnant again, that I'm bleeding this very minute, and I stumble across this verse -

'I shall pass over you and see you wallowing in your blood, and I say to you, 'In your blood shall you live,' and I say to you, 'In your blood shall you live.' "

Reading the familiar words in this new juxtaposition, I think not of circumcision or the Passover lamb, or even the Holocaust, but of my own blood. Suddenly I think maybe I'm experiencing a paradigm shift: I hear the message of the blood leaving my body each month as death, as a call for mourning. But in Judaism blood is life. We do not consume the blood of any animal, for the blood is its life. Life. Why am I grieving so? Am I meant to be comforted?

But it all comes to the same, for I'm losing the gift of life, life is leaving my body, and the revelation I'm after swirls out of reach and is gone, carried away on the powerful current of blood.

For those of you playing along at home, I thought I'd post a quick follow-up to this post. I was not niddah at the second Seder, so tricky wine issues were avoided. This morning, my reproductive system was kind enough to react properly to the progesterone withdrawal. It's been so long since I was niddah...I was almost convinced that I would miss it.

Nah. I'd still much rather go home and cuddle with my husband tonight. Oh well.

As you may recall, my first go at progesterone-induced menstruation didn't work so well. Shortly I went back to the doctor, got a prescription for a stronger version of the hormone, and was told to start "whenever." I carefully counted days in the calendar; it wouldn't do to have my tevila fall out on any of the festival days of Passover (first two or last two) if it could be avoided, particularly since for the first days we would not be within walking distance of a mikvah. It would also be preferable not to have to make a hefsek on first days (nowhere near a rabbi I trust to ask a shailah if necessary), and my husband will be away for chol hamoed (intermediate days of the holiday) so I shouldn't go to the mikvah then, and on such-and-such day in early May we already have evening plans with a big group of friends and I can't gracefully bow out so better to time the mikvah for later than that...

Whew, OK. Started the progesterone this past Sunday evening. It means that this cycle, my first off of birth control, is going to end up well over one hundred days. I kind of miss my period (though I'm not sure I miss actually being niddah). It will be nice to see it again.

I checked the calendar again last night. If my body reacts to this stronger progesterone now the way it did when I used it years ago, I should start bleeding on the third day after the last pill. Which is...Sunday. Before the second Seder. And, of course, we will be at another family's home, at a meal with twenty people, where the minhag (custom) is to pour each glass of wine for the person sitting next to you, of course. And I will sit next to my husband.

Of course.

More than once, as I'm about to be seduced, I've looked down and seen the first few drops of blood.

Only a few times, but definitely more than once.

Even more often, I've looked at my calendar, counted the days, set my heart on one last time for the month, and then something has come up. One of us is too tired, one of us doesn't feel well, a delay or distraction or deadline comes up that night... somehow we're prevented. Each time something different; I never see the pattern while it's happening. Inevitably I storm and cry about it. Partly because I'm especially shaky about separation just before it happens, partly because I'm hormonally off balance from the approaching period.

But a couple of hours later, wouldn't you know it: I'm bleeding early.

I've wondered why this happens to me every so often, and whether it happens to others. I think it's partly because I'm irregular by up to a week, so that sometimes my halachic separation days are spread a day or three or five apart. And maybe I push my luck, planning to be intimate with my husband on those intervening days, when really I might get my period at any time.

When I was first married I called the rabbi in a panic one night because my separation time had been during the day, and my last bedikah before nightfall was questionable. He said, I can't look at it now. We have to wait until tomorrow morning when it's light out. I wailed, but I thought we had one more night, I told my husband we would! He said, gently, this is what I advise all couples to do: sit down with the calendar together. Not right after you come home from mikvah, make it a few days later. Figure out what is your last completely safe day, before any of your separation days start. Make sure to be together on that day. After that, give up on the rest of the month, until you know whether you've gotten your period or you're pregnant. It will save you a lot of emotional turmoil in the end.

I was horrified, and did my best to forget I'd ever heard that. But I've been married a lot longer, and while I could see the wisdom even then, I am better able to tolerate the idea now. I try to do this a lot of the time. And still, even when I do, I sometimes get caught short. So incredibly short.

Each time it happens, I think to myself: what if all the frustrating delays, the obstacles, the inexplicable urge to glance down at the pajamas or sheets at the last instant, is really Gd trying to protect you from something far worse?

I have a very long cycle. Like I average a 38 day cycle. And I have spent most of the last four years either pregnant or nursing clean, so I have not been in Niddah often.

As a result I have difficulty with the calendar and need a review every 6 months or so. And I have difficulty with the harchokos. I was married for a number of years before I got pregnant, so there I was with my (average) 38 day cycle, and I'm telling you by the time I got my period each month, I couldn't remember from one cycle to the next what the halachas were.

Frequently the following is heard in my house:

"Oops, I wasn't supposed to pass you that."

"Um, what do I need to put on the table between us? A vase? Oh, right, I forgot."

"Wait, I can't sit on your bed when you're home, but I can sit on your bed when you're not home?"

"I left your plate of food on the counter - and no, it's not because I'm angry, I just can't serve you."

"Can you please get me a glass of water, oh scratch that."

It can get frustrating especially with small kids and ESPECIALLY on a holiday like Purim. I wish that there was an easier way, but I can see now that the harchokos are there for a reason, and that absence (from touch) is making my heart grow fonder. Erev Purim I could have REALLY used a hug from my husband. And because he couldn't give me one made me want one all the more so.

A long cycle also screws up the calendar. I recall once having 10 haflagos that I was carrying over every month. It got to the point that every month I put my haflagos on the calendar in a different colored pencil, just so I could keep track of which haflagos were from this cycle and which were being carried over from a previous cycle. I just had a highly irregular cycle and didn't pass all those haflagos until I got pregnant. And with that many haflagos I would get my period and not pass the haflagos and still have to seperate. I once was supposed to go to the mikvah on a Wednesday which was Tisha B'Av. So it was pushed off to the next day. But I had a carry-over haflago from the previous cycle that thursday. So I called the Rov and he told me I had to push it off to the next day. Which put me on Friday night. And I asked the Rov? I push it off onto Shabbos? I thought we can't push things off onto shabbos (i.e. a late bris). And he told me nope, I should go on Friday night.

So now that I'm getting my period, and not getting pregnant (see my previous entry for details), I have to start all over again with the caledar and the halachos. I see it's time to call my kallah teacher for a refresher course. I once heard that it's good to have a review at least once a year. And I can't agree more. When I was pregnant with my last child I took a review course and discovered that I had been counting one of my onahs wrong. Oy, yo, yo, was I upset. But at least I wasn't counting my five and seven wrong. That would have been far, far worse.

Anyway, my point behind all this is to encourage people to feel good and relaxed and not embarassed, CHV'S, about taking refresher courses. They help everyone out.

I still don't know whether I am niddah. As of when Shabbat started, there was still only a little bit of spotting. Late Friday night I got frustrated and did a bedikah, thinking that it would probably be red and I could at least have the closure of knowing my status. Nope...brown, and not clearly a particular yellowish-brown shade that I know is okay. No particulary reddish spots either, and a few bits of very dark brown that could be problematic. So...we slept on separate beds, but in the morning we still exchanged a brief kiss. I did another bedikah (don't ask me why, since there was no reason to do so that I can see) and it was just as confusing as the one from last night. The spotting was practically nonexistent during the day, and we hugged a couple of times, though we did nothing more than that. At no point did I say to mysef or to my husband, "I am niddah." Shabbat is over and I'm still getting only little bits of brown dribbles. If I hadn't done those bedikot, I coud probably conclusively say that I'm not niddah...but I did them, they're there, and I have to deal with this in-between-ness now.

I don't generally bring T"H shailot to the rabbi of our shul; I've heard through the grapevine that he's not the best person to go to with those things, and besides I prefer to keep this area of my life separate from my shul life in general. We are privileged to live in a community where that separation is possible (multiple rabbis in our city), but of course the rabbi I usually go to with these questions was not easily reachable on Shabbat. I couldn't get in touch with him shortly after Shabbat this evening either (I don't have his home number....hmmm....maybe time for a new T"H rabbi?) so I'm still unsure of my status. And mad at myself for (what feels like) squandering my ast few days of not being niddah. And frustrated with my indecisive uterus.

UPDATE as of Sunday noon-ish: Asked a shaila. I'm not niddah. I shouldn't have done the bedikot, but they were OK anyway. Got a bit of conversation out of it too, some of which I appreciated (explaining why the bedikot were OK) and some of which I smiled politely at (stories about women who were told by their doctors they couldn't conceive and then did, stuff about Chana's prayers being answered, etc.). I truly appreciate that he took the time to sit with me and that he was trying to make me feel better, but really all I wanted to do was run back out to the car and kiss my husband.

Heh. That has the possibility of becoming the most popular post title around here. It's exactly how I feel right now, though. My husband and I have had sex once in the past two weeks (and it was about a week ago, I think). We've both wanted it, but there was always some reason...I was tired, he was tired, we needed to clean up for Shabbat dinner guests, we needed to set up for Shabbat lunch guests, we needed to clean up after Shabbat guests, I was sleepy from an after-work cocktail, he had a headache from fasting...

Now, I'm spotting. Maybe. I'm not looking for it, of course. I'm wearing my nice dark underwear, and I haven't felt a hargasha (does anyone?), but there is definite dark stuff and some external wetness. I took my fifth daily progesterone pill last Saturday. It's supposed to take seven to ten days before my period arrives, but what's twenty-four or thirty hours between a girl and her uterus? I can't really complain, medically speaking. Maybe it's the herbal supplements I started taking last night to help regulate my cycle. Maybe it's the raspberry leaf tea I started on again when I had my first twingy cramps two days ago. Maybe it's because I fasted yesterday. Maybe it's just my body overachieving, reacting to the progesterone drop just a tad sooner than expected, just to show me that it can.

Technically, I'm not niddah yet. It's just a little spotting, and I'm under no obligation to do a bedika. I'm torn between declaring myself niddah so I can start the count today, and pretending I don't notice so I can give my husband a proper hug and kiss when I get home this afternoon, before we rush out again before Shabbat. Sex tonight is right out, of course; intellectually, I know that I'm spotting, and besides I'm likely to have a steady flow before we get home from what is shaping up to be a very long dinner.

It'll be a nice break from the pressure to have sex (not that we had much of it in the past month or so...a 70+ day cycle can do that to you). But I'm just not ready for separation. I jumped out of bed at five o'clock this morning to make the very first local minyan, so I could hear Megillat Esther before work...no early-morning cuddling for us. I came home to have my se'ueda (nothing too special) and gobbled it down in front of the computer after the obligatory chag same'ach phone calls to relatives in other time zones. My husband, meanwhile, was still slowly waking up. I gave him a quick kiss as I rushed out the door, leaving my "insurance policy" (a Gladrag) on the dresser. I knew I should have gone back to stuff it into my purse.

I'm crampy and cranky and hormonal and the last thing I need right now is more indecision.

Um, hi. Woman who separated from her husband for the past day (in anticipation of her period) when really it was supposed to be tomorrow? Right here.

I guess I have a little too much on my mind, huh? It's a good thing my husband is so good-natured.

Please, somebody, tell me you've done something this stupid too. :)

So, I've been sick on and off for a while (I have fibromyalgia but that's a whole other issue), and this current bout of sickness causes me to cough almost uncontrollably for 20-30 minutes at a stretch. Say I've finally fallen asleep on the couch for a short nap after working two jobs, kallah class, and attempting to finalize this wedding. After about 10 minutes of sleep let's say I start coughing uncontrollably for at least 10 minutes. Now, let's imagine df (ignoring negiah issues) comes over and puts a warm hand on my (clothed, about 4 layers, it's winter still in NYC) back and gently rubs in an attempt to stop the coughing. It works quickly and well enough for me to down some cough syrup and fall back to a somewhat restful short nap before I head home.

Oh, minor detail, I'm niddah at this time.

How bad is that? I'm most obviously not the sexiest thing on the planet as I'm spluttering and coughing and oozing from every direction possible. It wasn't a life or death situation (actually excessive coughing does amazing things for the abs)... Neither of us thought about it. It wasn't until a day or so later later that I said "hmm.. I niddah, we probably shouldn't have done that". To which he agreed and we said oh well and we moved on.

Later we spoke more about it and both agreed that this was the best course of action for that point in time. It could've been a kitten curled up on my back for all I cared.. I just wanted my body to calm down enough to try to stop the coughing. That it was his hand, yes, I would be absurd to say it didn't mean anything, but at that point in time, quite honestly it didn't. In the future will we follow this same course of action? I can't say as I really don't know.

But I feel still a bit weird about it. I can't really say why or in which direction I feel weird.

It's late. I'm tired. I want to go to sleep, but I can't. My husband (let's call him David) and I have two adjacent twin beds that we cover with a king size sheet during our "together" period. I got my period this morning and now I can't go to sleep until I replace the king sheet with two twins.

I'm starting to get a little depressed. My period didn't come until David had already left to work, and the emotional effects of Niddah have not yet set in. I slept in his arms last night, and I got my goodbye kiss this morning. Now I have to take the first steps end the physical part of our relationship. I will change the sheets, and later I will sleep alone in my bed, nothing but cold air surrounding me. The process does happen gradually. It starts off as a small tear, but a few days later it feels like we are hanging on by just a few thin threads. And the hardest part? The knowledge that to a large extent, this is the way it's supposed to be.

On second thought, I'll let David make his own bed.

I just can't wrap my mind around some of the harchakot. I'm sure their origins are perfectly reasonable, but it's hardly a turn-on for me or my husband when he hands me the car keys or I put a plate of pasta down in front of his seat instead of four inches to the left. I know these things are supposed to serve as reminders of my niddah status, as red danger flags indicating that we're off-limits to each other. Ironically enough the reverse is usually true; we have no problem remembering not to kiss goodbye when leaving for work in the morning, but without fail it will be five minutes into dinner before one of us jumps up to put the "reminder" between us on the table. Shabbat can be a pain, because I hate grape juice and there's just no way for me to say Kiddush over wine and then share some of the cup with my husband. I can't imagine the trouble of not being able to pass a baby between us and I shudder to think of a situation where one of us is gravely ill when I am niddah. After all, it's not like I'm going to try to have sex with my husband when he's laid up in a hospital bed, so why wouldn't I be allowed to comfort him with a kiss on his cheek or a gentle squeeze of his hand?

Yet...we do it all anyway. Or, at least, we try to. The reminders on the table, a two-step passing process, no backrubs or hugs after a long and stressful day. In some ways, it makes being niddah easier. We don't have to debate and define our own categories of "sexual" and "non-sexual" because they have been set out for us. It's convenient and doesn't require much forethought.

But the stress piles up, and by about the halfway mark of each niddah phase my frustration starts to come out in conversation. My responses are sharper, my temper is shorter, and I begin to feel unattractive in every way possible. Which, of course, only upsets me further. It's not sexual frustration, exactly. It's a longing for human touch, for a literal shoulder to lean on. It's a desire for normality, for everyday life, for the moment when we can once again greet each other in public without an awkward step back (lest we forget ourselves and exchange a brief peck on the lips). It's not wanting to sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair when our friends kindly leave us two adjacent spots on the couch, and not wanting to explain to weekend hosts or hotel staff why we prefer the room with two twins over the one with the queen-sized bed. It's crying inside and out, and hiding it from the world and from each other, and oh how I hate hiding.

I had a miscarriage Rosh Chodesh Adar. Ironic, isn't it? The Jewish month of joy, the new moon, Ash Wednesday, Chinese New Year...any way you slice it, it was a big day.

I was at the end of my first trimester. The time when finally parents-to-be cautiously breathe a sigh of relief that the most fragile third of the pregnancy has been successfully navigated. The time when family & friends may be privileged to hear the good news of an immanent new baby Jew.

Instead of sharing this news with the excitement and awe that we had been looking forward to on that day, we buried our fetus, along with its placenta, under a sapling. The hopes for our first child crushed. We really wanted this baby. No ritual or name for this little one, yet its early departure left me with the status of a yoledet - a woman who has recently given birth - according to Jewish Law. Which means that if we ever manage to conceive another child & it is a boy, that my husband, who is of the Israelite class, will not be allowed to perform pidyon haben. This makes sense to me, as the "first born" is the one who opens the womb initially. And this child did just that. A blindingly painful 5 hours of contractions, nausea & chaos. But not really. I delivered the entire contents of my womb on my own, thank G-d, and the only medical advice I received was, "Don't stick anything inside you for two weeks".

Well, being an Orthodox couple, we knew that a yoledet bears a longer period of nidah from her husband than a woman who has only experienced her menses. There was no way we could be intimate again for at least the next two weeks anyway, on religious grounds. And to be honest, I was feeling very protective of myself "down there", so was in no hurry.

I needed time to grieve our loss, as did my husband. And to deal with this flow of blood that signals death. One of the reasons given for a woman to go to mikvah before she unites with her husband is that she is brought so close to death by her cycle. Whether it is the loss of an ovum or a stillbirth child, G-d forbid, she must ready herself for intimacy by counting a minimum amount of time after her blood & then returning to another womb of sorts.

The mikvah is like going home. Like both your Father and your Mother enveloping you - but not your Earthly parents, The Supernal Aba & Ema. G-d.

The blood never seemed to stop. I felt like I was dying, but I knew it was just my fears there there might be something wrong with me. I confided in my friend Ariellah, who said, "How do you know that this wasn't just a very high soul who visited you temporarily because it needed to do a last little bit of teshuvah? How do you know that this Being did not find joy in you while you held it within you?" I wept.

As my breasts & belly shrank, I brought confusion and anger into my davenen. I had said a special prayer, traditional to Medieval Italian Jewish women, to protect myself & my pregnancy from any disaster. It hadn't worked. There were no answers. I didn't know what to do with my agony or questions, so I gave them all to G-d.

I tried so hard to focus on the things I had to be thankful for each time I threw myself on the bed & cried. I was so disappointed. But my womb did its job, B"H, and I did not hemorrage, B"H, and I did not require a D&C, B"H, and I was never in any physical danger, B"H, and my doctor is not concerned about my body. She is only very sorry for me.

During the "white" days I dreaded the bedikat. I didn't want to see any blood because I wanted to feel like I was healing and yet seeing the wrong color would assure me that I could postpone intimacy, that I could remain cloistered in my private grief. I hated all the counting & all the rules, which I had never hated before, because I just wanted to be free and on my own and not have any externally applied boundaries to my process of letting go and coming around.

Mikvah night came, "finally". I was full of mixed feelings during my preparation, partly because I wasn't sure if I felt emotionally ready to share a bed with my husband quite yet, as wonderful and supportive as he had been during this difficult time. My body seemed ready, though, showing me that I was already ovulating again. Eager to risk another miscarriage, or possibly a living child.

I was extra scrupulous in the tub, as it would be Shabbos when I immersed. I had never done tevilah on Shabbos, so I checked with the mikvah lady ahead of time about what extra or different or special things I would need to do or be aware of during my prep & while in the water. She reminded me to floss before candle lighting and to be more careful about my hands and feet. She also asked me to tie my hair back with an elastic after I had combed everything out, as knots in hair could not be unsnarled after Shabbos and those disqualify the tevilah. She was very nice about it.

I arrived at the mikvah and she let me in happily. She was 8 months pregnant. I tried not to feel jealous. I don't want to put the ayin hara on her or her baby. We wished each other a Shabbat Shalom and she showed me into one of the changing rooms so I could undress. "Don't worry," she said with a smile, "it's really fast on Friday night, because there's nothing for you to do."

I came out into the light in my towel for her to check me over. She said I looked pretty, which was very sweet of her. Then we went into the mikvah room and I stood in front of the steps. Such a beautiful, sacred place where all my fears, my shortcomings, my veneers of Self, of Ego which cover my neshamah get washed away each cycle. A place I used to be so eager to visit and now, not so much. As she closed the door behind her I suddenly broke down in sobs.

"Aw, are you okay?" she asked as she came over with a sympathetic look on her face.
"No," I answered through my tears, "I'm here because I had a miscarriage, so I was just hoping that I would not have had to come back to the mikvah this early. I'm sorry - I didn't think I would do this."
She gave me a great big hug, her with her great big belly & me in my white cotton towel. She looked me in the eye reassuringly & told me that this was a new beginning. She was right. I thanked her for reminding me.

I gave her my towel and descended into the warm, healing waters. The soft swirling whisper they made as they surrounded me was comforting. Because it was Shabbos, I dunked one time "for my shower" that normally I would take when I arrived at the mikvah on a chol day. Then a second time as usual. she pronounced it kosher. So I reached for the cloth to put on my head, crossed my arms in front of me and said the berachah with very narrow focus. After her "ameyn", I went under three more times.

Once with the hope that G-d would heal my body and soul so that I would be ready and able to birth a living, surviving child one day, drowning my tears and washing them away.

"Kosher."

Once with the request that G-d would help my husband and me through our sadness and strengthen our marriage from this crisis.

"Kosher."

Then one final time that I be enabled to make myself and my work and the way I am in the world all one, doing G-d's will.

"Kosher."

May this be the will of the Holy one, HaKadosh baruch Hu.
A new beginning.
Yeysh mey-ayin.

as per my kallah teacher i dutifully "ignored" the spotting and waited for the main event. it hit with a vengance about 10 p monday night. ok, so now i'm niddah (since i'm not married and its been 11 months since my mikveh visit i've been niddah for a while, but now i'm really niddah). dutifully i marked it in my calendarS (more on that later, bli neder) and i sent df (dear fiance, let's name him, Yitzi) and email "i'm a girl" .. i got a reply "i know" ..

at first i was upset it happened at night before bed (generally it starts about 3 am), but then remembered (and confimed with my calendars) that my period generally lasts at least 6 full days .. so why be frustrated ?

anyway, yitzi and i made a commitment to try to do better with harchakot .. it will be tough (we have difficulty with negiah as is, and now i have to worry about passing? OY). but i know we'll survive.

my kallah teacher suggested making a game of it -- bonus points for creative passing, prizes, etc. i think this might help..

so far we've done ok -- i know he's working harder than me because he told me. so that is making me really think about "that which is normally covered is forbidden" .. its tough that even talking on the phone (we live a half mile away from each other) arouses excitment in both of us! when i have cramps, all i want to do is snuggle .. (see my post "longer intro" re couches and why this is most likely the best solution for us!)

the score thus far? well, we both get bonus points for not having our nightly "good night peck" when he walked me home from class teh other night .. but i will be docked for directly handing him his umbrella this morning on our commute to work. now, what could be prizes for both the winner and looser? (winner (me) allowed to buy new book, (him) i let him alone .. looser (him) must help me with hebrew and other learning, (me) doesn't pester him about davening [praying] for rest of month .. ) ? Hmm..

it is going to be a long two weeks. i just wonder/hope i can alleviate this frustration by finally setting a date and planning this wedding. i wonder if i can actually set a date for 2.5 weeks in the future.. ooh! my mom will be mad but this whole wedding thing isn't interesting me. marriage yes, but well, does anyone know how to halachically [under jewish law] elope???!!!

so many more thoughts to write.. bli neder [without a vow], soon.