Mayim Rabim

I have a confession to make: I show my questionable bedikot to my father. As I alluded to in my comment to this post, my father is my Local Orthodox Rabbi. Throughout my life I have asked him questions that run the full gamut of Halakha. Why should this change once I got married and had a few more questions?

To be sure, it wasn’t so simple. I remember the first time I had a question. My husband’s Rabbi does not leave near us, so we decided that it would be most convenient to show it to my father who lives in our neighborhood. I walked into my parents' house with my bedikah cloth in my jacket pocket and went straight to my mother.

Me: “Um, Mom? I have a niddah question. Well, it’s actually not so much a question as it is a cloth. Do you think it would be weird if I showed to Abba?”

Mom: “No! He looks at these all the time. It is just a color on a white background to him. It’s no big deal.”

So off I went to show my father. He took it from me, asked me what part of my Shiva Nekiim it was from, and opened the front door to look at it in the light. He squinted, changed angles and squinted again, then pronounced “No good.” (This is the only time he has told me a bedikah is bad, by the way.)

And so our Rabbi-Questioner relationship was further cemented. I will admit it was awkward. And I will further admit that it has not gotten less awkward over the years. Yet, I am happy with our arrangement.

For one, you cannot beat the convenience. We live five minutes apart. I know where to reach him at all times, and he will pick up my calls even when he won’t answer yours. I will never go through the experience of dropping off a bedikah cloth through the mail slot only to find out that the Rabbi is on vacation for three weeks. My father was once away and I had cloth that needed to be looked at, so my husband brought it to another local Rabbi. It took him 2 ½ days to get back to me! He had no idea whether or not I was waiting to go to the mikvah. I cannot imagine going through that on a semi-regular basis.

More importantly, I have proven to myself that I am committed to Taharat ha-Mishpacha as a halakhic entity. Though I understand that it is difficult for any woman to become accustomed to showing her bodily secretions to a strange man, most would admit that there is an added discomfort in showing it to one’s father. Yet, by showing my bedikah cloths to my father I have shown myself that no matter how I may personally feel about it, Halakha is Halakha and to a large extent exists separately from my daily fears and anxieties. It is this great abstract body where the average person cannot distinguish between brown and red and all of that has absolutely nothing to do with your daughter’s sex life. It emphasizes for me that not only am I committed to this particular detail, I am committed to the entire enterprise of Taharat ha-Mishpacha, and by extension, the rest of Halakha as well. And besides, once you’ve shown a bedikah to your father you can show it to anyone.

This is a long overdue post about an experience which I alluded to in my comment to Shifra's post here.

I too had gynecological surgery, which I was told would not make me a niddah even if I had spotting (which I did, but only on the day of and very minimal.) The surgery took place during my shiva nekiim, and five days after I was able to go to the mikvah (I did have to convince my doctor to let me go.) It was strange; I didn't bathe beforehand and some of my stitches were still visible, though they were not a problem. The stranger part, though was that there was no possiblity for sex, and I had been instructed to abstain for another week and a half.

While I am sure this is an interesting experiment for any couple who is observant of both the abstinence and the harchakot of TM, this was particularly interesting for me because of my issues with coming home from the mikvah. I have come to understand that the source of my tension at that time is the sudden change from one extreme to the next. A relationship that does not have even minor physical contact is suddenly transformed into a sexual one, and I don't think I handle the transition well. I blame this more on my own natural desires than on pressure from my husband (there is none) or on the halakhic "suggestion" to have sex on mikvah night. My body screams one thing and the little voice in my head that tells me it's fine to take it slow is overpowered.

The night I went to the mikvah the week of my surgery was different. For one thing, there was no possibility of sex, so I had no internal conflict. Also, I was still weak and sore from the procedure, I probably would not have wanted intercourse even if I had been allowed. With no hormones raging and no preconceived idea of where the night was headed I was actually able to enjoy the entire experience. For the first time I really appreciated the mikvah. I was not madly dashing to get home, and the mikvah itself was rejuvenating after my experience that week. Once I got home I had the time to appreciate the small gestures and the loving touches that don't necessarily lead anywhere (or definitely won't.) While I do appreciate these on some level usually, the feelings were much stronger after a two week separation. I was in an in-between place, and I was willing to take advantage of it at that moment.

I don't think I would wish for that experience again (even without the surgery part.) The next week and a half was filled with the same kind of longing that I experience during niddah, and that much longing is too much for one woman. What I can say is that this experience put the usual mikvah nights into perspective, and has helped to make it the kind of experience that I really want.

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?

There is much talk of the benefits of Taharat ha-Mishpacha. It’s good for your marriage, it’s good for your sanity, it’s good for your cervix. Yet I personally have mixed feelings about approaching my observance in this way. The reasons for this are twofold: 1) To a certain extent (I think on my good days), I view myself as a halakhic purist who follows what has been commanded to her for its own sake, and 2) it just doesn’t seem work for me.

Don’t get me wrong; I accept that the powerful sexual feelings we feel for each other for a few days out of the month are the product of the enforced deprivation, and I can read any magazine while waiting in line at the supermarket and see that the relative ease of these feelings is something that I should appreciate. Yet I think it is precisely the intensity and range of emotions, the cycle of all-or-nothing, which bothers troubles me. Those that have been pregnant or nursed for a time can attest that though the passion is somewhat subdued it does not diminish entirely, and furthermore, this extended tehora state enables a couple to fall into a rhythm that is both comfortable and comforting. I like the knowing that someone will always be there for a hug or anything else. As a personal cost-benefit analysis, more exciting sex doesn’t measure up to falling asleep nestled in my husband’s arms every night.

But the decision is not mine to make. That leaves me with two choices: either I can accept that the ups and downs exist for a reason and try to convince myself that I and my marriage are better off this way, or I can embrace my inner legal formalist and just do it. At this point I have opted for the latter, and most of the time I view taharat ha-mishpacha as a partially divine, partially rabbinic halakhic construct. And besides, *wink wink* it’s not like I won’t enjoy the more excited state if I have to have it.

When I went to the mikvah over vacation this past month, I got into the car and kissed my husband. Just like that. No butterflies, no tension, and best of all, no fights.

My first thought was that it's a feng shui type of thing, and my house needs a makeover. Then I realized that I never had this post-mikvah anxiety before I had kids, and that school, internship, a house, toddler tantrums, and my husband's 16 hour work days (he usually has to rush home from work so that I can get to the mikvah in time) greatly hinders romantic feelings, and when we are forced to partially shut down those feelings for two weeks it becomes even more difficult for them to flow freely at an appointed time.

Going to the mikvah towards the end of a most needed and enjoyed vacation showed me that although at this point are many factors that conflict with a romantic relationship, underneath it all we still have it and that with enough forethought we can get it back. While I used to see mikvah night as a return to the physical, I think I will now approach it as Our Night to Shut Off the Rest of the World. Everybody needs to be in that place once in a while.

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.

The day I go to the mikva is probably the most exciting day of the month. I walk around the entire day grinning like I have a secret, dreamily imagining my husband and thinking about our reunion that will take place in only twelve hours… six hours… three hours…

As soon as I put my kids to bed I start my preparations. I try to get to the mikva with at a time when there won’t be much waiting so that I can get out as quickly as possible. I then speed home, going forty on residential streets, my heart beating with anticipation. Of course this looks like it’s going to be a wonderful evening.

Except when I walk through the door, everything changes. I become this tense, crazy, haphephobic monster. My husband tries to greet me with a kiss, and I duck. He’ll ask me an innocent question, something like “Do you want ice in your Diet Dr. Pepper?” and I start to scream and throw things. Eventually I ease my way back into things—first a poke, then a handshake, and we take it from there.

I am doing the best I can to understand why this happens. I know it isn’t my husband since I can think of nothing but being with him the entire time we are apart. The best I can come up with is that I find the cycle of together-apart-together-apart to be difficult to tolerate. The nature of our relationship is so different from one part of the cycle to the next, and I can’t just wiggle my nose and change into sexual Avigayil from just-a-good-friend Avigayil. Does anybody have any other insights? Advice?

Some may call me your run-of-the-mill Orthodox girl. Minutiae have always been a way of life for me, and once I got old enough to be curious about the volumes on the far left corner of my father’s book shelves, I saw T’’M as just another set of laws to add to the list, along with waiting six hours between eating meat and dairy and not ripping toilet paper on Shabbos. Little did I know that T’’M would single-handedly become the most challenging and most rewarding aspect of my religious observance.

When I got engaged five years ago, I did what any girl with my upbringing does and looked for a “kallah class”. Hours were spent among my friends debating the relative merits of the various options: One-on-one with a Rebbetzin? You get personal attention. A large class? Somebody is bound to ask the embarrassing questions you would rather not ask. Perhaps the kallah teacher who does individual lessons but allows you to bring friends is the best choice?

In the end I found myself in a room with 20 other girls just like me and for twelve weeks the teacher told us the most intimate details of her married life. I was only nineteen, and for the first time I felt like an adult. T’’M almost seemed fun.

And then I got married.