| Reclaiming the Mikveh |
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| Written by Amanda Milstein | |||||
| Wednesday, 10 May 2006 | |||||
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You’re desperate to meet a FedEx deadline to send a very important package, and you need to tie it up, but you ran out of string and rope. Would it cross your mind to take your husband’s or your son’s tefillin, cut off the straps, and use them to tie up the package? This rhetorical question opens Hillel Goldberg’s article, “Would You Recite Kol Nidre On Passover: A Critique of the Mikvah Project,” published in the 2003 edition of the Jewish Action, the Orthodox Union magazine. Goldberg rages against those who dare to use a mikveh for anything other than its function in traditional Judaism: a pool of water used for conversions, and for immersion the week after a woman receives her period. In recent years, liberal Jews have been dipping into mikvehs for a variety of purposes: to cleanse oneself after ending an abusive marriage or experiencing a miscarriage, or to signal a new stage in one’s life, along with a host of other reasons. But for Goldberg, using a mikveh to mark a step in the healing process is just as disrespectful as batting a baseball with a lulav or using a menorah for mood lighting. He claims it is a violation of Jewish law without stating how, and does not even consider that women’s spiritual or mental health might be a valid end in and of itself. To my mother and women of her generation, the mikveh is a clear-cut tool of male oppression and represents a world view in which women are impure and require elaborate spiritual cleansing before they are fit to be touched by men. But attitudes are changing. Two summers ago, I worked at a far-left Jewish retreat center where every week before Shabbat, both men and women would bathe in separate mikvehs, a ritual inspired by Hasidic men, who have adopted the practice of immersion before Shabbat. It provided a comfortable atmosphere for prayer and for female bonding. Several months ago, I lead a discussion about progressive approaches to the mikveh with college-age progressive Jews from across the denominational spectrum. I found that most of them expressed extremely positive attitudes towards mikvehs, and viewed the practice of immersion as a female ritual with enormous power. Not one woman in a group of around thirty, most of whom would identify as feminists, thought that mikvehs had to be construed as patriarchal. It seems that alternate rituals are allowing women of this generation to claim a sense of ownership over the mikveh and rituals that can be performed there. Goldberg asks, “What is it about mikveh that invites violation?” That is entirely the wrong question. More relevant issues beg the questions: Why are contemporary women discovering newfound meaning in the ritual of immersion? What is it about the mikveh that stirs feelings of rebirth and healing? Mikvehs, which have been associated with centuries-long taboos against menstruating women, are now proving to be wellsprings of inspiration for women. And nobody’s cutting up anyone’s tefillin in the process.
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