Confessions of a Mikvah-Goer
By Judie Fein"Have you reached menopause yet?" Devorah Leah, the youthful, attractive Chabad Rebbetzin in Santa Fe, asked me.
"Yes. Uh, why are you asking?"
"Because I thought you might like to go to the mikvah. The Jewish ritual bath."
"Devorah Leah, you know I'm non-observant. The only time I dip is on Passover."
"Well, let me put it to you this way. After menopause, since you're no longer menstruating, only one visit to the mikvah is required. It will hold you for the rest of your life."
I was about to say no, but it occurred to me that as a travel journalist, I seek out, and frequently attend ceremonies from other cultures. Why not try my own?
Okay," I said. "Lay it on me. What do I have to do?"
A few days later, Devorah Leah showed up at my house with a big grin and a pretty mikvah kit that looked like it could be sold at Nordstrom's. Inside were some toiletry items needed for preparation.
"That's it?" I asked, relieved that the preparation was so easy.
"Not quite," she answered. "You can't have any physical contact with your husband - no touching, nothing - for seven days."
No touching? No hugging? No little squeezes of the hand?
"Nothing," the mikvah maven insisted.
"So who commits to this mitzvah of misery?" I asked.