The Community Mikveh: An Invention of Tradition

Master’s Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences Brandeis University Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies Sylvia Barack Fishman, Advisor In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for Master’s Degree

By Elizabeth Baskin

May 2012

ABSTRACT The Community Mikveh: An Invention of Tradition

A thesis presented to the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies Graduate School of Arts and Sciences Brandeis University Waltham, Massachusetts By Elizabeth Baskin

This thesis examines the motivations and experiences of women who—prior to their wedding—immersed in the Mayyim Hayyim Community Mikveh, a Jewish ritual bath unaffiliated with a congregation or denomination. Using survey and interview methods, the study found most respondents were raised in Reform or Conservative homes, and currently are less inclined to identify with any denomination. Both survey and interview data demonstrated that most respondents had not returned to Mayyim Hayyim to immerse again. The interview data suggested that these women understood ritual to be most meaningful when they are voluntary (as opposed to obligatory), and specific to life cycle events, which are infrequent and thus not at risk for becoming rote. They viewed mikveh immersion as most meaningful if they elected to do so at special and transitional moments in their lives, and tailored to their specific preferences. This understanding of mikveh immersion is what Eric Hobsbawm called an “invention of tradition”—it is a ritual that draws on past traditions (such a ritual immersion prior to a wedding), but is also a response to contemporary situations and expectations.

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Table of Contents Chapter 1: Introduction 1 I. A Mother, a Daughter and a Mikveh 1 II. A Brief History of Niddah and Ritual Impurity 2 III. The Case Study: Mayyim Hayyim Living Waters Community Mikveh 5 IV. Ritual Innovation in Nondenominational Settings in American Jewish Life 9 V. Methodology 19 VI. Major Findings 21 Chapter 2: The Landscape: Institutions and Individuals I. Mikveh in American Jewish Life II. The Creation of Mayyim Hayyim III. The Clientele: Survey Respondents IV. The Clientele: Interview Informants V. The Social is Spiritual VI. Getting in Touch with the Inner Self VII. Marking Women’s Life Cycle Moments

24 24 27 32 35 38 41 44

Chapter 3: Mikveh Experiences and Mayyim Hayyim I. A “Traditional” Wedding II. Marking a Major Life Transition III. The “Ick” Factor: Prior Negative Perceptions of Mikveh IV. Mayyim Hayyim: A Challenge and a Game Changer V. The Mikveh as Spa: Luxury, Aesthetics, and Spirituality VI. An Accepting and Supportive Environment VII. Up Close and Personal VIII. A Woman’s Ritual

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Chapter 4: Women and Ritual I. A Choice, Not an Obligation II. Pulling Mikveh Out of Their Cultural Toolkit III. How Mikveh Became a Part of the Toolkit: Retrievability IV. How Mikveh Became a Part of the Toolkit: Rhetorical Force and Resonance V. Inclusivity and Openness: Not Synonymous with NonDenominationalism VI. Already a Part of the Toolkit: Rituals as Markers of Life Cycle Events VII. Inventing Tradition VIII. Solidifying a Place in the Tool Kit: Institutional Retention and Resolution

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Chapter 5: Conclusion: The Community Mikveh Works Cited Appendices

96 103 107

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75 80 85 87 92

Chapter 1: Introduction I. A Mother, a Daughter, and a Mikveh In Bella Chagall’s memoir of her childhood in Russia at the start of the 20th century, she devotes a chapter to her memories of weekly trips to the public bath with her mother in preparation for the Jewish Sabbath, Shabbat. The story—written in Yiddish, published posthumously and accompanied with original drawings by her husband Marc Chagall—describes how female bath attendants used to scrub her with soap and pour hot buckets of water over her in the bathhouse (Chagall, 32-33). After she was washed, Chagall recalled watching her mother wash and scrub more thoroughly than she did, for instance by paying special attention to cleaning her toes. Then, Chagall’s mother entered a side room to immerse in the mikveh, a Jewish ritual bath1. The daughter remembered her concern as her mother descended “the four slippery stairs,” and after the attendant called out the blessing that accompanies the Jewish ritual immersion, her mother momentarily disappeared “into the black water” (Chagall, 36-37). When she stepped out of the mikveh, Chagall’s mother looked as if she were coming from “a fire, clean and purified” (Chagall, 37). The story closes with their return back to weekday responsibilities, including preparing for the upcoming Shabbat. This narrative, told from a child’s perspective, depicts the private women’s space established in the local public bath, but which was also appropriated for Jewish ritual use. While the daughter is there to receive her weekly bath, her mother engages in a Jewish 1

When a non-English word is introduced, it is italicized and translated. If the word is used again, it is not italicized to allow for easier reading.

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religious ritual, which marks the end of ritual impurity due to menstruation and a return to sexual relations with her husband. Chagall’s memoir illustrates how mikveh immersion, an ancient ritual, was woven into the everyday fabric of her traditional Jewish community. The ritual environment of a mikveh was a central institution and landmark, utilized for the quotidian practices and needs of traditional Jewish life. Exposed to it at an early age, Chagall remembered the mikveh for its prominence and frequency in her visits with her mother to the bathhouse. In her traditional Jewish community, mikveh immersion was a private women’s experience, shared amongst other women and incorporated into daily life. II. A Brief History of Niddah and Ritual Impurity Indeed, the ritual of mikveh immersion in Jewish women’s lives has a long and storied past. The source for a woman’s monthly immersion comes from the laws of niddah, meaning “separation,” which are dictated in the Hebrew Bible. Leviticus 15:19 commands that “a woman who has a flow of blood in her body shall be a niddah for seven days, and all who touch her shall be ritually impure until sundown” (translation from Zimmerman, 23) This statement, combined with Leviticus 18:19’s claim that “a woman in the ritually impure state of niddah, you shall not approach for sexual relations,” (ibid) became the biblical sources for the menstrual purity laws. These laws had “public and private” implications for women in the context of Temple centered society (Meacham, 23). In the public sphere, women were barred from entering the Temple while in a state of niddah, because the ritually impure could not be involved in ritual worship. This was the case for anyone—male or female—who was in a state of ritual impurity, which they could contract from leprosy or contact with a dead

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body. In the private sphere, women in a state of niddah could contaminate “foods or objects that required a ritual state of purity” by their touch (ibid). For women of child bearing years, the laws “clearly limited cultic contact” as well as precluded sexual relations while in a state of ritual impurity, brought on by menstruation or certain other flows of blood (Meacham 23-24). While the biblical commandments indicate that a woman in a state of niddah must only wait the seven days as prescribed in Lev. 15:19, those who were contaminated due to contact with a menstruating woman or objects contaminated by her, would be ritually purified by immersing themselves in “living waters” or mayyim hayyim (Meacham, 24). After the destruction of the Temple and the cessation of cultic worship, rabbinic leaders cast aside the practice of a majority of other ritual impurity laws as irrelevant without the Temple. However, the laws of menstruation regarding sexual activity continued to be observed, with several significant stringencies added and recorded between the first and third centuries of the Common Era, referred to as the Tannaitic period. During the shift from Temple to Rabbinic Judaism, the menstrual purity laws changed in practice and purpose, despite claims of continuity with the past. This process fits Eric Hobsbawm’s definition of the “invention of tradition,” which he described as a “set of practices…of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values or norms of behavior by repetition, which automatically implies continuity of the past” (Hobsbawm, 1). In response to the cessation of Temple centered practice and the ritual impurity laws observed within that context, early Rabbinic Judaism reinterpreted laws surrounding menstrual impurity, while claiming ties to the biblical sources and past practices.

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The first generation of Rabbinic Judaism, recorded in Tannaitic sources, no longer held that counting seven days after the beginning of a woman’s period was sufficient. Rather, they stated that bathing was required for a woman to mark the end of her state of niddah. In the land of Israel at the time, the easiest way to do so was in a mikveh, which was a ritual bath that held a certain measurement of water (Meacham, 29). The Mishnah’s Tractate Mikvaot (plural for mikveh) dictated what made a mikveh acceptable, including the type of water it collected (“rain, spring water or water from a river”) (ibid). The Tannaitic period also saw the implementation of a “sexual separation from one’s spouse” for the twelve hours before on the onset of menstruation as well as the addition of internal checking to determine the beginning and end of menstruation. But the most notable stringency instituted in early Rabbinic Judaism was Rabbi Zera’s decree that women must count seven blood-free days after any blood flow that put a woman in a state of ritual impurity (Meacham, 32). Stringencies in the menstrual laws were extended even further in the late Middle Ages, when a series of books based on a publication entitled the Beraita deNiddah prescribed what had previously been understood as non-normative practices regarding niddah. These “extreme formulations” included statements such as the “dust of a menstruant’s feet causes impurity to others,” and or that a woman should refrain from blessing Shabbat candles as no one should benefit from her in an impure state (Meacham, 32). These non-normative views, which considered the menstruating woman as a source of pollution, may have influenced the practices of those who were “not knowledgeable in rabbinic literature” (ibid).

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Finally, in the 19th and early 20th centuries, a new catchall term for the laws of niddah and the accompanying mikveh immersion emerged: taharat hamishpacha, or family purity. The term most likely stemmed from the Neo-Orthodox movement in Germany, in which as a response to the Reform movement’s rejection of mikveh immersion, Neo-Orthodox leaders encouraged women to “keep the family pure” (Meacham, 32-33). 2 Clearly, the laws and practice of niddah have shifted, adjusted, and responded to changing notions of a menstruating woman’s state of ritual impurity, as well as the role of mikveh as a means to change ritual status. Current niddah and mikveh observance, at any level of the Jewish religious spectrum, differs from its practice in Temple or even early Rabbinic Judaism. And, as indicated above, the rupture between Orthodox and liberal (initially Reform) Jewish movements in their approach to the mikveh immersion as obligatory changed the discourse from how it should be observed to if it should be observed at all. III. The Case Study: Mayyim Hayyim Living Waters Community Mikveh This study focuses on the role of mikveh immersion in contemporary American Jewish life. The extent of mikveh immersion practice in American Jewish life is hard to measure, but which most communal leaders have typically depicted as limited or scarcely observed, which will be further discussed in chapter two. The practice also often marked a line between Orthodox and non-Orthodox Jewish communities: In the United States, Orthodox congregations typically sponsored a mikveh for women to immerse monthly, something liberal congregations rarely invested in. 2

For a detailed description of current Modern Orthodox observance of “family purity laws,” see Deena Zimmerman’s A Lifetime Companion to the Laws of Jewish Family Life.

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But in 2000, Anita Diamant, a successful Boston-based novelist and author of a guide for liberal Jewish lifecycle events, published her vision for a new type of mikveh in the Boston area—one not affiliated with any congregation or denomination. Diamant was able to establish such an institution, and Mayyim Hayyim Living Waters Community Mikveh opened in Newton, Massachusetts in 2004. It was billed as a site that would make “mikveh accessible and meaningful for the full diversity of our people for the first time in Jewish history” (“Mayyim Hayyim About”). The following study deconstructs this claim: who is their clientele that supposedly encompasses the “full diversity of our people”? Was mikveh inaccessible to these people without Mayyim Hayyim? In what ways would Mayyim Hayyim arrange their ritual environment to make mikveh accessible? How would decisions made by Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders allow a ritual become a meaningful experience for those who used it? Finally, in what way is Jewish history invoked and was this indeed a new approach to the ancient ritual? Women, and occasionally men, immerse in Mayyim Hayyim for a wide variety of reasons, including traditional purposes such as monthly immersions for niddah purposes, or for conversion, as well as alternative uses of mikveh, such as to mark a divorce, recovery from an illness or to celebrate major life cycle events. In cooperation with its clients, Mayyim Hayyim has even created new rituals and prayers for these occasions. The following sociological study examines the motivations and experiences of one group of visitors who immersed at Mayyim Hayyim: women who immersed prior to their wedding. Data was gathered through survey and interview methods. I chose this particular segment of Mayyim Hayyim’s clients in order to capture the widest sample of individuals who have immersed there. While examining people who had converted there

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would have enabled me to speak with men and women, their narratives likely would have been centered around their decision to convert, rather than the particular choice of mikveh immersion (which is also often influenced or decided by the supervising rabbi of the conversion). Mayyim Hayyim staff also informed me that they had never held an Orthodox conversion on their premises. In order to avoid narrowing my sample to only those who would identify as non-Orthodox, I did not interview those who immersed at Mayyim Hayyim for conversion. My sample also could have focused on women who utilize Mayyim Hayyim for niddah observance, but I believe that sample would skew more to the traditionally observant end of the Jewish spectrum than a majority of Mayyim Hayyim’s clientele. Based on discussions with Carrie Bornstein, acting executive director of Mayyim Hayyim, I chose to survey and interview women who had immersed there as a prewedding ritual. As indicated by Carrie, this sample would provide the widest net of participants’ backgrounds, as well as one of the largest groups from which to contact via the Mayyim Hayyim database. The sample only includes women, as a pre-wedding mikveh immersion traditionally marked the start of a woman’s monthly mikveh immersion as a part of niddah observance. While men are encouraged to immerse for prewedding immersions at Mayyim Hayyim, they are not nearly as common as women’s bridal immersions. In creating my survey and in the course of my interviews, I had the following questions in mind: Who were these women that immersed at Mayyim Hayyim before their wedding—what were their Jewish backgrounds, and what role did religion and spirituality play in their lives today? What factors led to their decision to immerse in a

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mikveh before their wedding, and what prompted them to choose Mayyim Hayyim as the ritual environment to do so? What had their previous conceptions of mikveh been, and how did their experiences at Mayyim Hayyim diverge? How did mikveh immersion fit into their larger approach to Jewish rituals? Even more broadly, in what ways did this reflect what they seek out in ritual environments? This final question was particularly important to me, as I initially approached the project as an opportunity to study what I believed was a noteworthy situation: a site where ritual—typically an aspect of American Jewish life which was performed in a specifically denominational setting—would be conducted in a nondenominational space. Although Mayyim Hayyim’s website describes the organization as an “un-hyphenated Jewish place,” here I use the term nondenominational to describe its non-affiliation with a denomination or congregation (“Mayyim Hayyim Seven Principles”). Mayyim Hayyim’s founders insisted it be a site which was halachic [according to Jewish legal standards] and thus could appeal to those potential users for whom that was important, yet it would also be a “pluralistic institution” that provides “meaningful resources and personal experiences to all interested Jews, and those becoming Jewish” (“Mayyim Hayyim Mission,”). When I began this study, I sought to uncover the dynamics at play in a site that people from a variety of backgrounds could use, but with very different expectations and desires from a Jewish ritual environment. I wanted to test the contention of Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders that by the pluralistic and nondenominational nature of the site, the community mikveh could make a ritual accessible to “the full diversity” of the Jewish community. Furthermore, I wanted to understand how in this novel approach to mikveh,

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the participants and leaders were in a process of ritual innovation, and thus in a process of inventing tradition. IV. Ritual Innovation in Nondenominational Settings in American Jewish Life Mikveh is one of several sites in Jewish life today where ritual innovation takes place in a nondenominational setting. Scholars argue that there have been a series of social changes that have created this emergence. Two major American Jewish movements, starting in the late 1960s and onward, have been especially influential in this phenomenon. The first is the Jewish countercultural movement, and the second is Jewish feminism. According to Riv-Ellen Prell, the Jewish countercultural movement was a reaction to the Jewish establishment, as epitomized in the American synagogue and the Federation system, although this movement had many parallel concerns of the general youth counterculture that erupted in the late 1960s (Prell, 75-78). A key artifact of this culture was the Jewish Catalog, the first of which was published in 1973, with a second and third Catalog published later that decade. Calling itself a handbook for “do-it-yourself Judaism,” the Jewish Catalog emphasized the democratic and non-hierarchical ethos of the counterculture. In the First Jewish Catalog, editors’ Richard Siegel and Sharon and Michael Strassfeld described their undertaking as meant to inspire a “move away from the prefabricated, spoon-fed, nearsighted Judaism into the stream of possibilities for personal responsibility and physical participation” (Siegel and Strassfeld, 9). The Jewish counterculture, as epitomized in the Catalog, claimed Judaism was open and available to individual interpretation and encouraged others to take ownership of their ritual practices by searching for innovative ways to make them meaningful. Furthermore, this kind of

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ritual work did not need the approval of established institutions in American Jewish life; seeking out meaningful prayer and learning communities, these Jewish do-it-yourselfers founded the Havurah (“fellowship”) movement, to be discussed below. But this democratic and inclusive ethos of “Catalog” and “havurah” Judaism of the 1970s was not the sole forerunner to the emergence of Jewish ritual innovation in nondenominational spaces. The Jewish women’s movement was also enormously active in innovating rituals and spaces, in an effort to create major social change in Jewish life. Using feminist sensibilities to rethink virtually every part of Jewish life, Jewish feminists of the 1960s and after set their sights on reclamation of Jewish rituals from maledominated practices. In creating rituals to implement their feminist consciousness and programs, Jewish feminists found they had two possible paths: they either appropriated men’s rituals or chose to highlight distinctly female rituals (Ochs, 47). According to Shulamit Magnus, when they decided to highlight distinctly female rituals, Jewish feminists searched their tradition for a “usable past” in which there was “a distinct and powerful women’s culture” (335). However, she argues that while something like a Rosh Hodesh group (a ritual in which Jewish women gather to study and celebrate at the start of a new moon) is clearly an innovative practice of the twentieth century, the concept of Jewish women setting aside that which they view as a “sacred moment” is not a radical development (Magnus, 336). Magnus asserts that feminist Jews should be willing to be forthright when they are pulling from new practices and values that are informed by the women’s movement (343). According to Magnus, these early Jewish feminists created new rituals based on their feminist consciousness, but in such efforts, also utilized Jewish traditional concepts.

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Thus, two significant movements, the Jewish countercultural movement and the Jewish women’s movement of the late 1960s and onwards, created a culture where innovating and reinventing Jewish rituals and traditions was an essential part of a vision of social change in Jewish life. As mentioned earlier, the Havurah movement was one attempt to create communities that followed the ethos of the countercultural and women’s movement. Reacting to the strict demands for decorum, as well as what they perceived as the hierarchy and patriarchy of the American suburban synagogue, these Havurot (plural of havurah) changed the layout, content, and focus of their worship services, while not adhering to any specific denomination’s liturgy, style, or specific ideology. Members of a Havurah typically met weekly for Shabbat prayer services and discussion. Two ethnographic studies of a Havurah Minyan (prayer group), conducted in the early 1970s, but published in 1989, highlight distinctive trends the authors observed in their respective communities, but also found many similar features in their Havurah members’ efforts to create meaningful and authentic religious ritual experiences. In RivEllen Prell’s study of a Los Angeles-based Havurah, the minyan members she observed valued the autonomy and individualism of American culture, which they infused into their prayer group by critically analyzing their Judaism in discussions peppered into their weekly sessions (Prell, 102). The reflective nature of these discussions, the liturgy (one that is mostly traditional, but still allows for the flexibility to change or create prayers depending on the participants), and the circular layout of chairs (as opposed to the rows of pews typically seen in a synagogue) conveyed the distinctive qualities of this independent, non-institutional, and autonomous group (Prell, 98-99). By reworking some parts of the liturgy, but still largely adhering to traditional Jewish worship service, the

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Havurah members displayed their attempt to balance modern sensibilities and traditional rituals. In fact, Prell argues, they encouraged “counter-decorum” in their services; the clutter, movement, and non-structured sensibilities that pervaded services in the Havurah Minyan were in direct response to the decorum of their parents’ synagogues (Prell, 104). Chava Weissler’s study of an East Coast-based Havurah Minyan picks up on many of the themes in Prell’s study, which allows readers to imagine that since these communities were on opposite coasts, they represent larger trends that occurred in the Havurah movement. Both found that members were aware of their efforts to change rituals to make them feel more meaningful, including giving women full participation in the service, which was then uncommon in American synagogues, even in liberal denominations. But, as Weissler argues, they were quite “conscious of their ambivalence towards aspects of Jewish tradition, and explicit about their attempts to give equal weight to the claims of tradition and modernity” (Weissler, 30). In their efforts to make meaningful prayer and learning experiences, they had no qualms about admitting where their tensions lay—they valued modernity and tradition all at once. In this nonestablishment group, their discourse became established: Seemingly all discussions began with “I have a problem with prayer…” (Prell, 236; Weissler 148-49). In sharing their ambivalence with traditional texts, Havurah members in both studies actually ritualized their tension between tradition and modernity. As opposed to the perceived uninspiring ideology of their parents’ synagogue, Havurah members could continuously tweak, rethink, and search for meaning in these rituals that, outside of the Havurah, had little appeal to minyan members. Thus, in their search of meaningful prayer and communal experiences, minyan members in both studies

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ritualized their ambivalence with their texts and traditions. Their culture of inclusivity and feminism also meant they would push to include anyone who wanted to participate in this endeavor. However, in both studies, as the size of the groups grew, tensions in creating inclusive and yet powerful experiences quickly developed. By the late 1980s, both Havurot had disbanded, though some other Havurot around the country still exist. But the Havurah, counterculture, and feminist movements all paved the way for later manifestations of nondenominational spaces for ritual innovation. In more recent years, several other social forces have also been influential in the rise of these nondenominational spaces that allow for ritual creativity and negotiation. As highlighted by Jonathan Sarna in his foreword to Empowered Judaism, other notable social trends that favor this type of ritual innovation work include: the availability of high-level Jewish education across the country which provides a deeper knowledge of Jewish rituals (after all, it would be difficult to reinvent something one knows little about); gay pride and rights as not only accepted but celebrated in liberal traditions of Judaism (though much more open and frank discussions are happening even in Orthodox communities); and finally, the start-up culture of the Internet, which has filtered into Jewish life and practices. While the do-it-yourself culture insisted that individuals have the imperative to take Judaism into their own hands, the Internet has provided an accessible means to do so—by allowing them to share and make connections with people also seeking meaningful ritual experiences, outside the confines of denominational labels or doctrines (Forward, Kaunfer, xi-xxi). These trends have all been instrumental in the shaping of the Independent Minyan movement, which some would call the next generation of the Havurah. The Independent

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Minyan as it exists today is little over a decade old and shares certain characteristics of the havurot, such as not worshiping in synagogues but in nondenominational spaces, insisting that prayer services include the full participation of women, and an emphasis on lay leadership (as opposed to a cantor, rabbi, and other ritual experts). According to Elie Kaunfer, a founder of one of the largest Independent Minyanim (plural of minyan), the Independent Minyan differs from the Havurah model in their practices and goals. Foremost, they do not believe in the “radical democratic tendencies” of Havurah Judaism, and thus are willing to maintain a hierarchical leadership to ensure “capable volunteers” run the services (Kaunfer, 75). While Kaunfer advocates for an empowered laity, it is not at the expense of a service that is efficient and well run, by people fluent and skilled in the rituals of a prayer service. This requisite knowledge only empowers a select group of Jews to participate. Ultimately, Kaunfer argues that the Independent Minyan had a significantly different goal in mind in creating these types of ritual space. He claims that the Havurah grew out of a countercultural movement that sought to change “the Jewish Establishment,” while the Independent Minyan movement simply filled a “demographic vacuum” in Jewish life for emerging adults in urban environments (Kaunfer, 75, 83). This is an interesting contrast to the Partnership Minyan movement, a model of prayer groups that is contemporaneous with the Independent Minyan. First, Partnership Minyanim differentiate themselves from Independent Minyanim in practice. While the Partnership Minyan model attempts to give greater participatory roles to women in prayer rituals within a halachic framework, they keep many of the spatial and visual gender separation barriers seen in a traditional Orthodox service (including separation of genders by a partition and little female use of traditionally male ritual garb). In their efforts to

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give women greater participatory roles, Partnership Minyanim wait for ten men and ten women to be present before starting services, and allow women (and men) to lead prayer services or read from the Torah. In contrast, the Independent Minyan Kaunfer helped found, runs a fully egalitarian service, including mixed seating and beginning when ten Jewish individuals (men or women) are present. But what differentiates the Partnership from the Independent Minyan is not ritual practice alone, but its attitude toward denominational labels. Elana Sztokman interviewed fifty-four men who participate in Partnership Minyanim around the globe, in what is the first full-fledged study of the movement. In her book The Men’s Section, Sztokman demonstrates that her informants were quite insistent that this type of model still can be considered an Orthodox prayer service, however much on the margins it may be. Szokman’s informants understood their participation in such an endeavor as potentially being perceived as non-Orthodox. While many of the men clung to an Orthodox denominational label, Sztokman argued that they are “border-dwellers”; their participation in Partnership Minyanim places them in a liminal stance between what “they perceive as mainstream Orthodoxy and everything else” (Sztokman, 254). Their fear is that such practices have the potential to be viewed by others as outside the camp of what is “Orthodox,” and are terrified of the social consequences of being labeled anything else. Ironically, Sztokman’s informants’ vehement insistence implicitly acknowledges that they are innovating what a prayer ritual looks like in an “Orthodox” setting. Because members are so concerned about terminology and the potential to be deemed outsiders, they end up emphasizing how much their actions are in fact challenging the limits of

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Orthodoxy. Notably, this was not the sole perspective articulated by Partnership Minyan members—some of Sztokman’s informants as well as others in her fieldwork were not as attached to the label “Orthodox”—but it was, at the very least, understood by all members in the study that participation in such a venture left them at the margins of Orthodoxy. Prayer services are just one type of ritual space that has been innovated in the past few decades. Sites for education both impart skills and knowledge in performing ritual as well as become sites of ritual practice. In a Jewish day school setting, in which students follow a double curriculum of religious and general studies, the educational environment typically expresses a particular pedagogical message to students: “This is how we perform x ritual.” Just as prayer services usually are structured under the purview of a denomination, thus giving congregants a specific set of rules to follow based on that particular stream of Judaism, Jewish day schools also tend to enforce a specific Jewish denominational perspective. But in community day schools, which are educational sites that are intentionally not under the auspices of any specific denomination, the pedagogical assumption is different. In a community day school, ritual practice is not fixed by a denominational perspective and then enforced or encouraged; instead, there is the potential for rituals to be explained and performed with multiple approaches to match the diversity of the student body and faculty. Scholars have conducted intensive studies of these community day schools— schools that are called pluralistic, as they are at least nominally not affiliated with any specific denomination. Based on research at two community day schools, two models emerged of how such schools (the administration and faculty) negotiate the complicated

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nexus of teaching rituals, practicing rituals within the schools, and dignifying and respecting the diversity of students and their families, and how they, in turn, respond to these educational ritual decisions. The first model that emerged is the intentionally pluralistic community day school. In Susan Shevitz and Rahel Wasserfall’s study of the community day school “Tikhon,” the researchers provide a ringing endorsement of how a community day school can, when consciously following its mission of a commitment to pluralism, succeed in creating a reflective and innovative ritual environment. Their study claims that in the culture of a community day school, there exists a spectrum of three types of pluralism, all of which they asserted Tikhon had committed to: demographic (diverse in population), co-existence (where diverse groups can work/study with each other amicably), and finally, generative pluralism, which encourages engagement with multiple and even contradictory perspectives and experiences (Shevitz and Wasserfall, 378-9). In their model of generative pluralism, how do the administrators and teachers enact such a setting for their students? Shevitz and Wasserfall argue that Tikhon does so by creating a “safe-enough” environment where students feel they can self-disclose, for example, by participating in public displays such as the “de-bate Midrash,” (a play on the Bet Midrash, or house of study) to engage in divisive issues and find role models within the faculty who will uphold their diverse positions (380-1). In such a setting, generative pluralism is able to take hold, as students are allowed publicly to perform differences of opinion, including disagreeing with their fellow students or even their teachers. But constant negotiations take place in such a school, from specifying a way to lead the grace after meals that would make all students feel comfortable (Shevitz and Wasserfall, 379),

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to creating dozens of prayer service options to allow students to find a service that appeals to their religious understandings and ritual preferences in that given moment (Shevitz and Wasserfall, 382). For a drastically different model of a community day school, Alan Selis’s doctoral dissertation, “Holding the Center: How One Jewish Day School Negotiates Differences in a Pluralistic Community,” provides an image of a less intentionally pluralistic institution. As a participant observer (teaching Judaic Studies for a year in CDS), Selis examined a school that, while both pluralistic demographically and in its members’ co-existence, was not a place for generative pluralism. A majority of faculty and administrators were Orthodox, while most students were from non-Orthodox backgrounds (Conservative, Reform, or not affiliated). CDS’ gap between students and teachers was a major tension in any intra-religious ritual endeavor. Selis reported that the teachers felt they were in a constant state of negotiation around ritual boundaries, frequently assessing whether something was “in accordance with halacha [Jewish law] (Selis, 191). On the other hand, students and parents expressed feeling that their backgrounds and diversity of religious practice were ignored, or that an Orthodox perspective was being “thrust upon them” (Selis, 204-5). In this model of a nondenominational setting, the faculty settled ritual decisions, and a diversity of opinions or practices was never accepted. In certain instances, administrators unequivocally turned down the opportunity for students to practice a religious ritual that did not adhere to their standards of halacha; for instance, the administration refused to implement an egalitarian prayer service, despite requests for it (Selis, 192). Selis argued that, “the school offered a space where two groups bearing different agendas did an admirable job of coexisting

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without actually accepting the responsibilities of a real community” (Selis, 238). CDS’ students and faculty managed to coexist, but their worldviews were remarkably different, and neither side were open to the possibility they could be changed by the other, what Shevitz and Wasserfall describe as generative pluralism. In fact, the institutional framework of CDS seemed much closer to Orthodox outreach tactics (such as Chabad) than an intentionally pluralistic setting (Selis, 192-3). These previous studies provide a framework to understand the context from which the community mikveh developed. Mayyim Hayyim serves as another fascinating yet unexamined site for Jewish ritual innovation in a nondenominational setting. The following study uses Clifford Geertz’s interpretive method of thick description, in which researchers immerse themselves in a culture to understand and then describe the complex social world they are studying (Geertz, 6-7). Geertz claimed that researchers “begin with our own interpretations of what our informants are up to, or think they are up to, and then systematize those” (Geertz, 15). In this case, I initially approached Mayyim Hayyim as another example of nondenominational sites for religious ritual, but as will be described later, this was not a particularly salient category for the informants in my study. While many were ambivalent about defining themselves within a specific denomination, the appeal of a community mikveh was not its nondenominationalism but the inclusiveness and welcoming feeling they experienced there. V. Methodology This project started in June 2011, when I worked part-time as an intern for Mayyim Hayyim, with the explicit understanding by the staff that I intended to use my position as a starting point for a thesis topic. In August, I met with then-executive

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director Aliza Kline (who was to begin her sabbatical that month) and now acting director Carrie Bornstein to discuss possible topics for my study. In November and December 2011, Carrie and I corresponded via email and phone to establish my methods and the role that Mayyim Hayyim would play in this study. This research would entail survey and interview methods, and the informants would be culled directly from Mayyim Hayyim’s databases. After I received approval from the Institutional Review Board, Carrie emailed a survey I created to 585 women who had been filed in Mayyim Hayyim’s database as a “bridal immersion” visit. The “bridal immersion” category in the database indicated that sometime in the last eight years since the site opened, these women had immersed at Mayyim Hayyim as a pre-wedding ritual. It also could include women whose “bridal immersion” was for a second or third marriage, or have divorced, separated or been widowed since the time of their pre-wedding immersion. The purpose of the survey was to provide a context from which more in-depth interview data could be understood. The survey data (though not a generalizable sample) provided some basic background information about Mayyim Hayyim bridal immersion visitors and helped contextualize the much smaller sample of interview informants, which will be described in the following chapters. See Appendix A for the survey format. Survey participants were guaranteed anonymity, unless they elected to be contacted for participating in an interview. The survey generated 150 completed responses and 77 of respondents selected to share their name and email addresses for me to contact them for a potential interview. Given the tight time restraints, I reached out to the first 40 of the 77 women who elected to participate in an interview. I conducted 17 interviews, four in person and the

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rest via Skype or Gmail video, with the exception of one phone interview. The choice of video interviews allowed for more flexibility of when and where these interviews could occur. The women I spoke to were mostly living in the Greater Boston area, but I spoke with three women living in New York and another two living in Los Angeles. Without video calls, it is unlikely that many of the interviews would have been possible, given time and budget constraints. These conversations lasted between 20 minutes and an hour, and followed a semi-structured interview guide (See Appendix B for the interview guide). I audio-recorded and transcribed all 17 interviews. The in-person interviews were conducted on the Brandeis University campus, expect for one interview, which took place in my home. While in-person interviews were easiest to establish the participant’s intended tone and helped me “read” the situation best, video calls still enabled me to have a visual, face-to-face conversation with my informants. VI. Major Findings The majority of women surveyed and interviewed were raised Conservative and Reform, with a very small percentage raised Orthodox and slightly more raised unaffiliated. In both the survey and interviews, participants indicated that they were less inclined to define themselves by denomination, yet 65% of those surveyed were affiliated with a synagogue. My interview informants indicated that their choice of synagogue could be swayed by certain amenities (family services) or its emotional appeal (open, welcoming, inclusive) rather than by a synagogue’s or any ritual environment’s specific denomination. Many of those interviewed also were professionals or lay leaders in Jewish communal organizations, and espoused worldviews that could be categorized as a liberal ethos (such as a liberal political outlook, and a belief in gay rights and egalitarianism).

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Thus, in terms of the Jewish spectrum, the “full diversity” of the Jewish people that Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders appealed to were liberal Jews whose lives, at least on a professional or volunteer level, were already involved in Jewish life, even if they somewhat avoided labeling themselves. Another major theme that emerged from the interview data was that these women understood mikveh immersion as a choice, which they felt made a ritual a more meaningful experience than one that they felt obligated to do. These women also believed that the most meaningful rituals were those performed for life cycle events. This was due to the infrequent and thus special nature of those events, and would avoid the problems of routinization. Taken together, mikveh immersion was a meaningful experience for these women because it was understood to be voluntary and occasional, rather than obligatory and consistent. This perspective on ritual differs greatly from the obligatory and frequent performance of niddah and mikveh observance, as described in Naomi Marmon’s study of Orthodox women (to be described in the next chapter) or as dictated in Deena Zimmerman’s guide to family purity. But for this experience to have even entered these women’s repertoire of rituals, Mayyim Hayyim as an institution had to create an environment that resonated with these women’s worldviews. Indeed, the staff and volunteer guides encouraged the women whom I interviewed to personalize their experience, and made them feel comfortable and welcome. The space was beautiful and felt luxurious, and they appreciated that they were not rushed and could take their time. Mayyim Hayyim’s ritual environment also allowed these women to use the experience for introspection, by having the time to connect with their own thoughts and bodies. Still, others brought along family or their partner to share

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the experience and appreciate the reason they were there: to transition into a new part of their life, from single to married. For some, this was a spiritual experience because it allowed them to look inwards, while for others the social was spiritual, and thus found it more meaningful to perform the ritual in a communal or social manner. Yet many of the women I spoke with have not returned to Mayyim Hayyim, or any mikveh, since their bridal immersion. They approached ritual immersion in the same manner in which they understood all rituals: infrequent and tied to life cycle events. Just as they imagined their wedding would be a once in a lifetime event, these women assumed they probably would not immerse again—even though it ended up being a powerful experience. For these women, the salient feature in Mayyim Hayyim’s ritual environment was not the site’s non-affiliation with a specific stream of Judaism. It was the inclusive, welcoming and non-assumptive atmosphere they encountered at Mayyim Hayyim, and which they desired in any ritual environment. The open environment that they experienced in Mayyim Hayyim allowed these women to rethink mikveh, and encouraged them to add it to their cultural toolkit in a manner that felt appropriate to them and matched their notions of what they seek in a ritual experience.

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Chapter 2: The Landscape: Institutions and Individuals I. Mikveh in American Jewish Life The mikveh was considered in traditional Rabbinic Judaism as “an obligation of the Jewish community to provide and supervise” (Meacham, 35). It was historically one of the first institutions built in a Jewish community. In fact, according to accounts recorded in the 19th century, the first mikveh in what would become the United States was most likely established even before the community’s synagogue was built (Goldman, 69). Recently, three mikvaot were discovered and excavated in Recife, St. Eustatius, and Barbados, built by some of the earliest Jewish settlers in the New World (Liebman, 113). However, according to Jonathan Sarna, as more Jews immigrated to the United States in the 18th century and early 19th century, some began to take advantage of the freedom of their new country. Despite the construction of mikvaot in early U.S. Jewish communities such as in Philadelphia, some men lamented that their female coreligionists had cast off the observance of mikveh immersion (Sarna, 50-51). By the 20th century interwar period in the United States, “only a minority of women followed this traditional Jewish practice, even within the Orthodox community,” (Wenger, 213). In reaction to their fears of assimilation, Jewish community leaders promoted “scientific” research of the early 20th century, and claimed there was a consonance between mikveh use and “the lifestyle choices of modern, acculturated Jewish women,” to encourage a return to mikveh and niddah observance (ibid).

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Because of the private nature of mikveh immersion, the observance of the ritual is hard to measure. Thus, it is unclear the extent to which these interwar efforts to drum up support for mikveh immersion succeeded. However, it is helpful to consider how Jewish communal leaders’ language and arguments changed to match the concerns of the population, or at the very least, to assuage their own leadership concerns. Rather than rely on the questionable science of physicians that leaders early in the 20th century promoted, contemporary Jewish leaders have tried to respond to negative perceptions of mikveh, by emphasizing the emotional and spiritual rewards of the practice. Rabbi Miriam Berkowitz, a Conservative rabbi, elucidated the concerns many liberal Jews have with mikveh in her 2009 book, Taking the Plunge: A Practical and Spiritual Guide to the Mikveh. She claimed that liberal Jews, even those deeply committed to rituals and observances, were largely not interested or even educated about mikveh. If they had heard of mikveh, they often had negative associations (such as an unpleasant or judgmental attendant known as “the mikveh lady,” an un-hygienic process, an embarrassing and archaic ritual), or they believed it to be contrary to feminist perspectives (for example, immersing in a mikveh assumed women’s bodies are dirty). Berkowitz depicted these reactions to mikveh in order to debunk these “myths and misperceptions” and to defend mikveh immersion’s spiritual and religious significance (Berkowitz, 6-13). But were these issues that solely affected liberal Jews in the late 20th and early 21st century? Naomi Marmon’s “Reflections on Contemporary Miqveh Practice,” provides insight into Orthodox women’s private understandings and experiences of the laws of niddah and mikveh. In 1993, Marmon interviewed forty-six women who

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considered themselves “Orthodox, or shomray mitzvot (observant of the commandments)” (Marmon, 233). These women acknowledged some of their contemporaries’ critiques of mikveh, such as the perception that Jewish law considered women unclean. However, “many of the women reported that observing the laws…gives them a better image of themselves and a feeling of empowerment” (234). On the other hand, several of her informants described the difficulties in abstaining from sexual contact with their husbands, a part of the added stringencies in the laws of niddah. Thus, the Orthodox women in Marmon’s study described the emotional benefits and disadvantages they have felt in their observance. Still, the most notable finding in Marmon’s study was that “every woman who was interviewed asserted that she observes the laws of niddah because they are halacha [Jewish law]” (233). Viewing the laws of niddah as commanded and thus obligatory is one of the driving forces behind why these women observed them. This worldview is what often draws a line between Orthodox and non-Orthodox, especially surrounding emotionally laden practices such as niddah. According to reporter Debra Nussbaum Cohen, “at the end of the day, Orthodox Jews go to the mikveh because it is a commandment. But that isn’t enough to persuade many liberal Jews to take on the observance” (Nussbaum Cohen, “Mikveh, In Their Own Image”). Another line in the sand between the Orthodox and non-Orthodox surrounding mikveh use in American Jewish life often surfaces around conversions—specifically, the issues which emerge when non-Orthodox rabbis want to use a mikveh for conversions. Since most mikvaot in the United States are run under Orthodox auspices, this has sometimes made non-Orthodox rabbis feel unwelcome or uncomfortable in a clearly

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marked “Orthodox” space (Berkowitz, 35). Sometimes, they are actually excluded from using mikvaot, as Debra Nussbaum Cohen reported, “non-Orthodox rabbis who once had access to ritual baths are increasingly being shut out” (“Transforming a Community [part 2]: Liberal Mikvahs Spring Up in Response to Growing Need”). From an Orthodox perspective, Nussbaum Cohen stated that “Rabbi Steven Dworken, executive vice president of the Rabbinical Council of America, which is Orthodox, says that many communities want the mikvah ‘solely for the use of the Orthodox community and don’t want to perpetuate what they see as non-halachic conversions’ ” (ibid). In their fundamentally different way of interpreting who is a Jew, it is quite reasonable that nonOrthodox Jews would not feel comfortable using ritual spaces that are run by individuals or communities who do not accept their status as Jews. While most mikvaot in the country are run under Orthodox supervision, a few Conservative-run mikvaot have opened in recent years (Nussbaum Cohen, “Transforming a Community (part 2): Liberal Mikvahs Spring Up in Response to Growing Need”). But when Mayyim Hayyim was first imagined over ten years ago, the community mikveh as a non-affiliated site essentially did not exist in the United States. While other institutions with similar trans-denominational philosophies were being executed in other areas of ritual (Jewish prayer groups or community day schools, for instance), mikveh was left out, often for the reasons cited above about the taboos surrounding mikveh. II. The Creation of Mayyim Hayyim Anita Diamant’s essay, “Why I want a Mikveh,” written in 2000, is credited as the starting point for the conception of Mayyim Hayyim (“Mayyim Hayyim History”). Diamant had previously published The New Jewish Wedding in 1985, a guide intended

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for liberal Jews planning a wedding that incorporates Jewish traditions while respecting their liberal ethos. However, in 1997, her fame came from her first work of fiction, The Red Tent, Diamant’s best selling version of the matriarchs’ story in Genesis. Thus, in 2000, when Diamant described her vision for a mikveh, she was known for her liberal values and appreciation for traditional stories and rituals. Additionally, she was a bestselling author whose novel had been published in more than twenty-five countries, and therefore had the fame and financial capacity to jumpstart this endeavor (“Anita Diamant: Biography”). In her “Why I want a Mikveh,” essay (which was incorporated into a book in 2003), Diamant envisioned a mikveh which celebrated liberal (in other words, nonOrthodox) Jewish conversions, and which could be used for traditional and alternative ritual uses. But most importantly, it would be open and available to all who wanted it, and to mark a variety of moments in their lives, not just those traditionally marked by mikveh immersion (Diamant, 211-216). Thus, the initial conundrum of Mayyim Hayyim was born. One of Mayyim Hayyim’s primary goals was to make mikveh an accessible ritual to all Jews, but its founder particularly wanted to appeal to the Jewish “liberal community” or those becoming Jewish, “in a more welcoming and dignified manner” (“Mayyim Hayyim FAQ’s”). This statement, still on the Mayyim Hayyim website as of March 2012, is an implicit critique of mikvaot in the area—all Orthodox-run—and implies that those mikvaot do not offer a welcoming environment or do not dignify liberal Jews or those who were converting with a non-Orthodox rabbi. These implicitly critical statements about the nature of Orthodox-run mikvaot beg the question: was the intention of Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders to establish a mikveh for all

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Jews, or was it meant to appeal specifically to liberal Jews? This was a tension that Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders struggled with. In tracing some of its history, I hope to show where Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders made organizational choices to reach liberal audiences, but attempted in minimal ways to include the liberal Orthodox, which they have tried to do more in recent years. One way to get an accurate picture of the intended audience is by looking at the initial leadership cohort that helped found and fund Mayyim Hayyim. In 2002—the midpoint between when Diamant published “Why I Want a Mikveh,” and the opening of the site in May 2004—Mayyim Hayyim’s board of directors was comprised of seven members, three of which were “congregational rabbis representing the Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist movements” (Auerbach, 10). Several of the initial board members were part of an older generation of Jewish feminists that had sought to highlight and reclaim Jewish women’s rituals (including mikveh immersion). At that time, the board also included two “denominational representatives of the regional offices of the Reform and Conservative movement,” with Diamant presiding (ibid). Thus, at its inception and initial planning stages, the community mikveh was founded and funded by liberal Jewish leaders of the Greater Boston area. Missing from the picture was any Orthodox leadership or involvement. In contrast to most Orthodox mikvaot, Mayyim Hayyim’s leadership and policies make an exemplary effort to make marginalized members in many communities (LGBQT, people with disabilities) comfortable. For example, Ari Kristan, writing for Tikkun Magazine, described a time when “Mayyim Hayyim and Keshet (Boston's lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender Jewish organization) decided to collaborate on a series of

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workshops to train Mayyim Hayyim’s forty-eight mikvah guides about gender issues and provide them with the skills necessary to work with transgender immersees” (Kristan). Two of the seven principles that guide Mayyim Hayyim, petichut (“openness”) and “klal yisrael” (“all of Israel”), emphasize their inclusivity to all Jews. Their principle of petichut claims they are open to those previously marginalized in Jewish life, and as shown in the mikveh attendants’ training, they have made efforts to ensure this openness. Furthermore, the “klal yisrael” principle claims Mayyim Hayyim is an “unhyphenated Jewish space,” emphasizing their inclusiveness to all Jews, no matter their religious affiliation or lack thereof (Kline, 13). Despite their claims about openness and un-hyphenated Jewish space, the actions of Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders since 2004, when they opened the doors to their current location, is significant and tells a different story. In an article in the Jewish Advocate on July 1, 2011, which discusses the recent emergence of new mikvaot or plans to build them in the Newton area, Carrie Bornstein, now acting director of Mayyim Hayyim, explained why they had recently changed rabbinical supervisors for their mikveh. Bornstein said…that some Orthodox women have been interested in the mikveh, but uncomfortable with its supervision. “They say, ‘I want to come, but it is important to me that there is an Orthodox rabbi who says it’s a kosher mikveh.’” Bornstein said when the mikveh was founded seven years ago, it wanted to signal its openness to the non-Orthodox communities. “Working with a Conservative rabbi helped give us some clout in the liberal world.” At this point, she said the mikveh is already established as a place open to those of all denominations (Kigner, “Mikveh Boomlet at Orthodox Shuls”). From this statement, Bornstein revealed a great deal about the organizational decisions of Mayyim Hayyim. When it was designed, its leaders brought in a Conservative rabbi, Rabbi Ben Zion Bergman, who was charged with ensuring the

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kashrut of the design and construction of the mikveh (“Mayyim Hayyim Kashrut”). As Bornstein stated, they consciously sought to work with an expert outside of the Orthodox community, in order to signify the organization’s openness to liberal Jews. Only after seven years and marketing themselves especially to liberal communities, did Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders feel they could switch to Orthodox supervision, to open up their facilities for Orthodox users to feel comfortable too. Even in doing so, they signaled their distance from the local Boston community—their supervisor is Rabbi Yaacov Love, who is from Passaic, NJ. The local supervisor, Rabbi Elliot Kaplowitz, is not a local synagogue rabbinical leader, but rather is the Orthodox rabbinic advisor to the Brandeis University campus (“Mayyim Hayyim Kashrut”). This is not to imply any degradation of Rabbi Kaplowitz’s position, but in the context of a community’s religious politics, his position is not pivotal, and it could be argued he stands outside the mainstream Boston Orthodox institutions, something that was perhaps appreciated by Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders. In other ways, we can document how Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders reached out mostly to liberal institutions and had fewer contacts with Orthodox institutions. In June 2006, Mayyim Hayyim co-sponsored a conference called “Reclaiming Mikveh: Pouring Ancient Waters into a Contemporary Vessel” in Newton. The conference, according to reporter Debra Nussbaum Cohen, was “convened by the Outreach Training Institute of the Union for Reform Judaism’s Northeast Council, [and] it was co-sponsored by 33 local and national organizations of the Conservative, Reconstructionist and Renewal movements, along with Boston’s Jewish Federation” (“Mikveh, In Their Image”). Notably absent were any Orthodox institutional sponsors. In 2010, Mayyim Hayyim

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sponsored another conference on mikveh, this time titled “Gathering the Waters,” and while the list of sponsors did not include any Orthodox institutions (with Drisha as an exception to the rule), they had speakers representing liberal Orthodox institutions: Rabbi Dov Linzer, Dean of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, and Rabbi Sarah Hurwitz, Dean of Yeshivat Maharat—both institutions, it should be noted, are under the leadership of Rabbi Avi Weiss, who is often noted for his activist and innovative actions in the Orthodox world (“Mayyim Hayyim Conference 2010”). These examples depict Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders’ efforts to effectively include the Orthodox in their attempt to include “all” Jews as lacking at best. They also provide reasons to believe that this was a conscious decision on the part of Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders, which has only recently shifted. When Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders claimed they were making mikveh accessible and meaningful to the “full diversity of our people” perhaps this was simply a euphemism for non-Orthodox streams of Judaism. Although this provides a glimpse into the actions of Mayyim Hayyim’s leadership and how they presented the institution to others, it does not indicate who uses the space. The survey data collected for this study provides a basic demographic sketch of a certain segment of Mayyim Hayyim’s clientele. III. The Clientele: Survey Respondents Given the complicated and somewhat contradictory explanations about whom the Mayyim Hayyim as a community mikveh was supposed to attract, who in fact were the individuals who use this space for ritual use? My survey of women who went to Mayyim Hayyim for a ritual immersion prior to their wedding reveals certain major characteristics of the mikveh’s clientele for that specific occasion.

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Of the 150 survey respondents, 50% were between the ages of 30 and 39, and about 27% between the ages of 20 and 29. Since a majority of respondents immersed at Mayyim Hayyim for their wedding in the last four years, this data reflects a cohort of women who married in their late 20s and all through their 30s. These patterns reflect the national statistics of delayed marriage in the national Jewish population (National Jewish Population Study 2000-2001). Most were currently married and in their first marriage, with a small percentage were married for the second time (10%), and just under 3% currently divorced. Over 90% of respondents were born Jewish, which left 14 respondents who had converted. Most of the respondents who had converted had done so in the past ten years. Of those respondents who were raised Jewish, just over half were raised Conservative, and almost 40% were raised Reform. Another 6% were raised Orthodox, and another 6% were raised unaffiliated (These categories were not exclusionary, and that is why the total exceeds 100%). Using cross tabulations of the denominations in which respondents were raised and their formal Jewish educational experiences, the largest percentage of respondents raised Conservative and Reform (43% and 37%, respectively), attended Hebrew or Supplementary school for 2 days a week or more, for 7 or more years. Those who were day school attendees (especially for high school) were a small percentage of respondents, and were almost entirely from those raised Orthodox or Conservative. In both elementary school and high school, responses hovered around 40% for a mixed Jewish and non-Jewish peer group. More strikingly, 81% of all respondents had a previous romantic relationship with someone who was not Jewish, and almost 10%

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of respondents (who immersed at a mikveh prior to their wedding) were currently married to a non-Jewish spouse. When asked if they affiliated with any denomination today, the respondents’ answers were dramatically different from what they were raised; only 25% still considered themselves Conservative and 27% still considered themselves Reform. Instead, categories such as unaffiliated rose to 17%, trans-denominational rose to 12%, and “Just Jewish” to 10%. Thus, many of those respondents who identified themselves as raised in denominations such as Reform or Conservative currently identify with less of an affiliation to a specific denomination and rather view themselves as unaffiliated, or not fixed to any specific denomination. Still, 65% of respondents were affiliated with a synagogue, with about 30% identifying that synagogue as Conservative and another 30% identifying their synagogue as Reform. Interestingly, about 15% belonged to an independent minyan and another 10% belonged to a synagogue they considered transdenominational (again, these categories were non-exclusionary). Almost 80% of respondents had not previously immersed in any mikveh prior to their bridal immersion at Mayyim Hayyim, which left another 20% who had immersed prior to their wedding immersion. After running a cross tabulation, it is clear that of the 20% who had previously immersed, just under 7% had converted, and thus mostly likely immersed as a part of their conversion process. That left about 13% of respondents who immersed previously for non-conversionary purposes, perhaps for more alternative reasons such as marking celebrations or as a healing ritual. Finally, 74% of survey participants had not been back to immerse since their wedding, with about 14% of

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respondents returning to the mikveh for general life transitions, and about 10% for niddah purposes. IV. The Clientele: Interview Informants Although it is not a generalizable sample, the 17 interviewees’ narratives reflect many of the same general trends that the survey responses indicated. Their ages ranged from 24 to 60, but most were in their late 20s, and early to mid 30s. Most of the women interviewed were raised in Conservative and Reform homes, and a majority received as much formal Jewish education as their Hebrew or Supplementary schools (often affiliated with their family’s synagogue) offered; just two interviewees went to day school for elementary or high school. All women I spoke with were currently married in their first marriage, with the exception of three who were in their second marriage (and were 50 years or older) and one woman who was in the process of her divorce. While many were raised in a specific denomination, (or at least attended religious school at their synagogue), today their feelings about what denomination they identified with were much more ambivalent. Several of the women I spoke with were pregnant or new mothers, and had begun thinking about joining a synagogue that would have services or activities for their children. They were willing to look at a variety of synagogues within several streams of Judaism, if it offered the appropriate amenities for their growing family. Reflecting the denominational shifts depicted in the larger survey, many of the women interviewed seemed uncomfortable labeling themselves, and saw denominations as somewhat constraining to its members. Shani3, age 31, stated that, “I don’t feel

3

All names used are pseudonyms

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strongly connected to one particular denomination; I almost feel a denomination can be kind of limiting.” Sarah, also age 31, told me she has struggled to figure out what she wants in a religious and spiritual community. Like Shani, Sarah also felt none of the “big three” major denominations were appropriate categorizations for her beliefs and practices. Sarah claimed, “I don’t think I fit into an Orthodox community. I don’t think I fit into a Conservative community, Reform or otherwise.” Sarah was not alone in her discomfort to be defined by a specific group or ideology. Stacy, age 52, found it rare to find any religious environment or organization that that did “not feel like its part of any orthodoxy or doctrine.” However, some of these women emphasized that ideology and practice did matter, when its results entailed that they would be left out. Thus, while they did not necessarily prefer to label themselves, they often chose to describe themselves by what they were not or which they avoided. For instance, Meryl, age 60, explained that “the thing about Orthodoxy which I wouldn’t like, I mean I choose not to go to, is because I say, I never want to sit in the back of the bus anymore.” Thus, Meryl avoided Orthodox services and would never label herself as such, because otherwise she would feel like a second-class citizen. Katie, age 54, claimed that “on one hand, denomination doesn’t matter to me, on the other hand, I can’t help but have it matter because there are certain streams or levels of observance within the Jewish community that exclude me.” To some degree, Katie felt she could not ignore denominational labels, as they helped differentiate where she could be included and where she would be labeled an outsider. Interestingly, even those women whose life choices (or their spouses) were defined by their denominational affiliation claimed that a specific denomination’s

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ideology did not impact where they would feel comfortable performing Jewish rituals. Lisa, age 29, was raised Reform but had shifted her practices to more closely match her husband’s, a rabbinical student in a Conservative rabbinical seminary. She claimed that, “usually for me it’s not so much about the movement and more about the place, and whether or not I feel comfortable in it, and feel like I can participate fully in it.” Jaclyn, age 27, a rabbinical student in a Reform seminary (and thus clearly has a stake in a specific denomination’s ideology and practice) asserted that, “I’ll do ritual in a lot of different settings, but I think that I prefer to be in a place where I can feel like I am a full participant,” as opposed to even certain Reform services which were in her opinion too performance-based and did not allow for a participatory service or experience. More than denominational affiliation, these women looked for ritual environments that made them feel comfortable, safe, and which they could participate fully. Thus, many of the women interviewed expressed an appreciation for Judaism as a home (rather than institutional) based religion to perform ritual, which is how they viewed it. Helen, age 31, felt that “that a lot of aspects of Judaism can be performed in the home,” and explained that “I do Shabbat at home with candles and I’ll make challah at home sometimes,” but emphasized that she practiced Jewish rituals “usually at home and not in a Temple way.” Katie, whom I met with in her office at the Combined Jewish Philanthropies (CJP), told me, “I observe my religion mostly in the home.” Ironically, Katie asserted that I’m not a big Jewish institution person. I mean, I’m here [in the CJP building] but apparently I’m not…Because there are institutions that are deeply flawed on some level…And that for me, actually, is the great thing about Judaism…The bulk of practice of Judaism, does not need to happen in an institution. The bulk of the practice can happen in the home.

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Katie and Helen insisted that Judaism was a religion that did not need to be institutionally based, and they appreciated this because they preferred their home to any Temple or other Jewish institution. Yet to others, their synagogues and other institutions felt as comfortable an environment to perform rituals as in their own home. Abby, age 50, told me, “I think we do a lot of religious rituals at our synagogue. We’re very comfortable there; it’s like home.” For all these women, so much of what made them feel attached to where they performed rituals was a feeling of comfort. Abby’s statement that her family felt at home in their synagogue, or Katie and Helen’s insistence that their homes were the ideal place to practice and perform Jewish rituals invoke the home as metaphor or literal a place of comfort and safety. Part of this comfort and safety stems from who else shares that environment. In fact, when discussing what they desired in a ritual environment, my informants often highlighted the social component of ritual practice. V. The Social is Spiritual For instance, Sarah told me “the community aspect is really important to me [in a Jewish ritual experience]. I don’t think that you can live a strong and vibrant Jewish life without community.” She would have hardly agreed with Helen or Katie that most of Jewish life could occur only in the home. And Ariella, age 24, felt that being in the wrong social environment could actually ruin the ritual experience. “I guess it’s one of those things, if you’re with the wrong set of people, even if it’s the most spiritual, meaningful, ritual itself, it can…its all affected by the environment you’re around.” When I asked for an example of this, Ariella described how her husband, whose practices and beliefs diverge from hers, could sometimes affect how she experiences ritual. For instance, when

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Ariella lights the weekly Shabbat candles, “if he’s in a really grumpy mood, or if he’s really anti-candle lighting that week because he wants to watch the hockey game or whatever, then that makes it a little harder.” In this case, her husband’s reactions affected how she felt that week about the ritual, and could alter the meaningfulness and thus the comfort of the ritual environment. For Ariella to imbue a specific ritual with meaning, she needed a supportive social environment. For Helen, not having a group of Jewish peers prevents her from feeling attached to Jewish institutions. Therefore, she clings to the comfort of her family and close friends. She was also the only informant that I interviewed who was married to someone not Jewish. She acknowledged, “I don’t know a lot of other Jewish people. I’m not really part of a community. So the ability to still feel Jewish but do it at home, with just my family, that’s nice.” Without the access and availability of the right spiritual community, the only social aspects found in Helen’s religious practice comes from her celebrating them in her home, with her family. In The Jew Within, Steven M. Cohen and Arnold Eisen described the individualistic and personalized religious narratives of “moderately affiliated Jews,” which they defined as those “who belonged to a Jewish institution…but are not as involved, learned or pious as the most highly-engaged 20-25 percent of American Jews” (Cohen and Eisen, 5). Based on their study, Cohen and Eisen claimed, “the principal authority for contemporary American Jews, in the absence of compelling religious norms and communal loyalties, has become the sovereign self” (Cohen and Eisen, 2). Cohen and Eisen’s sovereign-self theory depicted these moderately affiliated Jews as on a constant individual journey, consisting of “highly personal searches for transcendent meaning”

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(Cohen and Eisen, 8). But this was only true for some of the women in my study, such as Helen or Katie, for whom the communal or institutional loyalties were not particularly salient and thus not a source of spirituality. However, for many of the women in this study, when asked about spirituality, they often volunteered that being in a communal environment made them feel particularly spiritual. Their understanding of spirituality as a communal and social experience contrasts with the picture of the moderately affiliated Jews that Cohen and Eisen portrayed. Women in my study who had an unsupportive social environment (such as Ariella with her husband), described the repercussions it could have on their spiritual experiences. For many of the women I spoke with, spiritual experiences were governed not by highly personal searches but by social interactions. Miriam, age 35, described how her experiences attending Jewish sleep away camp for many summers were central to building her Jewish identity, and that she had not been involved in any formal Jewish community for the past ten years. Miriam explained: Spirituality came more from camp. Really being in a room full of Jews. Friday night, sitting around the campfire, singing songs, Israeli dancing, and a lot of that is more cultural than spiritual, but there is something about that type of environment, that “we’re all Jews together!” I don’t know, that to me is probably more spiritual for me than anything else. In Miriam’s understanding, the social was spiritual. Being in an environment that allowed for her to connect to a shared identity was a spiritual, moving, and meaningful experience. Leora, age 27, also felt this way, stating that she thought of “spirituality as connection to others.” Those respondents who did not currently have a strong community to share religious and spiritual experiences with felt they were lacking something to create a meaningful ritual environment. Miriam desired being able to share a Shabbat meal or a Passover seder with others, but not belonging to any synagogue inhibited her

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ability to find a real social and shared religious practice. She felt that “to create that sort of community it really has to happen organically, so it has to either happen or it doesn’t.” Currently, without a central place to meet and connect with other Jewish families, Miriam’s desire for a communal ritual experience is still unfulfilled. But for others, such as in Abby’s family, the extensive group of friends and family who gather each week in her synagogue, “brings me together with my friends, and my family of choice, and allows us to engage in an activity, which is both communal and individual.” VI. Getting in Touch with the Inner Self Indeed, a communal or social experience was just one element of what these women associated with religion or spirituality. Many described introspective practices that, although not necessarily shaped around Jewish rituals, still elicited a spiritual or religious experience. Many women described being inspired by nature, and how that was likely to evoke a spiritual feeling more often than a religious service did. Beth, age 29, expressed how “sometimes I feel disconnected when I’m in Temple and that’s not really feeling connected to religion or to God, but sometimes when I’m outside in nature, I feel more of a connection there.” In nature, rather than a formal, albeit communal setting such as synagogue services, Beth can better experience spirituality. Several other informants described yoga and meditation practices that they felt were spiritual experiences. Deborah, age 30, informed me that she was a certified yoga instructor, and had led yoga classes in which she attempted to infuse with more Jewishness at her local Jewish Community Center. She also recalled a particularly poignant service she once attended that …during the service we went on a silent walk, just for like five minutes around the synagogue, and that was meaningful to me. Not just having

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someone talk at me or speaking for long periods of time but to be able to …have an experience that I felt connected me to myself, my Judaism, and kind of the world around us...[in] kind of an introspective, reflective manner. Finding ways to reflect on and internalize her Judaism, rather than be “talked at” by whomever was leading the services, Deborah felt that her spirituality was best experienced when meditating and looking inwards. Rather than find meaning through shared practices or traditions, Deborah’s ideal expression of spirituality was introspective, and was induced not through religious institutions but out in nature or through silent reflection. For Michelle, age 33, who previously lived in Boulder, Colorado (a community in which she observed New Age practices and beliefs overtly influencing Jewish life), meditation and yoga were helpful as methods of relaxation. However, Michelle was not quite as convinced that it was a spiritual—and almost certainly not religious—practice. Meditation is helpful, but for me, it’s not so much a communicating with God, it’s more like, chill out, relax, breathe. But…I do yoga, I do a lot of things that could be considered spiritual practice, but I don’t know if I really see them that way, or just like a getting to be with yourself, but that’s also spiritual I guess. In Michelle’s view, yoga or meditation could be beneficial, as it devoted time to relaxation and personal reflection. But whether that was a spiritual practice that held deeper meaning, or it was simply a useful relaxation tool, Michelle was not totally convinced either way. Cara, age 29, described how fasting on Yom Kippur was a meaningful spiritual experience because of the internal, rather than communal, component. She explained, “the idea of letting things go, letting negativity go, it seems to be a theme for me. Anything that lets me internalize and then let go of pain, negativity, and let that mull, think it over and then let it go.” For Cara, fasting on Yom Kippur is an

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annual ritual set aside for this type of introspection and enables her to discard any emotional baggage. However, the concept of Yom Kippur as a significant ritual was by no means unique to Cara’s narrative. When asked what rituals were significant or meaningful, my informants generated three categorical responses. Just three women mentioned Shabbat as a particularly important ritual in their lives. Those who mentioned Shabbat (or havdalah, as the ritual which transitions out of Shabbat), described its importance because of its frequency (every week), or because it was a way mark separations in their lives on a regular basis. Michelle told me that, “I love Shabbat. I keep Shabbat, I think it’s amazing and everyone needs it. I love separating just one special day.” Or, Stacy extolled how she loved “lighting the candles on Friday night, I always have. No matter where I am, I always make sure. And that’s a transcendent moment every week that I look forward to.” Thus, the ability to consistently and frequently delineate a special time was cited as the reason that Shabbat was a significant ritual to a small percentage of these women. Shani described how she used to love the havdalah ceremonies that she participated in youth groups in high school. She wondered: “Maybe I like these rituals that have to do with marking a separation and initially closing out something and going into something else.” While this was no longer a part of her practice, Shani had fond memories of the ritual, as it allowed for a consistent and meaningful way to mark the changes in time and status. When asked what rituals were significant to them, my informants more frequently mentioned holidays, especially the high holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) or Passover, rather than Shabbat. These holidays occur less often, and thus while they consistently arrive every year, are less demanding of hours and are not a part of their

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regularly scheduled lives. Emphasizing that she did the “major stuff,” Cara noted that while she practiced ritual, there was “nothing [done] on a regular basis.” Yet she immediately followed this up by stating, “I will tell you, I observe Yom Kippur and I observe Pesach and you know, Rosh Hashanah, the biggies. On my own.” Miriam underscored the irregularity of her practice, but simultaneously emphasized that she consistently marked and celebrated certain annual holidays—however, not necessarily in an institutional or denominational context. For Katie, the holidays became significant because she used them as opportunities to recreate dishes her mother would cook, as a way to honor her mother who has been suffering from dementia for several years. Thus, the holidays became trigger moments as a way to honor family traditions. VII. Marking Women’s Life Cycle Moments Nonetheless, the rituals that were by far the most cited as meaningful or significant were all ones associated with life cycle rituals. From rituals associated to birth such as a brit milah (an eight-day old male baby’s circumcision) to shiva (seven days of mourning after a close family member or spouse dies), almost every woman I spoke with described how rituals surrounding major life cycle events were by far the most meaningful or important to them. Beth opined that because they stand out, life cycle rituals had held a more powerful place in her memory, unlike more frequent rituals such as Shabbat or holidays. “Life cycle events, I’ll always remember those, more so than like every Shabbat we celebrated or things like that.” The nature of life cycle events is that they are both more rare and less consistent; thus, in their infrequency, they gain greater meaning and do not risk potentially becoming rote or routine.

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Almost every woman spoke of her wedding as a particularly meaningful ritual experience. Often, they cited special features of Jewish wedding rituals, or decisions they made to tailor these rituals, which provided a more personalized touch and thus a more meaningful experience. Deborah said, “we wrote our ketubah [wedding contract], and so writing and signing that was meaningful.” By virtue of its individualization, the ritual wedding contract was imbued with more meaning and significance. For others, making the decision not to participate in a Jewish ritual during a life cycle event became just as pivotal and significant an experience. After Miriam and her husband had a near traumatic experience with their eldest son’s brit milah ceremony (the mohel’s hands were shaky, and there was talk of her son potentially having a “blood disorder,”) they decided to circumcise their second son in the hospital and under the administration of a doctor. As a result of this decision, Miriam was prevented from the option of some kind of public ceremony in one of her family’s synagogues. The rabbinic leaders all insisted on hatafat dam brit, a symbolic drop of blood, of which Miriam and her husband were decidedly against. Though she strongly desired some kind of public birth or naming ceremony, Miriam and her husband’s concerns after a deeply upsetting episode became significant and meaningful enough to preclude another brit milah, or even a symbolic version of it. In the quest to discover what motivated these women to immerse in a mikveh, and to do so at Mayyim Hayyim and specifically before their wedding, much of this background information can help contextualize their decisions. Like the survey respondents, the interviewees were mostly from a Reform and Conservative background, and currently were more ambivalent or less clearly associated with a particular stream of

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Judaism. However, they often observed that there were plenty of ritual environments or religious denominations which they would not feel welcome or which they chose to avoid. Many of the interviewees described the importance of a communal or social aspect to a ritual experience, and many others noted that they found spirituality in nature or through introspection elicited from yoga, meditation or practiced silence. Finally, when describing what rituals were most meaningful to them, these women most often mentioned life cycle rituals. By their nature, life cycle events were more rare, less consistent, and therefore, more memorable. In those special moments, they were able to find a spiritual and religious experience that may be difficult to evoke in a more routinized ritual experience.

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Chapter 3: Mikveh Experiences and Mayyim Hayyim I. A “Traditional” Wedding One of the most memorable of these life cycle events that my interview participants described as a significant ritual experience was their wedding. When asked why they decided to immerse in a mikveh prior to their wedding, many of the interviewees replied that they were having a “traditional” wedding, and felt immersion in a mikveh was an appropriate addition to the series of rituals associated with the larger Jewish wedding ceremony. Abby, who was very involved in her Renewal synagogue, told me, “we were having a fairly traditional wedding which would involved mikveh, the immersion, Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat services, the aufruf [being called to bless the Torah in synagogue] on Saturday and our wedding was Sunday afternoon. To us it was part and parcel of what we were going to do.” To Abby, it was a logical addition to the series of traditional Jewish rituals associated with the preparation for the wedding ceremony itself. What Abby left out in this part of her narrative was that these traditional preparations for a wedding were for a same-sex marriage. Abby and her wife had carefully selected, incorporated and innovated traditional customs and rituals, and as she viewed it, had planned a “fairly traditional wedding.” Miriam was adamant that as Reform Jews, she and her husband should learn about Jewish rituals and make informed decisions about what role they would play in their lives. For their wedding, she applied this philosophy to planning and arranging what

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elements of a traditional wedding she wanted to incorporate. Miriam told me, “I had a bedekin, [veiling ceremony] we sort of had a tisch [groom’s reception]…[the ceremony had] as much Hebrew as possible, [and was] relatively traditional considering how much English is often in Reform ceremonies.” Since they had incorporated many traditional parts of the Jewish rituals in a wedding, and made a concerted effort to include traditional languages and practices, Miriam felt that “the mikveh was it just felt like a nice extra thing to round out my experience.” II. Marking a Major Life Transition However, as Abby described it, mikveh was not “part and parcel” of their wedding plans simply because it was another element of their fairly traditional wedding ceremony. For many of the women interviewed, mikveh immersion served the purpose of physically marking the transition from single to married, but not necessarily from virginity to a sexual relationship (traditionally, mikveh immersion for brides marked both transitions). For Rebecca, age 43, this change of status was a particularly significant one. Rebecca said, “I had been single forever…I got married at forty [years old], and had been single and actively dating for a long time. Twenty years, plus. And I think that for me, I really liked the mikveh experience [because it] was a significant demarcation of a major life transition for me.” Having lived a considerable portion of her life as a single person, the mikveh became a useful physical performance of this major life change. Immersion not only marked a change from single life to married life. For Meryl, it delineated her first marriage, to an Episcopalian, from her second marriage, to a Jewish person. In the past few years, she had become more invested in her Jewish heritage than she had been for most of life, and even elected to have an adult bat mitzvah. By

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immersing in a mikveh before her second marriage, Meryl was marking this new stage in her life, one that symbolized a new level of her Jewish expression. For her the thought was, “I am starting a new life and with a Jewish husband and I’m living more Jewishly than I used to. And I wanted to go to the mikveh.” To express a life more involved and invested in her Jewish tradition, mikveh immersion fulfilled a physical manifestation of this new stage. For some of these women, mikveh immersion also marked a change, delineating previous relationships and partners. Following the suggestion of a friend, Miriam decided to use mikveh immersion as a way for her to symbolically wash away her past relationships. The whole time I was immersing I was thinking about the significant romantic relationships I had in my life and sort of…even though I had moved on and said goodbye to them, this was like making room in my life, essentially, for this new, most important relationship. This was a physical way for Miriam to clear her previous romantic relationships and focus on the next step she was taking with this relationship. Cara also used mikveh as a way to separate her past romantic and sexual experiences and her future ones. Cara explained that “I have always been a very sexually liberal person,” and so by immersing, she was differentiating the change from that part of her life. Cara was also living with her fiancé at the time that she immersed. Therefore, in the time between her immersion and her wedding, it allowed her to mark the change of status. After the immersion, Cara said, “Now I am not going to be intimate with this person that I’ve lived with, that I am a domestic partner with, until we have our wedding.” Thus, mikveh immersion marked a change, between their previous living arrangement and sexual relationship, to their next step, as a married couple.

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For many of these women, the immersion forced them to take a moment and reflect on these major, life-altering changes, and not just on the party planning details. (A basic overview of the immersion process is attached in Appendix C). Caught up in the chaos of the wedding planning, Beth felt that mikveh immersion was a chance to pause and step back from the party aspects of a wedding and use the time to focus on her impending life with her new husband. So when we got there [to Mayyim Hayyim], and got prepared, it was a time to relax and step back from all the crazy stuff that had been happening and all the stress of planning a wedding and to really just focus on why we were getting married. So that to me was the most significant thing, being able to mark this special time in our lives without all the hoopla that was about to come, but to really personally and privately together do that. Beth and her husband both went to Mayyim Hayyim to immerse before their wedding, albeit in separate pools connected by a sliding door that they left slightly ajar. Taking the time to share this private moment with each other, Beth and her then-fiancé were able to focus on the reason they were getting married. This was a moment to put aside all the minute details that added to the stress of wedding, and use this as a private experience as a couple embarking on a new life together. Once again, for some women, the social was spiritual. In Beth’s narrative, mikveh immersion as a unit was both a private experience for them as couple, as well as a shared spiritual—indeed, social— experience between them. However, some women appreciated that their mikveh immersion was a moment just for themselves. This alone time allowed them to take a break from everyone else, and thus use the mikveh as a moment of private, personal introspection before a very public performance, the wedding. Leora, acknowledged that “[Prior to the wedding] I had just

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gotten really nervous and was …and it [immersing] was a very nice way to be with myself and get centered. Touch base right before the events all started happening.” Katie echoed this sentiment, stating, “I felt like I needed some extra [ritual], rather than just having a ceremony in front of all these people, I needed this in private, for myself.” The immersion gave them the time and space to privately focus on this significant lifechanging event, rather than public ritual that was to follow soon after. For some women, the private, alone moments were the most spiritual, rather than social or communal experiences. III. The “Ick” Factor: Prior Negative Perceptions of Mikveh Despite their praises of mikveh as a means of delineating between single and married life, or as a private moment before a public ceremony, most of the women I spoke with described previous associations they had with mikveh, much of which was negative. Many of these women felt it was an outdated, and therefore irrelevant, ritual. Shani confessed that prior to her exposure to Mayyim Hayyim, she held “these notions of a mikveh being this dingy old religious tradition that had nothing to do with me as this modern young woman.” Beth shared similar thoughts, “[mikveh] was, like, a totally foreign concept, and I didn’t see it as something modern, or that I would ever do,” Many assumed it was for people whose practices and beliefs were drastically different from their own. As most of these women identified as liberal Jews, they assumed it was not something which applied or appealed to them. Miriam claimed, “I just assumed that it was for only the Orthodox or something the very traditional did…and something that Reform women…or people, didn’t.” Thus, Miriam, had initially viewed mikveh as something which being a Reform Jew precluded, and therefore outside her purview.

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Shani explained that mikveh was not particularly on her radar, but her conception of it was that those who held very different beliefs would use it. “I don’t think I thought a lot about it, just that it was for women a lot more religious than I was.” For many of these women, their issues with mikveh had to do with their perception of the ritual as sexist. Lisa viewed the laws of niddah and family purity as particularly unsettling. There was a time when she “thought in general, the mikveh could be sort of an oppressive and misogynistic concept. That women are unclean and they have to clean and all this stuff and don’t touch them.” This perception was that mikveh was oppressive to women, and niddah was conceptually about women’s bodies being dirty. Katie was also quite ambivalent about niddah. She was torn between the idea of mikveh being something special for women, or, as something that could oppress them and was highly offensive. The idea that you immerse for niddah, as someone who believes, as a feminist…that’s a real double-edged sword, you can look at that two ways. You can look at that as, um, as a marker and a wonderful female empowerment purification rite, or you can look at it as you were dirty and now you need to be clean. Some of these women’s negative associations with mikveh actually came from first hand experiences witnessing a mikveh that looked unappealing and unwelcoming. In her senior year of high school, Cara was taken to a mikveh in the Boston area in a building that was “outdated” and “dank, and a little smelly, and there was hair in places… I don’t know, it wasn’t very inviting.” While Cara’s description verged on the start of a horror story, she was hardly the only woman who had confronted an unappealing mikveh. Lisa had accompanied a friend who had immersed in a mikveh in Israel, and was thankful that this was not somewhere she would ever need to go herself.

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Lisa told me, “I remember thinking this is sort of gross and not the most pleasant place and not a place I’d want to go.” Michelle also had some worrisome memories of mikveh from her childhood. Her aunts were ultra-Orthodox, and she recalled sitting in the mikveh’s lobby while they immersed. While she would wait, “all the cousins [told me] about what might be happening and [about] the mikveh lady, how she examines you. My cousins made her out to be a boogie woman. And like, she’s combing your hair and checking you out and looking at you, and so I was terrified for the first immersion.” Her cousins’ version of what a mikveh was, and more specifically, what the women in charge would enforce, became a source of concern and fear prior to Michelle’s first immersion. And Meryl, a physician who took the safety of her patients quite seriously, remembered about mikvaot: “they were in the basement of a shul, down stone steps where you’re going to break your neck, if you step wrong. My impression of the one or two I’ve seen is like going into a dungeon.” IV. Mayyim Hayyim: A Challenge and a Game Changer These descriptions hardly seem to match the high praise of mikveh as previously attested to by these women as a meaningful and reflective ritual to undertake prior to an important life step. For the women I spoke with, their exposure to a ritual environment like Mayyim Hayyim challenged or changed those perceptions. An important feature that arose throughout these women’s narratives, which unfortunately I had not included in my interview guide, was these women’s occupations. A majority of the women who voluntarily mentioned their professions were either professionals or in lay leadership positions in the Jewish community or a Jewish organization.

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For many of these women, the affiliations of these institutions did not necessarily correlate to their own practices, but nonetheless they were in a position within the Jewish professional world. These jobs included a program director for a Jewish museum; a youth program director at a Conservative synagogue; a teacher at a Chabad School; a researcher in Jewish studies; a program director for Jewish young adults (20s and 30s); a rabbinical student; and a professional in the CJP. While there were others who worked as lay leaders (such as on the board of the Hillel International), there were of course others occupations represented, such as a physician, photographer, and therapist, as well as a few who did not offer their occupations over the course of the interview. Keeping this in mind, many of these women described first learning of Mayyim Hayyim through their professional or lay leadership positions. Working or living in the Jewish community of Boston, (or sometimes even if they did not live in Boston at the time, but worked in the Jewish communal field), there was “a lot of talk,” as Abby remarked, when it first opened. Still, for several of the women interviewed, what initially attracted them to Mayyim Hayyim was witnessing someone else immerse there. Rebecca described how after witnessing the positive and emotional experience that a close friend of hers had at immersing at Mayyim Hayyim before her wedding, it pushed her to want the same experience for herself when she got married. For others, what brought them in the door were other events; a summer seminar for engaged or newlywed couples; a work function of some kind; or an art show (Mayyim Hayyim houses a small art gallery in the wing that also serves as their education center). Still others, having heard about Mayyim Hayyim and its mission, were intrigued and did research before booking an appointment

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to immerse (although a few had not stepped into the building until the day they immersed). Certainly, social networks were a factor in bringing these women through the door, as everyone interviewed recalled hearing about Mayyim Hayyim through word of mouth (rather than having totally sought out such a space themselves). These were women whose professional lives, and sometimes whose social lives, were quite Jewishly involved, putting them in the minority of American Jewry. Yet, similar to a majority of American Jews, these women had previously never imagined mikveh immersion would ever been a part of their lives. While they may have first heard of Mayyim Hayyim through work or friends, they had to be convinced that mikveh, in the “right” ritual environment, was appealing enough to experience for themselves. What the right ritual environment was for these women will further be explained below. V. The Mikveh as Spa: Luxury, Aesthetics, and Spirituality Despite their variety of reasons for initially hearing about Mayyim Hayyim, almost every woman appreciated similar aspects of Mayyim Hayyim’s ritual environment. As they were so often repeated in these women’s narratives, two major thematic descriptions of the appeal of Mayyim Hayyim’s environment emerged. The first set of descriptions noted the aesthetic and material environment that Mayyim Hayyim offered. After Cara recalled the mikveh she visited in high school in a quite unflattering light, she explained that Mayyim Hayyim’s space challenged that image of mikveh for the variety of aesthetically pleasing elements of the space. The women I interviewed called Mayyim Hayyim “gorgeous,” “beautiful,” and “super fancy.” Many remarked that it appeared quite clean, and as Shani asserted, “if you think about the concept [of

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immersion], you could think, ew, I don’t really want to get naked and get into this pool!” Therefore, having a noticeably clean environment could combat any of the “ick” factor some others had felt in previous mikvaot. The term “spa” arose frequently in these women’s descriptions; Leora said that while for some individuals the spa-like feeling would be “over the top,” to her, “it only added to its merits.” Although the aesthetics or material components of a space might not be as salient to some women as the supervision of the kashrut of a ritual space, Michelle pointed out, as with all other parts surrounding the wedding plans, “you don’t want to go to a dump for your wedding.” In Michelle’s view, an expectation of beauty can be applied not only to the floral decorations or the wedding dress, but the ritual environment as well. Others described how lighting added to the appeal of the space. Lisa remembered that Mayyim Hayyim was “beautifully lit,” and Ariella noticed how the window in the room with immersion pool would allow natural light to flood in when she immersed during the day. Ariella shared that “it sounds kind of crazy, but there’s this window above the mikveh, and I was there during the day immersing for the first time before my wedding and there’s this light shining through. And I don’t know, it seemed like this really spiritual moment for me.” These aesthetic aspects of the mikveh helped not only invoke a sense of beautiful or hygiene, but it could help create a more meaningful experience. Seeing natural light flood into the space, Ariella was deeply moved. Mayyim Hayyim also utilizes artificial lighting to set an emotional tone —the website boasts that “after sundown, lights can be lowered to enhance a sense of peace and rest” (“Mayyim Hayyim FAQ’s”).

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The small art gallery in the educational wing of Mayyim Hayyim only furthered the aesthetics of the ritual space. Jaclyn said when she performed any ritual, “I prefer to be somewhere beautiful.” Mayyim Hayyim’s revolving art exhibits helped accentuate an already spa-like, luxurious environment. For Miriam, simply entering Mayyim Hayyim’s building could elicit an immediate emotional reaction from her. It’s just like the minute you walk through the front little archway, and [there is] this little garden and there’s the bench with the mosaic in the table and there’s usually flowers at the table and there’s just…it’s very calming. A place that instantly grounding and settling. I would assume most people don’t have a place like that…It’s just a very special place. I don’t know if it’s the way it’s painted or smells like a spa, or I don’t know; everything about it is very calming for me. Evidently, even the design and layout of the entryway to Mayyim Hayyim could evoke an emotional and positive response. Not only was the beauty, hygiene or lighting appealing to these women, but even the paint colors and smells made the ritual experience emotionally satisfying. These descriptions are not just visual, but are actually material and physical aspects of the space that my informants felt enhanced their experiences. The materiality of the experience is an important part of their visit, as the act of immersion is a sensory experience. The space was not only successful in its visual appeal, but in its ability for the lighting, surfaces, and smells to evoke an emotional response based on a physical experience. VI. An Accepting and Supportive Environment While the aesthetic and material aspects of the ritual environment evoked plenty of emotions, the other set of descriptions these women applied to their experiences at Mayyim Hayyim were more directly aimed at the emotional environment provided by the volunteers and staff who worked there. Many of the women interviewed extolled the non-

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judgmental tone of the staff and a sense of a “no assumptions made” environment. Beth confessed that she was concerned that she might inadvertently make a mistake during the immersion process: “…that was something I was afraid of. Like what if I do it wrong? Is someone going to judge me?” She assumed that it was “somewhere you’d have to know what to do. You couldn’t just like walk in, and be like, “what am I supposed to do?” Beth had envisioned a scenario in which the staff members would make assumptions about the visitors’ previous knowledge and practices. This perception is not without merit; indeed, Lisa, who currently lives in Los Angeles, described her experiences with a local mikveh run under an Orthodox synagogue’s auspices. She decided to begin immersing monthly there, but only after a couple of years into her marriage. Lisa recalled feeling she was an “outsider,” and sensed that the staff at this mikveh held certain assumptions about the visitors’ background and practices, such as, “you’ve been doing this since the day before your wedding, and this is just something your mother did; this assumption that we all know what we’re doing here and we all must do it a certain way.” Since this background description would not apply to her, Lisa felt judged and did not appreciate that there were expectations about her knowledge, background or practices regarding ritual immersion. Lisa did not have her mother to consult or to learn from, and by virtue of deciding to immerse monthly after a couple of years into her marriage, she felt her practices were be judged in this environment. When Lisa admitted how she felt in the context of the Los Angeles mikveh, she was quick to explain how Mayyim Hayyim’s emotional environment differed. You just feel like people don’t make any assumptions about why you’re there, who you are or what you know and don’t know. And they’re just

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very kind the way they just walk you through the whole thing and make you feel really comfortable and not judged by the fact that you have or haven’t gone before. Having felt uncomfortable in a space where others around her had certain expectations about her knowledge and practices, Lisa wished more mikvaot could learn from the staff at Mayyim Hayyim and the no-assumptions-made policies they seemed to take. Beth’s worry that mikveh immersion would necessitate an environment that the staff would assume certain knowledge might be true in some other contexts, as Lisa experienced, but was consciously avoided at Mayyim Hayyim. Alongside this practice of no-assumptions-made, Abby observed that “the approach that they [the staff at Mayyim Hayyim] take is the same approach they take with everybody so you know the way you’re being spoken to is the way the person before you is being spoken.” On one hand, these women did not want to have assumptions made about their practices or backgrounds; on the other hand, they did not want to be treated differently. Such treatment would only increase any uneasiness about feeling like an outsider. For so many of these women who shared that they had always believed mikveh was a ritual for people with a much stricter level of ritual observances, a mikveh environment which seemed to confirm those attitudes would not be an encouraging place to start. Thus, they wished not be treated as an outsider and thus feel they stuck out or were treated differently, yet they did not want be assumed to be an insider who knew exactly what to do. The women I spoke with used words such as “friendly,” “warm,” “respectful,” “welcoming,” and “very inviting,” to describe the staff and volunteer mikveh guides at Mayyim Hayyim. Quite often, the women also described the environment as “inclusive”

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and “open.” These words were aimed at their sense, as implied by the staff and guides, that there was “no right way” to experience a mikveh immersion. Beth said that while her mikveh guide instructed her with a specific protocol for the immersion itself (that one should go entirely under the water), she was offered several options and alterations to make the experience personally tailored to her liking. She remembered: “It was an environment that allowed you to do it in your own way. So even though it’s a practice that so many people do there isn’t necessarily the right way to do it, besides for the actual immersion.” Mayyim Hayyim’s volunteer guides expressed to their clients that aside from assuring a full body immersion, it was open to whatever the visitors’ wants and comforts were. Although mikveh immersion is an ancient and long-practiced ritual following a traditional method, these women were told that they had options, and could make the experience their own. Shani agreed, stating that while the mikveh guide might explain everything, including being sure one was entirely under water, “it felt very individualized.” As Stacy argued, being given the freedom to “make of it what it you want” was to her “very, very positive.” To the women I spoke with, the guides and staff of Mayyim Hayyim who encouraged a feeling of individual choice was the epitome of inclusiveness and openness. Many of the women I spoke felt that by being encouraged to make the mikveh experience their own and alter it to their comfort level, it engendered a sense of openness that other mikvaot or ritual environments would not. Notably, the terminology used in Mayyim Hayyim for its mikveh attendants emphasizes how it positions itself against traditional mikvaot as a nonjudgmental and open ritual environment. Rather than use the term “mikveh lady,” a common phrase in

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Orthodox mikvaot to describe a female mikveh attendant, Mayyim Hayyim refers to its attendants with the gender neutral term “mikveh guide” which applies to male and female attendants, each of whom are available for the appropriate clients. Indeed, the term “mikveh guide” is not just neutral with regards to gender, but also avoids the connotations that “mikveh lady” has for some, such as an image of a strict enforcer of rules related to mikveh immersion (recall Michelle’s cousins’ descriptions of the mikveh lady as the “boogie woman,” because she carefully checked one’s hair and body). According to Mayyim Hayyim’s website, their volunteer mikveh guides are trained “rigorously” to be “welcoming” and interact with clients “with sensitivity” (“Mayyim Hayyim Becoming a Mikveh Guide/Educator”). In addition to learning about traditional immersion as well as alternative mikveh practices, these guides are taught to “maintain a strong sense of boundaries” and to respect the privacy and modesty of clients (ibid). Most importantly, they are taught to offer options, and help in any way to make the “experience as meaningful as possible” (“Mayyim Hayyim Immersion in the Mikveh”). The guides also encourage visitors to take their time. Several of the women I spoke with described the steps listed in the mikveh’s prep room, which pushed them to take their time and not rush through the experience. Meryl, who lamented what she labeled “speed davening [praying],” felt this allowance of taking one’s time would infuse a ritual with meaning. Abby appreciated the “space and respect for preparation…whether it takes a very short time or it takes a very long time.” Many of the women I spoke with believed that Mayyim Hayyim made their mikveh experience more meaningful by the lack of rushing given to the process. Mayyim Hayyim requires booking an appointment before an immersion. Thus, as Ariella pointed

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out, unlike some other mikvaot, where “you just come and wait,” at Mayyim Hayyim there was no wait, and thus, no rush to make room for the next individual. Although many Orthodox run mikvaot encourage visitors to make an appointment, any visitor who must immerse at a given time (based on Jewish legal prescriptions) may do so. This difference is rooted in their approach to mikveh immersion as an obligatory as opposed to voluntary ritual, which will be further discussed more fully in chapter four. VII. Up Close and Personal For many of these women, being given this time allowed them to not only focus on the ritual, but to take time to focus on their own bodies. Helen claimed that, “when they have you look at yourself in the mirror, and really go through your body through head to toe, and take stock of what’s there, and who you are…I think that’s…the most meaningful part of it.” Preparing for mikveh immersion includes making sure there are no barriers between the person and the water. This forced Helen to take in her body, limb by limb, and in the process of this external accounting, use the opportunity to take an internal, introspective accounting. This process ended up being the aspect which was most moving to her. As a part of fostering an emotional environment, the Mayyim Hayyim staff also encouraged a feeling of safety. As Sarah walked into the immersion room and de-robed, the feeling of safety provided in Mayyim Hayyim, as she understood it, “I think allowed me to be vulnerable.” Jaclyn agreed, saying that the positive energy provided by the guides and staff at Mayyim Hayyim helped her overcome her embarrassment associated with mikveh immersion. Having once understood the mikveh as a secretive and hidden part of Jewish ritual life, Jaclyn’s experience of support and encouragement changed her

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thinking. When she decided to make monthly immersion a regular practice, Jaclyn began to see her experiences in mikveh immersion as a teachable model for others, claiming that “it’s not something that needs to be hidden and it’s not something shameful and can only be discussed behind closed doors with other women.” Jaclyn used her initial chagrin about the private nature of this ritual as a springboard for a larger discussion of Judaism and sexuality with peers of hers (especially those in her rabbinical program). Jaclyn emphasized that mikveh did not need to be a secret she hid, but rather one that she could share with her peers, and even utilize as a “kiruv [outreach] of sorts,” as she called it. VIII. A Woman’s Ritual Interestingly, almost every woman interviewed had elected to bring someone along with them for their bridal immersion. Several chose to immerse at the same time as their partners (but in separate pools). As Beth described earlier in this chapter, immersing as a couple allowed them to share a personal and powerful transition moment together before the very public display in their wedding. However, for a majority of the women, when asked what their partners thought about their decision to immerse, the answer was typically a version of “he was supportive, but had no interest in pursuing it for himself.” As many of the women viewed mikveh as another step in the series of rituals surrounding the wedding, their descriptions of their partner’s support often seemed to be mirroring their partner’s response to other aspects of wedding planning; it was decision in the wedding preparations that would concern the bride, not their own. Thus, their partner supported the decision, but saw it as a part of their future spouse’s domain. It just another aspect of the wedding plans, and one that was not relevant to them.

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However, a few of their partners elected to immerse in a body of water the day of their wedding. Leora reported that her husband, accompanied by a few of his friends, drove out to the ocean to immerse, although they “probably didn’t say anything to do it, [such as a blessing].” While these husbands chose to immerse in the living waters (“mayyim hayyim”) of a natural body of water such as the ocean to mark the transition they were about to undertake, they did so in a less intentional ritual environment as Mayyim Hayyim. Often, they did not mark the event as a “religious” moment, such as skipping the blessing portion of the immersion. They seemed to understand an institutional space such as Mayyim Hayyim as their wife’s prerogative, but not necessarily the intentional ritual space they needed. While for a few of the women this was a shared experience between the couple, or a private experience just for themselves, many more of the women interviewed were accompanied by female friends and family to their immersion at Mayyim Hayyim prior to their wedding. Indeed, the custom for a bride to be accompanied by group of female friends and relatives to the mikveh as a pre-wedding ritual has precedence in Sephardi and Mizrachi Jewish communities. Susan Starr Sered, Romi Kaplan and Samuel Cooper, who studied these mikveh parties, described them as “vibrant and exciting affair[s] at which tasty foods are served and traditional (sometimes bawdy) songs are sung” (146). Notably, the researchers found that these parties were held to allay the mother-in-law’s concern regarding the bride’s virginity, which she used as an opportunity to assert her power over the bride. In the context of the women in my study (in which a few of the women I spoke with were already living with their partners), bringing close female relatives and friends had an entirely different meaning.

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Many spoke it of as sharing the ritual experience with their “community of special women,” a term Rebecca coined. Katie was especially determined to include important women in her life in this particular part of her preparation for her second marriage. I loved going with my…I went with my mother, two nieces, sister and sister in law, so all my closest female relatives. And it was definitely something I wanted to do with them as part of the whole wedding ritual. I wanted the experience of a female ritual. I mean there are some wonderful traditions in Judaism around that. So for me I wanted it to be a community experience, my community of close female relatives. Because it just made it very womanly, all about women…we have little rituals that are just for women. Katie viewed mikveh immersion before her wedding as a specifically female ritual, of which she felt there was a lack of in Jewish tradition. Seizing the opportunity, she brought her community of special women to share the experience of a Jewish women’s ritual. By bringing her female relatives with her to Mayyim Hayyim, Katie implied that the mikveh was a women’s ritual space set aside from other aspects of the larger wedding ceremony. Having women accompany and support her turned the space into a ritual environment “all about women.” For Miriam, whose mother organized a special ceremony at Mayyim Hayyim with all her daughter’s Jewish friends in the Boston area, she felt the experience was so powerful because “being surrounding by my community of women…felt like I was being sent off.” In feeling the support of close female friends and family, Miriam experienced mikveh as a transitional moment in which her community of women were symbolically sending her off to the next stage in her life. Yet, when asked whether they viewed mikveh as a women’s ritual, many of the women responded negatively. Rebecca argued that she did not view it as a women’s ritual, as her husband had immersed before their wedding, and he had previously

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accompanied friends to do the same. Several other interviewees mentioned that they “knew” that men could immerse in a mikveh. Cara recalled that in a trip to Israel in high school, she knew her male friends immersed in a mikveh in Tzefat, and thus she “actually associated it with men. [I saw mikveh] as a man’s ritual primarily, and then women for specific occasions. Or like, rather, after certain clearance, it became a women’s ritual.” Cara was one of several women who described how they saw men’s relationship to mikveh as divergent from women’s mikveh immersion. For Cara, men were the primary mikveh visitors, as traditionally they would or could go weekly before Shabbat. Women, on the other hand, traditionally had to pass a certain occasion (their wedding) before they would be allowed to immerse, and thus it was only a women’s ritual after that point, according to Cara’s understanding. Miriam disagreed with the notion that mikveh was primarily for women because “men can go for as many halachic reasons as women…but more women go.” As a volunteer mikveh guide at Mayyim Hayyim (she signed up to volunteer at Mayyim Hayyim after her positive experience as a bride), Miriam noticed that simply more women came to use Mayyim Hayyim, and the institution set aside “women’s only hours” for them to immerse for niddah purposes. Thus, to Miriam, while the ritual might be traditionally appropriate for men and women equally, given what she has witnessed at Mayyim Hayyim, mikveh immersion was sociologically a women’s ritual. Still, other women argued that mikveh was approached differently between men and women. Thus, it was neither a ritual primarily for men and women, but that they simply approached the ritual differently. Michelle said she only associated mikveh with women because they were typically the ones who were more likely to talk about it. “In

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my community, Jewish women talk about the mikveh but I’ve never heard a guy mention it. “ Working in a Chabad school, Michelle was exposed to women sharing the details of their mikveh visits. She wondered if “maybe they [men] mention it to other guys. It’s still kind of a hush-hush thing.” Thus, Michelle was familiar with mikveh immersion by female peers because they could share that information with fellow women. She speculated that men might choose to keep their mikveh experiences between their male friends, but it was not public (and shared across genders). This gendered difference was also noticed by Sarah: I always saw it for them [men] as a choice or as an experience, while I think the way I was educated was, a requirement for women and that taharat mishpacha [family purity] is one of…those things that if you don’t do, horrible things will happen to your family. It was much more of an obligation as opposed to something someone would voluntarily participate in. Unlike any of the other women interviewed, Sarah had been raised Modern Orthodox, and thus had been formally educated in laws surrounding family purity from a denominational perspective. What she had absorbed from formal and informal sources was that mikveh immersion for men was voluntary, while for women it was obligatory. Sarah felt she had been taught that it was appropriate for men to have “an experience,” but all women were offered was a stern warning to adhere to family purity laws. To Sarah, an experience was only meaningful by its voluntary nature; obligation implied coercion and precluded the experiential aspect of mikveh or any ritual. Obligation also could lead to routine, while rituals that are chosen and infrequent offer for of an opportunity for spontaneity and a spiritual connection. Nonetheless, there is a traditional concept found in the Talmud that: “‫ ”גדול המצווה ועושה ממי שאינו מצווה ועושה‬or, “Greater is one who is commanded [to perform a mitzvah] and fulfills it, than one who is not

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commanded but fulfills it” (Baba Kama 87a). In this traditional concept, an action that is obligated is more rewarded than the voluntary, because it is harder to keep up (for all the reasons stated above). For Sarah, as well as every other woman I spoke with, the concept of choice was a key feature in their approach to ritual. These women elected to immerse in a mikveh prior to their wedding because they understood it to be another aspect of their wedding, in addition to the many other Jewish rituals they associated with the wedding ceremony. For many, this was a chance to mark in a physical way the change of status they were about to make; much like a wedding ceremony, it marked a major life transition. Yet, this was a more private and personal experience than the public performance of a wedding ceremony, and therefore allowed them to focus on the relationship status change rather than the stressful details of wedding planning. In spite of the meaningful and focusing moment described above, for many of these women, mikveh was a foreign and unappealing concept initially. Having learned about Mayyim Hayyim through their work or from fellow peers with similar religious outlooks, these women were convinced that mikveh should be incorporated into their wedding preparation. They reported that Mayyim Hayyim’s aesthetic, material and emotional environment made them feel comfortable and allowed them to feel relaxed, focused and vulnerable. Most of all, they emphasized how Mayyim Hayyim’s ritual environment was inclusive, open and non-judgmental. Their experience was made even more emotional by sharing it with their partner or their special community of women. However, many women insisted that this was not a women’s ritual only, given that they “knew” men went too. Some tried to describing the gendered approach to mikveh

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immersion. Most notable was Sarah’s explanation of the traditional dichotomy of men’s choice and women’s obligation. In fact, all these women, whether knowingly or not, were altering this traditional dichotomy. And Mayyim Hayyim’s policies emphasize this ritual innovation by emphasizing the experiential aspects of mikveh immersion and through their promise that “there is no right way to do this.”

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Chapter 4: Women and Ritual I. A Choice, Not an Obligation Nearly every woman I spoke with described the meaningful and powerful experience she had during her mikveh immersion at Mayyim Hayyim prior to her wedding. And yet, when asked if they had returned to Mayyim Hayyim or any mikveh since then, a majority of women replied that they had not, nor were they particularly inclined to return. Many stated that they had simply not even considered it; potentially they would return for another major life transition or life cycle change such as the birth of a child, or to accompany another friend. Most of these women almost certainly did not want to incorporate niddah or monthly immersion into their life. But most interestingly, it barely occurred to them to immerse again. Leora’s description below summarizes what many other women iterated in different forms about returning to Mayyim Hayyim to immerse again: I haven’t really thought about it [immersing again at Mayyim Hayyim] or planned to do it at any specific point but you know, maybe when I have a baby or something like that…I mean it was a very pleasant, positive experience, so I have no reason not to. I’m definitely not doing it monthly or anything like that. And I’m not interested in that…I mean right now, I wouldn’t necessarily do it, initiate it for myself, [but] if a friend wanted to participate, sure. For so many of these women, mikveh immersion was a positive and powerful experience, one that would remain a lovely memory for years. But it had more in common with a wedding than recurrent ritual in their lives; it was a special event dedicated to marking a change in their lives. They were not opposed to the idea of

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returning, but it simply had not occurred to them, because it was so often associated in their minds with the one-time-only event of their wedding. If they were to immerse again, it would only be for something as momentous as a wedding, such as after the birth of a child, or an event which would be especially moving or would help them feel a sense of healing, such as after a miscarriage. Even for those who made monthly immersion a part of their practice did so with the conception of this as a choice, which could have powerful, spiritual meaning for them. Jaclyn, a Reform rabbinical student in the process of a divorce, described how she utilized ritual immersion as a form of healing, and to mark transitions from one state to another, even when she practiced it monthly during her marriage years: I have personally gone to the mikveh for a number of different reasons. Over the past year I’ve been using it for healing…When I decided I wanted a divorce, I went to the mikveh. When I served my now (well, soon to be) ex-husband with the divorce papers, I went to the mikveh. Um, and when the divorce comes through, I will also go to the mikveh. I have gone to the mikveh sometimes over the past three years [since my first immersion before the wedding], if like the semester ends about the time, maybe a couple of days after my period ends, then I’ll wait to be done with all my coursework, so when I’m going to the mikveh I’m also going, you know, washing away the previous semester. So I love using it for transitional moments, as preparation. I went to the mikveh before both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur this year…I really like mikveh and have been missing [it] and so I’m looking for reasons to go… And again when I’m ordained in May, I am going to go the mikveh. Jaclyn’s approach to mikveh differed from many of the women in the study, as she had returned to the mikveh for multiple occasions. Overall, she used the ritual for transitions, and as a way to wash away past experiences, as well as to prepare for new opportunities. Even when practicing a monthly immersion schedule, Jaclyn incorporated other important parts of her life into the traditional ritual. After a stressful semester, she would wait to immerse in order to coordinate her coursework ending and her monthly

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immersion after the conclusion of her menstrual cycle. Jaclyn imagined that any time she needed a ritual to help prepare her for a new point in her life, or at any meaningful juncture of her life, mikveh immersion would help her better process those experience. II. Pulling Mikveh Out of Their Cultural Toolkit Although Jaclyn’s mikveh practice occurred far more often than most of the women I spoke with, her understanding of how immersion could be utilized, and why, was consistent with many of the other women. Indeed, their motivations and experiences about mikveh immersion all could fall under the rubric of Ann Swidler’s theory of how culture works. In an often-cited paper from 1986, Swidler argued that culture is a “tool kit of symbols, stories, rituals, and worldviews, which people may use in varying configuration to solve different kinds of problems” (Swidler, 273). The manner in which people pull from their cultural toolkit is what Swidler described as their “strategies of action” which are the “persistent ways of ordering action through time” (ibid) and “depends on [individuals’] habits, moods, sensibilities and view of the world” (277). But she was also quick to argue that individuals’ strategies of action are not built “from scratch…instead they construct chains of chains beginning with at least some prefabricated links” (Swidler, 277). The women I spoke with had, amongst so much else, ritual immersion in their cultural toolkits. Yet, their strategies of actions of when and how to employ ritual immersion, when to utilize that particular part of their cultural toolkit, was consistent both with their general worldviews and liberal sensibilities. These women valued ritual; more than one interview included the phrase “I love ritual.” But to them, ritual was most significant when it was infrequent, and marked major life cycle moments in their lives.

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Ritual was best pulled from their cultural toolkit for significant, and infrequent, events in their lives. This is why for many of the women I spoke with, they had hardly considered returning to Mayyim Hayyim, despite their powerful experience there. It would not be consistent with their strategies of action of when it was appropriate to employ that particular cultural tool. To utilize ritual immersion for more than their wedding, or perhaps some other life-altering event, was outside their particular strategy of action. While strategies of action are not always conscious decisions, in this case, these women made an explicit decision to immerse, as they viewed mikveh immersion as a choice to be determined, not an obligation that must be fulfilled. In fact, Lisa admitted that if she felt like she was compelled or coerced, this would certainly have discouraged her from mikveh immersion. Lisa told me, “My husband definitely never said you should go by any means. I don’t think I’d want to if someone told me I had to.” Ariella echoed this, as she felt a sense of obligation towards mikveh would negate any possibility for a spiritual experience. Comparing her own experiences at Mayyim Hayyim with a Chabad rebetzin [rabbi’s wife] practice of niddah, Ariella described the latter: “It wasn’t a spiritual thing. It was something you did because it was prescribed by God.” This prescription was distasteful to her, as she understood obligation to preclude a meaningful experience. In her view (as in all of the women’s interviews), the voluntary nature of their immersion meant they could connect spiritually to the experience. III. How Mikveh Became a Part of the Toolkit: Retrievability Yet the fact that mikveh was even a part of their cultural toolkit seems surprising. Since the traditional concept of a bride’s immersion is that it marks the first of many ritual immersions (for niddah purposes), it seems strange that mikveh, even just before

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their wedding, is a ritual that made its way into their toolkit. How mikveh immersion managed to enter their cultural toolkits can be explained partially by sociologist Michael Schudson’s response to Swidler’s “strategies of action” theory. He argued that the efficacy of a cultural object is measurable by certain features, the first of which is its retrievability, or that a cultural object must be “accessible and reach the audience” (Schudson, 162). The availability of a ritual environment (such as a community mikveh) that can offer a ritual in a manner which accords with the sensibilities and worldviews of these women can mean the difference between whether or not this ritual would even make its way into their cultural toolkits. One way for a ritual environment to be retrievable is by being in a geographically convenient area for the audience or clientele for whom it is intended. Of the women I interviewed who no longer live in the Boston area, several lamented that there was no equivalent to the Mayyim Hayyim community mikveh in their neighborhood. Stacy, who lives in New York City (hardly a place lacking in Jewish institutional options), said of Mayyim Hayyim, “I wish there were more like them here.” Deborah lived in Washington, D.C.; however, her husband was from Newton, MA, and they had planned for the wedding to take place in Newton. Had Mayyim Hayyim not be available, (or had the wedding been in the D.C. area), Deborah admitted, “I don’t know that I would have sought out another mikveh experience.” Without the availability of a community mikveh that appeals to the liberal sensibilities and worldview in a location that is geographically practical, mikveh immersion may not have entered their cultural toolkit at all. As mentioned earlier, a majority of the women interviewed worked in Jewish institutions and heard about Mayyim Hayyim through connections in their professional or

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lay positions. In order for Mayyim Hayyim to be retrievable and thus efficacious, these women had to know about it, either from witnessing someone else immerse there first, or learned about it in their professional or lay leadership positions. Rebecca, who had initially visited Mayyim Hayyim with a close friend, recognized that “had I not accompanied her and witnessed her in her experience, I’m not sure I would have gone.” Mikveh immersion in a community mikveh was a retrievable part of Rebecca’s cultural toolkit because she had already witnessed a powerful and emotional experience of a close friend of hers at Mayyim Hayyim. Therefore, Mayyim Hayyim was available to these particular women, due to their social, professional, and geographical location. IV. How Mikveh Became a Part of the Toolkit: Rhetorical Force and Resonance Another element in Schudson’s schema for measuring the efficacy of a cultural object is its “rhetorical force,” or its effectiveness in engaging and drawing in its the audience (Schudson, 165). In this case, Mayyim Hayyim has a successful rhetorical force on these women because it offers an experience that appeals to their particular worldviews. Mayyim Hayyim’s policies, the manner in which its volunteer guides are trained, and (as Meryl appreciated) even the emails that they send out, match the parameters and language that these women appreciate in a ritual environment. The rhetorical force used by Mayyim Hayyim also works because of its “resonance”—another part of Schudson’s schema for measuring the potency of a cultural object—with certain segments of the Jewish community who have liberal worldviews and sensibilities. The cultural object (in this case, the community mikveh) has to be relevant and resonate with the audience to be effective and succeed. Mayyim Hayyim is able to provide both a rhetorical force that effectively draws in their audience as well as a

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ritual environment that resonates with these women. In several ways to be delineated below, the policies and decisions made by Mayyim Hayyim leaders have created a ritual environment that permits mikveh immersion to become a part of these women’s cultural toolkit. First, Mayyim Hayyim’s staff and volunteer mikveh guides promote a sense of individuality and choice, and they indicate to the clientele that there is no correct way to do the ritual immersion. One of Mayyim Hayyim’s seven guiding principles claims: “Mayyim Hayyim provides the space for Jews to practice the ritual of immersion according to their interpretation and understanding” (Kline, 13, emphasis mine). This resonates with the women I spoke to, who want to be able to personalize their rituals to their liking, and do not want to feel compelled to have to follow a strict set of guidelines. Many women described how this individualization was not allowed in other ritual environments, and therefore those environments were too rigid for their liking. Stacy explained what had appealed to her about Mayyim Hayyim, as opposed to other ritual environments she had encountered in the past: “You know, usually you go to a synagogue and it has its own rules, or prayers or whatever. But this [immersing at Mayyim Hayyim] you can make up your own.” At Mayyim Hayyim, the mikveh guides encouraged visitors to personalize their immersion experience. Unlike a synagogue where individuals have to follow the lead of the congregation, in Mayyim Hayyim, these women are not concerned with making a mistake or feeling obligated to participate just like everyone else. They can opt out of certain aspects, and enjoy the experience more because of this personalization. Thus Mayyim Hayyim’s rhetorical force regarding

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individualizing the experience, and that there was no correct way to perform the ritual, resonated with the group of women I spoke with. Furthermore, Mayyim Hayyim’s no-assumptions-made policies, again as illustrated in the actions and rhetoric of the staff and mikveh guides, also resonate with these women. In Cara’s opinion, “it seemed that the experience that they provide is one that is for people who are trying it for the first time, that they’re open to new comers. [Mayyim Hayyim is a] welcoming, kind of a teaching institution rather than just a formal ritual.” Cara noticed that Mayyim Hayyim trained their mikveh guides to make no prior assumptions about visitors’ knowledge, experience or practice, and this resonated with her and made her feel comfortable. She felt she could learn more about mikveh and perhaps even embrace the ritual, but only after learning that Mayyim Hayyim was more of a “teaching institution” than one that demanded prior experience. The mikveh guides at Mayyim Hayyim also offered leaflets listing several options of blessings to say in the mikveh, including Hebrew and English translations, so visitors can choose which blessing feels most appropriate to them. Beth remembered that, “I found that very helpful because they pulled together some readings and prayers that made sense for that moment. So I felt like I wanted to go there because it was an environment that was inclusive and welcomed people who had never been, and nonjudgmental.” Beth connected the plethora of materials offered to the non-judgmental nature of the ritual environment. In Beth’s understanding, because Mayyim Hayyim offered materials with several options, it meant the staff and guides were making no assumptions about her previous knowledge or experience. Therefore, it was an inclusive and welcoming ritual

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environment, two features that all these women valued and which they looked for in a ritual environment. These women also held liberal worldviews and sensibilities which they felt were well matched in Mayyim Hayyim’s rhetoric and policies. This liberal ethos included a liberal political worldview, which most often manifested itself in support of gay rights and egalitarianism. Deborah shared that she “was [once] a member of the Gay-LesbianBisexual-Transgender synagogue, although I am not those things, because it felt open to all.” The inclusive nature of the space, rather than her sexual orientation, is what attracted Deborah to that particular ritual environment, and which she expected to be fulfilled in any site she would visit for ritual use. Rebecca said that, “I like being in a community where my politics are shared, in terms of being in an environment where clergy are open to performing same-sex marriage.” Rebecca looked for religious ritual environments in which her liberal political ethos would be matched, and her evidence of congruence between her views and a community’s views was the rabbi’s openness to officiating a same-sex wedding. Mayyim Hayyim’s rhetoric of inclusiveness intentionally incorporated LGBTQ persons, as had previously been described in their efforts to train mikveh guides to be sensitive to transgender issues. Furthermore, their website suggests holding “coming out” ceremonies at the mikveh and proclaims that Mayyim Hayyim is a “GLBT Safe Zone” (“Mayyim Hayyim About”). Regardless of their own sexual orientation, the women I spoke with felt that Mayyim Hayyim’s openness to the gay community had resonance for them. Cara remembered: When I was leaving [Mayyim Hayyim], the person who was going in after me was this little girl who had two dads, and one of the dads was Jewish

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and the other dad had converted semi-recently. And their adopted daughter was converting that day. And it was just very moving because I’m very politically liberal and even though…I wasn’t like looking for this little check list, like “ok looking for immersions other than traditional immersions” or open “to alternative family types,” or you know, ways of being Jewish. But it was a way to make me feel good…or a way to feel even better about my decision to both immerse myself and also be a part of this place that was so accepting to so many different kinds of people. In this story, Cara expressed that in witnessing a gay couple convert their daughter, she felt even more validated in her decision to immerse at Mayyim Hayyim. Although she was not searching for this as if she had a “checklist,” of preferences for a mikveh or any ritual environment, when Cara saw her liberal sensibilities being enacted in this ritual space, the rhetoric of being a welcoming environment was actualized. Perhaps this explains why these women were uncomfortable describing mikveh as a women’s ritual. Their liberal ethos of egalitarianism and support for same-sex relationships somewhat contradicted their understanding any ritual as particular to a specific gender. Indeed, Michelle, who was heterosexual, claimed she did not believe mikveh immersion was gendered because she had shared the experience with her husband. But, she claimed, “If I was marrying another woman, I’d still want to go to the mikveh with her, though at most mikvehs [sic] they wouldn’t really appreciate that. Obviously Mayyim Hayyim is really open.” The issue that resonated with Michelle was not gender, but rather the openness and inclusiveness of the ritual environment. What made Mayyim Hayyim so appealing was that sexual orientation would not inhibit the opportunity for a ritual experience at this community mikveh. Therefore, Mayyim Hayyim’s staff and guides’ rhetoric of being nonjudgmental resonated with these women because their clients were concerned with their inexperience and lack of knowledge. Furthermore, their rhetoric resonated with these women’s liberal

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worldviews, and my informants appreciated Mayyim Hayyim’s openness to LGBTQ persons and the egalitarian nature of the ritual environment (Katie called Mayyim Hayyim an “amazing, egalitarian ritual place”). The rhetorical force of a no-assumptionsmade policy resonated with these women who looked for ritual environments that were inclusive, non-judgmental, and open to anyone who wanted to try a new experience for the first time. V. Inclusivity and Openness: Not Synonymous with Non-Denominationalism Indeed, these features resonated with the women interviewed because they are the elements they seek out in any ritual environment. Thus, when Mayyim Hayyim’s staff and volunteer guides fully embrace their ritual environment as one that is open, welcoming, and nonjudgmental, it allows for the possibility that mikveh immersion could become a part of these women’s cultural toolkit. For instance, Beth described how she often felt left out at Jewish weddings where there was an abundance of Hebrew and no explanations given to the different aspects of the ceremony. Therefore, when Beth learned that the guides provided explanatory materials, she felt more welcomed and included than in other ritual experiences such as certain Jewish weddings. These women sought out ritual environments that were open to “all,” often implying Jews and non-Jews alike. More than one informant mentioned that their Passover seder included Jews and non-Jews. This was often brought up as evidence that they valued ritual environments that were pluralistic and inclusive. When I asked Katie what appealed to her about those environments, she explained, “I don’t like exclusivity, groups forming and not letting other people in.” Interestingly, she could accept that Mayyim Hayyim only allows those who are Jewish or becoming Jewish (i.e., converting)

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to immerse. But generally, this motif of inclusivity was an important aspect in their ritual environment, and its clear enemy, exclusivity, was something to be avoided. Surprisingly, the rhetoric of the inclusive and open nature of Mayyim Hayyim resonated with these women, but the same might not be said for its non-affiliation with a denomination or congregation. While some of my informants considered non-affiliation as potentially helping set that tone, several emphasized that it was not necessary, and certainly not a primary feature. What made Mayyim Hayyim an effective place to make mikveh immersion a part of their cultural toolkit was its openness and welcoming environment. The non-denominational nature itself was not particularly salient. Several women claimed that as long as another ritual environment managed to provide the same level of openness and welcoming environment, its affiliation would not change their own orientation towards mikveh. Sarah claimed that it would not be problematic if Mayyim Hayyim “was associated with any denomination or affiliation as long as they were able to maintain the environment that they currently have.” Sarah’s statement was just once instance in which these women described how they viewed as non-denominationalism not as a necessity in maintaining such an open environment, and so long as a ritual space managed to provide a welcoming feeling, it did not matter whether the space was affiliated with a particular stream of Judaism. However, many of the women believed that Mayyim Hayyim’s non-affiliation was influential in maintaining a welcoming environment. Once again though, they insisted it was not a necessary component in creating inclusive, open ritual environments. Thus, Mayyim Hayyim’s rhetoric of “an unhyphenated space” and a pluralistic Jewish space did not particularly resonate with the women interviewed. Instead, these women

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would claim that Mayyim Hayyim as a nondenominational ritual environment perhaps appealed to others, but for them that was not a necessity. Michelle asserted that her “friends who aren’t Orthodox, would never go to an Orthodox mikveh, never, never, never. They wouldn’t go to an Orthodox service, because they wouldn’t feel welcome…But it’s intimidating, like to think, oh that’s that group and I’m not part of that group.” Michelle’s friends would “never, never, never” feel comfortable in a specific denominational space such as an Orthodox mikveh or Orthodox service. Yet, a mikveh or other ritual environments that were pluralistic and nondenominational and which did not emphasis a particular group that one had to be affiliated with would resonate with her friends. They would not feel comfortable if they had felt they could only use such a space if they were members of “that group,” but in a space that was nondenominational, they could potentially utilize the space without being a member of any particular group. Others found it hard to commit to a preference for nondenominational spaces such as Mayyim Hayyim, or ones affiliated with a particular stream. Deborah stated, “I think [I seek out] both [affiliated and nonaffiliated spaces]. I kind of feel more comfortable going into a space that isn’t specifically one denomination, but once I’m there, as long as it’s welcoming, it doesn’t matter to me.” She slightly preferred a non-denominational space, but once again, the main aspect was that as long as the space was welcoming, and made her feel comfortable and included, then it did not matter whether the space was affiliated with a specific denomination. What resonated with Deborah was whether she could feel included, and so she assumed a non-affiliated space would most likely fulfill that desire. However, Deborah indicated that so long as the environment managed to be a welcoming

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one, its affiliation or lack thereof would not preclude her from a positive ritual experience. Nonetheless, for the women interviewed, nondenominational ritual spaces were hard to come by and even harder to describe. When asked what other spaces they had been to that were similar to Mayyim Hayyim, most women found it difficult to recall such a space. However, this did not prevent them from describing the types of ritual environments they sought out, even if they were somewhat rare. Katie said it was difficult to find a Jewish institution within any denomination that did not have some kind of “negative baggage,” such as “internal politics.” She felt that ritual environments that were unaffiliated with a particular denomination were less likely to have this kind of negative baggage, and thus would be more appealing to her than most Jewish institutions that were seeped in problematic pasts. Michelle, like many of the women in this study, felt that an important feature of ritual environments was their availability and openness to everyone, regardless of denomination, age, sexual orientation or any other characteristics. She claimed: To me, it’s important that spiritual experiences are available to everyone. I don’t think you need to be Orthodox. Or you need to be a straight person or you need to be married. Or, it needs to be only for this purpose. Like I feel like everyone should have…an immersion for whatever reason… So I like that, their philosophy. I think it’s very wholesome and super open which is kind of what I think religion should be. Religious practices should be open to everyone. While Michelle’s statement addresses why Mayyim Hayyim appealed to her, it also attempts to convey what she looks for in Jewish ritual environments. She believes “religious practices should be open to everyone;” thus, environments that only make certain groups feel acceptable in the space are not appealing. Not only should the space

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be available to a diversity of people, but the reasons for its use should also be allowed to vary. If those who run the space deign only certain purposes appropriate, that would be quite unappealing to Michelle. She, along with many of the other women interviewed, wanted both the content and the clientele of a ritual environment to be open, available, and by no means exclusive. But once again, when asked for other examples of spaces that they had experienced such characteristics, they were often at a loss. Still, when defining what they sought in a Jewish ritual environment, the most salient feature was inclusiveness, and whether or not affiliation actually facilitated that or necessitated that was irrelevant. What was more important to these women was whether the space could accommodate and encourage diversity. For instance, Michelle described her home as “a mixed bag” which allowed for individuals from diverse backgrounds to come together and celebrate rituals, and this was an example of the type of ritual space she wished could be emulated in other areas of Jewish life. While Michelle was describing how her home was a paradigm for inclusivity, others could recall other rituals spaces that they felt embodied openness. Meryl remembered her old synagogue as quite inclusive, “because it was a welcoming environment for Jews and non-Jews.” Once again, in determining the parameters of Jewish ritual environments, these women included Jews and non-Jews alike—otherwise it could be exclusive, and would lose an important element in their ritual environment. To others, the epitome of openness was not to whom a particular ritual space was available, but rather if those involved were willing to engage in dialogue and open to multiple or even contradictory perspectives. This understanding of openness closely mirrors Shevitz and Wasserfall’s definition of generative pluralism, and which Sarah

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described as the most important feature she sought in a Jewish ritual environment. Sarah claimed that what was most significant was, “whether it’s an open space, or even if, an outcome of a conversation doesn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, to be able to open and engage in dialogue about rituals and traditions around the overarching ritual, whatever that is.” While the conversation “might not turn out” with the result she wished for, Sarah appreciated environments where dialogue was encouraged and a variety of opinions could be expressed about ritual practice. For Sarah, Michelle and many others, the best context for a ritual was one in which there was a respect that everyone deserved an opportunity to practice rituals, in the manner which best suits him or her. Their narratives indicated that if nondenominationalism was a means towards this end, so be it. VI. Already a Part of the Toolkit: Rituals as Markers of Life Cycle Events Another feature of Mayyim Hayyim’s founding principles and practices that these women felt demonstrated it was an inclusive ritual environment was that it supported mikveh immersion to mark a variety of life cycle occasions. Lisa heartedly approved of the alternative ritual use that occurs at Mayyim Hayyim, such as celebration rituals, (e.g., the marriage of a child) or healing rituals (such as after a divorce). She recognized, “you can just go to a mikveh and do that anywhere, but what’s special about Mayyim Hayyim is that you can tell them, that’s why I’m here and you’ll support them in that, and they have resources for it, so I think that’s wonderful. And I wish more places were like that.” Lisa argued that it is possible to immerse in other mikvaot (or utilize a natural body of water), in order to mark these particular occasions, but the staff would not necessarily be supportive or encouraging, and resources for such ceremonies would likely not be provided. She was aware that this was a relatively distinctive feature of Mayyim Hayyim.

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Indeed, Mayyim Hayyim’s appointed “ritual creation team” has actually created new ritual ceremonies and accompanying blessings that are published, bound and available for use, with some ceremonies based on visitors’ requests or past ceremonies. Not only are clients able to share their particular reason for immersing with their mikveh attendant, but the organization also offers alternative ritual ceremonies in a codified form, giving it legitimacy. Other mikvaot that did so were rare, and thus, innovative uses for mikveh were not always retrievable; hence, mikveh immersion (especially for alternative uses) was often not initially a part of these women’s cultural toolkits. Mayyim Hayyim’s staff and guides’ support of alternative reasons to immerse proved that their rhetoric force had significant resonance with these women. Alternative occasions to immerse resonated because they matched these women’s liberal worldviews and sensibilities towards ritual. The majority of women interviewed associated Jewish rituals generally with major life transitions and life cycle events. For mikveh to make its way into their cultural toolkits, it took the shape of marking these major life cycle events. Whether for traditional occasions such as the birth of a child or prior to a wedding, or for more alternative occasions for immersion, such as a coming out ritual for LGBTQ individuals or to mark the end of cancer treatments, it still matched their understanding about the purposes and uses of ritual. The women interviewed believed rituals are most significant when they mark special occasions, whether they are celebratory in nature, or are used as a way to mourn. Most importantly, they are used to signify major but periodic changes in status rather than frequent and consistent transitions. They feel that rare occasions provide more

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meaningful and memorable experiences, rather than rituals of a routine or everyday nature. Thus, for mikveh to become a part of these women’s cultural toolkits, it had to be understood as a ritual that could be used in a meaningful way to mark these major transitions. It also meant if a place that supported and in fact encouraged such an understanding of ritual was available and used the proper rhetoric force, such as an emphasis on no assumptions, and openness, then it could resonate with these women. VII. Inventing Tradition Several women claimed they valued mikveh, as well as other Jewish rituals, because it connected them to the past, to their ancestors, their people, and their history. Deborah took her mikveh immersion as an opportunity to think about her ancestors and why this practice had been important to them, as a way to make it significant and meaningful to her. She said that during her immersion, she tried to focus on “thinking about the people who have immersed before, not just at the site [Mayyim Hayyim], but just in general in our tradition, and why it was meaningful to them.” Not only focusing on the space itself, or her experiences, Deborah believed her immersion would be more meaningful if she imagined her ancestors and many others who performed the same ritual before her. Shani also appreciated that ritual immersion was a part of the larger context of Jewish traditions and culture. She remembered that, “it really felt like I was a part of something bigger…and I was connected to history... I liked that there was a framework of what I was going to do.” By performing this ritual, Shani felt she was able to connect to her people’s past, and that she was partaking in ritual with a long history. Connecting to the past and feeling a part of a larger tradition came up in other ritual contexts as well. Rebecca shared that the week of our interview was the anniversary

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of her father’s death, his yartzeit. Though she was far from a regular synagogue attendee, that week she intended to go to synagogue to mark the important date. And for me the practice of observing his yartzeit, as he had observed his yartzeit—his parents died when he was quite young, and I remember he would make a point of going to synagogue to observe their yartzeit. And for me, observing his yartzeit is a spiritual experience of carrying on a torch in a sort of way that he passed to me. Sort of part of being what I consider to be a link in the chain of carrying out a tradition that he had done that I now do for him. As she had seen her father commemorate his parents, Rebecca felt it was her duty to continue the practice. Commemorating her father’s yartzeit not only helped her find a ritualized way to remember him, it helped her take over a practice she had come to know as her father’s. Rebecca felt she was another “link in the chain,” another in a series of her people commemorating their ancestors in a Jewish ritualized way. Performing the ritual of yartzeit was a spiritual experience to Rebecca because it made her feel she was carrying on the traditions of her family and her people. However, especially in the context of mikveh immersion, these women’s narratives about tradition are somewhat surprising. Immersion in a mikveh is a traditional Jewish practice, and yet, for many of these women, their understandings and performance of this ritual are quite innovative. As described above, for most of the women surveyed and interviewed, mikveh immersion had been performed just once, prior to their wedding. This practice aligns with their understanding of what role ritual plays in their life—for major life cycle events or other major life transitions, as a choice to be elected and therefore meaningfully experienced, and performed in an inclusive, open environment.

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Each of these features, while matching their worldviews and sensibilities, are innovative ways to approach mikveh immersion. While mikveh was used for certain major life transitions (wedding, after the birth of a child, conversion), it was traditionally used in a much more regular, consistent manner. Furthermore, the informants in Naomi Marmon’s study, who observed monthly niddah practices, all claimed they did so because they understood it to be an obligation to follow as dictated by rabbinic law. Finally, understanding mikveh as an open and gender-neutral place differs from the private, gendered space depicted in Bella Chagall’s memories of her mother’s trips to the bath. Once again, Eric Hobsbawm’s concept of “inventing tradition,” appropriately describes the social processes that occur when these women describe why they value mikveh immersion because it connects them to the past. “Insofar as there is such a reference to a historic past, the peculiarity of ‘invented’ traditions is that the continuity with it is largely factitious. In short, they are responses to novel situations which take the form of references to old situations, or which establish their own past by quasi-obligatory repetition” (Hobsbawm, 2). Hobsbawm’s conception of an invented tradition applies to rituals, practices or beliefs that attempt to make explicit references to a historic past, despite the fact that the connection is more imagined than real. Many of the women described their performance of mikveh immersion, as well as many other ritual experiences, as practices directly influenced and connected with their people, their culture, and Jewish history. Some explicitly focused on these past practices during their immersion; others described feeling “a part of something bigger.” Yet in both practice and belief, these women were utilizing an invented tradition. Their actions are connected to a traditional ritual, but done with different intentions, motivations and most

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notably, practices. These women are searching for spiritual experiences, which are more likely to occur during occasional and notable life cycle events. While mikveh was always used to delineate a change of status, for these women, mikveh is an appropriate tradition for significant, and thus infrequent, moments in their lives. Additionally, it is a choice, and thus they believe is more meaningful than obligatory practices. These motivations and understanding of mikveh are invented. Sometimes the way they use mikveh is connected to traditional rituals (such as a connection to sexual activity, marriage, reproductive cycles and childbirth, as it was for Jewish women historically and for some today), but my informants’ actions are in fact shaped as responses to novel situations in their lives. Of course, as Swidler explained, their actions are not totally original—they are “chains of chains beginning with at least some prefabricated links” (Swidler, 277). In this case, there are many pre-fabricated links that create these chains, and mikveh immersion is one prominent pre-fabricated link. While the practices surrounding its use have fluctuated over its long history, this link is (however tenuously) connected to the practice of mikveh immersion as the women in this study perform it. In keeping with their strategies of action, these women attach a number of beliefs and practices to the pre-fabricated link of mikveh immersion but which also adhere to their worldviews and sensibilities. Thus, while many find meaning in connecting their lives to a historic past, the ritual still must feel comfortable with the other ways that they approach spiritual and religious experiences. As detailed in the previous chapter, many appreciated a beautiful, as well as emotionally supportive ritual environment. And as

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mentioned above, they expect rituals to be most meaningful when they were infrequent and marked major occasions, as well as voluntary rather than mandatory. The various elements that the women interviewed expressed as important or valuable in a spiritual and religious experience and a ritual environment illustrate that when they describe their experience of mikveh immersion, they are the process of inventing tradition. While they are drawing on the pre-fabricated link of mikveh immersion, these other important features that they seek out in a ritual environment (beauty, open and inclusiveness) as well as the rituals themselves (voluntary, and mostly for special occasions), are clearly innovative approaches that were not traditionally attached to mikveh immersion. But it would hardly do justice to describe this invention of tradition as strictly based on the actions of these women. In fact, that mikveh made its way into their cultural toolkit was very much the result of the actions and decisions made by Mayyim Hayyim’s founders, staff and eventually, their volunteer guides. The leaders at Mayyim Hayyim have no qualms about describing ritual work as innovative, and they are explicit that they are in the process of inventing tradition. Mayyim Hayyim’s website claims they are “a 21st century creation, a mikveh rooted in ancient tradition, reinvented to serve the Jewish community of today” (“Mayyim Hayyim About”). Billing their ritual environment as one linked to a historic past, they are fully aware that they have reshaped the ancient ritual to respond to contemporary norms and values of their clientele. Part of the rhetoric that resonated with the women interviewed was the traditional component that Mayyim Hayyim offered. The women I spoke with viewed mikveh immersion as another step in a series of rituals surrounding a traditional wedding. But for

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mikveh immersion to even become a consideration and a part of their cultural toolkit, an innovative environment for the ritual would have appeal (and essentially, sell mikveh) to them. While historically mikveh immersion has fluctuated in its practice and use in American Jewish life, most notably in liberal Jews’ lives, Mayyim Hayyim managed to offer them was a ritual environment that resonated with their worldviews (inclusive, nonjudgmental) and their sensibilities (beautiful, for life cycle events, and as voluntary experiences), enough to make them rethink and indeed come to appreciate mikveh immersion. In doing so, both the leaders of Mayyim Hayyim encouraging mikveh use, and their clientele who immerse there, are then in the process of inventing tradition. VIII. Solidifying a Place in the Tool Kit: Institutional Retention and Resolution Schudson’s theory of how cultural works includes two final components, both of which Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders employed. According to his schema, a cultural object must also have institutional retention, a “set of concrete social relations in which meaning is enacted, in which it is, in a sense, tied down” (Schudson, 170). The more entrenched the cultural object becomes in institutionalized forms, the “more opportunity there is for it to exercise influence” (Schudson, 171). Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders, having made their ritual environment retrievable, their rhetoric effective for certain segments of Jews and positively resonated with said population, are in the process of proving their institutional retention. One potential measure of successful institutional retention is that other institutions recognize it as an established part of the culture. In the most recent edition of Slingshot, a publication that lists the top fifty start-up organizations in North American Jewish life based on their “innovation, impact, leadership and organizational efficacy,” Mayyim

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Hayyim was named one of their “Standard Bearers.” Ten organizations received this recognition due to their consistent listing (five times or more) in past Slingshot publications, and “they were chosen not only for sustainability but also because they continue to attain Slingshot’s core criteria,” as listed above. This example lends credence to the institutional retention that Mayyim Hayyim has maintained in pushing forward their vision of a ritual environment. They have been described as sustainable, thus matching closely with Schudson’s depiction of “tied-down,” and “institutionalized” culture (170-171). However, in an email sent on February 7, 2012 to Mayyim Hayyim’s entire email list, Anita Diamant, Diane Black and the Board of Directors informed readers that Aliza Kline, executive director of Mayyim Hayyim since its inception, would be leaving the institution after her sabbatical ended this year (Diamant and Black). Perhaps this will inspire doubts as to the level of institutional retention that Mayyim Hayyim will be able to maintain. But for now, the institution itself has been standing for almost eight years, and its leaders are aiming to replicate their institutional model. As a part of their “mainstream” and “outreach” programs, Mayyim Hayyim’s staff consults with community leaders who wish to build similar mikvaot. Finally, the fifth component in Schudson’s schema to measure the efficacy of a cultural object he calls “resolution,” which he defines as the “directives to action.” Schudson argued “certain objects are better situated,” for these calls to action, while other cultural objects have less of a natural inclination to direct future action (171). In the case of Mayyim Hayyim, their consultations to other organizations, as well as the directives to action for the immersion themselves, are the community mikveh’s resolutions. As Cara

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described it, Mayyim Hayyim is a “teaching institution,” and indeed, their education center runs over a hundred educational programs a year (“Mayyim Hayyim Education Center”). In these ways, Mayyim Hayyim provides directives for action, both for new visitors to learn about the mikveh, as well as by guiding other communities to replicate their work. The majority of the women surveyed and interviewed had not returned to the mikveh since their bridal immersion. Given the interviewees’ understanding of the role of ritual in their lives, this should not be surprising. In their cultural toolkits, rituals were for special events only, and were viewed as choices to be employed when fitting (life cycle events or other life transitions). But that mikveh immersion made its way into their cultural toolkits is noteworthy itself. In order for mikveh to not only be a part of their cultural toolkit, but one which they could view as a traditional practice that connected them to their past, an invention of tradition had to occur. Hobsbawm’s theory of how invented traditions are tied to a historic past but in fact quite obviously shaped by contemporary situations, are implicit in these women’s narratives. They manage to connect to the traditional ritual of mikveh immersion, despite that the way they understand and perform the ritual matches their own, contemporary situation. Notably, Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders are much more explicit that they are inventing tradition. This interaction between clients and creators each contributes to the efficacy of the community mikveh. In accordance with Schudson’s schema for measuring the efficacy of a cultural object, Mayyim Hayyim (in conjunction with their clientele) managed to be retrievable, by being available for use for those in the Greater Boston area, or those in the area for their wedding. Even if these individuals were not affiliated with a

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synagogue, Mayyim Hayyim managed to reach them in their professional or volunteer positions in Jewish communal organizations. The rhetoric force used by Mayyim Hayyim, most notably the ability to personalize the experience, and the no-assumptionsmade policies enacted by staff and guides, resonated with these women, who looked for ritual environments that were inclusive, non-judgmental, and open to individuals’ wants. While this was offered in a nondenominational setting, that was not the aspect that resonated with the women interviewed. Rather, the more poignant aspect that resonated was that such an environment was likely to provide an inclusive experience. Mayyim Hayyim is in the process of proving its institutional retention, but it does offer resolutions for other communities to emulate their actions, as well as provide directives to action for visitors to learn about mikveh and use the space as a “teaching institution.” Interestingly, what they teach is explicitly an invented tradition.

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Chapter 5: Conclusion The Community Mikveh Returning to the claims on Mayyim Hayyim’s website, did the community mikveh succeed in making “mikveh accessible and meaningful for the full diversity of our people for the first time in Jewish history”? (“Mayyim Hayyim About”). Accessibility was a key factor for the women interviewed, in every sense of the word. Many of these women had previously held negative impressions of mikveh as either an antiquated practice that was not relevant to their lifestyle, or as a ritual for those more observant than themselves. Or, these women found mikveh unappealing due to the “ick” factor generated from an unattractive and potentially unclean place they had previously seen—and thus could not imagine going there to bare all and immerse in such a space. Furthermore, these women voiced their initial concerns with any ritual environment for which they were unfamiliar. But, in their experiences at Mayyim Hayyim, interviewees expressed their gratitude for the open, welcoming and non-assumptive nature of the staff and guides. Concerns about doing something wrong were allayed, as they were assured that there was “no right way to do this,” aside from a total immersion in the water. Thus, mikveh was accessible because of the teaching aspect of Mayyim Hayyim, as well as their openness. Rather than feel judged for doing something wrong or their lack of knowledge, this ritual environment was accessible because its representatives seemed to hold no assumptions of its clientele.

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Indeed, the assurance that there was “no right way to do this” aligned with these women’s understanding of what made a ritual meaningful. It should be personalized, and tailored to the individual’s needs and preferences. It should also be framed as a choice to be elected, not one that a person feels forced to do. And it should revolve around major, and infrequent, life cycle changes. Furthermore, the ritual environment should be open to all, comfortable in amenities, and provide the opportunity for personal introspection or the option to share an experience with others. In each of these aspects, Mayyim Hayyim matched these desires, which contributed to a meaningful ritual experience for the women interviewed. And what of their claims that Mayyim Hayyim did so for “the full diversity of our people”? Clearly, Mayyim Hayyim made mikveh available and meaningful to women who were highly Jewishly educated—my survey indicated that the largest percentage of respondents raised Reform and Conservative had over seven years of Hebrew or Supplementary education for two days a week or more. The majority of interviewees (once again, not a generalizable sample) had attended every year that Hebrew school was offered at their family’s synagogue. Of the women who volunteered over the course of the interview what their occupations were, a majority worked in the Jewish communal field. In both childhood and currently, these women’s lives were already heavily involved or influenced by Jewishness. They could perhaps be put into the category of Cohen and Eisen’s moderately affiliated Jews; they were not the most highly engaged in Jewish life, but they were involved with Jewish institutions for much of their lives. Thus the claim that Mayyim Hayyim would make mikveh available and meaningful to the “full diversity” of American Jews is most certainly an exaggeration to

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date. Though many of these women appreciated that Mayyim Hayyim exuded openness and inclusivity, the community mikveh was (to use Schudson’s term) more retrievable for them than for others with fewer Jewish connections. The socio-economic status of the institution’s users also makes it retrievable for a select population. Mayyim Hayyim has an extraordinarily expensive $90 suggested contribution for life cycle events or personal transitions, including for pre-wedding immersions. For weekly or monthly immersions, the suggested donation is $36, or $360 annually for unlimited immersions (“Mayyim Hayyim Suggested Donations”). As a comparison, according to a document from 2002, the mikveh in Brighton under the auspices of Chabad Lubavitch has a suggested donation of $18 for visit, $25 for a bride, and $180 for a year (Auerbach, et al). While Mayyim Hayyim’s website states that “no one will ever turned away due to inability to make a donation” (“Mayyim Hayyim Suggested Donations”), the price of a suggested contribution for using the site indicates that Mayyim Hayyim is most accessible for a people of means. And of course, Mayyim Hayyim’s leadership have only begun to publicly engage with Orthodox leaders, extending their borders of diversity to include those for whom mikveh may have already been accessible, just not a “community mikveh.” Certainly the term “community mikveh” is an ambiguous name for such an establishment. What is meant by the term “community mikveh” and who are its members? If the phrase was meant to imply that it is a site on which Jews can build a community, then that would be surprising, as any mikveh is a potentially difficult ritual environment to build a community around. In Marmon’s study, her informants felt their regular trips to the mikveh created a “community of women,” who also arrived on the

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same day of the month. Waiting in the lobby with friends who also immersed monthly made “mikveh a social outing or a ‘social event’” (Marmon, 237). While some women in my study elected to make the experience a social one by bringing family, friends, or immersing at the same time as their partner, the infrequent nature of mikveh immersion in these women’s lives indicates it would scarcely be a space to build a lasting community. If “community mikveh” is meant to imply a site for building a community, it did not play out as such for these women at Mayyim Hayyim. On the other hand, if the term is meant to indicate that it extends the availability of mikveh to a wider range of Jews—for instance, if it is meant for those who would never imagine immersing in an Orthodox mikveh—then perhaps calling the site a “community mikveh” is not hyperbole. As noted by the interview participants, Mayyim Hayyim did successfully convince them to participate in a ritual they had little interest or intent to do prior to learning about Mayyim Hayyim. Yet, claims that Mayyim Hayyim is a space for the “full diversity of our people” or the “community,” (which implies that the space is for a broader section of the Jewish community than an Orthodox mikveh would be) are over-stated. By providing a ritual space that is open, and welcoming, Mayyim Hayyim resonated with moderately affiliated Jews with liberal worldviews. The ritual environment created at Mayyim Hayyim managed to provoke interest for a ritual many of the women interviewed may never have performed had a “community mikveh” not existed. Finally, are Mayyim Hayyim’s leaders correct that they have created a ritual environment so unique in its approach to mikveh immersion that it is happening for “the first time in Jewish history”? I would argue yes, their particular approach to mikveh

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immersion and its ritual environment is a recent and quite contemporary development, but the existence of a new approach to a ritual or its environment by connecting it to a historic past is hardly a new phenomenon. Just as seen through the brief history of the niddah laws, observance and practices have shifted throughout the years. Even rituals that one might treat as ancient and unchanging until an alternative emerged (such as the community mikveh), ignores the social processes that produce changes to any practice as it moves through different eras and contexts. Shari Rochelle Lash, citing Ronald Grimes, beautifully illustrates this point: Rites, even as they adhere to tradition, are never static. They borrow from the past, mix with the present, and reach towards the future in a process of reinvention: ‘Rites are not givens; they are hand-me-downs, quilts we continue to patch. Whether we call this activity ritual creativity, ritual invention, ritualizing, ritual making, or ritual revision does not matter as recognizing that rites change, that they are also flowing processes, not just rigid structures or momentary events’ (Lash, 170). Lash and Grimes tell readers that rituals were always shifting depending on their social context. In their contemporary innovations, Mayyim Hayyim’s leadership and its clientele are simply another example of this ritual creativity process that has ties in the past and leads the path for the future. The community mikveh is an invention of tradition (another term that could be in Grimes’ list of terms for similar actions) because it invokes a link with the past while simultaneously acknowledging that the environment they have established is meant to respond to current and particular issues. In this case, Mayyim Hayyim creates a space for the traditional (though not static) ritual of mikveh immersion, but responds to the preferences of those who have a liberal worldview and sensibilities. Thus, they created a ritual environment that is explicitly marketed as a new approach to mikveh, “for the first time in Jewish history.”

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While these women’s experiences share certain resemblances to Bella Chagall’s memories, much of their approach is quite innovative. As detailed earlier, the ritual innovation that takes place at Mayyim Hayyim has its roots in the Jewish countercultural and feminist movements. In the spirit of the Jewish countercultural movement—which encouraged individuals to take ownership of Jewish ritual practices—the women in this study appreciated a ritual experience that they could personalize and tailor to their comfort levels. But my informants applied this concept of control to utilize mikveh and other rituals mostly in life cycle (and thus infrequent) events. Perhaps they have taken ownership of Jewish rituals, but this ownership is fragmented and irregular. Mayyim Hayyim also has its roots in the Jewish feminist movement, as it aspired to “reclaim” mikveh, a traditionally women’s ritual, and make it relevant to contemporary users. But the women in this study were uncomfortable viewing mikveh as a “women’s ritual.” Although the community mikveh’s founder and initial board of directors were of an earlier generation of Jewish feminism, Mayyim Hayyim’s (mostly) younger bridal visitors did not necessarily recognize the ritual as gendered. Although these ritual innovations stem from a previous generation, even those changes do not remain static, and are reinterpreted to fit different cultural toolkits. Mayyim Hayyim’s staff, volunteers, and clients are inventing traditions attached to mikveh, just as people will continue to do with all types of rituals. Perhaps the ways bridal visitors use and approach this invention of tradition diverge from some of Mayyim Hayyim’s other clients, especially those who immerse much more frequently. Indeed, three of my interview informants immersed on a more frequent basis than solely for life cycle events. Regardless of their frequency of use, visitors of Mayyim Hayyim are in the

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process of inventing tradition—they take from the past, play with the present and perhaps even reach for the future. This tangled web makes the task even harder for a researcher to interpret. As Clifford Geertz wrote, “What the ethnographer is faced with…is a multiplicity of complex conceptual structures, many of them superimposed upon or knotted into one another, which are at once strange, irregular, or inexplicit, and which he must contrive somehow first to grasp and then to render” (Geertz, 10). My hope is that this study has begun to grasp and render the complicated and invented traditions embedded in the community mikveh.

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Works Cited “Anita Diamant: Biography.” Web page. 8 March 2012. http://anitadiamant.com/ Auerbach, Jessica, et al. “Mayyim Hayyim: Living Waters Community Mikveh and Education Center, Inc.” Strategic Management Paper. 8 May 2002. Berkowitz, Miriam C. Taking the Plunge: A Practical and Spiritual Guide to the Mikveh. Jerusalem: The Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, 2010. Cohen, Steven M. and Arnold M. Eisen. The Jew Within: Self, Family, and Community. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2000. Chagall, Bella. “Bath.” In Burning Lights. 1946. Trans. Norbert Guterman. New York, NY: Biblio Press, 1996. Diamant, Anita. “Living Waters.” In Pitching My Tent: On Marriage, Motherhood, Friendship, and Other Leaps of Faith. New York, NY: Scribner Publishers, 2003. Diamant, Anita and Diane Black, et al. “Important News from Mayyim Hayyim.” Email. 7 February 2012. Geertz, Clifford. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York, NY: Basic Books, 1973. Goldman, Karla. Beyond the Synagogue Gallery: Finding a Place for Women in American Judaism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000. Hobsbawm, Eric. “Introduction: Inventing Traditions.” In The Invention of Tradition, ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terrence Ranger. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1983. 1-14. Kaunfer, Elie. Empowered Judaism: What Independent Minyanim Can Teach Us About Building Vibrant Jewish Communities. Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishers. 2010. Kigner, Elise. “Mikveh Boomlet at Orthodox Shuls.” The Jewish Advocate. 1 July 2011. Kline, Aliza. “Beneath the Surface: Taking out Principles Seriously.” Contact Magazine (Winter 2010) 13. Kristan, Ari. “Opening up the Mikveh.” Tikkun Magazine 30 June 2009. Lash, Shari Rochelle. “Jewish Same-Sex Weddings in Canada: Rituals of Resistance or Rituals of Conformity?” In Negotiating Rites, ed. Ute Husken and Frank Neubert. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2012.

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Liebman, Laura A. “Early American Mikvaot: Ritual Baths as the Hope of Israel.” In Religion in the Age of Enlightenment, ed. Brett C. McInelly. New York, NY: AMS Press, 2009. 109-145. Magnus, Shulamit. “Reinventing Miriam’s Well: Feminist Jewish Ceremonials.” In The Uses of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era, ed. Jack Wertheimer. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992. Marmon, Naomi. “Reflections on Contemporary Miqveh Practice.” In Women and Water: Menstruation and Jewish Life and Law, ed. Rahel Wasserfall. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 1999. 232-254. “Mayyim Hayyim About.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 4 March 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/About “Mayyim Hayyim Conference 2010.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 10 February 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Resources/Conference-2010 “Mayyim Hayyim Education Center. ” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 10 February 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Education-Center “Mayyim Hayyim FAQs: Questions & Answers About Mikveh.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 10 February 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/About/FAQs “Mayyim Hayyim History.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 10 February 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/About/History “Mayyim Hayyim Immersion in the Mikveh.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 27 March 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Immersion-in-the-Mikveh “Mayyim Hayyim Kashrut.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 10 February 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/About/Kashrut “Mayyim Hayyim Becoming a Mikveh Guide/Educator.” Web Page. Mayyim Hayyim. 27 March 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Getting-Involved/Volunteering “Mayyim Hayyim Mission.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 11 March 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/About/Mission “Mayyim Hayyim Resources and Consultation.” Web page. Mayyim Hayyim. 4 March 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Resources “Mayyim Hayyim Suggested Donations.” Web Page. Mayyim Hayyim. 22 April 2012. http://www.mayyimhayyim.org/Using-the-Mikveh/Suggested-Donations

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Meachim, Tirzah. “An Abbreviated History of the Development of the Jewish Menstrual Laws.” In Women and Water: Menstruation and Jewish Life and Law ed. Rahel Wasserfall. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 1999. 23-40. “National Jewish Population Study 2000-2001: Strength, Challenge And Diversity In The American Jewish Population.” A United Jewish Communities Report in Cooperation with the Mandell L. Berman Institute –North American Jewish Data Bank, http://www.jewishfederations.org/local_includes/downloads/4606.pdf. Nussbaum Cohen, Debra. “Mikveh, In Their Own Image.” The Jewish Week 21 July 2006. Nussbaum Cohen, Debra. “Transforming a Community (part 2): Liberal Mikvahs Spring Up in Response to Growing Need.” Jewish Telegraphic Agency 2 July 1999. Ochs, Vanessa L. Inventing Jewish Ritual. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2007. Prell, Riv-Ellen. Prayer and Community: The Havurah in American Judaism. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989. Sarna, Jonathan D. American Judaism: A History. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004. Schudson, Michael. “How Culture Works: Perspectives From Media Studies on the Efficacy of Symbols.” Theory and Society 18.2 (March 1989): 152-180. Seigel, Richard and Sharon and Michael Strassfeld, eds. The First Jewish Catalog: A DoIt-Yourself Kit. Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1973. Selis, Allen H. “Holding the Center: How One Jewish Day School Negotiates Differences in a Pluralistic Community.” Diss. University of Maryland, College Park, 2010. Sered, Susan Starr, Romi Kaplan and Samuel Cooper. “Talking about Miqveh Parties, or Discourses of Gender, Hierarchy and Social Control.” In Women and Water: Menstruation and Jewish Life and Law ed. Rahel Wasserfall. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 1999. 145-165. Shevitz, Susan L. and Rahel Wasserfall. “Building Community in a Pluralist Jewish High School: Balancing Risk and Safety, Group and Individual in the Life of a School.” In Jewish Day Schools, Jewish Communities, ed. Alex Pomson and Howard Deitcher. Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2009. Swidler, Ann. “Culture in Action: Symbols and Strategies.” American Sociological Review, 51.2 (April 1986): 273-286.

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Sztokman, Elana M. The Men’s Section: Orthodox Jewish Men in an Egalitarian World. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2011. Wenger, Beth S. “Mitzvah and Medicine: Gender, Assimilation, and the Scientific Defense of ‘Family Purity.’” In Women and American Judaism: Historical Perspectives, ed. Pamela S. Nadell and Jonathan D. Sarna. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2001. 201-222. Zimmerman, Deena R. A Lifetime Companion to the Laws of Jewish Family Life. Jerusalem, Israel: Urim Publications, 2005.

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Appendix A: Survey  

This survey is part of a study I am conducting for my Master's Thesis. I am interested in learning about women's experiences who have immersed at  Mayyim Hayyim prior to their wedding. This survey is designed to get a big picture about some basic demographics, backgrounds, and Jewish  experiences of the women in this category.    This survey is voluntary and anonymous. However, I cannot guarantee web security, and you should exit out of the browser after filling in the  survey.    At the end of the survey, you will have the option of providing your name and email for further participation in this study. If you fill those in, your  answers will no longer be anonymous. 

1. By filling in this survey, I certify that I am female, Jewish, and have ever been married.  

j Yes k l m n

2. In filling in this survey, you are agreeing to participate in this study. j Yes, I agree to participate in this study k l m n

 

j No, I do not agree to participate in this study (please do not continue to fill in the survey) k l m n

 

3. Which category below includes your age? j 19 or younger k l m n j 20­29 k l m n j 30­39 k l m n j 40­49 k l m n j 50­59 k l m n j 60­69 k l m n

 

         

j 70 or older k l m n

 

4. What is your current marital status? c Single d e f g

 

c Divorced d e f g

 

c Married (first marriage) d e f g

 

c Married (second marriage) d e f g

 

c Married (third marriage or more) d e f g c Widowed d e f g

 

 

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5. Were you born Jewish?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

6. If you answered no, when did you convert? j A year ago or less k l m n j 2­5 years ago k l m n

 

 

j 6­10 years ago k l m n

 

j 11­20 years ago k l m n j 21­30 years ago k l m n

   

j 31 years ago or more k l m n

 

 

7. If you were raised Jewish, what Jewish denomination, if any, were you raised in? c Conservative d e f g c Orthodox d e f g

 

 

c Just Jewish d e f g

 

c Reconstructionist d e f g c Renewal d e f g c Reform d e f g

 

 

 

c Traditional d e f g

 

c Trans­denominational d e f g c Unaffiliated d e f g

 

 

Other (please specify) 

8. Please identify which, if any, formal Jewish education you received.  

c Supplementary or Hebrew School once a week (1­6 years) d e f g

c Supplementary or Hebrew school once a week (7 years or more) d e f g

   

c Supplementary or Hebrew School 2 or more days a week (1­6 years) d e f g

c Supplementary or Hebrew school 2 or more days a week (7 or more years) d e f g c Day School (elementary or middle school) d e f g c Day School (high school) d e f g

 

 

 

Other (please specify) 

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9. Which of the following choices would best describe your friends in high school? j Mostly not Jewish k l m n

 

j About half Jewish and half not Jewish k l m n j Mostly Jewish k l m n

 

 

10. Which of the following choices would best describe your friends in college? j Mostly not Jewish k l m n

 

j Half Jewish and half not Jewish k l m n j Mostly Jewish k l m n

 

 

 

11. Have you ever had a romantic relationship with someone who is not Jewish?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

12. If you are married, is your partner Jewish?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

 

13. Do you live in the Greater Boston area?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

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14. What stream of Judaism, if any, are you affiliated with today? c Conservative d e f g c Orthodox d e f g

 

 

c Just Jewish d e f g

 

c Reconstructionist d e f g c Renewal d e f g c Reform d e f g

 

 

 

c Traditional d e f g

 

c Trans­denominational d e f g c Unaffiliated d e f g

 

 

Other (please specify) 

15. Are you affiliated with a Synagogue today?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

Other (please specify) 

16. If you answered yes, what stream of Judaism best describes the synagogue? c Conservative d e f g

 

c Independent Minyan d e f g c Orthodox d e f g

 

c Reconstructionist d e f g c Reform d e f g

 

 

 

c Renewal d e f g

 

c Traditional d e f g

 

c Trans­denominational d e f g

 

Other (please specify) 

 

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17. What year did you immerse at Mayyim Hayyim prior to your wedding? j 2004 k l m n j 2005 k l m n j 2006 k l m n j 2007 k l m n j 2008 k l m n j 2009 k l m n j 2010 k l m n j 2011 k l m n j 2012 k l m n

                 

18. Was that your first time immersing in a mikveh?  

j Yes k l m n j No k l m n

 

19. Have you immersed at Mayyim Hayyim since then? If so, what was the reason? c Yes, for niddah purposes d e f g

 

c Yes, for a celebration ritual d e f g c Yes, for a healing ritual d e f g

 

 

c Yes, for a general life transition d e f g

 

c Yes, for a pre­holiday immersion d e f g c No d e f g

 

 

Yes (please specify occasion) 

20. If you are willing to participate in an in­depth interview to talk about your experiences immersing at Mayyim Hayyim and your Jewish experiences more broadly, please fill in your name and email address which would be best for me to contact you. As a reminder, this will means your survey answers are no longer anonymous. Only I will have access to your answers and thus can guarantee confidentiality. Your Name: Your Email Adress:

 

Thank you for your participation in this study. Your help is greatly appreciated! 

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Appendix B: Interview Guide First, I’d like to ask a few straightforward, demographic questions. Name: Date of birth: Marital Status: Ok, I’d like to start by asking you some general questions about your background 1. Were you raised Jewish? a. Tell me about your Jewish background. b. Or: Please tell me about your upbringing and your path for deciding to convert. 2. Can you tell me about what role religion plays in your life today? a. Do you identify with any denomination today? 3. What about spirituality- what role, if any, does it play in your life? Now I’d like to move into talking about how you came to Mayyim Hayyim and your experiences there. 4. How did you first hear of Mayyim Hayyim? Do you remember your initial reactions to it? 5. What made you decide to immerse prior to your wedding? Was this your first time immersing in a mikveh? a. Did your officiating rabbi have an opinion or suggestion about immersing prior to the wedding? 6. What were your reasons for choosing to immerse at Mayyim Hayyim specifically? 7. What do you think were some of your perceptions about mikveh immersion before you immersed at Mayyim Hayyim? a. Did you think about mikveh as a specifically women’s ritual? Was that significant to you? b. What was your partner’s reaction to your decision to immerse? 8. What was most significant or meaningful about your experience immersing at Mayyim Hayyim? 9. Have you immersed again since your bridal immersion? If so, tell me about that experience. a. If not, why do you think that is? b. Do you think you will use it again at some point? 10. Do other reasons for immersion, aside from your immersion for bridal purposes, appeal to you? What is it about them that you like or don’t like? a. How do you feel about alternative uses for mikveh, such as healing or celebration rituals that transpire at Mayyim Hayyim? Are they appealing to you? 11. What other Jewish rituals have you experienced that were particularly significant or meaningful to you?

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12. What elements or environments do you look for or prefer in Jewish ritual experience? 13. Mayyim Hayyim is not affiliated with any denomination or congregation. Is denominational affiliation important to you in a ritual environment? 14. Have you been to other place similar to Mayyim Hayyim? 15. Do you look for non-denominational places to perform rituals? 16. Is there anything else you’d like to add, about your experience at Mayyim Hayyim, or any other areas we touched upon in this interview? Thank you so much for your time and willingness to share. I am so appreciative of your help and this was extremely informative. If there is anything you want to follow up with me about, here is my contact information.

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Appendix C: A simulated mikveh experience Auerbach, Jessica, et al. “Mayyim Hayyim: Living Waters Community Mikveh and Education Center, Inc.” Strategic Management Paper. 8 May 2002. Many mikveh experiences occur in nearly the same way, regardless of the reason for using/needing a mikveh. Before entering the mikveh, one must wash themselves completely—hair, teeth, cut nails, remove nail polish, make-up and jewelry. This preparation is usually done in a private bathing room provided at the mikveh. If the person has showered beforehand (at home), they still must shower off again before immersion. An attendant, the “mikveh lady” or “mikveh man”, will come after the preparations, and will check to see if the person is fully clean. If so, they are led to the mikveh, where they stand completely naked in about four feet of water. With arms away from their sides, fingers, lips and eyes slightly opened, one will immerse oneself in the water. If they have fully immersed, including the very top hair on their head, the mikveh attendant will pronounce the immersion “kosher,” and the mikveh user will recite a blessing. For more traditional uses, the number of dips and blessings are standardized. For some of the more alternative mikveh uses, people have written their own blessings, recited poems, read love letters from their spouse-to-be, etc. Traditionally, only the mikveh user and the attendant would be present for the immersion. However in the case of mikveh use prior to a wedding, all of the women in Sephardi families (Jewish families from Spain, Portugal, and the Middle East), will come to the mikveh for the bride’s immersion. This trend has caught on in Ashkenazic (Jews of Eastern European descent) community, and now family and friends frequently accompany trips to the mikveh. Of course, monthly use remains a private and confidential affair.

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After the immersion, one will go to a dressing room to re-dress. In some of the more upscale mikvaot, it is not rare to see a dressing room with a hairdresser and manicurist on hand for those who so desire.

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