Growing up, I never thought someone like me would go to the mikvah. I grew up on the Jersey shore, an area with a mix of Jews of all levels of observance. My parents were intermarried and we attended a Reform congregation in a town where there were few Jews. But bordering my town was a town called Lakewood, NJ, which bustled with Orthodox and Hasidic Jews living in a world I only knew of as an outside observer.
I had always believed that the mikvah was for the Lakewood girls. I knew what the mikvah was, but never knew anyone who went and wouldn’t have had the slightest idea of how or where to go even if I’d wanted to. As I got older, I gravitated more toward conservative Judaism, but still never gave the mikvah a thought. But after I married my husband and we were in our third year of in-vitro fertilization (IVF) trying to have a baby, I was desperate for anything that might give me good fortune.
Before IVF, I had never heard of going to the mikvah specifically for infertility. The only reason I knew of to go to the mikvah was for women to cleanse themselves after their periods. But then I had the chance to interview a woman of similar observance as me for a book I was writing, who talked to me about her mikvah experience. The woman I interviewed was going through IVF, just like me, and happened to live in an area that housed a mikvah for non-Orthodox Jews. Intrigued by her experience, I decided I might give it a try. After three failed rounds of IVF, I figured I had nothing to lose. I didn’t think there were any mikvahs in my area for non-Orthodox Jews, but I decided to enlist a college friend for help.
My college friend became modern Orthodox during our studies and happened to work at a mikvah. I called her with my proposition, and she was thrilled to help. She soon found a list of mikvahs in my area. But first, she explained, I needed a teacher. My friend found the perfect match for me, an American woman raising her family in Israel who had experienced infertility herself. Soon after, I was attending Zoom sessions with my teacher, who explained all about the rules of the mikvah. I was to go seven days after the start of my period with no makeup or jewelry and had to completely immerse myself in the water three times. My teacher taught me the blessing to say when I was to do my three kosher dunks and encouraged me to say my own prayers for good measure.
When it came time, I called the head of the mikvah, feeling nothing short of intimidated. We scheduled my time to go, and soon, I found myself on the steps of a quiet building that housed the mikvah, knocking on the door to enter. Inside, I was greeted by a friendly attendant. She was excited to hear it was my first time at the mikvah and even more excited to know I was trying for a baby.
I had done some research ahead of time and found a book of prayers for women going through infertility. With my prayer book in hand, the attendant explained that while I waited for my turn, I could silently say my prayers. I noted that on the wall in the waiting area where I sat, there was a prayer for fertility posted. The small gesture made me feel instantly more comfortable and that I had found the right mikvah for me.
Shortly after I arrived it was my turn to dunk. The bathroom for getting ready was stunning and unlike anything I had ever seen. The room with the ritual bath was warm and inviting. I entered the water and felt emotional thinking about the reason for my going in the first place. I was in my fourth round of IVF with 1 failed embryo transfer and 2 chemical pregnancies under my belt. I held onto so much hope that this time, I’d get pregnant and it would stick. I wouldn’t know it yet, but shortly after my trip to the mikvah I was about to get pregnant again through IVF, this time until 6 weeks, the longest I’d been pregnant yet, only to miscarry again.
I thought of all the women who had entered the mikvah for thousands of years before me, praying for the same thing I was. In Judaism, there’s a lot of pressure to have children, and a few of them at that. As someone non-Orthodox, I never felt this pressure from my family or community, but still always imagined that I would be a mother someday.
After this third miscarriage, I went into my 5th round of IVF feeling indifferent of the outcome. I had become numb to the typical hopeful feelings I experienced in past rounds and this time, didn’t have any visions of what might happen next. Nevertheless, I returned to the mikvah again, reciting the same prayers as before. Only this time, God listened.
I became pregnant again, and this time, it stuck. I made it through the first three rounds of bloodwork, my numbers steadily rising. I got through my first ultrasound, as I had the time before, seeing a small gestational sac. And then it came time for the next ultrasound, where we would hear our first heartbeat. My husband and I anxiously waited, remembering our past where things ended at this point. Finally, we heard the heartbeat, smiles coming to both our faces. When the ultrasound was over, we cried in each other’s arms, finally allowing ourselves to feel joy and relief. My pregnancy continued without any hiccups, and I delivered a healthy baby girl 9 months later.
I returned to the mikvah in my ninth month of pregnancy to say prayers for a healthy birth. In Jewish law, this practice isn’t required of women, but is often considered a “segulah” or treasured ritual that women may choose to do before they give birth. I’ve come to realize that the mikvah provides me the space to process my hopes and fears. In the water, it’s easy for me to have the emotional release that comes with anticipating a major life change.
My husband and I want to have more children, and when the time comes to have another embryo transfer, I plan on coming back to the mikvah. Although I don’t go every month as observant women do, I’ve come to feel like it’s a sacred space for me. I don’t dress the same way or have many of the same customs as the other women I encounter at the mikvah, but I feel a sense of community, practicing this ritual along with them. When I go, no one looks twice at me for wearing leggings or wonders why my head isn’t covered. We’re just women there for the same purpose – to spiritually cleanse ourselves and hold onto a little hope for the future. Even though I don’t know what my future will bring, I know that I have this sacred space that, for a few short moments, is just for me. And I know that one day, my daughter will know about how the mikvah played a small role in how she came to be.
What a beautiful story. It put a smile on my face and heart.
Such a transformational story. Thank you for sharing.
What a moving story! Thank goodness Allison had a mikveh she could go to, like the one we’re planning to build — Maayanot Community Mikveh of Minnesota.