A Home-Based Mikveh that Pushes the Binary and Lets You, Just As You Are, Soothingly and Magnificently Belong

The bath water is warm. The bubbles look luxurious. Small candles light up the bathroom. The soft music is playing. I am ready for my Friday home spa time that helps me transition into Shabbos. 

Except, this week, it’s not like any other pre-Shabbos bath I’ve taken. My friend has helped me form a ritual that turns my bathtub into a mikveh.

I scrub the dirt off of my body, as I do every week. I take a pumice stone to the bottom of my feet. I pick up my gloves and my sandalwood-scented body wash to scrub the dirt off of my legs, arms, torso, neck, and face. My scalp is already clean because I shampooed yesterday. 

I step out so that the old water can drain. I refill the tub with warm water, turn off my favorite R&B Slow Jams playlist in favor of silence, and step into the warm water to begin my ritual anew.

“I come to Judaism as the fifth child…” I begin. I recite my intention to be renewed, to claim again my place among my people. I feel the spirits of thousands who had to make mikvot work in their own trying circumstances surround me. Those spirits tell me that, even if it’s technically not the proper way, choosing to immerse at all is a holy act. I don’t know it yet, but as I feel these comforting spirits surrounding me, I am already sobbing. 

“… And taste an entirely different world pouring into a cup for all of g-d’s children.” I finish the intention my friend has suggested for me. Before I immerse the first time, I feel the world is changing. Not just because of the protests happening in downtown, or the pandemic that is forcing me to do this ritual in a new way, or the new temp job I started just this week, or… or… or… or any external circumstance. I feel something inside of me shifting. I don’t know what it is yet. Even days later, I don’t know what it was. I just know it was there. 

Down I go. One of five. I come up, coughing a bit because of the tears, and recite the blessing that reminds me that immersion is a commandment. A commandment that forces me to slow down and heal. 

Down I go. Two of five. The Shehecheyanu. It’s a great new moment. The transcendent part of me and the conscious part of me are merging in a rare moment. It’s a great moment. 

Down I go. Three of five. Sh’ma Yisrael. A traditional immersion would end here. But what I’m doing is not traditional. I stop for a moment to hear. To remind  myself that the words of the Sh’ma are for me, too. Miraculously, I, too, am a member of the House of  Israel. 

Down I go. Four of five. Adonai Eloheinu. The LORD our G-D. Who cares if I don’t really believe in a traditional concept of g-d? My people have embraced some concept of G-D, and I will do the same. 

Down I go. Five of five. Adonai Echad. Our G-D is one. I remember the divine spark that I believe all of us are born with. I remember the unity of all creation, how we are so diverse, yet so united. I remember how unity is diversity. I remember that unity is complexity. 

Down I go, two more times. I say the prayers of my heart. Prayers for a day of true rest and Torah learning. Prayers for my spouse. Prayers for my dearest friends. 

I step out. I feel not just physically clean. I feel spiritually cleansed. I come out humming my favorite wedding niggun that I don’t know the name of. I am ready for Shabbat.

– Vashti/Krystle