As I recover from my recent hysterectomy, I find myself reflecting on how much meaning I drew from my last visit to the mikveh.
My surgery was scheduled very last minute—there were only five days between my initial consultation with the surgeon and the surgery itself. During those five days, I encountered angels from Hashem, guiding and supporting me in ways I couldn't have anticipated.
Coincidentally (or perhaps not), I was due for a mikveh visit on Motzei Shabbat, and my surgery was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. After consulting with my Rav, we determined that the surgery would make me niddah, and this visit would be my last one.
Already feeling a whirlwind of emotions, I headed to the beautiful Arnona mikveh—a place I had only recently discovered, though I wish I had known about it years ago. For the first time, I found myself waiting in the mikveh's waiting room. Seated nearby were a mother and sister accompanying a bride for her first mikveh visit, holding a basket of sweets.
As I sat there, my emotions swelled. It struck me how profound it was that our paths crossed this way—this young kallah at her first mikveh visit, and me at my last.
When the bride left her bathroom to receive blessings from her mother, I realized that I would be next, taking her place. As I walked past the kallah, struggling to hold back tears, I heard her giving the balanit brachot (blessings). Sobbing uncontrollably, I tried to explain my emotions.
The balanit asked if I would like a bracha from the kallah.“Absolutely,” I replied.
The kallah gave me the most beautiful bracha. We were both crying as she blessed me and handed me a sweet. The significance of the moment overwhelmed me as I entered the bathroom. I sobbed, fully aware of the end of this chapter of my life.
The balanit was patient and kind, helping me through the bracha for tevilla, as I struggled to say the words through my sobbing. She gave me the space to take my time in the mikveh, allowing me to process the emotions and come to terms with the moment.
For thirty years, mikveh visits had been the one constant in my life—starting as a young bride, through the years of becoming a mother, and eventually, a grandmother. Memories of momentous visits flooded my mind:
My first immersion
The time there was no hot water, and we had to find another mikveh
The scary immersions during Covid
Visits on holidays
Immersing during a war, fearful of a siren going off
I thanked Hashem for the gift of children and felt ready to let go of my fertile years, embracing my new status as a grandmother.
I am deeply grateful for this beautiful, unplanned, and meaningful conclusion to my thirty-year mikveh journey. I couldn’t have asked for a more poignant ending.
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