"Mom, I need to schedule an appointment for the mikveh."
"Do you want me to schedule it for you?"
"Yes, that would really help me."
"Okay, for when?"
"For the night before."
This could have been just another casual conversation about wedding preparations—but it wasn’t!
Like scheduling an appointment with the hygienist, the doctor—but for the mikveh?! Me?! Scheduling an appointment for my daughter! Wow! It’s really happening—she’s really getting married, so soon!
And she’s really joining me in this incredible mitzvah every month anew. That helps us to renew ourselves every month. Sometimes less than a month, sometimes much more.
How exciting!
Exciting??!! Am I crazy?! What pressure!
And what about all the times she won’t be able to/won’t want to/right after a fight/a big project/unexpected guests/a family Shabbat/illness/snow??!! And all those other things that make you think, Well, maybe we’ll postpone, maybe we’ll go later, maybe tomorrow, maybe we won’t go to the event?
Don’t we deserve one evening just for us? Free of distractions? Just us, calmly…
Calmly… sure, calmly☹
But why these thoughts?
Right now, she’s my daughter.
And she’s getting married.
And I can’t “mess up.” I just need to support, see the good, and convince her that this is the most beautiful, most meaningful, the most... challenging mitzvah.
But we said positive thoughts, right? So get on with it.
We asked for permission and it was granted—just she and I will be in the mikveh at the time of her immersion. I have no idea how it'll go. But we’re going with the flow.
We drove, sang on the way, and now her sister and I are sitting and waiting, talking about this mitzvah, about how hard it is to suddenly start keeping a mitzvah in the middle of life that we didn’t even know existed!
And how lucky they are to be in a generation that talks openly, where there are online groups, and they learn in school, and with parents.
And maybe one day, we too will be like those communities where they know about the mikveh from a young age, and that moms go to it—it's as natural as life itself.
And with all this openness, I wasn’t the one who taught her for the wedding—I sent her to an expert. Thank goodness. It's clear that she did it better than I would have. But I was there for questions now and then.
And then—
The bride announces she’s ready.
The mikveh attendant wishes us luck and stays outside.
We go in.
The room is stunningly beautiful; the mikveh in Alon Shvut is designed like a natural spring. It has a warm atmosphere, a delightful fragrance, everything is pleasant and inviting.
I don’t want to ask my bride any questions—just check if everything’s okay and maybe say something about breathing.
Breathing—that’s what I’m not doing right now.
And there she goes, entering the water.
Suddenly, from above, things look different. You can’t see anything. A wet head. All those years, I had imagined something else.
The comparison to amniotic fluid is immediate, though nothing is actually similar—but still.
The warm, soothing water, filled only with warmth, touch, and constant optimism. And here, the water tries its best to be like that—and succeeds, every month, for just a few moments offering warmth, comfort, and optimism.
And it’s over.
She comes out, and I wrap her with the towel like an experienced mikveh attendant.
We wait for her again, singing wedding songs in the small, cozy room near the bridal mikveh.
A mother and daughter, sitting, singing, happy, thinking about tomorrow evening and all that’s to come—but right now, we are here, doing something small, intimate, and so important.
The attendant peeks in for a moment and compliments me, saying how rare it is for a mother to assist her daughter in the mikveh. I blush, I really don't know how rare it is.
I hope for her that she’ll always have good experiences, in welcoming places, with patient, smiling attendants like we had today—those who are calm, supportive, and send her home with kind, comforting words.
On the way home, we sing a little more. And the purity intermingles with the moment. Yehi Ratzon (May it be His will).
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