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Posted September 17 2007 by Moshe Glasser

Mikvah Tactics for the Nervous Bather

I have noticed in the last few years that more and more people seem to be going to the mikvah on the days before Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. While this is a longstanding tradition, densely populated areas sometimes lack the mikvah space to accommodate their High Holiday traffic. And while we certainly wouldn’t want to discourage anyone from indulging in their Days of Awe-inspiring dunk, there are a number of tactics available for those of us who may be a little a less eager to show our wrinkles or rolls to the rest of our friends on those busy mornings. I had quite a streak going for a few years, meeting a different rabbi from each of Teaneck’s many synagogues each year. Thankfully, the following tactics have cut my nude-rabbi-and-congregant activity by almost 97% in the past five years, limiting me to a simple misunderstanding in Rabbi Shmulewitzenstein’s petunia bush after a long night of carousing and more than a little tequila. He dropped the charges, but I think I’ll be buying him etrogim for the rest of my life.

Anyway, I used to assume that the earlier, the better. The mikvah near me used to open at 6:30. Arising early, I went for a dip, scaring the hell out of my parents as I set off the alarm I forgot to turn off. The mikvah was empty and all was well. This was, of course, until others caught on.

How I hated them. Pompous, early rising neophytes in the lore of early mikvah activity. They knew nothing of the struggle to pull oneself out of bed in the cold, cold morning of New Jersey’s early October and ride one’s bike - a bicycle! - down the road, almost four blocks from the warm house that beckons you to stay, stay, and brave the crowds in the coming of the beautiful morning sun. But no, I got up and went. And these interlopers, these amateurs, dared to intrude on my alone-time with the Sacred Bath of Windsor Road? Inconceivable!

I remember one terrible day, when I was forced to disrobe amongst hairy-bodied, large pale men (one actually had a girdle) and line up for a dunking in what I can only assume were the pristine waters stemming from the freshest springs off of New Jersey’s Exit 13. Never again!!

So the early morning ruse, constructed to fool Fate’s fops and their fountainous forays into…oh, there’s only so long I can keep up this sentence. The point is, there was no way I was going back to those days.

What to do? Suddenly, the news came. My mother notified me - the old 6:30 am opening had changed - to 4:30 am.

Did I dare? Could I brave insanity so immense, psychosis so absolute, somnambulism so overwhelming?

No. That would be stupid.

So I did a little calculation. The average minyan time ended somewhere around the 8:00 hour. Most people were headed to work. That meant returning at about noon to get ready for the Yom Tov. This left a nearly two-hour window of low traffic to accomplish my goal: get in, get wet, get wet again, get wet again, get wet again, get wet again, get wet again, get wet again, get out. Happily, my calculations turned out to be right on the money - an $18 donation to the Mikvah Fund, actually. The place was empty save for a young volunteer (a student of mine, as it happened - and more than a little creeped out, though why I couldn’t imagine), and my business was done before another soul came in to cleanse itself.

In all seriousness, though, mikvah can be a spiritual experience. Part of the point of all this skulduggery was to give me the chance to spend some quality time with a ritual that is meant to refresh you while wiping the grime of the year from you. It’s spiritual component is both impactful and worthwhile, provided it’s done right. As preparation for the High Holidays, it’s hard to beat.

Unless, of course, you forget to bring your own towel.

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