Photo from ynet.co.il – mikvah attendant and rabbis
What follows is a continuation of my post from yesterday.
I was adopted as a baby from the Jewish Children’s Bureau of Chicago to a non religious Jewish family. As it was a closed adoption, the only information I had about my birth parents was that they were Jewish teenagers who were not prepared for a baby. If I hadn’t become observant, I probably would have been none the wiser as to my heritage. However, at the age of 23, I found myself engaged to an orthodox Jew. Being an adoptee, no orthodox rabbi would have married us without doing further research into my status. For example, was my mother really Jewish or was I a mamzer?
With the sparse information I was able to retrieve from the Jewish Children’s Bureau, I found out that my birth mother was a young teen (too young to have been previously married), her parents were both Jews, but my birth father was not Jewish. It was a shock to find out, after thinking otherwise, that my birth father was not a Jew. However, my fiance and I were relieved that it seemed like we could get married without a problem.
We were unpleasantly surprised to find out that there was a problem. The rabbi that we were working with ruled that I was 100% Jewish. However, as there was a minority opinion in the talmud that says that if the father is not Jewish, the child is not Jewish, he recommended that I undergo a conversion so as to satisfy all opinions. He reiterated that I was Jewish, but that this procedure could protect my children in the future.
I can’t begin to describe how devastating this was for me, as an adoptee. When you are adopted, particularly in a closed adoption where you have zero contact or information about your birth parents, you cling to whatever kind of birthright you can. For me, that was Judaism. I knew nothing else about myself other than I was born Jewish. Everything else about my history was conferred upon me by my adopted family.
They hailed from Poland, Russia, and England. They shared genes that gave them the same eyes, or hair color, or smile. Talents were passed on from generation to generation; my great-aunt, my mother, and my cousin were and are artistically gifted. None of these things had anything to do with me. As the only adopted person in my family, I often felt like an alien dropped down from outer space. However, the one thing I shared for real, not because I was adopted into it, was my religion. In that, I could feel real ownership. However, this psak took even that away from me. I now had nothing that was originally mine.
We called the head dayan of the Bais Din (rabbinical court) of the Chicago Rabbinical Council (CRC) to ask his opinion, and were told that they do not rule that someone with a non Jewish father must convert. With the information I provided to them from the Jewish Children’s Bureau, the CRC would not have required a conversion.
The problem was, we had already asked another highly respected rabbi, and he had given his psak. I couldn’t shop around for another answer that I liked better, and this rabbi had hinged our being able to marry upon me undergoing the conversion ceremony. I really didn’t see a way out of doing the conversion.
I have no doubt that he made this requirement with a pure heart, and I also have no doubt that in the future, when our kids or grandkids want to marry, the question of my Judaism (as an adoptee) will come up. The fact that this prominent man married us and that I underwent a conversion as an extra stringency, will hopefully protect their interests. I am grateful for his foresight and intentions.
Once I made the decision to go along with the rabbi’s psak, he set up a council with himself and two other local rabbis who would be witnesses. A female mikvah attendant would also be present. As a young woman who was currently taking kallah classes to learn about the laws of taharat mishpacha, I was already dreading the mikvah experience.
As someone who did not grow up with this process, it was highly embarrassing to me that I would have to go to a facility where I would essentially be announcing that I was going to be having sex that night. It was also humiliating to be seen naked by a female mikvah attendant, or balanit, who would be inspecting me for chatzitzot and watching me dunk under water. How much more so if those observing me would be men! As one woman who is a balanit from Israel says, if the rabbis trust her to oversee women dunking for their monthly mikvah immersions, why can’t they trust her to oversee female converts for their immersions?
In any event, I was told that I would be given a large sheet with a hole in the middle for my head. When I dunked under, the sheet would flow out to the top of the water, hindering any view of my naked body underneath. It didn’t sound very foolproof, but at least I would have some form of clothing, so I went with it. I was told that my time in the water would only take a few minutes and that the rabbis would ask me some basic questions about my religious intentions while in the mikvah before I dunked under three times. They would ask me if I intended to keep Shabbos, yom tov, kosher, taharat mishpachah, and I don’t remember what else, but those were the biggies. Then I would dunk, say two brachot, and the rabbis would leave the room and I would get out and get dressed.
I was incredibly nervous when I arrived at the mikvah. I don’t remember the three rabbis being there when I arrived, I only remember the mikvah attendant letting me in and taking me on a small tour of the building before leaving me in a preparation room. I had already done all the basics at home, and just quickly did some final preparations and a shower before pulling the white sheet the attendant gave me over my head. I distinctly remember feeling like Charlie Brown in his ghost costume.
The mikvah attendant let me into the mikvah room and waited until I went down the stairs and into the mikvah pool before opening the door to the three men. I was facing toward a wall with my back to the door, so I didn’t see them, but heard them shuffling in. The mikvah attendant walked back around so that she was facing me. I felt very vulnerable and naked despite the sheet, being the only unclothed person in a room of four clothed people surrounding me.
The rabbis began asking me questions about my commitment to observe various mitzvot, each of which I answered with a one word, “Yes.” Then they asked me to dunk, which the mikvah attendant repeated. She acted as their translators, as they were virtually mumbling, and it was hard to know what they were asking from my vantage point in the water. The foremost thing on my mind was, “I hope this damn sheet keeps me covered!”
After the first dunk, they asked me to immerse again. I was prepared for three dunks, so it didn’t surprise me. After three dunks, I was prepared to say the brachot, but there was a problem. They weren’t sure if the sheet had gotten in the way of my body and the water, and they needed me to immerse again. It seemed like I went under the water an interminable number of times. I began sputtering and breathing raggedly, as water had gotten up my nose, and my nerves grew increasingly frayed. Finally, there was a pause and more mumbling.
The mikvah lady relayed, in an apologetic tone, that the rabbis didn’t think the immersions were kosher because the sheet kept getting in the way. I would have to remove the sheet and dunk three more times. I was stunned into inaction. This was my worst nightmare coming true. Momentarily, I considered getting out of the water, but that would mean that I could not marry my fiance. Either that, or I would get out, tell my fiance I couldn’t go through with it, and he would convince me not to give up our lives together for one moment of embarrassment. Then I would have to reschedule the conversion again, this time knowing and dreading what was to come. Plus, if I refused to comply with their demand now, they might question my compliance with halacha in future areas and forbid me to convert at all. Might as well get it over with.
I slipped the now heavy wet sheet over my head, and the attendant reached down to take it from me. As my back was turned to them, I have no idea if the rabbis watched while I did this. The mikvah attendant asked if I was ready, I nodded, immersed once, which was pronounced kosher, and dunked twice more. I then recited the two brachot, all the while naked, and it was finally over. The rabbis left the room and the attendant waited for me with a large towel as I went up the steps of the mikvah. As she walked me back to the preparation room, the woman looked at me with compassionate eyes and said, “I really admire you. I never would have been able to do what you just did.”
Back in the privacy of the dressing room, I was shaking as I dried off. I had never been more embarrassed in my life. I remember quickly dressing and hanging out in the room for a good 20 minutes, hoping to not have to face the three rabbis again when I left. Hopeful that they were gone, I gathered my things and crept out. To my dismay, all three men were in the lobby near the exit. My face must have been beet red, as I mumbled at the floor, “Thanks, guys!” It was all I could come up with. They all said, “Mazal tov, mazal tov!” like bleating sheep. I don’t think they knew quite what to say either.
20 years later, I can say that the experience still haunts me and has put a dark cloud on all of my future mikvah experiences (although the monthly women’s mikvah is, thankfully, nothing like the conversion experience). Writing this has brought back the feelings of humiliation I endured during that time, and I question the wisdom of posting my story. The shame of being labelled a convert and the shame of having been exposed to a threesome of holy men have prevented me from speaking up. However, now that I know that other women are going through similar experiences, I feel like I have a responsibility to help end the exploitative practice of men overseeing female orthodox conversion immersions.
I would like to see rabbis involved in every part of the female conversion experience except the actual dunking. The immersion oversight should be with a group of three women – whether experienced mikvah attendants or female maharats. Men have no place in the mikvah when there is a woman in it. Their presence compromises the dignity of all parties involved.
