The day before my wedding, the rabbi called and said he wouldn’t marry us unless I went to the mikvah. So at 6 a.m. on my wedding day, I went. The water was ice cold — what we’d now call a trendy “cold plunge” — and the attendant used a magnifying glass to check my body for stray hairs and dirt.
The experience felt invasive and overwhelming. I swore I would never go back.
Years later, I was struggling to conceive. I had tried acupuncture, special diets, cycle tracking — you name it. The last thing I decided to try was the mikvah.
Desperate for anything that might help, I met with Rebbetzin Meira Albert and decided to visit the mikvah at Beth Jacob Congregation in Oakland.
For the first time, I experienced mikvah as the women before me must have: not as an obligation but as an ancient ritual of pause and reflection. It was time focused on me — just to breathe, reset and reconnect.
In today’s world, everyone is talking about self-care. We download meditation apps, schedule massages and try — often unsuccessfully — to carve out moments of quiet in lives that feel endlessly full. But, as I have learned, long before “self-care” became a buzzword, Judaism already had one of the most powerful wellness rituals imaginable: the mikvah.
In Biblical times, when a woman had her period, she stepped away from her responsibilities — sometimes for as many as five days. In modern life, most of us cannot disappear for five days. We are needed at work and at home. But the need for pause has not disappeared. If anything, it has intensified.
This practice, which comes from the Torah, is about separation, not punishment. It’s about a woman’s need for space, a recognition that her body is in a different state and deserves rest and renewal. This was a ritual rooted in cycles, not in marital status. After bleeding stopped, women accessed communal bathing, perhaps their only regular opportunity to wash fully. These practices may originally have served practical hygienic purposes long before they became symbolic.
Somewhere along the way, we lost this broader vision. What once centered women’s well-being shifted toward marital obligation. And in that shift, something essential was ignored: women’s need for community, reflection and rest.
The cost of that loss is not abstract. Today, mental health challenges among girls and women are staggering. Rates of anxiety, depression and body dissatisfaction are at historic highs. Women need spaces that restore them, not just systems that demand from them.
Anyone who has been to the Beth Jacob mikvah knows how unexpectedly beautiful it is. Though it’s next to a preschool classroom, it feels more like a hotel spa — far from work emails, political noise and children’s constant needs. It is the kind of place that quietly tells you: You are allowed to slow down here.
That is the mikvah I want every Jewish woman to know.
Today, we talk endlessly about burnout. Women juggle families, communities and careers. And still, we act as if rest is something we must earn.
But that’s not Judaism. The mikvah was designed as a pause and a sacred break in the rhythm of life. A moment to step out of responsibility and into renewal. A ritual that says: Your body matters, your spirit matters, your well-being matters.
There is no Torah reason mikvah must be reserved for marriage and beyond. Imagine if girls at their bat mitzvah were introduced to mikvah as a beautiful tradition of self-care. A chance to learn, early on, the importance of hygiene, rest, reflection and honoring one’s body. A way to normalize taking breaks, not as weakness, but as wisdom.
So here is my controversial ask: Let the mikvah become a space for all menstruating females to celebrate the end of their cycle — a place of comfort where women can experience body confidence and self-love. Expanding the mikvah to girls starting at age 12, the traditional age of bat mitzvah, could help them feel supported and grow into women who are healthier, less stressed and more confident. And they would go on to become stronger parents, partners and leaders.
At Beth Jacob’s mikvah, I’ve seen what happens when women are given quiet space to simply be. Something shifts. A woman doesn’t feel rushed. She doesn’t feel judged. She feels held.
And that feeling matters, not just personally but communally.
For too long, this beautiful tradition has lived mostly in Orthodox communities, such as Beth Jacob. But imagine if we invited more Jewish women to reconnect with their bodies.
Beth Jacob actually has two mikvahs — one for members who follow Orthodox practice and a community mikvah that welcomes all and is used by men and for conversions and other purposes in the non-Orthodox community.
Reclaiming the mikvah as a female self-care ritual doesn’t weaken tradition. It strengthens it. It makes Judaism feel like nourishment, rather than a burden. It reminds women that holiness isn’t found only in obligation; it’s found in rest, reflection and the quiet moments we give ourselves permission to breathe.
If we want vibrant Jewish families and a thriving Jewish future, we cannot overlook the mental and emotional health the mikvah can provide Jewish women.