USCJ Review - Fall 2006
Mayyim So'arim - Stormy Waters
By the winter of 1993, after the 35-year-old Elm Street Community Mikvah had been closed, Rabbi Paul Silton of Temple Israel in Albany had had enough.
The new "community mikvah" might not allow Conservative and Reform conversion ceremonies; if it did, the candidates would have to pay exorbitant fees. The directors of the strictly Orthodox venture actually would tax each synagogue - Temple Israel soon discovered that its bill exceeded those sent to other synagogues, even one that was much larger - and expect yearly dues payments in addition to individual usage fees. When Temple Israel's leadership inquired about its participation in planning and managing the mikvah, they were told that it would not be possible.
Meanwhile, conversion candidates could no longer immerse themselves in lakes and streams in this frigid northeast climate. Conservative and Reform rabbis had to take small groups of their candidates to the nearest mikvah that would accept them - in Springfield, Massachusetts. The Springfield people were welcoming, but our Jews-by-choice (and we) had to miss a full day of work and be handled mechanically, one after the other. Any meaningful spiritual ambience was obviated.
Coincidentally, Temple Israel was remodeling and adding to its aging structure, which was built in the 1950s. How fortuitous, thought the rabbi - who happens to be my husband. There still was time to build our own mikvah. Unfortunately, the board did not agree; it was not possible to add anything to the plans, my husband was told. Frankly, some board members told him, we do not want to be perceived as "separating from the community." They felt that if there was any chance of the community mikvah being built, it is incumbent upon them to remain part of the community, no matter how hard that might be.
"Forget about it," they counseled him.
The congregation houses the rabbi and his or her family in a parsonage very close to the synagogue. The house has a screened-in porch, which would have been lovely had it not been in such poor shape as to be unusable. Aha! my husband thought. This could be a great site for the mikvah.
Within the next few weeks, Paul conferred with a local architect and a prominent mikvah expert in the Midwest. Yes, they thought they could construct a small bathroom and prep room, the mikvah itself, and a waiting room, with an outside entrance, in the approximately 15' by 15' space.
Back to the board members, who by now had realized that the porch would need expensive and extensive repairs. They decided that it made sense to negotiate and offered us the chance to build the mikvah - if we did not ask them for any help. "Okay, rabbi," they said. "Do what you want. You're on your own."
Although one generous donor paid for the pool, and modest donations were collected from members of the community, we assumed the remaining financial burden. (All in all, the mikvah would cost about $20,000.) But this was just the first of the challenges that faced us.
As the building permits were secured, the plans drawn up, the mikvah expert flown in from the Midwest, and the construction begun, there were attempts to sabotage the project. One man dashed behind the house, clicking away on his camera, hoping to show evidence of building going on without a building permit. Others wrote and called to express their extreme displeasure over this affront to community spirit. An Orthodox rabbi warned his flock that they must never set foot in the Temple Israel mikvah, that it was not kosher. He even tried to convince the rabbi from the Midwest to rescind his certification.
What our seven children vividly remember about this tempestuous period was how fervently they prayed for enough rain to fill the bor, or cistern, so that the mikvah pool would be ready in time for its opening, scheduled for September 1994. They recalled how they toveled - immersed - more than 600 sets of china and silverware for our oldest daughter's wedding, how they decorated the mikvah room with fertility symbols and flowers before another sibling's wedding, and how our son and sons-in-law would bond in the mikvah before chagim and return refreshed and in great good humor. My youngest daughters remember bathing suits to clean the mikvah area and mop up occasional floods, and they remember the steamy, ethereal ambience as they watched their married sisters use the mikvah for their own immersions.
Sometimes I wonder what future archeologists will surmise when they unearth our little mikvah. Will they guess what storms spawned it, and how contentious its very existence has been? Will they somehow know that this mikvah was like a special-needs child, prayed for, exquisitely cultivated, and truly cherished? Or will they assume that it was a first mikvah experiment in the hinterlands of the New World that dared to break free and offer its sparkling waters to diverse people in unique situations?
Perhaps these scientists will. discover, after all, that this layer of the dig offers other evidence of a multifaceted Jewish society that emerged as though from mikvah waters - from a true rebirth - and lovingly supported and encouraged each other as together they creatively explored new ways to enhance our precious rituals.
