Smash hit

* Blow your nose.

* Clean out the ears and the belly button with cotton swabs.

* Remove varnish and cut the nails.

* Comb through all hair on the body, making sure there are no knots.

I re-check the list as I go through the preparations, washing every crease and crevice of my body so that the purifying warm mikveh waters will touch my skin without any barrier. I wash my ears and inside my nose, rotate a cotton swab around my belly button, digging in and taking out the dirt. I cut my nails short, remove the clear varnish and scrub them thoroughly with a brush to make doubly sure of their cleanliness. On mikveh days I avoid making pastry so that there’s no chance of any dough being lodged beneath my nails. Since meat can get stuck between the teeth, I took the Torah advice not to eat meat today, but still brush and floss my teeth thoroughly. I comb my hair and pubic hair to smooth out any knots.

Soaking in the hot water, my body relaxes. The night I have been waiting for has finally arrived. I take my time soaping my long limbs and enjoying the steaming bath.

I can hear my neighbour entering the mikveh. The mikveh lady is telling her to move into the centre of the pool. The water splashes as she plunges down. “Kosher!” I hear the mikveh lady cry. Now she is pure and ready to be with her husband.

Double-checking the list one last time, I get out of the bath. I wrap a towel around myself, slip on the plastic shoes, and press the red button on the wall.

A few minutes pass until the mikveh attendant knocks on my door. Her name tag is clipped to a bosom so huge that she could surely nurse the entire Jewish nation. I take off my towel and am scrutinised.

“You need to eat more. You look anorexic. Have you flossed your teeth?”

“Yes, thoroughly.”

“Belly button?”

“Clean.”

“Have you combed your hair down there too?”

I nod. “You may enter the mikveh.”

I step down into the purifying waters and stand in the centre of the pool. I take a deep breath and dunk under. With the warm waters holding me, I feel whole again. Like a foetus in God’s womb, I hold myself under the water, making sure there isn’t a hair on my head floating above the surface and while I am submerged, I pray to conceive. “Dear God,” I pray, “give me a healthy child.”

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