I’m terrified of water. Okay, let’s narrow that down. You will never see me enthusiastically get on a boat, travel the ocean, or journey down a river. Murky lakes and ponds are out of the question, too. If I can see the shoreline, that helps reduce the anxiety. Oh, yeah, I’ve not been in a swimming pool in decades. I’m not a good swimmer, either.
The culmination of this journey to Judaism requires full immersion in a mikveh — or a ritual well (pool, bath, etc). This comes down from the Talmud, specifically Yevamot 46b. Now, really, any body of “living water” could serve for the immersion, but there are special community mikvehs, usually run by Orthodox Jewish communities, that serve a wide range of purposes.
I found myself on a Thursday afternoon in Cincinnati with my husband at the Cincinnati Community Mikveh. We arrived early and waited for my sponsoring Rabbi to arrive. Soon enough, her husband dropped her off. I’d get to meet him later when we all went out to dinner to celebrate. The three of us stood around in the heat exchanging small talk for a moment waiting for the mikveh attendant, affectionately known as “one of the mikveh ladies” to arrive.
A younger Orthodox woman arrived, hair covered, clothed in a way that wouldn’t shock anyone in more traditional spaces in Kentucky. For her, this was something you just did as a Jew. You immersed for a variety of reasons. And for me, as a convert, my number was up. She opened up the space, showed us around, and both her and my husband left.
It was me, the Rabbi, and the two remaining members of my “beit din,” or rabbinical court, remaining. They joined us from afar. The wifi mostly cooperated. The conversation went fast. Then the Priestly Blessing. I was called by my Hebrew name for the first time then. Both the beit din and my Hebrew name are topics for another time…because we’re here to talk about water. Terrifying water.
Another friend showed up to be one of the witnesses for the immersion. The sponsoring Rabbi is a woman and it felt a little odd to be stark naked without a male witness. Yep. Absolutely naked. No rings. No clothes. No hair product. No contacts or glasses. Nothing. Cut your nails beforehand. Try to wear down callouses. Blow your nose. Be as naked as you can be.
When I was ready, I put on a super plush robe and headed the few steps to the immersion room. I carried three things with me: my wedding ring, a Star of David pendant with the Hebrew letter shin in the center (it looks like a chalice flame), and the only possession I have of one of my grandfather’s, a tie bar. I was going to immerse these objects, too. Oh, and my water bottle. I’m a good UU, so I had to collect some water.
The time was there. My last moments as a gentile. Theologically, it could be said that even I was there at Mount Sinai, that I was born with a Jewish soul…and this ritual was only an affirmation of that. I love the image of everyone at the mountain. I disrobed. The Rabbi waited just outside the door, which was cracked a little. My witness was off to the side, facing the wall. We wanted some modesty to be maintained, but, really, I was committed to this.
As the Rabbi guided me through, I took seven steps into the warm water. Each step an opportunity to hold a kavanah, or intention, for what was about to unfold. I know I had seven intentions. Maybe one day I’ll remember them. And there I was. In a pool.
When you have a weird nervousness or fear around something, it’s best to push the usual triggers out of your mind immediately. No, I was not thinking of the time I blacked out after hitting my head on the side of a pool. No, I was not thinking of the time our house in Illinois flooded so badly, our sub-basement filled up completely. I was maybe 5 or 6 and watched the dark water climb all 20 stairs. Nope.
There I was. The Rabbi finished speaking and said, “When you’re ready, immerse, then say the first prayer.”
In Judaism, you normally say the prayer or blessing before the act. There are a few exceptions to this and conversion is one of them. You immerse the first time as a gentile and emerge as a Jew, so then you say the blessing. The parallels to baptism are pretty obvious in our culture, but no. No one was immersing me. I was immersing myself. I was willingly engaging in this embrace of the sacred. There were two witnesses, but I was also absolutely on my own.
I immersed.
Barukh atah Adonay Eloheynu melekh ha-olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha-t’vilah.
Blessed are you, Eternal One, ruler of the universe, who sanctifies us through mitzvot and has enjoined us concerning immersion.
Here I take hold, Spirit of Life, naming this moment as holy and whole. I imbue my heart and mind with blessings by immersing myself in water.
Burning nose. Quiet contentment. You’re supposed to exhale as you immerse and don’t hold your nose. The water rushes right in. Spread out your limbs completely. Open your eyes if you want. The water should envelop you. It was done. Farewell gentile past.
The Rabbi spoke of immersing again and, this time, after emerging, say a prayer of thanks to all who’ve brought me here.
I immersed.
Barukh atah Adonay, Eloheynu melekh ha-olam, shehekheyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higianu, la-z’man ha-zeh.
Blessed is the Eternal One of all creation, who has blessed me with life, sustained me, and enabled me to reach this moment.
What a mystery of love and joy, this overflowing of life, vibrant in all. Hold me close, open my heart, as I say yes to this moment.
Burning nose again. Quiet contentment, still. There were too many names and faces and places going through my mind to say them all. So many it was a blur and, somehow, my mind was empty. But, still, all of those things and people and moments were there. Right there.
Immerse again and then say THE prayer. The most important prayer in Judaism. The phrase that encapsulates the core of Judaism. A prayer I will wrestle with for the rest of my life.
I immersed.
Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonay Eloheynu, Adonay ekhad.
Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is One!
Pay attention, all you who wander, wonder, and struggle. The Great Mystery is right there, right here, and this Oneness calls to you always.
One more sting to the nose. Still…that contentment. It was done. Nearly two years of study, done. Many years of coming and going in this tradition, done. Figuring out how and if and why I should pursue this, done. Doing the hard work of knowing this was the right way to fully embody the person I am, done.
I was left to myself for a moment. I immersed my wedding ring, the pendant, and tie bar. I slowly waded out and up the stairs, put on my robe, and got dressed.
“How do you feel?” “It’s a lot. But I feel content.” That’s still the only answer I have. There are moments of joy, yes. But I just feel right. I still feel like myself but it’s as if one little adjustment was made and, spiritually, I’m on track. That’s weird to say when this is supposed to be such a monumental undertaking. And it was! Oh it was! I don’t just drive to Cincinnati for anything, people. And I certainly will not go out of my way to be under water anytime soon.
I also did this knowing it wasn’t like how we Americans treat most Eastern religions. This wasn’t reading a book and declaring myself a Buddhist. And don’t get me wrong, Zen still informs me. (The amount of Jews in Zen, it’s mind blowing!) But there’s a commodification of spirituality and religion deemed “exotic” in our culture. Judaism isn’t exotic. It’s old. It’s misunderstood. And it is inextricably tied up in the narrative of Israel, which isn’t exactly winning hearts and minds these days. I did this knowing all of that. It was not undertaken lightly.
I am still content. I am taking a year to let this unfold in my life not as a convert-to-be but as a full fledged Jew. A Jew that happens to be a Unitarian Universalist minister. I’m still Brian. But I’m also Eli Baruch ben Yitzhak v’Channah. I’m Rev. Dr. Brian. But I’m also a friend of several Jewish communities. I will serve my calling faithfully. But I will build a sukkah this year for Sukkot…maybe host Passover one day.
And I’m still afraid of water.
But maybe I’m not afraid of pools anymore. You still won’t catch me on a boat.