To me, being Reform means requiring of myself a thorough education in Jewish practices and their meanings. As I seek closeness to G-d, as I try to infuse my life with greater meaning and holiness, I know there is a roadmap that has been traveled for millennia and I know I need to study it. How can I reject rituals I don't understand? How can I demand new rituals when I haven't yet learned the old ones?

What I knew about the mikveh I had learned from books. In a nutshell, they said Jewish tradition requires a couple to abstain from sex for about twelve days beginning at the start of the woman's period; she then immerses in the "living waters" of the mikveh - a manifestation or symbol of G-d's presence - after which she and her husband can be intimate again. The laws of taharat hamishpacha or the "purity of the family," are often derided as attaching shame to menstruation, but my reading regarded them differently.

The couple separates for part of the month in order to develop the non-physical parts of their relationship - much as we study Torah to develop the non-physical parts of ourselves; and immersion brings the woman physically close to G-d to sanctify her for what follows - that is, physical reunion with her spouse. I saw in this a commandment directed specifically at women and designed to sanctify marriage, too. I knew it was just a matter of time until I would try it. Somehow, I had to be there.

I knew it was just a matter of time until I would try it. Somehow, I had to be there

First, of course, I had to begin to observe the laws - and that meant abstaining from sex on certain days, [Ed. note: a minimum of 12 consecutive] days prescribed not only by our social schedules or how tired we were but by, shall we say, forces not subject to our control. On day eight I looked up "mikveh" in the phone book and dialed the number. There was a long recording about hours, fees, location and, at the very end of the tape, how to call "Shira" for other questions.

Shira answered the phone. I could hear children playing in the background. "What can I help you with?" she asked. I said I was trying to get up the nerve to go for the first time. Her first question was, "Are you married?" Then she asked who I was studying with. I gave the name of my Reform rabbi, which was not familiar to her. "Never mind, it's fine," Shira said, "and, of course, you've waited twelve days." It had only been seven, but it was clear to me from her seriousness that if I was going to use their mikveh I would respect their rules.

She didn't say anything about being perfectly "clean"; she talked about being completely uncovered (unmasked, I knew my rabbi would say, though I've never heard him discuss it). This is exactly what we work for all year long in our prayers, to free the soul from the bonds of culture which get in the way of our purest selves. Obviously, we must be clothed from one another, but before G-d we must be as exposed as possible, to open our hearts to the divine love and truth. Thus our tradition offers women an allegorical "uncovering" (for men, perhaps circumcision) that opens a channel to heaven.

Then, at the moment of immersion, when you are as close as you can ever be to G-d - "at that moment," Shira said, "you may make a personal prayer, not for world peace but for something in your own life. The mikveh is for you," she said. "It's a beautiful personal moment. It's just you and G-d."

It took me two more months to finally do it. It was 9:00 at night. From the parking lot I saw a woman leaving the building with a scarf around her head. I realized I was wearing short sleeves. Knowing that the Orthodox require women's clothes to cover the knees and elbows, I arranged a scarf over my shoulders. A security guard stood outside three doors. I asked him which was the right one. I pressed the buzzer and - miracle! - They let me in.

Before G-d we must be as exposed as possible, to open our hearts to the divine love and truth

From then on I wasn't nervous, just filled with anticipation. After a very long time my number was called and I was taken to a room that looked like any bathroom - simple wood cabinets, sink, shower tub, mirror, linoleum floor. The only clue that it was something else was an intercom speaker by the door. There were towels, paper slippers and everything you needed to fix up your nails. And there was a checklist of preparations so you wouldn't forget anything. I stepped into the bathtub and mostly scrubbed my feet - Shira had said they would definitely check hands, nails and feet - and it seemed that no matter how much I scrubbed, more dirt kept coming off. Finally, I gave up and just hoped they would be considered clean enough. I readied my explanation that I'd been gardening barefoot for years and - could I say this? - I had never really looked at the soles of my feet before that night.

I buzzed. The "mikveh lady," whom I'd read about in books came to the door. She was about 25, sweet and shy. I told her it was my first time and that I didn't know exactly what to do. She said okay; she didn't make any fuss, just smiled shyly. I had a towel on and these paper slippers, and she held up a big sheet as she walked by various halls and doors to the mikveh room. When we got to the top of the stairs that descend into the water, she said, "I have to ask you a personal favor." I was surprised. "I have a baby son. He is eight weeks old and tonight he fell off the bed. Would you please say a prayer for him?"

I was so glad Shira had told me about saying personal prayers in the water. "Of course," I said, and I told her my kids too had fallen off the bed and they were all fine. She looked relieved and grateful. Then she checked my hands and feet. They were okay. I stepped into the water, realizing I didn't know whether it would be warm or cold. It was very warm, almost hot. I walked down the stairs and went under the water. I said a prayer for the little boy. I had forgotten to think of a prayer for myself, so I prayed for him again during the second and third immersions.

In between the second and third I said the blessing which I had also forgotten and which the mikveh lady repeated for me. In English it means, "Blessed are You, King of the world, Who has made us holy with Your commandments and commanded us concerning the immersion." Each time I came up, she said, "Kosher - good!" She seemed a little surprised I knew what to do. I was thinking I must be the only Jewish woman in history who learned what to do in the mikveh from a book. Well, a book plus a telephone call.

I must be the only Jewish woman in history who learned what to do in the mikveh from a book. Well, a book plus a telephone call

The bigger surprise was how normal and ordinary it seemed. The next day in the market every woman I saw seemed to be someone who might go to the mikveh. It no longer seemed alien or exotic - rather a gorgeous privilege, like who wouldn't eat chocolate if they had the chance, or go to Paris, or have children? To be able to immerse yourself in some manifestation of G-d?to come so close, and be held so warmly, even as you are bared and exposed - in my mind I heard the words "Ma tovu ohalecha Yaakov, miskenotecha, Yisrael!" - How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!

During the twelve days we are commanded to abstain, my husband and I live soul to soul

It's been several months now, and I can't imagine going back to how Robbie and I were before. Our bodies are but dust; they are on loan to us from G-d and to house our souls, and to enjoy, as G-d wants us to enjoy them. During the twelve days we are commanded to abstain, my husband and I live soul to soul. Sometimes it's hard, but that's when it's the most beautiful. So - what was I afraid of? In retrospect, I think I was afraid of looking like an imposter before G-d. Was I really ready to come into G-d's presence in such a profound way? Was I worthy? And what would I find there? The G-d of judgment or the G-d of mercy and compassion? Go for yourself and see - but I can tell you that the water was very, very warm. I myself am no longer afraid. And I know just exactly why I have to be there.

Jane Solomon is a freelance writer. Because of the personal nature of this piece, the author used a pseudonym.

Reprinted with permission from www.mikvah.org.