This morning, on my 25th birthday, I put on Teffilin (my teffilin), for the first time. I marveled at the visceral wonder – wrapping leather cords around my arm – an act of prayer. Its pagan strange beauty made me want to pray – to seek out, to dissolve. For the first time (in a long time), I felt like a full spiritual being – unstuck, I think is the best way to describe the experience, of me, a gendered woman, putting on an item so obviously meant for me, and yet completely foreign, completely denied to me, because as a woman, I was not supposed to be embodied; my body being too carnal: birthing and bleeding. I was supposed to pray without the objects of prayers – the tallit and the Teffilin.
My body was supposed to the object of the rules of men – and not my object, to be used in prayer. The night before putting on Teffillin, I went to an orthodox run mikvah. I bathed, put on my robe, and got ready to dip, my new Tefillin in my bag. The woman working in the mikvah that night, did not want me to use it – because my body was not as she wished it to be. I was wearing my nose ring and a ring on my finger. Both I do not remove for mikvah. She told me that she was going to call a Rabbi – that these are actually not her rules– but his, the man made these rules, she was just following them. We are the enforcers. I, without saying anything, dropped by robe, and went into the mikvah. I had a right to be there – my body, with its rings, had a right to be there – a right to use this community resource. I using the mikvah, with a non-approved body would in no way render it less kosher: I just wanted to dip. The woman working in the mikvah did not say anything to me – she was silent.
And I was utterly joyful; joyful to have dipped in the mikvah – to be performing this utterly embodied ritual in my body – to be dipped, not because I menstruated, but because I was going to put on Tefillin. Mikvah, like Tefillin is denied to women. Yes, married women can use the mikvah in order to have sex with their husband. But they cannot use it to be spiritual beings – to use their bodies in prayer/ as prayer. I do not want to imply that the using the mikvah after menstruation is somehow less spiritual, less embodies, rather, I am arguing that circumscribing mikvah usage to this on one occasion is in fact denying women a full spirituality – it is allowing ritual only as it effects men (women can touch them after mikvah) and not for purposes that are entirely her own. Purposes outside the desire of men.
Even non-orthodox mikvahs have been known to prohibit menstruating women from using the mikvah, when there is no prohibition for men to use the mikvah at any point, and in general the mikvah claims to be there for purposes outside nidah. However, just the thought of a woman with blood between her legs, deciding she is nevertheless worthy of ritual, worthy of spirituality is an impossible thought.
and lots of lesbian tension is surely a winning combination. The movie questions the patriarchal world order from the perspective of faith – the characters do not step outside their own ontology, but rather seek to live it more fully and with greater joy. This movie is as much of an exploration of kabalistic spirituality, as lesbian love. While the patriarchy remains intact – it the end of the movie it is more flexible more knowing and somehow more fragile. I walk away from this movie with a joyful feeling that the patriarchy is cracking under our feet.