Colby College students helped harvest ice from a pond for a new mikvah, or ritual bath, at a Waterville synagogue.
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We're exploring how America defines itself, one place at a time. When a synagogue in Maine needed water for Jewish ritual ablutions, it enlisted the help of a few friends to tap into a suitable natural source.
Reports from Waterville and Strong, Maine
One Sunday morning last month, Rabbi Rachel Isaacs stood on a frozen pond in western Maine, wearing L.L. Bean boots and a hooded sweatshirt as she commandeered the ice for a higher purpose. Before, I stopped to consecrate the ice under my feet.
“Blessed are you, God, who brought us to this moment!” exclaimed the rabbi. Austin Thorndike, a member of the congregation at Beth Israel Synagogue in Waterville, stood next to her. Once the prayer was over, he started the chainsaw, bent down, dipped it into the pond's hard surface, and deftly made four quick cuts, releasing a smooth, white, cartoon-perfect block of ice.
Ice was to meet a very unusual ending. As the blocks increased, a crew of Colby College student-athletes sprung into action, pulling them out of the pond, pushing them to shore, and quickly loading them onto waiting trucks. The frozen cargo is then transported 40 miles to the synagogue, where students carry it to the basement. So they wiped each block clean with a cloth, stacked them in the congregation's brand new mikvah, and left them to melt.
A mikvah, a traditional Jewish bathhouse used for thousands of years in rituals of renewal and purification, has made this small synagogue in Waterville, a city of 16,000, a main attraction seeking a symbolic new start. It will elevate it to a destination for people from all over the state. However, according to ancient Jewish law, its creation was not as simple as turning on a faucet. To be kosher, a new mikvah must begin with “living water” taken directly from nature.
Harvesting ice from ponds was not an easy process. (Rainwater harvesting is more common.) But the forested winter plan is a perfect fit for Maine, participants said. So were Colby's students, some Jewish and some not.
In a rural state where a small Jewish population often requires grit, ingenuity, and strong relationships to achieve their goals, a small liberal arts college and a small synagogue in Waterville have long gone hand in hand. . Friday night dinners at Beth Israel, hosted by campus Jewish organization Colby Hillel, drew 30 people, including practicing Jews, non-Jewish friends, and people drawn to the cozy routine. to ensure that 40 students are fed.
So it was natural for Rabbi Isaacs to ask Colby College students for help moving the ice. She is an assistant professor of Jewish studies and director of the university's Center for Small Town Jewish Life.
Andrew Postal, a sophomore from Andover, Mass., took his fellow rugby players to a frozen pond, while Caitlin Kincaid, a senior from Colorado Springs, Colo., became skilled at wood sawing and ax swinging. Recruited 10 members for the Colby Woodsman team.
“Upper body strength is something that Colby has in abundance,” Ravi Isaacs said.
In many synagogues, especially Orthodox synagogues, mikvah is limited to strictly traditional uses, such as conversion to Judaism or symbolic cleansing by women after menstruation. The new Waterville mikvah is one of dozens across the country and the only one in Maine that is “open,” after two decades of efforts by more liberal congregations to make the tradition more inclusive. It's part of the movement. You can use this to observe more diverse milestones, such as college graduation or gender transition.
The students who were scouted by the rabbi were eager to participate, even if they did not know what a mikvah was before the rabbi explained it to them.
“Everyone was like, 'Yeah! The synagogue needs ice!'” said Will Whitman, 22, a senior rugby player who immediately offered to help. “Then we were like, 'Wait, why do synagogues need ice?'”
Stepping into the pond wearing boots reinforced with strap-on ice cleats, students and other volunteers took turns grabbing freshly hewn heavy blocks with oversized log tongs and pulling them out of the water. “It's like a crane game,” he said. Alex Kimmel, 31, member of the Jewish Congregation of Augusta, The block slipped from her hand and splashed into the pond.
The others stopped and marveled at the sight. It is a small spring water pond surrounded by white birches and pines. Fine mist rising from melting snow. The students loaded the blocks of ice onto plastic sleds and dragged them up a steep snow ridge to a waiting truck. Several audience members were reminded of the opening scene of the Disney movie “Frozen,” which is set in frozen Arendelle.
To plan the surgery, Rabbi Isaacs, 41, enlisted the expertise of Thorndike, 35, an arborist from Maine, who provided ice from a pond on his family's property. I relied on it. (“I’m from the Jersey Shore,” Rabbi Isaacs said. “I believe in the Maine-ness of my congregation.”)
Thorndike's own conversion to Judaism in 2020 helped facilitate plans to build an in-house mikvah at Beth Israel. It requires immersion in living water to complete the conversion process, but the nearest mikvah in Bangor, about 90 miles away, was closed at the time due to the pandemic.
Thorndyke, who had hoped to seal the deal, had instead agreed to take a dip in a Maine lake in October.
“To be kosher, you have to be completely submerged three times and you can't touch anything, so I was treading water,” he said. “It was like Navy SEAL training.”
Seeing him suffer, the rabbi decided to devise a less painful option.
“His teeth were chattering and he could barely say a congratulatory word,” she recalled.
Conversions have been occurring with increasing frequency since Rabbi Isaacs arrived to lead Beth Israel. The congregation, founded in 1902, had dwindled to fewer than 20 families by the time she became rabbi in 2011. The number has since recovered to 70 families.
More than 20 percent of current members are “Jews by choice” who were not raised in that religion. Rabbi Isaacs believes that growth is important for the synagogue's future and “for the future of small-town Jewish life” across America.
The synagogue plans to enlist the help of other Jewish congregations in Maine, who will also use the mikvah to help pay for ongoing maintenance.
“You might expect this to happen in Boston or New York, but to see it here in a small college town is extraordinary,” said Julie Childers, director of Mayim Chaim Mikvah in Newton, Massachusetts. ” he said. Something like this can happen. ”
Childers, who came to Maine to harvest ice, oversees a national network of “open” mikvot (plural for mikvah), providing services such as construction guidance, training sessions, and ceremony texts. There is.
Rabbi Isaacs said he considers himself “the rabbi of Waterville,” not the rabbi of Beth Israel, but in keeping with the synagogue's diverse relationships, he welcomes non-Jews to the mikvah. intend.
“This is a place to deepen your relationship with spirituality and start again,” she said. “There aren’t many places that can do that kind of renewal.”
Colby students kept a brisk pace, taking off their clothes as they worked, and within an hour the ice was cut and ready for transport. Driving through the forests and villages of western Maine, Rabbi Isaacs drove 10 of the 60 blocks in his pickup truck himself, and the ice arrived at the synagogue just after noon.
It melted rapidly in a 60-degree room and dripped noisily into a deep basin, which slowly filled over the next few days. After some water evaporated, Thorndike had to deliver several more blocks to ensure the mikvah contained the large amount of living water required by Jewish law. . However, by mid-March the mikvah was ready.
On a Sunday afternoon, two weeks after the ice was harvested, Colby student Lucia Green, 18, descended the seven steps of the mikvah, representing the seven days of creation as recorded in the Torah, and embarked on her journey to Judaism. Completed a conversion for the first time. He immerses himself in filtered and heated water.
She said the milestone felt surreal and, despite nearly two years of preparation, “came too soon.”
“But for a while, I felt Jewish,” she said. “If you feel that way, it’s time to enter the mikvah.”