Michelle Memran


A Mikveh Celebrates a Birthday and Finds Its Voice

By Michelle Memran

Somewhere in suburban Detroit, my mother and I tread water naked in what could be a petite synagogue rec pool. I am almost 8 years old. A rabbi stands outside the doors. His voice is barely audible as he recites a prayer in Hebrew, which, for all intents and purposes, is Moravian Morse Code. A foreboding lady in black hose and sandals tells me notRead More



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