Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation by Elissa Stein, Susan Kim Page A

ground, in its own house or as an integral part of another building. It is filled according to strict rabbinical law; and when a woman steps into it, the waters must completely envelop her body. After reciting a purification blessing, she dunks herself two more times. And only after she has completed this ritual can she get backto connubial relations with her husband.
    In clinical terms, one can well see the advantages of such a setup when it comes to population growth: after two weeks of abstinence without so much as a furtive hand squeeze, a woman is suddenly free to be with her husband at the height of ovulation, thus standing a pretty good chance of getting pregnant.
    However, this practicality is just an extra bonus tacked on to an ancient and disturbing belief: that menstrual sex is contaminating and must be systematically cleansed. From early Christian clergy such as Pope Dionysius of Alexandria (d. A.D. 265): “Menstruous women ought not to come to the Holy Table, or touch the Holy of Holies, nor to churches, but pray elsewhere.” From Saint Theodore, seventh Archbishop of Canterbury (d. A.D. 690), who centralized the English Church: “During the time of menstruation women should not enter into church or receive communion, neither lay women nor religious.” The whammy was apparently on women even when they weren’t actually bleeding, as witnessed by this remark by Theodulf, Bishop of Orleans (d. A.D. 821): “While a priest is celebrating Mass, women should in no way approach the altar, but remain in their places, and there the priest should receive their offerings to God. Women should therefore remember their infirmity, and the inferiority of their sex: and therefore they should have fear of touching whatever sacred things there are in the ministry of the Church.”
    Today, religion and menstruation are still, so to speak, uncomfortable bed partners—witness Pope Benedict’s visit to Poland in 2006. Deemed by lily-livered broadcasters as “inappropriate,” all ads for tampons—along with those for beer and lingerie—were banned from the air on state TV during his stay.
    Oddly enough, religious squeamishness about menstruation wasn’t always monolithic; there were even some rare moments of enlightenment. In certain branches of Buddhism, for instance, menstruation has always been seen as something natural. Any overt sexism, such as the banning of women from temples, has been interpreted by some as a later influence of Hinduism.
    Even representing the Church, Pope Gregory I wrote, in A.D. 601: “The natural flux that she suffers cannot be imputed to her as a fault, therefore it is right that she should not be deprived of the entrance into a church.” He also wrote that while a menstruating woman who preferred to remain outside a church should be praised, her condition still shouldn’t be held against her; and should she choose to enter, she shouldn’t be punished.
    We find it distressing that this bit of humane common sense was considered so revolutionary, especially considering that Jesus himself was famously empathetic to at least one woman who was menstruating. From Matthew 9:20-22: “Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.’ Jesus turned and saw her. ‘Take heart, daughter,’ he said, ‘your faith has healed you.’ And the woman was healed from that moment.” While we may initially be stunned by the idea of any woman bleeding for twelve years, we are more impressed by Jesus’ radical behavior. Not only does he clearly not care a snap of his fingers about possible contamination by contact with the poor woman, he also heals what sounds like a runaway case of menorrhagia, or excessive menstrual flow.
    Religious taboos against menstruation still persist. Orthodox Jewish men won’t shake hands with a woman for fear she may be menstruating, thus