Underwater Breathwork. This is It!
Jun 24, 2026
It rained yesterday as I put my son on the bus.
After a year of watching all his neighbors, cousins and friends head off to cheder, yesterday was finally Deeds' turn.
I was glad for the rain. Because I don't like to cry. But someone needed to.
There's a statistic that says by the time your child turns 12, you've already spent 75% of the total time you'll ever share with them. I don't know if I believe that. But standing at that bus stop Tuesday morning, I felt it in my chest. The weight of time. The way love and letting go are so often parts of the same gesture.
An entire year of davening for this child to start school. And the morning it finally happened; I wanted just one more hour. One more moment of him on my lap. Crazy, I know.
But there's the rain.
And there’s a little something about water.
There's another statistic, a truth, a myth, maybe older than language, that all the water on this earth has been here since the beginning of time. That the hydrogen in every drop was forged at the birth of the universe, traveled here on comets and asteroids, and became the water in your tears, your womb, your mikvah. The molecule changes. The matter never does. It just keeps returning in new form, carrying the memory of everywhere it's been.
Water was the first witness. Before light, before form, before anything in Creation had names; Hashem hovered over the water. It was there when you came into this world, as you were held in amniotic fluid for forty weeks, your whole being formed in that sacred space. It's there in the mikvah when you go under carrying everything you've been, and surface into something you have yet to become.
Water holds us. Sees us. Carries us across thresholds.
Standing in the summer rain with my son, I felt that nod from Hashem. The water showing up the way it tends to do. To remind me that transformation isn't something I have to do on my own. Hold on my own. That I can be held. Seen. Supported. That the same water that witnessed creation, that carried every soul into this world, was here for a mother and her little boy at a bus stop in Brooklyn. Witnessing us too.
And standing there I thought of you.
Of the things you've been carrying. The thresholds you've been standing at. The part of you that is ready, even if you haven't said it out loud yet.
Once a year I take a select group of women through something I can only call a portal.
A full day of water, breath, and transformation.
I bring everything I love, breathwork, constellations, my knowledge of birth, the body, and the places water has taken women across centuries, and I pour it all into one day.
We go underwater. We breathe. We let the water do what water has always done.
Women leave with something I can only describe as orientation. Like something in them has been recalibrated. They come in carrying the weight of who they've been and they leave with a felt sense of why they're here. They leave knowing they are held by something older and deeper than anything they have to manage or maintain. They leave with a vision. For where they are going and who they are becoming.
This water has been doing this work since before any of us arrived. And this July, we’re being invited to work with it.
July 14 · Toms River, NJ
I want you there.
If something in you has been waiting for a day that finally meets you at that depth, this is it. This is the invitation.
Book your tickets for Immerse here.
At the threshold,
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