Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  “Oh, thank you.” I gave her a fierce hug.

  “I want to warn you about something first.” Rahel must have seen the worry in my eyes because she promptly added, “Not about the incantation, but about afterward, when we take our midday meal with the clients.”

  “I’ll eat whatever you do, no matter how bad it tastes.”

  Rahel smiled at my interruption. “Ronai’s family are Jews, as are many of my clients, but they’re am-ha’aretz.”

  “Am-ha’aretz?” The Hebrew words meant “people of the land,” but the way she said them made them seem derogatory. “You mean they’re farmers?” I asked in confusion.

  “The am-ha’aretz are Jews who don’t follow how the Rabbis interpret Torah.” Rahel’s tone made her disapproval plain. “So they probably won’t wash their hands before they eat, nor say any blessings over the food and wine, and they might serve both meat and cheese at the same meal.”

  “The meat will be kosher, won’t it?”

  “Oh yes, but you’ll need to say your own blessings, which you must do quietly and tactfully.”

  “Why do you write kasa d’charasha for the am-ha’aretz if you don’t like them?”

  “The majority of Jews in Sura are am-ha’aretz, maybe as many as nine out of ten,” she replied. “If I limited my bowls to rabbinic families, I’d have very few clients.”

  I was awake before dawn and could barely keep still as Achti’s maidservant braided my hair with ribbons and dressed me in my striped Shabbat tunic and trousers. I was disappointed to find Rahel wearing plain linen clothes and no jewelry at all. Outside the gate, we mounted a waiting donkey. Then, along with two slaves to carry the bowls, we set off toward town. I could scarcely contain my glee. I was not only going to see Rahel do her enchantments, but this was my first trip to Sura.

  We didn’t get to see much of Sura, as Rahel’s client lived on the outskirts of the city. The house itself was located on a courtyard, much like our previous home in Kafri. Though Rahel had said that some of her clients weren’t Jewish, it was a relief to see the mezuzah on the doorpost. Ronai and her husband, a wheelwright, were both there, but I saw no sign of children. Their table was covered with a large amount of food, which Rahel declined, explaining that she would be fasting until after the bowls were installed.

  When Rahel introduced me as her apprentice, it took all the restraint I could muster not to hug her in gratitude, but I managed to maintain a suitably serious expression as we circled the house’s periphery. Once Rahel questioned Ronai about where the family slept, she directed her slaves to dig shallow holes outside that room and at the home’s threshold, one for each of the bowls I’d written on.

  “From this point on, there must be absolute silence until the bowls are completely buried,” Rahel admonished us.

  Ronai, her husband, and I nodded nervously. Rahel carefully placed each bowl upside down in its designated spot and covered it with earth. Then we returned to the threshold, where a slave helped Rahel don a white linen robe and veil. Most so-called white linen is actually pale beige, but Rahel’s outfit was dazzling in its pure whiteness.

  That was merely the beginning of her incredible transformation. Rahel might be tall for a woman, but as she girdled her robe and stood up straight, she seemed to tower over the rest of us, even the men. Her slaves sank to the ground as she raised her arms and addressed the unseen world in a voice that resonated with power and authority.

  “By the name of Shaddai Savaot Adonai, and by the power of the seven angels who are appointed over the seven days of the week: Michael, Gabriel, Samael, Raphael, Zadkiel, Anael, and Kafziel. That you should stand with all your might, power, and strength to withstand all those who damage and pain and inflict illness on the woman Ronai bat Maidukh.”

  Ronai and her husband fell to their knees as Rahel continued, “Cause all kinds of demons to flee from her, as well as liliths, ruchim, all kinds of fear, trembling, weakness of heart, and all kinds of pain so that she should be healthy and preserved and that she should not miscarry her fetus.”

  This was not a prayer; this was a command that even angels and demons must obey. The world was unnaturally quiet—no dog barked, no bird sang, no donkey brayed. Despite my trembling, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

  “I further adjure you, all kinds of liliths and ruchim that enter the entrails of women and spoil their offspring, in the name of Michael your master and Ashmedai your king, that you should move, go, flee, and keep away from this woman Ronai bat Maidukh and that you should not ever again come near to her. If you transgress against this, my adjuration, I shall strike you with iron rods that are the four holy mothers: Bilha, Rahel, Zilpa, Leah. Amen. Amen. Selah.”

  In the silence that followed, Rahel slowly lowered her arms and took off her white clothes. Her slaves helped the awestruck couple to their feet, and in a completely normal voice Rahel said, “If you please, I will break my fast now.”

  Rahel and the slaves ate with gusto, but I could have been eating date pits. All I could think was that I wanted to be a charasheta just like Rahel.

  FIVE

  TWELFTH YEAR OF KING BAHRAM II’S REIGN

  • 285 CE •

  I was thankful that Rahel felt no need for conversation on our way home, for my mind was fully occupied in planning my future. Clearly my best, perhaps only, means of becoming a charasheta was to continue as Rahel’s apprentice. But had Rahel actually intended for me to be her apprentice or had she merely introduced me that way to explain my presence?

  Next week I would be betrothed, and judging by Achti’s experience, I would soon be learning how to manage a scholar’s household. It wouldn’t matter whether Rahel accepted me as her apprentice if Mother thought it would interfere with my domestic studies. And what about helping Grandfather remember his Mishna? I didn’t want to give that up.

  My path was clear. First talk to Rahel, and if that went well, then talk to Mother. Or maybe have Rahel talk to Mother? In any case I needed to start soon, maybe even tomorrow.

  But I was too impatient. When Rahel gave me a new bowl and incantation that afternoon in the garden, I said a quick prayer for a successful enterprise and approached her. But my words weren’t the ones I’d carefully planned.

  “Rahel, did you mean it about me being your apprentice?”

  She hesitated, perhaps because she’d forgotten what she’d said earlier. “I suppose you are my apprentice.” Then she gazed at me intently. “Why do you ask?”

  The way she was examining me, I had to tell her the truth. “I don’t want to stop helping you with your kasa d’charasha. I want to be your apprentice and learn more about them.” Somehow I managed to not disclose my ultimate goal.

  Rahel was silent for a long time, so long that I was sure she was searching for a way to reject me without hurting my feelings.

  “I’ve never considered training an apprentice, at least not until I had a daughter old enough. But you have been useful, and it would be good to have help after this baby is born.” She patted the telltale bulge under her tunic, and I felt stupid for not noticing it earlier.

  “Please.” I tried not to whine.

  “It’s not my decision alone. We need to get your mother’s permission.”

  To my shock, Rahel took my hand and nearly dragged me into the house. I blinked a few times as my eyes adjusted to the change in light from the sunny garden to the dimly lit anteroom. Mother was sitting with a couple of older women I’d seen at synagogue and another, plumper one I didn’t recognize. Evidently they were Mother’s social equals, because all four sat on the same number of cushions. I would never have dared to disturb them, but Rahel strode right in. She greeted the visitors warmly, kissing each one’s wrinkled cheek in turn before beckoning me to join them. I kissed the women’s cheeks as well, but I was too frightened to speak.

  Rahel didn’t waste any words either. “Haviva, your daughter wishes to become my apprentice.”

  Mother and her companions all stared at me a
ppraisingly, just as Rahel had done earlier. There was no escape from their scrutiny, and I would have been grateful if the earth had opened and swallowed me. Somehow I was compelled to speak, and again the words were not the ones I would have planned to say.

  “I want to learn more about magic, Mother.”

  Mother surprised me with her question. “And what about your Torah studies with your father and grandfather?”

  I answered truthfully, though I realized it made me seem like a dilettante. “I want to study Torah too.”

  The thinner women from synagogue rested her chin on her hand before turning to Mother. “Torah study could give your daughter merit, so her incantations would be more effective. But would she have time for both after she’s married?”

  To my further astonishment, Mother chuckled. “It’s lucky she’ll be living with her sister, then.” Like one sharing a small joke, she added, “Achti is already so proficient at managing a household that I doubt she will require, or appreciate, any assistance from Hisdadukh.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The visitors smiled and nodded in approval, and with tears streaming down my face, I rushed into Mother’s arms.

  Rahel gave me a few moments to savor my victory before saying, “Hisdadukh and I must return to our work.” She bowed slightly and pulled me toward the door. “Thank you for allowing us to interrupt. Now I’m sure you have other matters to discuss.”

  I was late getting up the second day of the following week, and by the time I came downstairs to break my fast, Father and his students had already left for court. Unlike midday and evening meals, eating in the morning was informal. Nobody would rouse sound sleepers unless it was an emergency, for what if they were in the middle of an important dream or their souls had difficulty returning? Mother ate early, but my sisters-in-law, especially those with babies who got up in the night, tended to wander in over a longer period of time than my brothers.

  Shayla, Rahel, and Achti were nowhere to be seen, but Beloria and Mariamme beckoned me to join them. A kitchen slave served me porridge and bread, the latter fresh and warm from the oven, and I drank in the wonderful aroma. Bread was always wheaten, but the porridge grain varied—sometimes wheat and sometimes barley. Today’s was my favorite, porridge prepared from wheat that had been roasted first, making it crunchy, with a nice toasty flavor.

  Both women were nearly done. Just as I resigned myself to eating alone, Rahel appeared at the top of the stairs. She waved and then quickly moved her hand to cover a yawn.

  Beloria smiled. “Those early months of pregnancy are so tiring, even if a woman sleeps from sunset to sunup and in the afternoon.”

  “She’ll be more tired later.” Mariamme’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Once the baby comes.”

  Rahel sat next to me, and after some polite questions about her health, our two companions left. Rahel’s appetite must have improved, because she was served twice as much porridge as I had eaten, plus some goat cheese for her bread. She had just finished the cheese when I looked up to see Mother bearing down on us.

  “I am relieved to see that I don’t have to wake you up.” Mother sounded pleased rather than annoyed. “My husband just sent word that a skilled potter cannot pay her karga, and that we should ask about her at the slave market today.”

  Rahel shoveled down her porridge in her eagerness to finish. “I’ll be ready to leave immediately.”

  Mother turned to me. “You can come and help choose your new maidservant.”

  We, along with our ubiquitous attendants, were soon on the road to central Sura, where Rahel and I had plenty of time to say our morning prayers as we walked. She had only taken me to one other bowl installation, and that house was also far from the city center, so I was bubbling over with excitement at my first chance to see Sura’s souk on a market day.

  But a question nagged at me. Not wanting to display my ignorance in front of the slaves, I approached Rahel and whispered, “What is a karga?”

  “Karga is the Persian poll tax,” she replied. “It’s the same amount for everyone aged fifteen through sixty, and only the Magi don’t pay it.” She paused for emphasis. “If you can’t, whoever pays it for you acquires you as a slave.”

  So that was how people got to be slaves. And why a slave like Nurse, who lived in a prosperous household, might not want to be freed. Unable to pay the karga herself, she’d just be sold into slavery again and could end up somewhere worse. I had to admit that our slaves’ presence made me feel more secure in the large city, in addition to proclaiming our high status.

  My thoughts were interrupted when Rahel continued talking. “The king also levies a land tax, tasqa, but only landowners pay that,” she said. “The owner pays with a share of his produce, so rich people pay more and tenant farmers, the aris who don’t actually own their land, owe nothing.”

  We entered a street where both sides were lined by plastered brick walls. Now and then we’d pass an open door or gate and I’d get a glimpse into the homes and courtyards behind those walls. At one intersection Mother consulted Rahel before turning to the right. We continued through a maze of roadways, and my throat constricted as I remembered how easily I’d gotten lost in the alleys of Kafri. I held tight to Rahel’s hand.

  There were other people out walking, most carrying baskets and jars, and we began to see shops interspersed among the houses. Soon the road narrowed into a shaded mavoi, shops outnumbered the houses, and I could smell spices and foodstuffs. Vendors yelled to us from their carts, the bold ones shoving their wares almost into Mother’s and Rahel’s faces. There were tall stacks of baskets, canvas sacks of every size hanging from hooks, and pyramids of fall produce like pomegranates, squashes, and root vegetables. I was surprised to see racks of ready-made sandals, since the cobbler always came to our home and measured each family member individually before making our shoes.

  But I was more surprised that almost none of the men were wearing tefillin. Grandfather, my brothers, Father, and all his students wore the small black leather boxes, one tied on the forehead and the other strapped on the hand. Inside each box was a piece of parchment inscribed with four Torah verses, including “bind them as a sign on your arm…and between your eyes,” “them” being words of Torah. They wore these all day, every day except Shabbat.

  Back when we lived in Kafri, my brothers used to tease one another by hiding their tefillin, so that at least once a month the day would start with someone yelling, “Who took my tefillin?” followed by much scuffling and chasing around until the errant items were retrieved. Now that we lived in Sura, however, the game had lost much of its popularity.

  Lingering in the souk was not on Mother’s schedule. She consulted with a slave, and we turned onto a narrower mavoi, and after a block, onto another even darker alley, one so narrow that we could only walk two abreast. Eventually we reached our destination, a walled compound closed with a heavy gate. Someone inside had heard us approach, because the gate creaked open a slit and a moon-faced man stuck his head out.

  “I understand that there is a skilled potter who cannot pay her karga,” Mother announced.

  “If the woman is to be believed, there are two.”

  Mother’s eyebrow rose. “Two?”

  “She says her daughter is almost as skilled as she is.”

  Rahel spoke up. “We need a potter’s wheel to test them.”

  “I’ll take you to her shop,” the man said. “You can see for yourself.”

  “Anyone with a shop should be able to pay their karga,” Mother said. “Is her husband a gambler or drunkard?”

  “Even worse,” he answered. “Her husband is a camel driver who hasn’t come home in almost two years.”

  Mother and Rahel let out simultaneous groans. “An agunah,” Rahel whispered. “No wonder she’s too poor to pay karga.”

  As we walked to the poor woman’s shop, I thought sadly of her plight, a Jewish woman’s worst nightmare. When a widow or divorcée’s marriage ended, she
received sufficient funds for taxes from her ketuba, the money her marriage contract obligated her husband, or his estate, to pay her. A young widow or divorcée, especially one with a profession like pottery, would likely attract a second husband.

  But an agunah, whose husband has disappeared, was still considered his wife. She could neither collect her ketuba nor marry again. And if she had no family to help support her, she would eventually become impoverished.

  “I loaned her money for last year’s karga.” The man shrugged. “But she admits she cannot repay me, nor can she pay this year’s tax.”

  “I understand,” said Mother as we stopped in front of a table covered with ceramic vessels.

  Rahel immediately began to examine them, and a thin, tired-looking woman came out to greet us. Before she could speak, she noticed the slave dealer with us and tears welled in her eyes.

  “These pots look sturdy,” Rahel said to her. “But I would like to see how you make them.”

  Mother, Rahel, and I followed the potter into the shop, where an even thinner girl around my age was turning clay on a potter’s wheel. Rahel spoke gently to her, and the clay took on various shapes—a deep pot, a flat plate, a round bowl, a tall vase—before ending up as a wide-mouthed jar.

  Rahel nodded at Mother, who turned to the slave dealer and said, “The girl appears competent. How much for both of them?”

  The man named an amount that made Mother frown. “That will more than pay a year’s karga,” she protested. “I thought you said this year’s tax wasn’t paid yet.”

  “Skilled potters are worth more than ordinary slaves.” He looked back at the girl with a leer. “And the daughter is a virgin.”

  That was the wrong thing to say to Mother, especially with me, her own daughter of the same age, standing next to her. “My husband is Rav Hisda, who was recently appointed to Rav Huna’s beit din. I’m sure he would agree that since you merely loaned this woman the money for her karga, instead of paying it yourself, she merely needs to pay back what she owes you.” Mother’s voice was silky. “I assume you have the loan papers properly sealed and witnessed.”