by Maggie Anton
My curiosity piqued, I asked what they were.
“When I told him that you weren’t giving your daughter to Ukva, Abba offered to support her as his own,” he replied. “That was very generous of him, especially as he would also be paying a substantial amount for Choran’s ketuba.”
“He actually said he’d divorce her?” I told him about Choran’s astonishing visit but held back how betrayed I’d felt that neither he nor Mother had bothered to inform me first.
Father scratched his head in thought. “Since Jewish Law prohibits such a wedding until your child is weaned, Abba would certainly want to keep his first wife until then,” he said slowly. “So we didn’t discuss it.”
“The fellow is too clever by far.” I was well aware that the Mishna did not require a father to support his children; it just presumed he would. “So there’s nothing about a divorce in your agreement.”
Father scowled. “If he does intend to take you as his second wife, that is unacceptable. Being a widow does not make my daughter so desperate.”
“Then you have an excellent reason for refusing him,” I said triumphantly, “without my feelings entering into it.”
“I’ll inform him next week.”
Choran must not have been niddah the following week, because Abba spent Shabbat in Machoza. My relief at resolving the problem so easily was short lived, however, because Father came to me and asked, for the sake of good relations between teacher and student, that I discuss the matter with Abba myself.
I was so angry that I might have refused if Father had ordered me, but his worried expression and the way he appealed to me to do him this favor made it impossible to deny him. But I insisted on meeting Abba in the garden, where we would be plainly visible while no one could overhear us. The green flax had been harvested, and it would be a few weeks before the yellow flax arrived, so we would not be disturbed by the stink of any rotting stalks.
I chose the afternoon of Third Day, when I could not be accused of preventing Abba from attending court. The date was inauspicious for inscribing amulets or a kasa d’charasha, so I wouldn’t be working, and the day ruled by Mars seemed propitious for what was sure to be a battle. Fortunately the following Fourth Day was Shavuot, so once Abba left for Shabbat, he would be gone the entire week.
That morning I went with my brother Mari to inspect my ketuba land for the first time. He told me that Ukva had been more than fair, for the field, now golden with ripening wheat, was located not far from an irrigation canal. There was also a date grove, which we examined from end to end before Mari pronounced the trees in fine condition. He was less sanguine when I said I wanted the profits from these properties invested in Tachlifa’s business rather than used to buy more land. But as I thought about Tachlifa’s gold coins, I knew I’d feel more secure in my widowhood with my own cache of ready money.
I finished feeding Yehudit just before the seventh hour and, still enjoying the calm that always resulted from nursing my child, headed downstairs. Abba was pacing near the far wall, and when he looked up, his expression was dark with anger.
“I would rather we walked in the orchards, where we’d have more privacy.” As always, his statement was a demand, not a request.
I refused to be cowed. “And give you the opportunity to appear secluded with me? Absolutely not.”
He wasted no time on preliminaries. “Why did you reject my betrothal offer?”
I refused to let his deep voice intimidate me. “I will not be the second wife of any man. Surely my father told you that.”
“And I told him that once we were married, I’d be able to pay Choran’s ketuba and divorce her.”
“You expect me to marry a man who’s so impoverished that he needs my money to divorce his first wife?” My voice rose with indignation.
Abba’s face flushed and for a moment he was silent. “I don’t believe this has anything to do with how many wives or how much money I have.” He took a step toward me. “I want to know the real reason.”
I stood my ground and stared at him, surprised that we were the same height. “It should be enough that I say I won’t marry you. I’m not obliged to give my reasons.” Why was he harrying me? Did he imagine his commanding tone could bully me into marriage?
I turned to walk back to the house, but he grabbed my arm. “Tell me your reasons and I’ll remedy them.”
Furious at being physically detained, I wrenched my arm away. Then I put my hands on my hips and faced him. “I don’t want to marry you because I find you insufferable. You are arrogant, domineering, conceited, haughty, and condescending. I despise you so greatly that the very idea of marrying you is repulsive to me. There,” I challenged him. “Remedy that.”
One would think this would be enough for him, but Abba persisted. “I admit that I am not a humble man, but to bear me such hatred on account of it seems excessive.”
“You want to know why I hate you, then I’ll tell you.” I knew I was screaming but I didn’t care. “Because you are to blame for my husband’s death. It wasn’t enough that you discredited him at every opportunity in Father’s classes. No, you gave him the Evil Eye and sent a snake to bite him.”
Abba started to protest, but I cut him off. “Don’t deny it. I heard that tale you made up about Rami dying because he’d insulted Rabbi Menashia.”
He sank down on a bench and covered his face with his hands. I should have left immediately, but I had to hear how he would respond. So I waited and listened to birds cheeping in the garden while my temper cooled.
Finally he looked up and his big eyes widened with surprise that I was still there. “Obviously I must withdraw my proposal, and to make absolutely certain that you are free of me I will write you a get, a bill of divorce.” He cleared his throat and then took a deep breath. “But first, please tell me if there is another man.”
I was so impressed with his “please” that I replied, “No. I already have a husband, Rami bar Chama.”
“But Rami is dead. You just held me responsible for it.”
“Yet in my heart he is still alive.”
Abba looked at me thoughtfully for some time, and I was reminded of how camel drivers surveyed their beasts to determine how heavy a load they could carry. “If you will hear me out,” he said, “I have a great favor to ask you.”
When I remained silent, he continued: “I have no reason to expect mercy or consideration from you, and indeed I deserve none. But even so, I beg you to save me from the shame I would suffer in front of the others.”
From the reaction to Father’s very public humiliation of Keshisha over Zahra’s pregnancy, I knew that rabbis and students feared shame more than any physical punishment. Rabbi Yohanan taught that it was better to cast oneself into a furnace than to embarrass another person in public. I had even heard Abba himself say that whoever causes a man shame in public has no place in the world to come.
“How can I save you from shame?”
“It is no secret that I have sought to marry you. Even my wife knows now.” He sounded tired and defeated. “When everyone hears how quickly and thoroughly you repudiated me, I am sure to be a laughing stock.”
Part of me wanted to say that he deserved to be, but I was beginning to feel ashamed of my earlier cruel words. “What can I do? Even if I never speak of it, others will.”
“Since you are in no hurry to marry again, there is no need for me to immediately write you a get. And in truth, as long as you continue to nurse Rami’s child, remarriage is forbidden.” He paused, and I could tell by his look of concentration that he was thinking intently. “So if neither you, nor I, nor Rav Hisda says anything about it, people will not know if we are betrothed or not. Then in two years, when your daughter is weaned and you want to remarry, long after everyone has forgotten about it, I could quietly write you a get so there is no impediment.”
“And why would I agree to do this?” I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was plotting something against me.
“First, should another annoy
ing suitor present himself, you could truthfully tell him that you are not free.” Abba knelt down on his knees before me. “More important, I will not let Rami’s teachings be forgotten. I swear that I will share his words and ensure that they are said in his name.”
Suddenly aware that my jaw had dropped open, I hurriedly closed my mouth. But I remained speechless as Abba slowly stood up and brushed off his trousers. If I had not seen and heard it myself, I would not have believed it. The arrogant Abba bar Joseph had humbled himself before me and, on his knees, swore that he would keep Rami’s memory alive.
“I will do as you ask.” I had no intention of discussing this debacle with anyone except my parents, so he was only asking me to do what I was going to do anyway.
His relief was palpable. “I deeply regret that we are not to be married. We would make a formidable couple.”
Father was also relieved. “Considering the length of time it took for Rav Huna and me to reconcile after that disagreement we had when I was his student, I was anxious to avoid any such estrangement from Abba bar Joseph.”
“He said that he would write me a get so there would be no impediment when I wanted to remarry.” I looked at Father questioningly. “But why is this necessary? Since I never agreed to marry him, there was no legitimate betrothal.”
He stopped to think. “True, your betrothal was invalid, but in cases of doubt, such as where a man mistakenly betrothed one sister when he meant to betroth the other, we require that he write bills of divorce to both of them.”
“So Abba was merely being cautious, to protect me?”
“Apparently,” Father said. “He is always one to consider every situation, no matter how unlikely.”
“Rami said that once when you were discussing tefillin, Abba asked how a man with two heads would wear them.” Somehow I managed to say Rami’s name without my mouth quivering.
Father chuckled. “Rabbi Judah haNasi wanted to expel a student who posed that question, but then a man came to him whose wife had given birth to a two-headed son and who wanted to know if he should redeem the child with five or ten shekels.”
“Rami told me that because the Torah explicitly states that a father redeems his firstborn son according to head count, you taught that the man should pay ten.”
Father put his arm around me. “Rami was a good student. I miss him.”
I blinked back tears and suddenly thought of something I’d never asked Father about, despite all the people who’d questioned me. “Father, why did you give me that choice between marrying Rami and Abba? Surely I was too young to make such an important decision.”
“I am sorry I placed you in that awkward position, Hisdadukh,” he said. “Rav Joseph, Abba’s father, had approached me, and I was in a bind. Though Achti was betrothed to Ukva, I had no official agreement for you to marry Rami. I thought if I asked you, I could confirm your choice without jeopardizing my good relations with the rejected suitor.”
“My answer must have been a shock to you, then.”
“It certainly was.”
Abba and the other students had no sooner left to go home for Shavuot than Tachlifa returned from Machoza with Pazi, Tazi, and Samuel, along with cartloads of merchandise destined for the West. He and Samuel would be leaving after the festival.
I had already decided that I would leave with them, even if it meant crossing the desert in the heat of summer.
During the days following my argument with Abba, I couldn’t help but notice that he looked as smug as the cat that got into the cheese cellar. So as I combed the green flax fibers, I set my mind to figuring out why.
My first thought, an uncharitable one I admit, was that Abba, while keeping his vow to teach Rami’s words, had not promised to praise them. In fact, he could use their debates to aggrandize himself while making Rami sound stupid. The more I imagined Abba continuing to criticize Rami even after his death, the angrier I felt.
But it wasn’t until the day Abba left that I realized how cleverly he had manipulated me. Our betrothal might be invalid; yet if I wanted to wed a rabbi, which of course I would, no scholar would risk marrying me if there were any doubt about my marital status. Even a suspicion that I might be betrothed to Abba would leave me unmarriageable, since if it were true, my new husband would be committing adultery, a capital crime, and our children would be mamzerim, outcasts in Jewish society.
I was tied to Abba until he gave me a get, which might be never. After all, he hadn’t vowed to release me in two years. In truth, after carefully recalling his exact words, I realized that he had merely said that he “could” write me a get at that time. What an act he had put on, falling on his knees and begging me not to shame him in that compelling voice of his. He had set more effective snares than the best Persian hunters. And I, who knew how clever he was and should have been more careful, had been caught like a bird in a fowler’s net.
No spell or incantation could save me. If I remained in Sura, he would continue to work his wiles until I ended up married to him. But only if I remained in Sura.
Furious at myself for falling into Abba’s trap, and at him for leading me into it, I searched the villa until I found Tachlifa in his storeroom. He was busy organizing goods and supplies for his upcoming trip, but I had to speak with him.
He smiled when he first saw me. “Dada, I thank you for your confidence in my trading skills. A merchant can always use an additional source of capital.” Then he came closer and observed the fearsome expression on my face. “Ha-Elohim! What happened to upset you?”
“I must leave with you and Samuel. I need to go as far from Sura as I can, as quickly as possible.” I locked eyes with him. “If you don’t take me, I’ll cross the desert on my own.”
He looked at me in alarm. “Of course you can accompany us, if it’s that important. But I’d like to know why.”
I explained the situation. “Even if I am only imagining Abba’s evil intentions, I must get away from him.” I couldn’t explain the panic behind my decision, only that I had to go.
He shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose your daughter will come too.”
“Of course.” I began to relax once the decision was made. “Also, I don’t want anyone to know until after we’ve left.”
“No,” he said firmly. “You must tell Mother and Father. Otherwise everyone will worry that you’ve been kidnapped or worse. They’d probably start searching for you.”
“I’ll write a letter for them to find after I’m gone.”
“Where are you planning to go?”
There was no doubt in my mind. “To Sepphoris, to stay with Yochani. When are we leaving?”
“We’ll be leaving before dawn on First Day after Shavuot. So you have a week to change your mind.”
That meant I could probably slip away without anyone seeing me. “As long as we’re gone before Abba returns.”
The night Shavuot ended, I was putting out the lamp when Mother entered my kiton. Nurse and Leuton still belonged to Father, so I hadn’t told them about my plans for fear they’d inform him. Had Tachlifa divulged my secret?
Evidently someone had, for Mother handed me a scroll of papyrus and said, “This document transfers ownership of these two slaves to you. It will make transporting them easier.”
“You don’t mind me leaving?” I asked, hoping for her understanding.
“I do not like you running away like a child or a slave,” she replied. “I would prefer that you stay and calmly work out your problems with Abba like an adult.”
I cringed at her criticism. “I can’t. Maybe later, but right now I can’t.”
“What about Chama? You’ve only just started seeing him again.”
It would break my heart to leave him again, but I had to escape. “He’s happy with Achti. He won’t miss his auntie much,” I said bitterly.
“How long do you intend to stay away?”
“I don’t know.” I hadn’t planned that far in the future.
“At least you we
ren’t foolish enough to run off by yourself,” she chided me gently. “I know I can count on Tachlifa to see that you get to Sepphoris safely.”
“So he told you?” Instead of getting angry, I felt relieved.
“He told Pazi, and she, being a mother, told me.”
“Will you bless me, Mother, before I go?”
“Of course I will.”
But the next morning it was Father who blessed me with the priestly benediction. “Adonai bless you and protect you; Adonai make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; Adonai lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace.”
Mother said the amens.
Thus the only people up early enough to bid me farewell were Mother, Father, Pazi, and Tazi; the twins being there to see their husbands off. The carts had been loaded the night before, and all that remained was to hitch up the donkeys and head to Sura’s docks. I had made us all new travelers’ amulets, and between those and my parents’ blessings, I felt confident about reaching Sepphoris safely. Once I left Sura behind, I didn’t care how long it took going upstream against the river’s current.
I could tell we were approaching Nehardea by the increased boat traffic. Located on a bluff at the confluence of the Euphrates River and the Nehar Malka, the city was surrounded on three sides by water. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the city’s towering ramparts came into view. After Nehardea had been destroyed by the Tadmorians, King Shapur had rebuilt it, concentrating on the docks that continuously lined the riverbank in addition to the thick walls and heavy gates that protected the city.
The bustling port was so crowded that I was surprised when we tied up and disembarked. “Are you buying more merchandise here?” I asked Tachlifa when Samuel disappeared into the city.
“No. Samuel’s gone to hire the camels and their drivers.”
“Camels? I thought we’d be traveling by boat.”
He shook his head. “It was a hard winter in the north, and the Euphrates is still so rain-swollen that going upriver will be both difficult and treacherous.”
“We’re going to cross the desert now, when the east wind is still a danger?” I’d heard stories of people buried in spring sandstorms.