by Maggie Anton
“Didn’t I hear you say that you would cross the desert on your own if I didn’t take you?” he replied teasingly. “Don’t tell me that you want to go back, Dada.”
“Not at all. I just thought that winter was the best season to cross the desert, and summer the worst.”
“In a dry year, that is true. In a wet year, however, the middle of Sivan is an excellent time,” he said. “The desert oases won’t have dried out yet, the east wind is weakening so the likelihood of sandstorms is lessened, and the many hours of daylight mean we can travel farther each day than in the short days of winter.” He grinned and added, “And we will get our goods to the West well before our competitors who take the river to the northern Silk Road.”
“Northern Silk Road?” I asked. “I thought there was only one Silk Road, which starts somewhere in China and goes through Ctesiphon and Machoza.” That was what Tazi and Pazi told me.
“The Silk Road splits in two at the Euphrates,” Tachlifa explained. “The northern road through Rakka is what we took to get home from Antioch, but the southern road cuts across the desert and goes through Damascus to Tyre. That’s the route we’ll be traveling to get you to Sepphoris.”
I gazed at my brother in admiration. He’d traveled to so many places I’d never seen and knew about so many things I didn’t. “Will we be going by ourselves, like I did with father, or will we be joining a large caravan?”
“The latter I hope. It depends how many others Samuel finds in Nehardea and at the desert’s edge,” he said. “Most merchants prefer a large caravan, since only a few more Saracens are required to guard two hundred camels than one hundred.”
Samuel had no trouble finding merchants who, like us, preferred to risk crossing the desert via the southern Silk Road rather than be delayed on the Euphrates on their way north. The huge camels scared Yehudit at first, and I could see our companions scowling at her cries and hear them muttering that this was no place for women and babies. But she soon calmed, as I knew she would, and by the time we reached the desert she was more fascinated by them than frightened.
The crush of men and camels seemed even larger than at Rakka three months ago. Between the heat, the animal stench, and the din of men shouting over the camels’ grunting, I couldn’t wait to get away. At least here we weren’t forced to wait for returning merchants, so I tried to be patient as the Saracen caravan protectors grouped us according to destination. Finally we were allowed to eat our evening meal, set up our tents, and go to sleep. Yet it seemed as though I had no sooner put my head down than they were yelling at everyone to be ready when the sun rose.
The air shimmered with heat as the day warmed, and between the long column of camels and the dust they kicked up, I could see neither the first one in line nor the last. Our guides led us from one oasis to another, so that some days we stopped well before sunset and others we rode long into the moonlit night. I learned how to doze on camelback without falling off, and since my camel dutifully followed the one in front of it, I often kept my eyes closed to avoid the blinding glare reflecting off the sand.
Thus it took me a little while to fully awaken when, in the middle of the morning, our caravan unexpectedly stopped. I thought nothing of it at first, since the camels tended to pause to relieve themselves, thus temporarily halting those behind them. It was only when I heard a Saracen furiously yelling commands that I opened my eyes.
Tachlifa and Samuel were on the ground, tugging to get things down from our camels. “We need to make camp.” My brother pointed behind us, to the east. “A sandstorm is coming.”
I followed his line of sight and snatched Yehudit tight to my breast in horror. In the distance stood a gigantic wall of sand. It was so wide that I could not see its edges and so tall that it would soon obscure the sun. Within moments, I felt the first stirrings of the dreaded east wind.
I tried to control my panic. “What should I do?”
“Just wait until the tent is ready,” he answered loudly, already needing to raise his voice over the growing noise of the wind. “Then you and the baby stay inside until the storm is over. Your slaves can help bring in food and water.”
The scene soon became one of controlled chaos as men rushed to set up the tents and pound in their pegs. Our caravan protectors could only do so much, and every man became responsible to provide shelter for his people, camels, and merchandise. My heart pounding, I kept my eyes focused on the approaching mountain of sand, trying to gauge its speed, as if knowing this would somehow help us. If only Father were here with his priestly magic to quell the storm.
It seemed like forever until Tachlifa announced, “The tent is secure. Hand down the baby, then follow me.”
Though captivated by the way the wind whipped sand into small twisters, I did as he said. Amazingly he had found a large rock and tied one corner of the tent to it. Samuel was tethering the camels to the rock while one of his slaves was hammering pegs into the dirt nearby for additional anchors.
“What will happen to the camels?” I asked. What was the point of hiding in our tents only to find our camels gone, along with all they carried, when we emerged?
“They’ll be fine as long as they stay here,” Tachlifa said. “They’ve survived plenty of sandstorms before.”
Our tent’s entrance faced west. This would best protect us from blowing sand, but it also meant that we could not see when the storm would arrive.
“May I stay outside for a little while?” Cowering inside in ignorance until the storm suddenly hit would be more frightening than watching as it approached.
He hesitated before replying, “Just stay close by.”
By the time my slaves finished unloading our provisions, Yehudit was crying fearfully. I handed her to Nurse and stepped outside. The wind lashed at my veil and almost tore it off, but I held on and wrapped it tight around my hair and face so only my eyes were exposed. Now I could see that the wall of sand was not stationary but racing toward us. The rising sun was still above it, but the rolling sand would soon blot out the light. The wailing of the wind increased to a roar, and fright overwhelmed my curiosity. Hands covering my ears, I fled into the tent.
It seemed an eternity until Tachlifa and Samuel were inside with us, tying the tent flaps closed.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. And wait.
The tent shook and shimmied, and slowly the din increased as the first grains of sand pelted our shelter’s walls. Leuton began to cry and Nurse attempted to comfort her, but the rest of us remained silent. Holding Yehudit tight against my breasts, I grasped my traveler’s amulet, closed my eyes, and prayed that our refuge would hold.
When the brunt of the storm hit, my brother’s arms encircled us, and I joined him in whispering psalms.
TWENTY-FIVE
A person can be paralyzed by fear for only a limited time before the body must move. Eventually Samuel stood up and told the slaves to prepare the midday meal. I was proud that Leuton was too disciplined to let fright prevent her from doing her duty. Soon we were nervously nibbling on cheese, dates, pickled vegetables, and leftover bread as the very earth and air assaulted us.
From my experience with spring windstorms in Kafri and Sura, I knew they seldom lasted more than a few days. Thus we were unlikely to run out of provisions. But in those civilized towns, surrounded for parasangs by cultivated fields, sandstorms merely coated everything in dust. Here in the desert, judging by the size of that rolling mountain of sand, we might well be buried in a few days. Only Yehudit, fascinated by all these new items in our tent, was unconcerned with what was happening outside. Now that she could crawl, Nurse and I had to constantly keep her from poking into the wrong basket. Thank Heaven she continued to nurse as usual, forcing me to relax for each feeding.
We had no choice but to empty our bladders and bowels inside, and I was thankful that someone had thought to bring in some covered vessels for the purpose. I made it a point to look away when the men relieved themselves, and Leuton held up a cloth to shie
ld me from view when I needed to.
Sometime during the night, which I was scarcely able to discern with the flying sand darkening the sky, the constant noise outside lulled me to sleep. Yehudit tugging at my bosom woke me in what I assumed was morning because it was light enough that I could make out her features, but we both went back to sleep after she suckled. I had no idea what the hour was when I woke again, but food was prepared for me.
So that listless, seemingly endless day passed. Between the heat and lack of fresh air, the tent was stifling. Tachlifa and I tried to study Mishna, but it was impossible to concentrate. None of us felt like making conversation, and it was too dark for me to weave, so we just sat there lost in our own thoughts, our sweat soon drenching what little clothing we continued to wear for modesty’s sake. Not surprisingly, we’d slept poorly that night, and when darkness fell again, we quickly made for our beds.
I startled awake in the darkness with the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. Yehudit was sleeping soundly at my side, so that wasn’t it. It took me a few moments to realize that the world was deathly quiet.
“Tachlifa,” I called out, softly at first but then louder. “Wake up, Tachlifa. I think the storm is over.” Either that or we were buried so deeply that I couldn’t hear it.
“I’ll wake Samuel and the slaves,” my brother responded. “We can try to see what it’s like outside.”
Soon we were all awake and dressed.
“Here!” Samuel shouted to us. “Stand up and try to jiggle the sides of the tent. Maybe we can shake the sand off.”
We did as directed and were rewarded with a fuzzy image of the nearly full moon shining through the translucent canvas. We began jostling the walls with a new vigor, until most of the tent’s exterior seemed clean. Samuel’s and Tachlifa’s personal slaves looked at one another, shrugged, and headed for the entrance to open the tent flaps.
Caution was more powerful than curiosity, so I stayed at the back with Yehudit in case sand came pouring in.
When no sand engulfed us, Samuel stuck his head out and exhaled with relief. “The storm’s over. We’re safe.” Moments later he stepped out into the night.
“Go see to the camels,” Tachlifa told the slaves huddled at the doorway. Then he turned to me. “Stay here until we know that the danger is past.”
Without being told, Leuton and Nurse began brushing the sand away from the entry, making a narrow path. That task done, they immediately emptied our makeshift chamber pots outside.
“What do you see?” I asked Nurse when she came in.
“Sand everywhere, but not more than a cubit or two high.”
Now I could hear other men’s voices and people stumbling around in the dark. I peeked out and saw containers being carried away from the tents in the moonlight. The moon was low on the horizon; it would be dawn soon.
“Pack everything,” I urged our slaves. “It looks like the caravan is preparing to leave, so we must be ready when Tachlifa and Samuel want to take down the tent.”
We were on the move before the sun rose and continued traveling well into the night. The silence was almost palpable after the sandstorm’s constant roar. It was a mystery to me how the caravan guides knew where to go now that the trade route was buried, but they did, for we reached an oasis on Sixth Day in the late afternoon. There was plenty of time to set up our tents and prepare for Shabbat.
After the sandstorm’s terror, I could no longer doze while riding as I had before. I kept looking behind to reassure myself that there was nothing threatening on the horizon, but the sky remained a cloudless blue above the flat, unmoving sand. Only when I could see hills beginning to rise in the West, signifying that we would be leaving the desert behind, did I relax my vigilance.
The scrubland of Syria was more brown than green this time, but the cooler air was a relief instead of bone chilling. The merchants were so excited to go swimming upon reaching the Barada River, whose terminus was the Damascus oasis, that many of them stripped off their clothes with such abandon that they either didn’t know or didn’t care that a woman was among them. This brought back sweet memories of my sisters-in-law and I watching the men in our household crushing dates in their loincloths, and I felt a stab of homesickness.
Jews considered Eretz Israel their home and Bavel a place of exile, but it felt the opposite for me. I was exiled from my son, and it was Abba bar Joseph’s fault.
As we followed the river toward Damascus, I began to worry about my reception in Sepphoris. Would Yochani truly welcome me or had her open-ended invitation been offered out of politeness? What if she already had other guests? What if she were sick or, worse, had died? Had I leapt from the soup pot into the hearth?
Tachlifa and Samuel separated when we reached Damascus. Samuel and the camels carrying the merchandise remained with the main caravan to continue to the port city of Tyre. Tachlifa and I headed southwest, accompanied by our slaves. I dared not share my anxieties with my brother, since he believed that I had a definite invitation rather than one made under the assumption that I was unlikely to accept it.
Our camels traveled faster now without their heavy loads, and in less than a week the city gates of Sepphoris stood open before us. My throat was tight with trepidation as we made our way to the leatherworkers’ street where Yochani lived. It was late in the afternoon, and the city’s roads were crowded with donkeys pulling the empty carts of farmers who had sold their produce and were now heading home to their villages. Judging from the curious stares we received, camels were not the usual mode of transportation here, especially when ridden by women.
By the time Tachlifa and I dismounted and tied them to a post outside Yochani’s gate, quite a few of her neighbors were standing outside watching. The leatherworker’s wife came to her door and, to my great relief, recognized me.
“You’re Yochani’s friend from Bavel,” she called out, a broad smile on her face. “The one who makes amulets from our excess leather.”
“Is she home yet?” I tried to sound as if I were expected. “We might be a little early.”
“She went to the theater for the final show before the Three Weeks of Mourning, but she should be home soon.” The woman headed back inside. “I’ll open the gates for you.”
Tachlifa led the camels in and began to unload my belongings. The small apartment I’d used before was unoccupied, but I wouldn’t tempt fate and let him put my things inside.
Suddenly Yochani rushed in, almost out of breath. “The neighbors said that camels had gone into my courtyard.”
I held my breath as she looked up and saw me, watching for even the slightest hint of annoyance or displeasure. But there was only surprise and then, thank Heaven, a wide smile split her wrinkled cheeks.
“Hisdadukh, how wonderful to see you and Yehudit again,” she gushed. “What brings you back to Sepphoris?”
Before I could say anything, Tachlifa replied, “Dada is running away from home.”
Sure that I was red as a beet, I glared at my brother.
Yochani took in the scene and said, “There is surely a story behind your visit, one that’s probably best told inside.” She opened her door and ushered us in, a mother hen herding her chicks. “You must be hungry and thirsty. What can I get you?”
“Dada might need something,” Tachlifa said. “But I’ll wait until the evening meal.”
I finally found my voice. “Is it too late for the bathhouse? We’ve traveled straight here from Nehardea.”
“No, some of them stay open quite late in the summer.” Yochani motioned to her slaves. “They will take you to the nearest one, and then you can tell me everything as we dine.” She shook her head in amazement. “You must be brave, or in a big hurry, to cross the desert in the summer.”
“I’d like to pray at the afternoon service,” my brother said. “How do I get to a synagogue?”
“We have eighteen synagogues in Sepphoris,” Yochani said proudly. “After you bathe, my slave can direct you to the Babyloni
an congregation. You’ll feel comfortable there.”
I didn’t want to get into an argument with Tachlifa in front of Yochani’s slaves, but I was furious at how casually he’d told her that I’d run away from home. It was true, of course, but why did that have to be the first thing to come out of his mouth?
As I relaxed in the bathhouse, my irritation at my brother washed away along with the desert’s grime. After all, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tachlifa, whom I hoped was appreciating his bath as much as I was mine. I decided to forgo a massage and accompany him to the Babylonian synagogue. During my previous visit, I’d always gone with Yochani to wherever she worshipped, and I was curious about a congregation of my compatriots.
After our escape from that horrific sandstorm I certainly needed to pray. As Yochani’s tenant had reminded us, in a few days it would be the Seventeenth of Tammuz, the beginning of the Three Weeks of Mourning for the two times our enemies had destroyed the Holy Temple. On Tisha B’Av Jews in Bavel would cry over how we’d been exiled from Eretz Israel, our true homeland. This would be my second opportunity to outwardly grieve for losing the Temple, while I inwardly mourned losing Rami and Chama.
This year I’d also be grieving over the way Abba bar Joseph had exiled me from my home and family.
The Babylonian synagogue’s exterior looked no different from others in Sepphoris. It was built in the Roman style, with stone columns and wide paved walkways surrounding it. However, its floor was laid with colorful mosaic tiles forming geometric and floral patterns in the Persian style rather than the Bible scenes that other synagogues preferred. I was pleased to see that there was approximately the same number of women and men.
There was no Torah reading that day, so the service was short, but even so, it was clear that the manner of prayer was indeed the same as in Bavel. I sighed with relief to know that, however strange it might be to live in Sepphoris, I could feel comfortable here, praying in a community that spoke Aramaic the same way I did. Tachlifa and I were the recipients of sidelong glances from many of the congregants, and I guessed that they didn’t have new arrivals very often.