Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  The next morning Zeira and I broke our fast together, and I learned that he’d been forced to divorce his wife when she refused to move to Eretz Israel with him. He told me that he so wanted to study with Elazar ben Pedat that he made one hundred fasts so he might find Elazar alive when he arrived here. In Tiberias I saw Zeira at synagogue services, and to my surprise Rabbi Assi invited me to his home for the three Shabbat meals. Of course Zeira was in attendance there too.

  Once back in Sepphoris, I was somewhat relieved to hear nothing from him. But when we returned to Tiberias the following Shabbat, Zeira was waiting for me at Eliezer’s. The rest of the holy day was a repeat of the previous week, with Zeira dogging my footsteps except when I insisted on taking an afternoon nap. His hunchback made him so short that all I could see of him on these walks was a mop of oily hair crawling with lice.

  On our return to Sepphoris, I felt obliged to tell Yochani something about him having studied with Father, but she earned my eternal gratitude by not pressing me for more. For I’d come to the ghastly conclusion that Rav Zeira wanted to marry me.

  During the week I decided that rather than spend the next Shabbat in Tiberias, I’d suggest that Claudia, Julia, and our children enjoy an excursion to the beach at Caesarea. I was confident that Susanna would invite me and Yehudit to stay longer, which she did. Thus I was in Caesarea when the most extraordinary events occurred.

  We were just finishing our midday meal on Fifth Day when there was a commotion at the door. The next moment a man dressed in a workman’s tunic ran up to Rabbi Avahu. “You don’t have much time,” he said between breaths. “But if you don’t act, Diocletian will punish Judah Nesiah severely.”

  Rabbi Avahu poured the man some wine. “What do you mean?”

  “When Diocletian went to the bathhouse this morning, I pretended to be one of the attendants. That’s how I overheard the plot.” He stopped to drink the entire cup. “Someone has filled the emperor’s ears with tales of the patriarch Judah Nesiah insulting Diocletian the swineherd.”

  Rabbi Avahu groaned. “Not that canard again.”

  “Diocletian, already in a black mood over Galerius’s defeat, demanded that Judah Nesiah explain himself in Caesarea exactly at the close of Shabbat.” The man paused for emphasis. “And to punish the patriarch, the message won’t arrive in Tiberias until tomorrow, just before sunset.”

  Susanna and I looked at each other in dismay. Since it was impossible to get from Tiberias to Caesarea in less than half a day, the patriarch was trapped. He would either have to violate Shabbat by traveling on the Day of Rest or disobey the emperor’s direct order by arriving late.

  Rabbi Avahu jumped up from the table and clapped his hands, causing a roomful of servants to surround him. Quickly he shouted orders to several of the men. “You—bring me a quill, ink, and a fresh papyrus. You—find the swiftest horse and rider to take a message to Tiberias. You and you—hire the fastest chariot racers for tomorrow, a team in Tiberias and another in Sepphoris, plus carts to meet them.”

  He tossed a handful of coins to the informant, and then sat down to write. He had just sealed the letter when we heard the clatter of horses’ hooves in the courtyard. Moments later the message was off, and he sat down to think.

  Susanna asked the question that was in my mind too. “Assuming that your scheme works and Judah Nesiah arrives here in secret tomorrow before Shabbat begins, what will he say to Diocletian that won’t jeopardize your bathhouse spy?”

  He grimaced in annoyance. “That is what I am trying to figure out.”

  Susanna’s mention of a bathhouse spy made me think of the mazikim that haunted bathhouses and tormented the customers. “I have an idea,” I said tentatively.

  They both looked at me expectantly. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Judah Nesiah can say that he was bathing in Tiberias in preparation for Shabbat when a bathhouse mazik appeared and told him what Diocletian was planning,” I said. “Then the mazik further offered to magically transport him to Caesarea when Shabbat ended. Judah Nesiah can explain that the mazik owed him a favor for some reason or that the mazik merely wanted to vex Diocletian.”

  They looked at each other and joined in relieved laughter. When they finally calmed, Rabbi Avahu turned to me and said, “If your plan works, name your reward and you shall have it.”

  “All I ask is that I can continue to enjoy your excellent hospitality.” Despite their great wealth, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

  “Consider our house your own,” Susanna replied.

  The next afternoon a nondescript peddler’s cart unloaded its cargo outside Rabbi Avahu’s kitchen, one of many similar carts that arrived in preparation for Shabbat. Two men, heavily cloaked despite the summer heat, disappeared inside and remained in their room until Shabbat was over. At that time Judah Nesiah, Rabbi Avahu, and their entourage entered the carriages that would take them to the emperor.

  Susanna and I waited, and waited. Too nervous to sleep until the men returned, we paced the large hall and drank more than a few cups of wine.

  “Hisdadukh, you don’t have to answer if you’d rather not,” she said abruptly. “But my husband and I were wondering if you’d like our help in arranging for you to find a new husband.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  My stomach, already in knots, tightened further. Rav Zeira had certainly been attentive to me, and he’d recently gotten divorced. Had he approached Rabbi Avahu about acquiring me as his next wife? Was it Salaman, deciding he’d remained unmarried long enough, who’d contacted the scholar? Considering how often Salaman told me I was beautiful, he had to be attracted to me. Or was there another man entirely?

  Before I could answer Susanna, we heard the unmistakable sound of carriages approaching the gate. We jumped up and rushed to the door, through which Rabbi Avahu and Judah Nesiah walked moments later, laughing and in high spirits.

  Rabbi Avahu threw his arm around Susanna. “Diocletian was completely taken in.”

  Judah Nesiah slapped his thigh. “He will never plot against anyone in a bathhouse again.”

  Despite the men’s distinguished positions, I couldn’t remain silent. “You’re sure he had no idea that you really arrived yesterday?”

  “I doubt he cared after what we had to say,” Rabbi Avahu said. “First, Judah was perfectly obsequious in telling him that though he disdained Diocletian the swineherd, he had only the utmost esteem and honor for Diocletian the emperor.

  “Wait, tell us the whole story.” Susanna waved at the slaves to bring more wine.

  Rabbi Avahu and Judah Nesiah made themselves comfortable as slaves washed their hands and feet. “Diocletian recently received information that directed his outrage against the Nazarenes rather than us,” the patriarch explained. “Apparently the Roman gods were angry that so many soldiers had rejected them to follow the Nazarenes. That’s why the war went badly.”

  “Galerius intends to rid the army, or at least the officers, of all such heretics,” Rabbi Avahu said soberly. “Any who do not publicly sacrifice to the Roman gods and deny this new faith will be executed.”

  “Only the Nazarenes?” I asked. “Israel rejects their gods.”

  “But Israel doesn’t tell the Romans not to worship them, nor do we incite them to worship ours,” Susanna replied. “The Nazarenes, however, do exactly this, plus they meet in secret and practice who knows what kind of clandestine rites.”

  “Rome didn’t care while the Nazarenes attracted women and slaves,” Judah continued. “But when men of high position became heretics and rejected the imperial cult, it was treason.”

  “Emperors have been trying to rid Rome of these heretics for a hundred years,” Rabbi Avahu said. “You’d think it would be easy to isolate them in the cities, but no sooner had one emperor begun persecuting them, than he died and his successor became lax.”

  Judah Nesiah sat up straight. “But tonight we gave Diocletian the key to destroying the Nazarenes once and for all, one that does not in
volve bloody persecutions that only make martyrs of the victims.”

  Susanna and I leaned forward eagerly.

  Rabbi Avahu spoke. “We pointed out that if Rome allowed the Jews to rebuild the Temple, it would deprive the Nazarenes of their very legitimacy. They claim to be the new Israel, preaching that the destruction of our Temple is proof that Elohim has broken His covenant with us and abandoned us.

  “But if the Temple were rebuilt, it would show that their beliefs are false and their leaders are liars,” Judah continued.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. The Temple had been gone for over two hundred years, but Jews still prayed daily for its return. Was it possible that it could be rebuilt in my lifetime?

  Judah Nesiah had more to say. “The Nazarenes also insist that the death of their false messiah, whose sacrifice atones for the heretics’ sins, is Elohim’s replacement for the sacrifices and atonement our priests achieved in the Holy Temple.”

  This time Rabbi Avahu interrupted: “If Jews begin sacrificing again, then their Messiah’s death has no meaning.”

  “Their followers would quickly desert them,” Susanna said, her eyes bright with excitement.

  Her zeal was contagious, and I thrilled at the thought of bringing such incredible news back to Bavel.

  Then Rabbi Avahu’s eyes met mine. “We also suggested that the Babylonian Jews would be more likely to support Rome against Persia in appreciation for a rebuilt Temple.”

  My enthusiasm flagged. “I don’t know. Probably some would, but I suppose it might depend on the exilarch.” I knew my tone was lukewarm, but since so many Jews in Bavel didn’t follow the Rabbis, what I thought was irrelevant.

  Susanna’s fervor was undimmed. “Maybe the discouraged Nazarenes wouldn’t resume pagan practices after worshipping One God,” she said. “If there were a Temple in Jerusalem, they might become God-fearers or even Jews.”

  Judah Nesiah sighed with pleasure at the idea. “Let’s not ask Heaven for too much. It would be enough if the Temple were rebuilt and the Nazarenes repudiated.”

  Thankfully, the presence of the patriarch effectively prevented me from discussing with Susanna and Rabbi Avahu the difficulties that stood in the way of my finding a new husband. But after spending three weeks in Tiberias celebrating Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot with both Yochani and Rav Zeira, during which he took Yehudit and me to see the birds at the Hula wetlands several times, Yochani finally brought up the subject I’d been so desperate to avoid. She ensured our privacy by speaking on the road between Tiberias and Sepphoris, where she rode her donkey next to mine. The rainy season had not yet begun, and the hills around us were parched and dun colored. Every step our animals took sent up small clouds of dust.

  “I’ve noticed that Rav Zeira seems quite taken with your company,” she said nonchalantly.

  I could have kicked my donkey to hurry and take me away, but that would have only delayed the inevitable. “He probably thinks I enjoy the sound of his voice as much as he does,” I said. “Either that or he’s pleased to think he’s found the rare woman who prefers listening to speaking.”

  Yochani sighed. “I surmise that this admiration is not mutual.”

  I shook my head. “Even if it were, I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t marry any rabbi, nor one of their students, and not even a man who follows their teachings.”

  She looked at me in confusion. “Why in Heaven not? You’re the daughter of a rabbi—who else would you marry?”

  If I told her it was complicated she would insist on hearing the details anyway, so I succinctly explained the situation Abba bar Joseph had placed me in. “And thus, because there’s doubt if our betrothal is truly invalid, a rabbi would say I can’t marry until I receive a get from him.”

  “That’s why you’re so eager to return to Bavel.”

  I nodded. “Though I could marry someone who doesn’t accept rabbinic authority to decide Jewish Law,” I said slowly. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I winced at the enormity of what I was suggesting. How could I possibly live with someone whose beliefs were so different from my own?

  She turned to look at me. “Someone like Salaman?”

  I blushed at her accuracy. “He’s attractive and we get along well together, plus he’d probably think my get problem is nonsense.” I hesitated as I realized the consequences of what I’d just said. “That would mean cutting myself off from my family, who would see my actions as repudiating everything they value.”

  “At a minimum they would be sorely disappointed,” Yochani admitted.

  “And at worst they might consider children I had by Salaman, or by any man with his beliefs, to be mamzerim, unfit to marry into the rabbinic community.” My eyes filled with tears of frustration at my dilemma, and I reviled Abba for putting me in it. He was probably smirking at my predicament this very moment.

  “I’m so sorry, Hisdadukh. Indeed I wish I could help.” She was silent for a while before adding, “Maybe you should consult Rabbi Avahu. He’s very clever and might be able to find a solution for you.”

  “Not if it means marrying Rav Zeira,” I declared. “Besides, right now nobody in the West but you knows about my quandary, and I’d prefer not to publicize it.”

  A wistful expression crossed Yochani’s face. “Maybe this Abba bar Joseph will do the right thing and bring you the get this winter. If Rav Zeira could make it here from Bavel, so could another man.”

  I gulped. “I hope not. Zeira barely escaped with his life, and the last thing I need is for Abba to disappear in the desert, leaving me in an even more doubtful position.”

  Yochani was quiet for a while and then surprised me with another question. “One thing I don’t understand. Why would your father, who certainly knows Jewish Law, agree to betroth you to Abba when you’re an adult who must consent to her betrothal herself, either before witnesses or by accepting a gift?”

  If I’d been reluctant to explain things before, I was even more embarrassed to tell her about my childhood pronouncement.

  Yochani was so astonished that she nearly fell off her donkey. “You told your father that you wanted to marry them both?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “I did,” I replied, my face flaming. “But don’t ask me why I said it, because I don’t remember.”

  Yochani looked at me shrewdly. “And Abba said he’d be the last one?”

  I nodded, and we rode the rest of the way to Sepphoris occupied with our own thoughts. But the question kept nagging at me—whatever had made me say I wanted to marry both Rami and Abba?

  By the time we reached Sepphoris, I had resolved to talk to Salaman, ascertain his intentions, and let him know in no uncertain terms that our friendship could never lead to marriage. But my determination faltered the closer I got to his workshop. And when I saw how his face lit up after not seeing me for a month, I couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject.

  “Dada, I’m so glad to see you.” His face clouded slightly. “But I have news that may disappoint you.”

  I felt my throat tighten in trepidation as various scenarios filled my mind. He’d changed his mind about using my visage in the mosaic, the city councilor had canceled the project, or, worse, he was now betrothed and his future wife objected to him spending so much time with me.

  “What happened?” I squeaked out.

  “I’ve decided to redo your portrait with much smaller tesserae than usual.” He looked at me anxiously. “This way I can create more subtle variations between your earrings, the trim on your garment, the sheen on your lips, the flush on your cheeks…” He trailed off, lost in thought.

  My heart leapt inside, and I knew I’d never find the courage to discuss marriage with him. “Since the war is likely to drag on for at least a year, I won’t be leaving Sepphoris for some time.” I tried to keep the exultation out of my voice.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind the extra posing you’ll need to do?” he asked. “It won’t be as bad as starting from the beginning. I alrea
dy have all the colors I need.”

  “I wouldn’t abandon you when you’re so close to finishing your work.” I gave him a small smile. “Plus I would probably die of curiosity if I didn’t get to see how it finally looks after all this time posing for you.”

  “You’re welcome at my workshop anytime,” he replied with obvious relief. “You can come watch the installation too. We’ll be starting next week.”

  I knew I’d be too caught up in the excitement of Salaman finally installing the mosaic to stay away. At least I told myself that was the reason.

  Not that I spent more time at his workshop than previously. In truth, I seemed to go there less often, as the number of women wanting my amulets had grown to the point where I spent nearly every auspicious day inscribing them. In addition to the usual clients from the Babylonian synagogue who replaced their amulets at the New Year, I acquired quite a few God-fearers. The power I’d felt in Bavel to adjure angels and demons returned even stronger, and I found it exhilarating.

  Julia had given birth to another girl while I was away, and, judging from the women who said that she or Claudia had recommended me, the two of them had been singing my praises to every Roman in Sepphoris. Yet something else had happened during that month, because on First Day, instead of attending synagogue, Claudia, and sometimes Julia as well, went to church and worshipped with the Nazarenes.

  It was not our place to invite Julia and Claudia to celebrate Hanukah with us at Judah Nesiah’s palace, but by then they had other friends at synagogue to share the holiday with. Their husbands’ legions were called up, and opinion varied as to whether Galerius would surprise the Persians by attacking during the rainy season or wait until spring, the usual start of fighting season, when the roads were more passable. Everyone agreed, however, that the uncertainty itself was a brilliant tactic, since it forced King Narseh to prepare for both possibilities.

  It was First Day just after the Tekufat Tevet, the shortest day of the year, when Julia came to synagogue without Claudia and asked if she could discuss something with me privately.