Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  She looked down at our luggage and placed a hand on her ample bosom. “You just arrived here now?”

  When Rava and I nodded, she clapped her hands and a bevy of slaves appeared. “This couple will be our guests for Shabbat. Take their things upstairs, and then bring water and towels for washing, and some refreshments.”

  “Rava and I aren’t a couple,” I interjected, amused that she thought we were. “That is, we will occupy separate rooms.”

  Rava flushed and looked down at the ground.

  Em gazed back and forth between us, as if she were trying to see into our hearts. “I expect there’s quite a story behind all this.”

  Suddenly it came to me. “You were at my wedding.”

  She smiled. “And at your brother Tachlifa’s wedding.”

  It was her smile that made me certain. While Em hadn’t been quite so plump or wrinkled back then, I was sure she had been one of the women visiting with Mother when Rahel announced I was going to be her apprentice.

  I spent the next two days in Em’s excellent company, while Leuton washed all the desert grime from my clothes. Em filled me with descriptions of her various plants and herbs, along with their medicinal uses. I tried desperately to remember everything she said, but I was too distracted by thoughts of seeing Chama again. And even if I managed to memorize all the plants in her garden, there were countless bottles and jars in her workshop, plus Rava said she knew spells too. Clearly study with Em could take years—assuming she was willing to teach me.

  Rava disappeared with Abaye, and I assumed they were with their teacher, Rav Yosef. Abaye’s wife was visiting her parents for Shabbat, along with their young daughter, and just the thought of the little girl filled my eyes with tears as memories of Yehudit assailed me. It was interesting that Rava had let people think he was moving to the West rather than say anything about bringing me the get. That was fine with me.

  The sun was rising when Rava and I boarded the boat that would take us to Sura, hopefully that same day. Abaye and Em came with us to the dock, where she hugged me tightly.

  “I’m so excited to know that I’ll be teaching Haviva’s daughter,” she gushed.

  “I hope you understand that I want to spend some time with my family first,” I said cautiously.

  “Of course, child. I won’t expect you until after Sukkot.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind me learning all your secrets?” I was actually more worried that she’d deem me a rival if I knew too much. I’d already paid a high price for that mistake.

  She looked into my eyes and the sympathy there told me that she was well aware of my fear. “You will find me a mentor, not your competitor.”

  Her voice was so confident that I believed her.

  Optimistic about my future, I watched her waddle up the road. No sooner had she and Abaye disappeared from view, than Rava took off the pack he was wearing.

  “I have something for you,” he said, looking both nervous and pleased with himself.

  I was expecting my get, but it was a slender codex. “Sepher ha-Razim,” I read the title aloud.

  “I had to wait until I had access to my copy here before I could make one for you.”

  So that was what he’d been doing when I couldn’t find him on Sixth Day. I opened to the first page and noted that it was written in Hebrew. There the author of this Book of the Mysteries attested that the contents within were revealed to Noah by the angel Raziel, who stands on the seventh step of the Second Heaven. After Noah, the book passed through generations of deserving ones until it came into King Solomon’s possession.

  Rava grinned as I promptly sat down and began to thumb through it. The pages that followed described the hosts of the heavens, the angelic commanders, and, most importantly, their abilities. There could be no doubt that the author’s intent was to instruct the reader in how to control these. I could almost feel the power emanating from its pages into my hands.

  “Once you master this text,” Rava advised me, “you will be able to cast spells to help those seeking to be healed, to know the future, to sway the hearts of others, to have enemies overtaken by misfortune, to have dreams interpreted, and for many other purposes.”

  “Rava, where did you get this?” The book was riveting.

  “From a scholar who decided I was worthy to study it,” he replied, and I understood that this was a matter of utmost secrecy.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for such knowledge,” I said as I read further. “It looks dangerous.”

  “Good. You’ve taken the proper first step in learning it.”

  “Who is going to teach me this?” I looked up at him. “You?”

  He shook his head hastily. “I am merely a novice myself. But eventually, when you are ready, a teacher will present himself.” He stopped to amend his words. “Or more likely herself. By then you’ll be familiar with the incantations.”

  “Could we go over it together, today, just so I can be sure I understand what all the words mean?” I asked eagerly. “Please, it will be many hours until we reach Sura.”

  He sat down beside me. “That was exactly my intention.”

  I had expected my family to be pleased to see me, but I was astounded by the celebration that ensued when my arrival interrupted their evening meal. People began pouring into the courtyard, their voices high and excited.

  Father took one look at me and with tears in his eyes intoned, “Blessed are You, Adonai…Who revives the dead.” My brothers also recited the blessing, made when seeing a loved one after an absence of a year.

  I tried to repeat the blessing back to them, but I was overcome with tears. Tears of joy at seeing my family again after missing them so much, and tears of sorrow that I had returned without Yehudit.

  Mother threw her arms around me and wept on my shoulder. “Tachlifa told us that when he saw you, you were dying.” She hugged me closer and whispered, “I am so sorry about your daughter.”

  My sisters-in-law, Father’s students, the household slaves, and any child who could walk raced to the courtyard to see what the commotion was about. I was assaulted by hugs and kisses, as everyone had to touch me to prove me real, but I reveled in all the affection directed at me. Rava stood awkwardly to the side, undoubtedly overwhelmed by this flood of ecstatic people.

  When the din finally faded and everyone began returning to the traklin, I turned to Father. “Could you ask two students to remain with us?”

  Then I beckoned to Rava. “I’d like my get now, while we have proper witnesses.”

  Rava gulped in surprise and then produced the document, but Father wanted to see it first.

  “It looks in order,” Father said. “Witnessed by Rabbi Avahu of Caesarea himself, very impressive.”

  He handed the get back to Rava, who, as Jewish Law prescribed, placed it directly into my hand. Gazing at the small piece of parchment that freed me, relief flooded through me. But instead of triumph, there was sadness that Rava and I were no longer tied to each other.

  “You two must be hungry.” Mother broke the silence.

  “I need to use the privy,” Rava said. “And wash my hands.”

  “As do I.” I followed him to the outer courtyard.

  When we were finished, he turned to me, his eyes full of pain. “Hisdadukh, can I speak with you, in private?”

  Our meal would have to wait.

  We walked to the garden, all the way to the far wall. The roses were faded, but a faint scent lingered as we stopped at the exact spot where we’d had our acrimonious discussion four years earlier. This time he was sad, not angry.

  “I thought things were different between us now,” he said, his eyes beseeching me. “Especially after what happened in our tent that Shabbat.”

  “True, compared to the last time we spoke in this place, almost everything has changed between us,” I said sadly. “Only one thing is the same as before, unfortunately the most important thing.” I forced my voice to remain firm. “You are still married to Choran
, and I will not be a second wife, not even yours.”

  He sighed deeply. “And I still do not have the money to pay her ketuba.”

  “But in little over a year, she will have been barren for ten years. You will have to divorce her then.”

  He shrugged. “Who knows what can happen in a year?”

  I gasped and stared at him in horror. Rava had admitted that he’d given the kashafa the Evil Eye that killed her, and confessed that he might have been responsible for Rami’s death too. He was studying the Sepher ha-Razim and who knows what other secret texts. Now that he knew I cared for him, did he intend that Choran should die before he was forced to divorce her?

  I immediately berated myself for having such evil thoughts, but it was too late.

  Rava had seen my revulsion, and abruptly he was ablaze with fury. “You think I would do such an evil thing? You can’t deny it—it’s written all over your face.” He was so angry he was shaking. “After all we’ve been through, you not only don’t trust me, you believe me capable of murder. I wanted us to marry, and I thought you did too.”

  Before I could assure him that I did, he stalked off, leaving me standing there in shock and tears. By the time I’d composed myself sufficiently to go looking for him, he was gone. I was leaning limply against the courtyard gate, gazing futilely down the road, when Mother put her arm around me.

  “I am greatly pleased to hear that you are going to study with Em,” she said. “And since Rava will also be in Pumbedita, I am sure you will find a way to make peace with him.”

  I thought back to when his tzitzit had barely prevented us from sinning, how the desire had burned in his eyes. If we had lain together then, I would have become his wife. I also thought of Rabbis Yohanan and Reish Lakish, who had loved each other so dearly yet allowed a trivial argument to escalate until they both died brokenhearted. My eyes narrowed with determination. I would not let that happen to Rava and me.

  Over fifteen years ago, when I’d replied that I wanted to marry both him and Rami, he’d said that he wanted to be my last husband. I intended to see that he got what he wanted.

  “He won’t be rid of me as easily as today, not when we’ll be lodging together at Em’s,” I said confidently. Resolving to stop running away from my problems was not enough; I also needed to run toward what I sought. Fortunately, both were in Pumbedita.

  Mother smiled and took my arm. “Come inside and greet someone who is very eager to see you again.”

  I let her lead me to the doorway, where a vaguely familiar male figure stood silhouetted by the light. He took a hesitant step toward me and I could see his face, lit by a smile more dazzling than Rami’s.

  “Chama,” I cried, running toward him with open arms.

  “Mother.” The word was sweet as honey, as he let me embrace him. “Mother, I’m so glad you didn’t die.”

  AFTERWORD

  Distinguishing fact from fiction was easy in Rashi’s Daughters, but the matter is more complicated in Rav Hisda’s Daughter. True, there are a few historical figures like King Bahram and Emperor Diocletian whose exploits are well documented, and some obviously invented characters such as townspeople and slaves. However, the majority of people who populate this novel are known to us from the Talmud alone.

  The Talmud is clearly not a historical text; some might go so far as to call it historical fiction. Rabbis of different generations appear to argue with one another, some of their statements are contradictory or highly exaggerated, and there are few descriptions of actual events to anchor their discussions in time. Because the Talmud took centuries to redact, it is difficult to know whether it is describing Babylonia in the third century or seventh. According to some modern scholars, we must be suspicious of depictions of rabbis advising kings or teaching thousands of students, since the redactors had an agenda to make it appear as though rabbis always had the influence they only acquired later.

  Despite all this, and though there is no other evidence for their existence, I chose to write about Talmudic figures, and Rav Hisda’s daughter in particular. That she was both daughter and wife of illustrious rabbis would have been reason enough, but the passage where she answered “both of them” when asked which of her father’s students she wanted to marry made telling her story irresistible. Still, writing a novel set in this milieu meant I had to suspend disbelief and mostly accept the Sages’ world as presented. That didn’t mean I could ignore empirical evidence, however. So many months were spent researching what modern scholars have learned about Jewish life in third-century Babylonia and Roman Palestina.

  In addition, I pored through the thirty-seven Talmud tractates to unearth as many mentions as I could of Rav Hisda’s daughter, her husband Rami bar Chama, and their family members. The lives of Rav Hisda and his rabbinic colleagues were detailed in Jewish encyclopedias and in several “biographies” of the Sages, from which I amassed some basic “facts” as well as where in the Talmud that data could be found. Of course these men are mentioned hundreds of times, far too many to find every instance, but I tried to study those passages that described their lives rather than merely quote their legal opinions.

  No, the Talmud doesn’t have an index, and no, I didn’t search all 2,711 double-sided pages—it just seemed that way.

  Soon I had the “facts” I needed about Rav Hisda’s daughter. Upon learning that many Persian women, including Jews, were named “xxx-dukh” after their fathers, I concluded that her name actually was Hisdadukh, “Hisda’s Daughter” in Persian. She had two husbands in her lifetime, both brilliant scholars—which was the reason I chose to make her my heroine. Her father came from a priestly family, and was both a judge and head of a Torah school in the city of Sura. Her mother, whose name was unknown, was the daughter of Rav Hanan (who lived with them) and granddaughter of Rav. Hisdadukh’s parents were wealthy beer brewers, both of whom lived to be well past eighty. She had seven brothers named in the Talmud, and an unnamed sister who married her first husband’s brother.

  Making my way through the Talmud, I came across some information that would be difficult to call factual. Hisdadukh knew ways to protect her second husband from demons, while he was so versed in these esoteric arts that he created a “man” of out nothing. Her father, Rav Hisda, cast magic spells, as did other rabbis and the many sorceresses in their community, including her mother-in-law.

  For despite the Torah mandate that a kashafa is not permitted to live, the Talmudic sages permitted all sorts of magic if its purpose was healing, protection from demons, or merely furthering a rabbi’s education. One sage even consults the “head sorceress” for advice, showing that the sorceresses—everyone agreed that sorcery was the province of women—had a leadership hierarchy not unlike the Rabbis. Indeed, I found pages and pages in the Talmud dealing with occult topics such as magic spells, demons, amulets, the Evil Eye, and something called a sorcery bowl.

  Amazingly, this was where the Talmud and empirical evidence coincided. For in recent years, archaeologists have literally unearthed thousands of Jewish amulets and incantation bowls produced in Late Antiquity, the former predominantly in Israel and the latter in Babylonia. In addition, a large number of documents from the Cairo Geniza contain either magic spells or instructions on how to cast them. The incantation texts I used in this novel were all lifted from such actual sources. In fact, all magical and supernatural scenes in my novel are either based on these or taken directly from the Talmud itself.

  The more I read about magic in the ancient Jewish world, the more convinced I became that Hisdadukh herself must have been a charasheta, an enchantress—which meant I had to show how she trained to become one. Here I was able to give free reign to my imagination as I created names for Hisdadukh’s mother, sister, and seven sisters-in-law, as well as areas of expertise for them. I made one of them, Rahel, the charasheta who becomes Hisdadukh’s mentor. I invented Kimchit and Ezra, amulet scribes in Babylonia and Eretz Israel.

  On the subject of Israel, while the Talmud rec
ords that Rav Hisda escorted Rav Huna’s body to be buried there, there is no indication that his daughter or anyone else accompanied him, as unlikely as that might be considering his advanced age at the time. Thus Hisdadukh’s experiences in the West were a product of my imagination, although the rabbis who lived there were exactly as the Talmud describes them. Reish Lakish did have a daughter, whom I took the liberty of naming after his beloved brother-in-law, Yohanan. The mosaics of Sepphoris are justifiably famous, including the woman known as “Mona Lisa of the Galilee,” for which I made Hisdadukh the model.

  So while her rebound romance with Salaman is a fantasy on my part, Hisdadukh’s relationships with Rami bar Chama and Abba bar Joseph are straight from the Talmud, especially the intense rivalry between the two men as displayed in Rav Hisda’s classroom. The scenes I portrayed are only a few of the vehement arguments between them.

  Slavery in Jewish history is a touchy subject, but there is no question that prosperous Jews owned slaves in both the Roman and the Persian Empires, as did their gentile neighbors. Scholars estimate that slaves made up 25 percent of the Roman Empire’s population in Late Antiquity. Modern versions of Jewish texts tend to translate the Hebrew word for slave as “servant,” but this is misguided, as servants who work for wages are a more modern innovation. While the Talmud shows Rav Hisda to be a decent slave owner in comparison to other rabbis, the text never condemns the practice. As distasteful as modern readers may find it, I took pains to make my characters’ views appropriate for their time.

  Determining the status of free women was more problematic, as women’s situations varied from poor wives who were little more than their husbands’ slaves to privileged noblewomen like Yalta who enjoyed lives of luxury and independence. Hisdadukh, an educated woman from a wealthy family, clearly would not have suffered the deprivations of most females in her community. Still, there is no getting around the misogynist sages whose words appear throughout rabbinic texts.