Judah's Wife: A Novel of the Maccabees

by Angela Hunt

  She glanced over her shoulder at me, and after a moment she sighed. “You probably think I have no manners,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast. “But I want to thank you for defending me and my friend Miriam the other day. HaShem surely sent you to keep us safe.”

  I nearly laughed aloud, but something in her demeanor warned that she might turn skittish if I proved too loud or unruly.

  “HaShem has never sent me to do anything,” I told her, hoping my smile might calm her fears. “And I did not act alone. But I will tell my brothers you are grateful.”

  She nodded. “Please do.”

  “Shall I . . . may I tell them your name?”

  She hesitated, her eyes darting left and right, and then she responded in a whisper so low I nearly missed it: “Leah.”

  By the time I reached our home, the house had filled with friends and relatives who had come to congratulate Father on his retirement.

  I stepped into the front chamber, nodded at some friends who turned to look at me, and slid into an out-of-the-way spot at the back of the room.

  “My time of Temple service,” Father was saying, his gaze roving over his guests, “has ended. Though many Levites of retirement age remain in Jerusalem to lend a hand in training younger men, I can no longer bear to witness the terrible things that have befallen the City of David and our holy Temple. So I have made a decision—after Sukkot, I am moving my family to Modein, where I was born and my brother still lives. The town is small, but its people still follow the old ways. There my sons can raise their families according to the Law of Moses and we can worship Adonai in peace. We can no longer do those things in Jerusalem.”

  I glanced around, trying to read the faces of my brothers. Johanan, who stood next to Neta, his wife, wore a thoughtful look, but did not seem distressed by the thought of leaving the only city we had ever known. Simon was busy trying to keep his little son quiet, so he had probably only half heard Father’s announcement. Eleazar was whispering in his wife’s ear—probably assuring her that she could sell her weaving as easily in a small town as in Jerusalem. Jonathan, my youngest brother, stared at Father as if bewildered, and I shared his astonishment.

  What would we do in such a small village? We had work in the city—Johanan and Simon were scribes, Eleazar sold his wife’s weaving in the marketplace, and I served as a messenger, carrying letters from the Temple to various city officials. How would we survive as farmers and shepherds?

  I shifted my attention to the center of the room, where Father stood in a rectangle of light from the window, a tuft of shining silver hair on his forehead. Without warning, he smiled directly at me. “Judah, I know what you are thinking—how are you and Jonathan to find wives in a small town like Modein? Jonathan has time to wait for his bride, but you are overdue. So I will find you a wife before we leave. On the appointed day, you will leave this house to fetch your bride, then you will escort her to your new home in Modein.”

  As our guests cheered and clapped, I swallowed the boulder that had suddenly materialized in my throat. “How can you find me a wife . . . so quickly?”

  The corner of Father’s lined mouth twisted upward. “How did Abraham find a wife for Isaac? How did Isaac find a wife for Jacob? They trusted HaShem to guide them.”

  “But they had help,” Simon pointed out, grinning. “Abraham sent his servant, and Jacob himself went to find Rachel.”

  “Judah has us.” Eleazar punched my shoulder. “We will help Father find your bride.”

  “Father doesn’t need help,” I argued. “And I don’t need a woman.”

  Father held up a rebuking finger. “Look at your brothers and see how happy they are with their wives. ‘Two are better than one,’ wrote Solomon, ‘in that their cooperative efforts yield this advantage: if one of them falls, the other will help his partner up—woe to him who is alone when he falls and has no one to help him up. Again, if two people sleep together, they keep each other warm; but how can one person be warm by himself?’”

  I lowered my head as my married brothers chuckled and drew closer to their women. How could I expect them to understand my reluctance? Johanan had inherited my mother’s attractive features. Half the young women in Jerusalem had been in love with him before he married Neta. Simon was not known for his looks, but for his wisdom, and others paid handsomely for his advice. His wife, Morit, had never lacked for anything.

  Eleazar had bravely declared himself in love with Ona before Father arranged a betrothal, and Ona, who possessed an equal boldness, declared herself willing to marry Eleazar before witnesses. Their betrothal ceremony served as a confirmation of what everyone already knew—Eleazar and Ona had been created for each other.

  That left eighteen-year-old Jonathan, and me . . . the one who hoped to remain unmarried forever.

  The next afternoon I asked Mother if she needed anything from the marketplace. “I have to deliver a scroll near the square,” I said. “So do you need oil? Grain?”

  “You are a thoughtful son.” She patted my cheek. “I suppose you could pick up some figs. And some eggs. Enough to bake the Shabbat loaves.”

  I nodded and set out, taking long strides through streets crowded with people and edged with rickety structures that looked as though they might collapse in a good rain. I dodged a wagon loaded with salt from the Dead Sea and cut in front of a tradesman pushing a handcart filled with jars of olive oil. I turned onto a street bordered with beautiful buildings and delivered the scroll to a high-ranking Torah teacher’s house.

  Finally I entered the shaded marketplace, ignoring invitations from other merchants as I searched for the cheesemaker’s booth. There—beside the baker’s display. I hid behind a fluttering scarf at a weaver’s shop until I made certain the girl was alone. She stood at the counter, her eyes distant, her hands folded. What thoughts filled that lovely head? What did she do when she wasn’t selling cheese?

  I looked around to be sure no customers were heading her way, then decided to wait before approaching her. After I had bought the eggs and figs for Mother, I would visit the booth again.

  I took my time searching for perfect figs, examining several fruits before finally selecting a dozen. The merchant rolled his eyes as he dropped my choices into a burlap bag. “A man of your stature should not be wasting his time at the market,” he said. “Get your wife to do the shopping so you can do something useful and beat up some Greeks, eh?”

  I found the egg merchant and had him place a dozen eggs in a straw-lined box. I thanked him as I paid, then stood motionless amid the bustle of the marketplace. I had no more errands to run and no other tasks to perform. Eleazar would laugh if he could see me standing helpless in the marketplace.

  How could any son of Mattathias be paralyzed by the thought of speaking to a young woman? I had not been at all nervous when I defended her before those idiot Hellenes, but I had considered her a mere child, and children did not have the power to intimidate me. But women . . .

  I could no longer put off my task.

  I cleared my throat, steeled my unstable courage, and walked back to the cheesemaker’s booth, my steps firm with determination. The young woman looked up at my approach, and her eyes widened when I stopped in front of her. “Have you any cheese?”

  Her eyes softened as she smiled. “Of course.”

  I wanted to slap myself, but her smile held no trace of scorn. Perhaps she was not like the others.

  “I—I am Judah Maccabaeus,” I told her, forcing words over my unwilling tongue. “And you are Leah.”

  “True.”

  “I will have a cheese, please.”

  She picked up a small package and offered it to me. “Will this suit?”

  I did not bother to examine it. “It will.”

  I placed ten coins on the counter and blinked when she took only three. She slipped them into a purse at her belt, then pushed the cheese over the wooden surface. Our fingers touched when I picked up my purchase, and I felt my face grow hot. “Thank you.”

/>   “Good-bye, Judah Maccabaeus.” She smiled again, as if she had been amused by my awkwardness. Why wouldn’t she be? Women had been laughing at my clumsiness ever since I learned to walk.

  “Good-bye.” I took a deep, quivering breath to calm the leaping pulse beneath my chest and walked away without another word.

  Chapter Five

  Leah

  I did not know what to think of Judah Maccabaeus. He fought in the street like a wild lion, but today he had reminded me of a large, ungainly puppy, the sort who might roll over and let you rub his belly if you approached him in the right way.

  Father would approve of Judah Maccabaeus, but not on account of the man’s virtues. Father would approve because Judah’s father was a Levite, and the priests still wielded a measure of authority in Jerusalem. The Temple of Adonai no longer demanded respect or reverence, yet the priests had power because they had been born into the line of Aaron. Gentiles could defile the Temple, steal her treasures, and bully their way into the courtyards once reserved for Jews, but they could not change the bloodline of an authentic Levite.

  Yes, Father would approve of Judah, the priest’s son. Mother would approve of the ungainly puppy.

  As for me? I saw no reason to approve or disapprove of him. I had encountered him only three times, and unless our fathers met and hammered out a betrothal agreement, I might never see him again.

  And yet . . . my heart had danced when I looked up and saw him standing at my booth—not once, but twice. His smile seemed to wrap me in an invisible warm blanket, and those brown eyes—all the brothers had nice eyes, but Judah’s seemed to hold shifting stars that shone with the most lovely light.

  What was it about him that made my knees tremble? Did all girls go through this sort of thing, or had I eaten something that addled my senses?

  “He is nothing to me.” I said the words aloud, not caring if a passerby heard me talking to myself. Hearing the words spoken outside my head made them real, gave them context. In the world outside my market booth, Judah Maccabaeus and I had nothing to do with each other, nor were we likely to have anything to do with each other.

  But he had come here . . . twice. Father had met him. And Father knew of Judah’s ties to an old priestly family.

  I dropped to my knees behind the half wall, hiding myself from prying eyes. “Holy HaShem,” I prayed, pressing my hands together, “if it be your will, find a way for Judah Maccabaeus to be my husband. Please, Adonai. I do not ask for many things, but this I ask with every breath, hope, and desire that is in my heart. Amein.”

  I stood and braced myself on the counter as I considered my prayer. I had probably wasted my breath, just as I wasted my entreaties when as a child I begged Father not to hit Mother. When Father didn’t listen, I had begged HaShem to stop my father’s angry fists, but my prayers had been no more effective than wishing on the moon.

  But in case HaShem was listening, and if I had done something to please Him, perhaps this time He would hear and answer His neglected daughter’s prayer.

  Chapter Six

  Judah

  I strolled through the marketplace in a contented daze, Mother’s basket under my arm and my purchases safe in the basket. Leah. Such a lovely name, and the same name as Jacob’s wife, mother to six tribes of Israel. Yes, the girl seemed reserved, but her quiet composure would be a nice change from Simon’s giggly Morit and Johanan’s hard-to-please Neta. And she must know how to make cheese. Eleazar frequently boasted of Ona’s skill with a loom; I would brag about Leah’s cheeses. Goat cheese, cow cheese, camel cheese . . . surely she could make them all.

  Walking with my head down, eyes intent on the uneven street, I nearly stepped on the sandaled feet that abruptly blocked my path. I adjusted by moving to the right, and the feet did the same.

  I gritted my teeth, looked up, and recognized the arrogant Hellene from the gym, the young man who had accosted Leah and her friend. He stood before me now, a smirk on his unrepentant face.

  Forgetting everything else, I dropped Mother’s basket and lurched forward, grasping the brazen youth’s cloak and holding it firmly against his neck with my right hand. While he stammered and gasped, my left hand twisted the fabric until his face went the color of a rose.

  “You are a fool to deliberately cross my path again.” I spat the words as he attempted to slap my arm away. “I ought to give you a beating, but I am in a good mood and do not want to spoil it. But if you ever stop a modest woman again—if you are the cause of even a maidenly flinch, I will hear of it and I will find you. I will then teach you a proper lesson about how the daughters of Isra’el are to be treated. Do you understand?”

  His eyes glared into mine until I twisted the fabric again.

  When he finally nodded, I released him and stepped back to watch him collapse at my feet. “Go,” I said, my chest filling with sudden elation. “Go your way and do not come near this marketplace again.”

  Holding his throat, the belligerent youth picked himself up and hurried off. Not until he had advanced a considerable distance did he look back to see if I was still watching. With folded arms I stood and dared him to come toward me, but he did not. He continued on his way, and I did not think I would meet him in Jerusalem again.

  I glanced around, half expecting to discover that someone had stolen my cheese, figs, and eggs, but the elderly woman who had picked up Mother’s basket returned it to me with a broad smile. “May HaShem bless you,” the woman said, a dimple winking in her lined cheek. “And may your wife be as fruitful as Rachel and Leah.”

  The mere mention of the latter name made my heart constrict. I thanked her with a smile and set out for home, my steps long and my heart light.

  That night, I told Father that if I had to marry, I would marry the cheesemaker’s daughter. Two weeks later, Father called me out to the courtyard where he and the Torah teacher had been working on the shitre erusin, the marriage contract we would take to my prospective bride’s home. Father had already spoken to Yoel, the cheesemaker. If he accepted the agreement, my betrothal to Leah would be settled, and we would be married within a few days.

  The teacher squinted up at me. “It is a brief betrothal period.”

  “Yes. But we are soon moving to Modein.”

  The teacher turned to Father. “What will your son give as the mohar?”

  Father looked at me. “Have you considered the gift you will give your bride?”

  I chewed my lower lip. Before Leah, I had never envisioned myself as a married man, so how could I have arranged for a mohar? But lately I could think of nothing but Leah. As I continually replayed the two occasions in which I had spoke with her, I kept seeing her father’s cruel visage and hearing his rough voice. Would it not be an act of mercy to remove her from his house?

  “Would she value a piece of Ona’s weaving?” I looked from Father to the teacher. “I have no sisters, so I have no idea what women like.”

  The teacher made a guttural sound in his throat.

  “Why don’t you consider jewelry,” Father suggested. “A fine necklace or pearl earrings. A silver bracelet.”

  I shrugged.

  “The purpose of the mohar and the shitre erusin,” the teacher said, uttering words he had undoubtedly recited many times before, “is to assure the bride’s father that his daughter will not be left impoverished. If something happens to you, she will inherit your property. What property do you possess, Judah?”

  A slow fire burned my cheeks. At twenty-four, I had not yet built a house or established a business. Father joked that I was a slow starter, but Mother called me her rock and had never made me feel ashamed for not following in the footsteps of my older brothers. After all, she often reminded me, Isaac was forty when he sought and married Rebekah.

  “I will build a home in Modein,” I said, “and if something happens to me, she will inherit it.”

  “She will always have a place at our family table,” Father added. “She will be part of the Hasmon family, and we will nev
er send her away, nor any of her children.”

  The teacher scrawled words on a parchment. “It is customary,” he said after a moment, “that you promise not to make your bride leave the land of Isra’el, or the city of Jerusalem, or exchange a good house for a bad one without her consent. Yet you and your family are planning to leave Jerusalem, so she should be warned of this. She may not want to leave her family behind.”

  I frowned, alarmed by the reminder. What if Leah didn’t want to go to Modein? After all, she had known nothing but her parents and her home, and though her father seemed an unloving sort, perhaps she loved him nonetheless. In offering this bridal contract, I would be asking her to leave her family, her synagogue, and the only city she had ever known.

  I looked at Father. “What if . . . ?”

  He arched his brow.

  “What if she does not agree? Can I live in Modein without a wife?”

  Father looked at the teacher, then shifted his gaze to me. “My son, it is a man’s responsibility to marry and raise children in the knowledge of Adonai. HaShem commanded us to be fruitful and multiply. Marriage is your duty.”

  I bit my lower lip. “But before Leah, I never wanted to marry.”

  “Then you should pray that she accepts your offer.” Father blew out a breath. “Son, Modein is a small village. There you will have few choices, but Jerusalem is filled with worthy women. Why would you limit yourself later when now you could have almost any woman you wanted?”

  I tented my hands and looked at the floor, not certain I could find the words to explain my reluctance. Father might think me arrogant; the teacher might think me odd.

  “My brothers talked about the sort of woman they wanted long before they married,” I said. “But though I feel certain HaShem has a purpose for my life, I have never felt that marriage was part of that purpose. Until Leah. If she refuses . . .” I spread my hands and shrugged.