Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Joheved understood at once. “It’s all right, Papa. We’ll just review our old lessons until you can teach us again.”

  After she said the bedtime Shema, Joheved lay awake a while longer. What would she do if she had to sacrifice her most precious possession for the love of God? She wasn’t sure what her most precious possession was, but she did know that she had sacrificed her mother’s approval in order to study Talmud.

  All that week Joheved tried to savor the last of her lessons with Papa. At Shabbat services, she felt a special pride when the Torah was read and she remembered what she had learned about the Shema and loving God. But pride in her knowledge was mingled with shame about her appearance. Until Isaac haParnas had encouraged, almost ordered, Papa to buy the family new clothes, Joheved hadn’t thought much about how hers compared with other girls’. And on the Sabbath, Jewish women wore their finest clothing.

  Joheved tried to concentrate on her prayers, but found herself surreptitiously surveying the occupants of the women’s gallery. The other girls had colored bliauts, and like usual, they were chattering together in the back. One of them glanced up, noticed Joheved staring and glared back. Then she whispered something behind her hand, and several of the girls giggled.

  Joheved knew what the local girls said about her and Miriam, that the two of them dirtied their hands working outdoors among the vines, that they were no better than peasants. And they dressed like them too. She and Miriam, with their brown bliauts and unadorned chemises, looked like common sparrows in a room full of peacocks. It didn’t help to remind herself that she studied Talmud, while the other girls didn’t even know Hebrew. Especially since the rest of her family didn’t dress very well either.

  Grandmama Leah wore a violet silk bliaut, but it had seen better days. Mama had been wearing her dark red wool one for as long as Joheved could remember, but at least it had elaborate trimmings. Yet even Mama’s best embroidery could not prevent Papa’s clothes from looking old and faded. Still, every year Mama carefully took them apart, cleaned them, and sewed them back together with the inside out to make them last longer.

  Thus he managed to make do with the same weekday outfits he had worn as a student, while his Shabbat bliaut was the one he had been married in. Faced with a choice between new clothes and more parchment, Papa bought the parchment. Thank heaven he’d accepted Isaac haParnas’s belief that foreign merchants might judge Troyes’ Jewish community based on how their family dressed, no matter how unfair that judgment might be.

  The Champagne region’s six fairs were the most important trading centers in France, some said in Europe, with the Hot Fair of Troyes the most celebrated of all. Throughout the province, brush was cleared back from the roads, which were then patrolled by the count’s men. Troyes’ streets were clean, or at least cleaner, tavern and hostel keepers laid in supplies for a flood of guests, and an army of officials made sure that all went smoothly.

  From the time when Joheved and Miriam first noticed synagogue attendance swelling with unfamiliar men, they could hardly wait to attend the Hot Fair. Years earlier, when she had plenty of wine to sell, they had gone with Grandmama Leah. But then she began to get lost among the stalls and made one excuse after another to avoid the fairgrounds.

  Mama never liked the fair; it was crowded and noisy and attracted all sorts of unsavory people. She wouldn’t hear of Joheved and Miriam going there alone, saying, “Seeing all those fancy goods will make you greedy and covetous, and knowing that we can’t afford to buy them will only make you unhappy.”

  But now, finally, the opening day of the cloth market, they were not only permitted to attend the fair, but would be escorted there by no less a personage than the Parnas of Troyes and his daughter-in-law. And not just to look, but to buy! Even Joheved woke up early, and at breakfast, Rivka had to remind her and Miriam several times not to bolt down their food. After synagogue, they forced themselves to be patient as Johanna discussed the arrangements with Salomon and Isaac.

  Joheved and Miriam tried not to rush their patroness, but she seemed to sense their eagerness and hurried along, chattering to them about the different kinds of fabrics they would find. When they entered the cloth hall, which was actually a large tent, the girls stopped, overwhelmed by the visual feast. The tables were covered with a kaleidoscope of colored bolts, ranging from uncolored and little finished, through green and brown, to the brightest shades of yellow and scarlet. All around was the pleasant hubbub of buying and selling. Mama had been right about the noise level, but her daughters found it exciting, not annoying.

  Johanna smiled at their appreciation. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Joheved found her voice first. “Oui, I never imagined there could be so many different colors.”

  Miriam was quiet a bit longer, and then realized that Johanna was waiting for her reply. “It’s like an indoor rainbow. I could just stand here looking and be happy.”

  Joheved’s earlier impatience was replaced with hesitation. “There are so many tables; we can’t possibly see them all. How do we know where to start?”

  Johanna smiled to herself. It would be fun to teach the girls how to tell the difference between grades of wool, to recognize fine fabric when they felt it. For the first time in her life, she regretted not having any daughters.

  “We won’t shop at every stall, my dear,” she said. “There are certain merchants whom I trust, and we will deal with them. But you can stop and look whenever you like.”

  Although wool predominated, there were other materials for sale, and they stopped briefly at stalls selling cotton and linen. They lingered longer at the silk merchants, fingering the slippery smoothness and admiring the bright colors. Many of the silk dealers were Jewish, and most of them knew Johanna. Each insisted that he had the most beautiful bolts of silk cloth, exactly what she was looking for.

  “Shouldn’t we start looking at the woolens?” Miriam asked, turning back the way they’d come. “What if Papa gets here and we haven’t found what we like yet?”

  “Don’t worry.” Johanna spoke with an authority the girls had never heard their mother use. “If we haven’t found just the right thing when your Papa arrives, we’ll send him off to the vineyard and tell him to come back later.”

  They soon reached the wool dealers’ area. There were tables for each of the different towns, and Johanna explained how an expert could recognize at a glance the cloths of Douai, Arras, Bruges or Ypres. The Flemish towns carefully guarded their reputations, so only their finest cloth was exported to the Champagne fairs.

  As they wandered among the stalls, the girls stole glances at the exotic foreigners. Many spoke in unknown languages, but to Joheved’s surprise, she recognized some Hebrew conversations. Several times, she or Miriam found what they thought was good cloth, but Johanna, while praising their discernment, insisted that they continue their search. It was just as well that something had delayed the men’s arrival. Services had been over for some time.

  They separated to cover more ground, and Joheved was drawn to a vigorous bargaining session going on a few stalls away. The two men involved were a study in contrast. The seller, standing behind his table of merchandise, was freckled with auburn hair. He was fashionably dressed in a red cˆote with yellow hose. His outfit might be considered striking, except that the buyer’s was outright flamboyant, a robe of brilliant green silk, tied with a blue sash. This man had swarthy skin and a short black beard that tapered to a point. His hair was almost completely hidden under a turban of the same material as his robe. Buyer and seller furiously gestured with their hands, heads nodding or shaking, oblivious to those around them. To Joheved, they looked like a sparrow and a raven, involved in some bizarre mating dance.

  She stopped short when she realized that, despite the dark man’s strange accent, they were speaking Hebrew. Their argument was fierce, but they weren’t angry. It was not about the quality of the fabric, only about cost, and somehow both seemed to understand that an agreement would ultimately be
reached. Most potential buyers eagerly found fault with the merchandise; the cloth had been stretched, material left out all night in the damp to increase its weight, the wool dyed by the piece rather than by its thread. But this fabric was acknowledged to be exceptionally fine; the dispute was over its price.

  Joheved was intrigued—what was this wonderful stuff? She stood quietly nearby, her attention focused on the two men. Soon Miriam noticed her sister standing there transfixed and joined her. When the merchants saw that they had an audience, they increased their theatrics, unable to resist showing off to the little dears who apparently understood everything they said.

  “You won’t find anything finer at this entire fair, and you know it.” Sparrow, the seller, shook his finger at Raven. “These sheep are very rare; they give less wool per animal than most, but require just as much pasture. My supplier is entitled to a fair profit.” Actually, Sparrow had already paid the supplier an excellent price. It was his own profit that mattered.

  Raven knew this. He had come from the land of the Saracens, carrying rare spices and jewels, on a journey short of miraculous. Pirates had not attacked his ship, highwaymen had not assaulted him on land, and in Provence, he had joined a caravan of Jews who seemed to know somebody in charge at each of the toll places on their route. If his return was anything like that, he stood to make a small fortune. Even if his return trip had the usual amount of expenses, he would still arrive home with a tidy sum.

  “I have come a great distance, and I must return a great distance.” Raven waved his arm expansively. “I cannot pay you so much that it was not worth my coming here. I have a large family who depend on my support.” He thought fondly of his three wives and several daughters who would be thrilled with this beautiful cloth. He had already decided to keep some of it.

  Sparrow understood that the strange merchant had a large amount invested in the trip. “All the more reason for you to buy my best woolens. The more expensive the goods you bring back, the more profit you can make.”

  Back and forth they went, Sparrow extolling his wool, and Raven insisting that he could not afford it. The seller lowered his price, the buyer countered, and the debate continued, to the delight of Joheved and Miriam.

  Sparrow was saying something about how special these particular sheep were, when Raven interrupted. “I don’t care if your precious sheep shit roses; the price is far too high.”

  Sparrow was quick with his retort. “Only some of the sheep shit roses; the others shit fleurs-de-lys.”

  Miriam and Joheved looked at each other and quickly covered their mouths with their hands to hide their smiles, but it was too late. A few giggles escaped, then they dissolved in laughter. Their mirth was contagious. First Raven grinned, then Sparrow chuckled, and soon all four of them were convulsed with laughter. Joheved, bent over and holding her stomach with glee, noticed a familiar bliaut and stood up to see Johanna looking down at them. How long had she been there?

  Joheved was too embarrassed to speak, but Miriam piped up, “Johanna, you came just in time. I think we’ve found the finest wool at the fair.”

  “If Nissim’s sheep are as excellent as he says,” she replied with a grin, looking the seller in the eye, “then you are probably right.”

  “Mistress Johanna, I am overjoyed to see you again.” The Sparrow, whose name was now Nissim, bowed low. “And who are these charming young mademoiselles?” He knew she didn’t have any daughters, and these girls were dressed too poorly to be members of her family anyway. But they obviously weren’t servants.

  “The older one is Joheved, and the younger is Miriam. They are daughters of Rav Salomon, the winemaker, Isaac’s new business partner. In fact, I expect both men to join us anytime now.”

  Both merchants made small bows in the girls’ direction. Raven coughed delicately, and Nissim remembered his manners. “Pardon me, sir, allow me to introduce Mistress Johanna, wife of Joseph ben Isaac haParnas of Troyes.”

  “Shalom aleichem (peace be to you). I am Hiyya ibn Ezra of Cairo.” The Egyptian Jew spoke in halting, heavily accented French. “I am honored to meet you.”

  “Peace be to you as well, Hiyya ibn Ezra. You are a long way from Egypt,” she said, switching easily to Hebrew. “I hope our fair will be worth your lengthy journey.” She turned to Nissim. “I myself happen to be in the market for some wool cloth, so I’d very much like to see what your fabulous sheep have produced.”

  Giving Hiyya a helpless look, Nissim retrieved a covered bolt from under the table and carefully unwrapped it. Miriam couldn’t repress an awed exclamation, and the three females leaned forward for a closer examination. The wool was dyed a deep burgundy, yet the color was clear and not the least bit muddy. Johanna caressed the fine cloth and held up a length to the light. She put her face in the material and smelled it.

  “This is fine fabric indeed. I’ll take enough to make five bliauts, one man’s, two women’s and two girls’, and perhaps some extra for cloaks as well.” She turned to the two merchants and asked them, “What was your last asking price and your last offer?”

  When she heard their answers, she turned to Nissim and announced that she would pay him exactly halfway between the two amounts. She then turned to Hiyya, “I expect him to give you a better deal, since you’re buying much more than I am. But I’ll act as your middleman for only half the usual fee, which will make it less painful for him.”

  If Hiyya was surprised at her boldness, his expression didn’t show it. He was a stranger here and this woman was obviously someone important. Hadn’t Nissim introduced her as related to the Parnas? And the girls as the rabbi’s daughters?

  As if to confirm this, Isaac and Salomon strode up and joined them.

  Hiyya ibn Ezra greeted Isaac with the respectful politeness expected towards a community leader. Salomon, however, he met with joy. “Rav Salomon, I am so glad to meet you at last.” Hiyya pumped his hand vigorously. “Three things induced me to make this journey. That in Troyes I would be able to buy excellent steel swords and fine wool, as well as study Talmud with their talmid chacham. I have not been disappointed in two of the three, and I expect to find the swords soon. Ever since my yeshiva days, I have never understood that difficult section in Tractate Sanhedrin. This week you explained it, and I am in your debt.”

  “You are too kind,” Salomon said, coloring brightly. “It is a complex passage, and I only explained it so well because you and that fellow from Provence questioned me so relentlessly.”

  Joheved had never seen her father look more pleased or more embarrassed. Isaac winked at her and whispered, “I told you so.”

  “Papa, Papa, we’ve found the most wonderful cloth. It’s so soft and smooth, almost like silk.” Miriam nearly knocked him over with her enthusiastic embrace. “And guess what color it is? The same color as wine!”

  Salomon kept his arm around his daughter while Nissim proudly presented the material for inspection. Salomon groaned inwardly. The finest wool at the Hot Fair, and he was obligated to buy it, even if took him years to pay Isaac back. Nissim, expert trader that he was, read Salomon’s emotions like an open book, and tried to figure out how he could diplomatically undercharge the scholar while still maintaining his previous price for the Egyptian.

  Isaac haParnas bent over and addressed Joheved, “Speaking of wine, the reason we were delayed is that we were visiting the Abbey of Montier-la-Celle. They have an excellent vineyard; even your father was impressed. The monk in charge has a green thumb when it comes to raising grapes, but admits he has no such talent for winemaking.” Isaac paused dramatically. “Montier-la-Celle’s abbot has agreed to trade us his grapes to make into kosher wine, in exchange for an equal amount of regular wine, which I can easily obtain for him.”

  Nissim saw his opportunity. “I will take payment for this wine-colored cloth with a cask of your kosher wine, payable at the Troyes Cold Fair.” He would even buy additional casks at that price, higher than anyone had paid for Leah’s recent vintages.

&nb
sp; Hiyya quickly offered to pay 5 percent more for Salomon’s wine. To ensure that Jewish scholars had adequate time to study, the community was obligated to see that every avenue of profit was made available to them. This was definitely the time to buy, before the other merchants who studied with Salomon became aware of his profession.

  “Gentlemen, please restrain yourselves.” Salomon gulped in alarm. “The grapes are still on the vine. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to produce any wine at all this year, let alone wine of the quality your offer requires.”

  Hiyya ibn Ezra held up his hand to stop Salomon’s objections. “I am a merchant who is used to taking risks. The ship carrying my spices may sink in a storm. My caravan may be robbed, my agents captured and held for ransom. If I am willing to expose myself to these dangers and many more, do you think I worry about the possibility that your vineyard will fail, with only a few short weeks left until harvest?”

  six

  Troyes and Ramerupt, France

  Fall 4829 (1069 C.E.)

  From that day on, Joheved and Miriam tried to do as many of Mama’s chores as possible so she could devote her attention to making the family’s new Shabbat bliauts. The days were long, and between doing extra chores, working in the vineyard and not studying Talmud, Joheved was so frustrated and exhausted that she didn’t know whether to scream or cry. One night, after a difficult day when Mama had to redo nearly all of her embroidery, she couldn’t wait for bedtime.

  Making an effort to distribute the blanket evenly, Rivka tucked her daughters in and kissed them goodnight. She had no sooner gotten into her own bed, than the evening’s quiet was broken by Joheved and Miriam quarrelling.