Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  “Meir, you’re our youngest son, and we’re very proud of how well you’re doing at the yeshiva.” Samuel cleared his throat before continuing. “It has always been our dream that one of our sons should become a scholar. The Holy One has blessed us and given us sufficient affluence that you may remain in Mayence to study as long as you like.”

  So far this sounded like the speech Samuel always gave. What was going on? Then his father surprised him with a question about Salomon of Troyes.

  “You mentioned wanting to visit a friend of yours in Troyes, a chacham you studied with at the yeshiva. Tell us about him.”

  “Well, Salomon ben Isaac was one of the finest scholars I’ve ever known, and we used to travel together to and from Mayence.” Meir spoke carefully, unsure what his father wanted to know. “He was very kind and would help me when I had trouble understanding something, even though he was older and I was just a beginner. He could explain the most complicated passages.”

  His parents seemed pleased with that, and Meir grew more voluble. “It was a terrible loss when he had to leave the yeshiva two years ago to support his family. I think his mother was ill. He had a wife and some children back in Troyes, who depended on him.” Meir walked over and embraced his parents. “I’m glad that we’re not poor. I mean I appreciate that I can study for as long as I want without it being a hardship for you.”

  Silence descended on the room again. Samuel cleared his throat a few more times, but Marona spoke first. “Now that Hannah is married and settled, we only have you to worry about. With you being such a good student, we think it would be splendid if we had grandsons who were scholars too.” She smiled and waited for this to sink in. “So the best thing would be for you to marry a chacham’s daughter.”

  As the implication of his parents’ words dawned on Meir, a blush crept up his face. How wonderful if his parents could arrange a match between him and one of Salomon’s daughters. But did Salomon have any daughters? Had he ever met them?

  Samuel seemed to find Meir’s reaction amusing. “I must say that I’m impressed with your devotion to your old colleague. Your mother and I have been doing some quiet investigating, and we’ve heard from both my cousin and the parchment maker of Troyes that your Salomon has two daughters, neither of whom is betrothed yet.” He grinned fondly at his youngest son, now quite red in the face. “What do you think?”

  Meir didn’t know what to say. Things were happening so fast. Did his parents know how Hannah’s marriage had affected him? He remembered what Rav Hisda said in the Talmud tractate Kiddushin, the Hebrew word for marriage:

  The reason I am superior to my colleagues is that I married at sixteen and my mind is entirely free for study. Had I married at fourteen, I would have said to Satan, “An arrow in your eye.”

  If he were married, he’d be safe from sinful thoughts too.

  His parents were waiting for an answer. “I would, of course, marry whomever you thought was best for me,” he stammered. Then he realized that his parents probably wanted a more positive reaction. “I mean that I would very much like to marry one of Salomon’s daughters, and I would appreciate it if you could make the arrangements.”

  “We can meet Salomon and his daughters while we’re in Troyes,” Samuel said. “If all goes well and you find one of them attractive, then we can open negotiations. If possible, I’d like to have the betrothal arranged before you return to Mayence.”

  “But I do think Meir must consider the older daughter as his potential bride,” Marona added. “Salomon is unlikely to consider a match for a younger girl if the elder is still available.”

  Meir’s heart began to beat faster. Once he joined Salomon’s family, he would never lack a study partner, he would live in a home imbued with Torah, and he would be close to his family in Ramerupt. He had visions of his parents enjoying his and Hannah’s children playing together. “I’m sure the older daughter will be best; then we can get married sooner.”

  “Well, since we’re all in agreement, we’d better get to bed.” Samuel affectionately tousled his son’s hair. “We’ll need to have an early start tomorrow morning if we expect to arrive in Troyes before morning services are over.”

  seven

  Troyes

  Fall 4830 (1070 C.E.)

  The next morning Meir could scarcely hide his impatience as his parents consulted with the steward about what supplies the manor needed. Convinced they’d be late, he was greatly relieved when they entered the synagogue just as the Torah reading began.

  Upstairs in the women’s section, Joheved didn’t take any special notice of the unfamiliar latecomer. She was completely engaged in preparing to translate the Hebrew scriptures into French for the women’s benefit. Leah had managed Rosh Hashanah without trouble, but the lengthy Yom Kippur service, done while fasting, had been too much for her, and she had asked her surprised granddaughter to translate the afternoon Torah portion in her stead. Since then, Leah had left the daily Torah translations for Joheved, much to the girl’s consternation.

  Johanna noticed the tall, slender newcomer immediately. This stranger had not been in Troyes for the holidays; Johanna would have remembered the aristocratic brunette. Her demeanor was happy, so she was not here for a funeral or illness, but nobody in town was celebrating a wedding or birth in the near future either.

  Johanna moved closer, determined to engage the woman in conversation. “Shalom aleichem, my good mistress; welcome to Troyes. What brings you to our fair city?”

  “Johanna, peace be to you as well,” the woman sitting next to the stranger answered for her. “Allow me to introduce Marona, the wife of my cousin Samuel. They have an estate near Ramerupt, and are in town to attend to some personal business.”

  Marona’s clothes were of excellent quality, a bit too fine for a weekday, and the longer she watched them, the more peculiar Johanna found the women’s behavior. Their conversation seemed skittish, almost clandestine.

  “In case your cousin has neglected to inform you,” Johanna addressed Marona sternly, “I must remind you that all business conducted in Troyes requires a local agent.”

  Marona turned red, but her cousin giggled and quickly whispered, “They’re not here to transact financial business, Johanna. They’re here to negotiate a betrothal. Samuel and their son are downstairs right now.”

  “Will you be quiet!” Marona hushed her cousin through clenched teeth. “We haven’t even approached the girl’s family yet, and you’re making announcements to total strangers.”

  Pleased at having discovered the newcomer’s intentions, Johanna retreated. Was it her imagination or were they watching Joheved? When Joheved began translating the Torah portion, the women’s interest and approval was so manifest that Johanna was convinced she had seen enough. She had to get to Rivka’s house, to give her time to prepare for these potentially very important guests. But first she had to speak with Joseph.

  Downstairs, Meir wanted to greet Salomon immediately, but Samuel insisted that they not interrupt the Talmud session. Meir couldn’t see where Salomon was sitting; the men in front were too tall. An old man at the head of the table began reading from Tractate Bava Metzia, an advanced portion that Meir had never studied. The subject was what transactions constituted charging interest, which is forbidden by Jewish Law. The text described several situations in detail, each more complicated than the last. Meir tried to remember them all, but he was getting confused.

  The old man continued reading:

  Rav Nachman said: Tarsha is permitted, but Rami bar Hama objected: It is forbidden.

  Meir had no idea what “tarsha” was or why Rav Nachman found it acceptable. A few of the men offered suggestions as to what the different Sages meant, but nobody sounded confident in his interpretation. Meir looked anxiously around the room. Where was Salomon? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Meir could see his father staring at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the bench. He had to be disappointed. Maybe their trip to Troyes had been a mistake. Samuel shifted
in his seat and Meir’s throat tightened as he waited for his father to motion him to get up and leave.

  But then someone else began to speak. Meir still couldn’t see, but Samuel got a glimpse of a nondescript young man with brown hair and beard, not much older than his older son. The fellow modestly suggested that what he had learned from his teachers might help in understanding this complicated discussion.

  “The word ‘tarsha’ means ‘silent’ in Aramaic, and refers to a transaction in which the interest is not specifically stated,” he began. “Rav Nachman holds that when the surcharge is not explicit, even if both parties understand that it represents an extra payment for credit, we ought to treat it leniently and not cause undue hardship for commerce.”

  Meir thought the voice might be Salomon’s, but he wasn’t sure. At least his father had stopped fidgeting. Several men asked questions and all agreed that Jewish Law should not cause them hardship in their business transactions.

  The young man waited until the room was quiet before starting the next case.

  Rav Pappa said: My tarsha is permitted. Why?—My beer does not spoil, and I am doing a favor for the buyer.

  He paused for a moment to let them consider this. “Rav Pappa rejects Rav Nachman’s unlimited tarsha, but justifies his own. Because the price of beer was seasonal, low in autumn and high in spring, Rav Pappa would let his buyers take autumn beer immediately and pay for it in spring, provided that they paid the higher spring price. Beer stored easily, so he considered it a favor to sell it in autumn. Of course he saw no reason why he should charge less at that time than he could get later.”

  This answer seemed to satisfy the group, so he continued.

  Rav Sheshet said to him: If they had the money, they would take it now, but they do not have money so they take it at a higher future price.

  “We see that Rav Sheshet objects and says that Rav Pappa’s tarsha is interest, because, if the buyers had enough money to pay for beer in autumn, they would buy it from somebody else at that season’s low price.”

  The young man waited for questions, but everyone seemed to have understood the case. Meir wanted to stand up and see who was talking, but his father had made it clear that they were to be observers only. It had to be Salomon; it had to be.

  Rav Hama said: My tarsha is clearly permitted. What is the reason?—They are pleased that it stays in my possession.

  “Now Rav Hama would buy merchandise where it was cheap and sell it in another place where it was expensive. Sometimes he had traders transport the stuff and sell it for him, and when these men returned, they paid Rav Hama the high price at which they had sold it. Thus it appeared as if Rav Hama was charging the men, not the low price that he paid originally, but a higher price for delayed payment, which is prohibited.”

  “But why would anyone agree to this arrangement?” someone with a nasal twang challenged him. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  The young man wasn’t offended. “It makes sense because after selling Rav Hama’s goods, the traders used the money to buy things selling cheaply at the new location, which they then brought back to sell for their own profit,” he explained.

  A deep-voiced man wanted to make sure he understood. “So Rav Hama made his profit from the original goods, while the traders made their profit when they returned?”

  “Exactly. Only after they sold his merchandise did the money become a loan from Rav Hama, which they later repaid without any interest,” the knowledgeable young man said.

  Meir could see looks of comprehension in the men’s faces, and several of them sighed in appreciation. Buying things that were cheap in one location and selling them for a profit somewhere else was how most Jews earned their living. Only Samuel didn’t look pleased, and Meir’s throat began to tighten again.

  The old man at the table’s head smiled proudly. “Rav Salomon,” he addressed the young man, “I’m sorry that you are unable to continue your studies in Mayence, but I am grateful that you are here to study with us in Troyes.”

  “Rav Zera, your kind words flatter me.” The young man, now identified as Rav Salomon, was gracious in his reply. “I also appreciate the opportunity to share what I have learned.”

  Meir was grinning from ear to ear. He elbowed his father and whispered, “See, I told you Salomon was a talmid chacham.”

  Samuel stared at the young scholar in shock. All this time, he had been under the mistaken impression that the old man, now identified as Zera, was Salomon. And to think that he had almost walked out. “I agree,” he said, nodding vigorously, “and I think it’s time to meet him.”

  Father and son made their way to where the scholar stood, speaking earnestly with those who remained. When Salomon saw Meir, his eyes opened wide and he hurried to embrace the boy. Meir was the first student he’d seen from Mayence since he’d left, and the ache of nostalgia surprised him. He tried to refocus on Meir. How the boy had grown; he was as tall as Salomon now.

  Meir saw the tears in Salomon’s eyes and almost started crying himself. He quickly turned away to introduce his father, and Salomon’s expression became pensive. So here was Meir, and here also was his sheep-raising father, who was looking at Salomon the way he might appraise a ram at the livestock fair.

  Salomon stroked his beard as he considered the situation. Joheved could certainly do worse than this young fellow. He had no trouble persuading them to return home with him, and was convinced that his suspicions were correct when Meir introduced his mother, patiently waiting outside.

  Sure enough, Samuel enthusiastically linked arms with him and announced, “Let’s take the long route there. I have something important to discuss with you on the way.”

  The calm that Salomon projected was in direct contrast to the whirlwind of activity at his house. Rivka had just finished changing Rachel’s swaddling when Johanna rushed in, two servants weighted down with food in her wake. One servant produced several fat capons and had them roasting on the spit in Rivka’s hearth before she could say anything. The other proceeded to furiously chop up a variety of vegetables.

  Johanna burst into speech. “Rivka, we have to hurry. An out-of-town family is here today, and I’m almost certain that they intend to open negotiations for Joheved’s hand. If I’m right, they will be here for disner, and we mustn’t disappoint them.”

  “What?” Rivka gasped. “Who are these people…and how do you know they’re here about Joheved?” She tried to resist being caught up in her friend’s sense of urgency, but it was hopeless. “How much time do we have before they get here?”

  Johanna told her what had transpired in synagogue. “Look, I asked Joseph to investigate further. If he tells us it’s a false alarm,” and her tone of voice made it clear that this was unlikely, “then we’ll just have a nice quiet meal here with our two families. By the way, the boy’s parents are Samuel and Marona of Ramerupt. Do you have any idea who they are?”

  “None at all. Nobody has approached us.” Rivka was too shocked to think about such possibilities. (Salomon had never mentioned the parchment maker’s gossip to his wife, certain that she would only nag him more about planning for the girls’ future.)

  Rivka went to the cupboard and began to take down her best linens, while Johanna got the wine cups and dishes. As they set the table, she said to Rivka, “Samuel has a cousin here in Troyes, who happened to mention that he has an estate nearby. And I must say that Marona’s clothes were fine indeed.” Johanna smiled conspiratorially. “I have a feeling that your daughter may do very well for herself with this match.”

  “To see Joheved married into a wealthy family would be wonderful, of course, but I know my husband wants a learned son-in-law.” Rivka shook her head. Only an ignorant rich man would want to marry a poor chacham’s daughter. A wealthy scholar would have his choice of brides.

  After Rivka dropped a wooden bowl and knocked over two wine goblets, Johanna decided that talking about something else might calm her friend’s anxiety. “Speaking of betrothals, I’ve hear
d that Count Thibault is planning to marry Adelaide de Bar. That will give him more land to the south as a buffer against the Duke of Burgundy.”

  “Perhaps the new countess will want to live here near her own holdings rather than in Blois,” Rivka said. Somehow it was easier to discuss the count’s marital prospects than her own daughter’s.

  “I think Thibault plans to leave his lands in Blois to his oldest son, Etienne-Henry.” Johanna nodded knowingly. “If I had a son by my first wife, I’d want him far away from my second wife, particularly if she was a lot younger than me.”

  Rivka walked over to the hearth and stirred several pots cooking in it. “Count Thibault is over fifty now. I wonder if he’ll get any children from Adelaide.”

  “I don’t see why not. I believe that she’s still less than thirty years old.”

  “It will be exciting to have a big royal wedding in Troyes,” Rivka said, pausing to taste a spoonful of liquid from one of the pots. “It’s a good thing we had a big grape harvest this year.”

  Johanna didn’t share Rivka’s enthusiasm. “It’s also a good thing the Hot Fair was so lucrative, since Thibault will certainly levy extra taxes on us Jews to pay his wedding expenses.”

  At that moment, the door opened and in came Grandmama Leah, followed by her granddaughters.

  “Oh, what smells so good?” Joheved asked.

  “Look, we’re having capon, and Johanna’s here too,” Miriam pointed out. “What’s the party for?”

  Rivka’s panic returned and she didn’t know what to say, but Johanna was eager to explain the situation. “Joheved, I don’t have time to tell you everything now, but I believe some people will be here soon to discuss a betrothal between you and their son. So please go change into your blue silk bliaut.”