Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Benjamin stopped. The perfume was already powerful enough; they didn’t need to go farther. “Miriam, I…”

  He began to speak, but when she turned around to look at him, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Had it only been a year ago that they had ignored this wonderful smell and followed bees instead? Somehow in that time, he had left childhood behind. He stood staring at her, inhaling the wonderful fragrance that surrounded them. Were her eyes blue, green or grey, or some of each?

  Miriam tried to continue their discussion, but the look in Benjamin’s eyes flustered her. To avoid his compelling gaze and concentrate on the beautiful scent, Miriam closed her eyes.

  Benjamin, interpreting her actions as an invitation, leaned forward to kiss her. She momentarily gloried in his embrace, but then she noticed the rough beginnings of his beard against her skin and came to her senses.

  What on earth was she doing, allowing herself to be kissed in the middle of a public road, where anyone could see them? What could have possessed her to act so shamelessly? She spun out of his grasp and began to vent her outrage.

  “You must be in league with demons! You’ve cast a spell on me. I can’t believe I followed you up here and let you kiss me in front of the world. We aren’t married, or even betrothed.”

  Benjamin was stunned by her sudden wrath, but he had to say something to overcome her distrust. “But, Miriam, I do want to marry you, more than anything. I’ve wanted to marry you for over a year. I’ve even talked to my parents about it.”

  “Try to understand,” he pleaded with her. “You’re the daughter of a talmid chacham with his own yeshiva, your older sister already has a great match arranged for her, and your parents probably hope to do even better for you. I know they can find you a greater scholar than I am, and a richer one too. My only hope is to make you want me.”

  His confession washed away Miriam’s anger. He wanted to marry her! And he worried that he wasn’t good enough. She threw her arms around him and kissed him, not caring who saw them.

  This time he broke their embrace. “Miriam, if you want, I’ll ask my father to speak to yours just as soon as I get home for Shavuot.” Despite her apparent pleasure in his company, Benjamin still wasn’t sure that she wanted to marry him.

  She took his hands in hers. “Please make your parents hurry. Our erusin must be complete before the merchants return for the Hot Fair, before somebody else approaches Papa about me.”

  “I’ll have them come back with me immediately after the festival,” he assured her. “Your father wouldn’t make another arrangement without your knowing, would he?”

  Miriam shook her head. “I don’t think so. He made Joheved consent to her betrothal, in front of witnesses. And speaking of witnesses,” she quickly looked up and down the road, “if we don’t want any to our behavior today, we’d better get home.”

  “We’re safe enough.” He was so happy, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Everybody knows that they should stay away from a vineyard while it’s flowering. And by the way, weren’t you saying something about Hillel and wine?”

  After souper, when the sisters had gone to bed, Joheved insisted on finding out exactly what had transpired outside the vineyard. Miriam shyly told her that she had never smelled anything as wonderful as the grape flowers and that Benjamin was bringing his parents back to Troyes as soon as Shavuot was over to arrange their betrothal.

  More relieved than disappointed when Miriam became reticent about sharing the romantic details, Joheved gave her younger sister a happy embrace. “It’s about time.”

  Miriam wanted to lie back and reflect on her wonderful afternoon, but she couldn’t let Joheved have the last word. “You should take Meir to smell the blossoms next year,” she said with a yawn.

  “When the time comes, I’ll try to remember.” Joheved didn’t want to spoil Miriam’s happiness by arguing. But by this time next year, she’d be married, hopefully pregnant even, and therefore not likely to be interested in smelling any aphrodisiac flowers.

  The days passed, and eventually Salomon looked up from his studies and Rivka from her new baby, and they became aware of the mutual satisfaction emanating from Miriam and Benjamin. There didn’t seem to be much else to do except ask Benjamin to invite his parents to return with him when Shavuot was over, to which he shyly answered that he had already planned to do so.

  Under the guiding hand of Isaac haParnas, negotiations went smoothly. Benjamin’s parents easily agreed that their son would live in Troyes and help manage Salomon’s vineyard so Miriam could remain there as the community’s midwife. Salomon hosted his daughter’s erusin feast just as the Hot Fair began, disappointing several merchants who had hoped to negotiate on behalf of their own sons that summer. It was a good thing that Rivka still had a substantial supply of honey down in the cellar, because the quantity of honey cake she was obliged to serve in honor of the happy couple was so great that she needed to utilize the baker’s large ovens for two days.

  A happy couple they were. Sitting next to Benjamin at their betrothal banquet, Miriam reveled in her good fortune. Love matches were rare, and she squeezed Benjamin’s hand under the table as she reflected on the difference between her erusin and Joheved’s. Now that Papa had made good on his promise to find them both learned husbands, Mama was beaming.

  And with her raven curls, big green eyes and perfect oval face, there was no doubt that when the time came, Rachel would have her choice of Papa’s finest students.

  “What a lovely child, tres belle,” murmured the guests as they admired her, “may the Holy One protect her.” Automatically they invoked Divine protection to guard her against the Evil Eye.

  Enough people mentioned Rachel’s beauty to her parents that they were forced to devise an appropriate response. “I suppose she’s belle assez, beautiful enough,” Mama or Papa would reply whenever their young daughter was complimented, as if they had never considered the subject before.

  Oui, Rachel was certainly beautiful, Miriam thought with pride, as she watched her little sister dancing with the older women. Then the musicians began to play a dance for pairs, and Joheved beckoned her to join them. When Benjamin applauded as the two sisters performed the dance’s intricate steps, Miriam began to feel sorry for Joheved. Her older sister hadn’t seen Meir in nearly a year, and when he did stop by on his twice-yearly return to Allemagne, he spent most of his time with Papa.

  “Oh, Joheved.” Miriam gave her an extra hug as they twirled each other, “I hope you and Meir will be as happy as me and Benjamin when you’re married.”

  “Happy?” Joheved gave a snort of disbelief. “Marriage is to have children, not for happiness.”

  Miriam was in too good a mood to be intimidated. “Well, then, I hope you and Meir have lots of children and a happy marriage.”

  Joheved gave a quick glance to Leah’s upstairs window. “It’s too bad Grandmama can’t enjoy these good times with us,” she said. But even that thought dampened Miriam’s joy for only a moment.

  Leah’s sad condition was the only taint on that otherwise happy summer. Her situation was stable; she did not regain her former health, but neither did she get worse. She seemed to appreciate her family’s company, that is to say, she smiled at whoever sat and talked to her, and held fast to their hands. Rivka warned the invalid’s visitors to be sure her limbs were kept well inside the bed, so demons couldn’t grab them.

  Hopeful that Leah might remain this way indefinitely, Joheved and her family turned their attention to her nuptial preparations. At the Hot Fair, they bought material for wedding clothes and bed linens, plus a chest and cabinet to house the new couple’s possessions. Aunt Sarah had graciously offered one of her bedrooms to the newlyweds, and Rivka decided to outfit it with new wall hangings as well.

  The fair was in its second month when Grandmama Leah began to fail. She had difficulty breathing and was often so drowsy that they could barely wake her for meals. The doctor came regularly and bled her, but to no avail. Salomon and
his students spent hours praying and reciting Psalms on her behalf, but her condition continued to deteriorate.

  One morning a worried Anna confessed that she had not been able to give Leah breakfast. The old woman had clenched her teeth tightly together and refused to swallow any food. At midday, Rivka attempted to feed Leah herself, with the same unhappy result. In late afternoon, Miriam had success getting her grandmother to drink some well-diluted wine, but no one could persuade her to eat the evening meal.

  The next day, Rivka directed Maria to prepare a chicken stew with garlic for disner, and to set aside a portion of the rich broth for Leah. But despite encouragement by both granddaughters, even this delicacy failed to tempt her, and Rivka tearfully brought the untouched dish downstairs later. Salomon’s household, which had so recently been joyfully anticipating the future, now viewed it with dread.

  Joheved sadly packed away her new fabrics. Clutching the amulet she always wore, Rivka lit candles near Leah’s bed and removed the chicken-feather pillow, hoping to lure away any demons who would prolong her death agony. The family avoided wearing new clothes, knowing that they would have to rend them at news of her demise. Bowls of water were set out as traps for demons, to be dumped outside immediately after the death was discovered, and Rivka sternly warned the household never to drink from them.

  Thus it was that Miriam, awake early and gathering eggs in the courtyard, learned of Leah’s passing when she saw Anna tearfully pouring a dish of water into the dirt outside the kitchen door. One by one the other members of her household appeared, each emptying a container of water outside. Joheved went all the way to the courtyard gate and spilled hers in the street, just in time to meet a neighbor on her way to the bakery.

  Instantly recognizing the significance of these events, the woman crossed to the other side of the street. The dead woman’s ghost was surely nearby, and perhaps the Angel of Death was still in the vicinity as well. But Joheved knew the neighbor would inform the community of Leah’s passing. Now somebody would be sure to prepare food for the mourners before midday, and people could arrange their affairs to free them for an afternoon funeral.

  One of the most rigid rules of Judaism is that a funeral must take place at the earliest possible moment after death. If Leah had died on the first day of a festival, non-Jews would have carried out her burial. But her early morning demise left plenty of time to attend to all the funeral minutia and still have her body under the earth before nightfall.

  While Baruch and Benjamin were at the riverbank, cutting fresh rushes for the floors where the mourners would sit during the next week, the women of Salomon’s family focused their attention on tahara, ritually preparing Grandma Leah’s body for burial. Joheved dreaded the next few hours, but she had to do it. Tahara was one of the most important mitzvot a woman could fulfill, an act of unselfish kindness whose recipient could not possibly return any favors. It was performed for the sake of the mitzvah, knowing that one day it would be done for her.

  Joheved steeled herself as she helped Miriam, Mama and Aunt Sarah lift Grandmama Leah’s corpse onto a wide board. But it wasn’t as bad as she feared. Mama encouraged them to recall Leah in her prime as they washed and salted the body, and even Aunt Sarah found good things to say about her. During the occasional silences, Joheved could hear Papa praying outside the door, performing his watchman’s duty. The body had not been left alone since the moment of death and would be accompanied constantly until burial.

  Mama made sure that the corpse was wrapped in a new linen shroud; Leah had been a proud woman, and they wouldn’t want her shamed by appearing in the Garden of Eden poorly dressed. Joheved shivered as she remembered tales of ghosts who refused to leave their former homes because their shrouds were too shabby to be seen in.

  She knew that some of Salomon’s students were trying to find an appropriate coffin, while others were in the cemetery, digging the grave. Mama had given strict instructions to prevent them from choosing a plot next to any of Leah’s old adversaries, lest the two ghosts return and make their displeasure known.

  By midday, when Johanna had laid out a small repast in the kitchen for the family, Leah’s covered body had been placed in the coffin and all was ready for the procession to the cemetery. Before they left, Mama marked the side of the board on which the corpse had lain; heaven forbid it be turned over and incite the deceased’s ire, resulting in an untimely death for another in the household.

  Benjamin and several of Salomon’s bravest students carried the coffin down the stairs and out of the house, followed by the immediate family and then the rest of the mourning congregation. As they walked beside Salomon, Joheved and Miriam recited the antidemonic ninety-first Psalm to prevent the spirits awaiting the corpse from seizing a living victim instead.

  The heart of the funeral service was “The Justification of the Judgment,” a short prayer that affirmed the rightness of the Creator’s disposition of humanity. Here, and as part of every service prayed during the seven days of mourning, the congregation would proclaim verses from Deuteronomy:

  He is our Rock, His work is perfect; for all His ways are judgment; a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is He.

  The Hot Fair had not yet ended, so there was no lack of pious and learned men to repeat the ninety-first Psalm seven times as Grandmama Leah’s coffin was lowered into her grave.

  He will cover you with His pinions, you will find refuge under His wings, His fidelity is an encircling shield. You need not fear the terror by night or the arrow that flies by day, the plague that stalks in the darkness or the scourge that ravages at noon.

  They continued reciting as the body was buried, until the grave was full of earth, but Joheved could barely hear them; she was crying too hard.

  Then Papa and Mama, followed by the congregation, reached down to tear up and smell a portion of grass and dirt, which they then threw over their shoulders while reciting the verses from Psalms,

  They shall flourish as the grass of the field,…Remember that we are dust.

  Now Leah’s soul had permission to leave her grave, and the prayer also prevented her ghost from following the mourners home. A double line of people formed for her family to walk between, and the entire company escorted them to Salomon’s house.

  Upon entering the courtyard, Joheved found that washing utensils and water had been prepared for them. Everyone bathed their hands, and some, including Mama and Papa, their eyes and face as well. On the dining table, the traditional mourners’ meal of boiled eggs and lentil stew was laid out. Even the breads were round, to remind the mourners that bereavement is like a wheel, ever recurring. But even though she’d barely eaten anything since yesterday, Joheved had no appetite.

  For the next seven days, her family would sit on the ground, abstain from meat and strong wine, and not leave the house except on the Sabbath. Daily prayers, each including the Justification of the Judgment, would be recited at home, as the community joined the mourners to share their anguish and console them.

  Although Salomon was the legal mourner and tradition demanded these strict rituals for his benefit, Rivka, Joheved and Miriam felt greater grief than he did. The woman who died was a stranger, not the mother he remembered from childhood. As far as Salomon was concerned, he had lost his mother long ago.

  Rivka had mixed feelings. She loved Leah as the mother she never had, yet she couldn’t help but feel relief when Leah died. The old woman had lain in a bed of pain for six months and hadn’t been able to function in dignity for several years. In addition, the burden of Leah’s care had become increasingly onerous with the new baby’s arrival. Rivka felt sad about Leah’s demise, but she knew that it was time.

  Throughout the week of bereavement, Salomon was amazed at the number of people who came to mourn with him and eulogize his mother. Merchant after merchant told stories of how she had befriended them, providing advice as well as room and board.

  “When I was only nineteen, at my first Hot Fair, my purse was stolen,�
�� a thirtyish man with a Flemish accent said. “Leah—may her merit protect us—boarded me for free and loaned me money until I could repay her at the next year’s fair.”

  “My father is too old to travel now.” This man’s accent proclaimed him a Lombard. “But he still tells the story of how he became ill one summer and Mistress Leah—may her memory be for blessing—nursed him back to health and saw to it that other merchants sold his merchandise for him while he was disabled.”

  Even Isaac haParnas had praise for her. “Whenever I came across a young merchant, newly arrived in Troyes, disoriented and alone, I knew I could send him to stay with Leah and he’d soon be feeling at home.”

  Salomon’s family listened with wonder as Leah was revealed to rival the biblical Abraham and Sarah for gracious hospitality. Joheved and Miriam had their own fond memories of Leah that they were glad to share with those who came to console their family. More than their own mother, who seemed rather like an older sister, their grandmother had raised them. She’d provided their food, clothing and shelter, and she made sure they acquired the skills necessary to run a Jewish household and make Jewish wine.

  “She was the one who taught us how to read scripture,” Joheved said, recalling how they used to sit in front of the hearth and recite the text together. “And she taught us all the prayers too.”

  “When we were little, she helped Mama bathe us and get us dressed,” Miriam added, a tear rolling down her cheek. “She loved to braid ribbons into our hair.”

  “She tucked us in bed and kissed us goodnight…” Now Joheved was crying too.

  “And she gave us hugs each morning when we came down to breakfast,” Miriam finished for her. With Leah gone, it was easy to forget the recent past and remember the good times.