by Maggie Anton
“Who moved my things?” Meir carefully checked his possessions, sure that some Purim trick was being played on him.
Benjamin allowed himself a slight smile. “Miriam and I did. She told me that Joheved would rather you slept over here now.”
“What’s the difference between this spot and where I used to sleep, which was very comfortable, by the way? Why should Joheved want me to sleep next to you?”
“If you can’t figure it out, I’ll show you.”
“I’m not interested in games; just tell me.” Meir was in no mood to talk. Though Joheved continued to hold hands with him at meals, she seemed unable to carry on a conversation with him. As soon as he tried to speak to her, she blushed and stammered and found an excuse to flee. Everyone said she was intelligent and articulate; why wouldn’t she talk to him?
“There’s no need to act so touchy.” Benjamin grabbed some pieces of straw and arranged them in a layout of Salomon’s house. “Here’s the chimney; it goes up through our teacher’s mother’s old bedroom and out the middle of the attic. To the right is his room, and here on the left is where Joheved and Miriam sleep.”
“How do you know where everyone’s bedrooms are?” Meir asked. Had Benjamin been in Miriam’s room?
“When Miriam’s grandmother died, I helped carry the coffin downstairs.” He waited as Meir surveyed the diagram, then the attic, and then the diagram again.
Meir’s face reddened as understanding dawned on him. “Mon Dieu, you’ve got us lying right on top of them!”
“An appropriate arrangement, don’t you agree?” Benjamin replied with a grin.
“Won’t it, uh, bother us at night?” Meir asked. How could he sleep knowing that Joheved’s naked body lay just a few cubits below his?”
“You mean Lillit’s visits?” Benjamin lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m used to them now.”
Meir didn’t want to ever “get used to” the night demon molesting him. Even when Lillit came to him in Joheved’s guise, he still felt as if he were being unfaithful.
In the room below, Miriam was setting up her side of the prank. “Joheved, why don’t you want to speak to Meir? You don’t even say ‘bonjour’ to him in the morning.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him; it’s just that somehow I get shy and flustered whenever I try.” She couldn’t talk to Meir without looking at him, but as soon as her eyes met his, she became tongue tied. “I can’t explain it.”
“Shy and flustered! You, who can speak at least four languages, who leads services and negotiates with wine merchants all the time, who outwitted Count Thibault’s cellarer. I don’t believe it. I tell you what. You just start slowly,” Miriam said slyly. “Tomorrow morning, when you first see him, wish him ‘bonjour’ and ask him if he slept well.”
The next morning, after Meir’s sputtering response to her question sent Miriam and Benjamin into gales of laughter, Joheved pulled her sister aside and demanded to hear the joke. In between giggles, Miriam told her what they’d done.
Joheved slammed her hand against the wall. “That’s your idea of a Purim prank? How could you disgrace me like that?” She was going to die of humiliation the next time she saw Meir. “Meir’s going to believe I deliberately set him up for embarrassment this morning. I can’t imagine what he thinks of me for enticing him to move his bedding above mine and then asking him how he slept!”
“I’m sorry, Joheved, we didn’t mean to hurt anybody. It was only a joke for Purim.” Joheved looked exactly like a feminine version of their father when he lost his temper, and Miriam realized that she had gone too far. “Do you want me and Benjamin to apologize and have Meir put his bedding back where it was?”
“I don’t want either of you telling him anything,” Joheved hissed. “You’ve said enough already. I’ll talk to him myself.”
But she had no opportunity that day or the next. Meir was taking his meals at his cousins’ house, where his parents were staying, and he spent the rest of his time with the students. Joheved found that she missed holding his hand at the table, and she worried how displeased he might be with her. Tomorrow was Purim; maybe all the wine she’d drink would help her find a way to speak with him.
The day before Purim the gift exchanges were finally finished. The congregation observed the Fast of Esther under grey skies, but when the day ended and they prepared to exchange fasting for feasting, the weather cleared. Before Meir left to attend the evening banquet with his parents, he presented Joheved with the present he had carefully saved until last. It was a miniature pair of men’s boots, sculpted completely out of sugar.
Asher had told Meir about a Provençal Purim custom, the special confection a bridegroom gave his intended. Made of sugar, it represented a common item belonging to his gender, and Meir had hired a baker to make one of the simpler designs.
Relieved that he wasn’t upset with her, Joheved managed to whisper “Merci.” But she could never eat anything so beautiful, so she placed the sugar shoes on a shelf in the pantry before joining everyone at the dining table. It was covered with nearly every dish and bowl her family owned, each one filled with such savory fare that she didn’t know what to eat first.
The evening Purim feast finished, a sated community gathered in the synagogue, goblets in hand. Casks of wine had been set up in the rear to enable those goblets to be replenished as often as necessary. Before the service started, a tray was passed around, and each man gave a small donation. This was a symbolic offering; the community leaders had already collected for widows, orphans and others in distress. As the tray progressed through the room, the sounds of adults trying to hush restless children increased.
Finally the blessings were said, and the congregation’s most recent bridegroom opened the Megillah scroll and began to chant. In the women’s gallery, Joheved translated his words into French. Everyone listened quietly, at least until the villain’s name, Haman, was read, at which time pandemonium broke out. The congregation stamped their feet, clapped their hands and made as much a clamor as possible to drown out the hateful word. With Haman mentioned more than fifty times in the scroll of Esther, the reading was continually interrupted by shouts, screams and every other noise a person could make.
Those who wished to fulfill their religious obligation and actually hear every word, crowded close around the reader. Room was made for Salomon near the stand holding the scroll, and he motioned for Meir to squeeze in next to him. Rachel perched on her father’s shoulders with a saucepan in one hand and a spoon in the other, and Meir couldn’t imagine how Salomon could tolerate such a din so close to his ears.
This was the first time Meir had been near enough to see the Megillah read, and when he turned his attention to the words written before him, he was astonished. The scribe, in order to make up for the absence of the name of God in the book of Esther, had written its constituent letters larger whenever they occurred close together, so that those reading might see the Holy Name emerge, as it were, out of the text.
It seemed as though the cacophonous recitation would never end, but finally Haman’s name was chanted for the last time, as he was hung on the very gallows he had built for the Jews. Families reunited downstairs, exhausted children slung over their parents’ shoulders and friends bid each other, “Bon soir.” Most went home to get some sleep before the merrymaking started again in the morning. But many of the men, including most of the yeshiva students, adjourned to the Parnas’s house for a night of gambling.
The next morning, Salomon’s household was up early as Rivka and Sarah prepared for a busy day. Soon women would be arriving with dishes of every kind of delicacy. Poultry was preferred above all else at Purim, so there was sure to be a large selection of chicken and goose. Meir’s family provided a lamb, usually in short supply this early in the season. Roasting on a spit, it took up the entire hearth in Sarah’s kitchen.
The baker’s helper had delivered so many loaves of bread that he needed a cart to carry them all, and he would r
eturn later with savory pies containing pigeon and quail. Finally he would bring the sweet cakes and pastries, more varieties than can be imagined, giving him a short respite before another batch of bread was needed for the evening meal.
Rivka wanted both Joheved and Miriam to stay home and help, but they argued that at least one of them should be at services to translate for the women. Not that many women would be there, most of them being just as busy in their kitchens as Rivka was. Still, she sent Miriam with Rachel and Salomon.
He had planned to dress in his regular festival attire, but his daughters insisted that he wear something unusual, especially since he was hosting the feast. Not in a jolly Purim mood, he finally agreed to wear mismatched hose, one leg red and the other yellow, to give his children pleasure. Then they joined the other Purim revelers in the street, boisterously making their way to the synagogue.
Last year Miriam had been one of the pot-banging children downstairs on Purim morning, so she was disappointed to see that her mother was right; the women’s section was nearly deserted. Miriam recognized the few elderly ladies sitting down, but not the four young women looking over the railing. Maybe they were visiting Troyes for the holiday.
“Shalom aleichem, ladies.” Miriam felt proud of herself for offering hospitality to strangers, but to her dismay, the women ignored her. Perhaps they couldn’t hear her over the din.
She came closer, but they avoided her. Determined to be heard, she maneuvered herself directly in front of the nearest ones, only to discover that it was Menachem and Ephraim in women’s clothes. She let out a shriek of astonishment and then quickly dissolved in giggles.
They each had a veil, fancy headpiece and matching girdle. Neither had a beard yet, so except that their bodies lacked the distinctive feminine shape, the disguise was quite good. One would have sworn they were young women, just past puberty.
“What are you doing up here?” Miriam scanned the older women for signs of ire, but they smiled back benignly.
“How do you like our masquerade?” Menachem gave her a wink. “We must look pretty good if we fooled you for so long.”
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Ephraim asked, looking around nervously.
“I suppose not,” she replied. The women here probably wouldn’t recognize them, and even if they did, the boys weren’t likely to get in trouble on Purim. “But why come up here? It’s more fun downstairs.”
“It was all his idea.” Ephraim pointed to what looked like another young woman, heavily veiled. “Everyone was treating us like women, so he suggested we come up here and have a look. I told him it was nothing special, that we used to spend lots of time up here with Mama, but he still wanted to see it.”
“Who is ‘him,’ and how many of them are you?” Miriam looked suspiciously at the old ladies in the back.
“Just the four of us.” The “woman” lowered her veil and Asher’s scraggly bearded face grinned back at her, looking ludicrous in the feminine head covering.
Asher motioned for his veiled companion to come over, and his/her familiar gait filled Miriam with apprehension. She could barely bring herself to watch as the last veil came down to reveal her fiancé standing in front of her. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.
“You are two of the ugliest women I have ever seen,” she teased them in return. “You’ll need large dowries to attract a decent-looking husband.”
“For your information, we are both engaged already,” Benjamin retorted truthfully, but in falsetto. “And my betrothed is so fair that the sun pales in comparison.”
Miriam blushed at his compliment, but before she could say anything clever in return, the noise level began rising below. “The Megillah reading is starting. I have to go translate for the real ladies,” she said. “You fellows stay out of trouble.”
The four students amused themselves for the duration of services by watching to see which men winced the most when Haman’s name was read. They told Miriam later that while it was more fun to be in the middle of the crowd below, the view from the women’s gallery was better.
sixteen
Spring 4834 (1074 C.E.)
As Miriam walked home with her four new “girl friends,” they could hear the music playing blocks away. Inside the courtyard, musicians with lutes, violins, and cymbals played so loudly that normal conversation was impossible. Many of the guests were sitting at long tables set up in a large square, while others danced in the empty area formed in its center. Concentric circles, each of men or women, danced in opposite directions from each other, slowing and speeding up as the tunes varied.
Youngsters preferred to watch the jugglers and jesters. Miriam was heading towards a man who seemed to have no difficulty producing coins from people’s ears, when she passed Joheved and Meir speaking seriously under the apple tree. Meir was wearing his fur-lined cloak inside out, and with the hood drawn tight around his head, he looked like a large hairy animal. Miriam got near enough to overhear the word “bedding” and quickly turned back towards the dancers.
“Meir,” Joheved began, her face growing warm. He turned to face her and she had to force herself to keep speaking. “I’m sorry for what I said the other morning. I mean I apologize if I embarrassed you; I didn’t realize…” Why was it so difficult to talk to him? Even several cups of wine weren’t helping.
“You have nothing to apologize for. Benjamin told me all about their Purim joke.”
“You weren’t angry? I was so mad at Miriam that I wanted to break something.” She smiled ruefully and added, “And I nearly did break my hand.”
“I was angry at first, but when I saw how upset you were, I knew that you had to be a victim as well.”
Maybe the wine was affecting her, because she then asked him, “So did you return your bedding to its old spot?”
He moved closer to her. “I left it exactly where Benjamin put it. I didn’t want the students to think we’d had an argument.”
“I’m glad it’s still there.” The wine was definitely affecting her. “It comforts me to know you’re up there.”
Comfortable was not how Meir would describe his feelings about their sleeping arrangement, but at least she didn’t object. “I like knowing you’re down there too.”
“Meir, what are you thinking when you look at me like that?”
She was looking at him so earnestly, those big blue eyes staring up at him. “I was admiring your eyes,” he answered. “They’re exactly the same color as the sky today.”
“Really? I’m not even sure what color my eyes are.”
“You’ve never seen yourself in a mirror?”
“Not that I can remember. My family doesn’t own one.”
They had been gazing into each other’s eyes too long. Meir was slowly leaning towards her and she realized that he was going to kiss her, no matter how many people were watching.
Joheved had just closed her eyes and tilted her face up when Miriam called out from the crowd, “Joheved, come and dance with me. They’re playing our favorite tune.” The spell was broken, and with mingled relief and regret, she ran to her sister’s side.
Meir watched the dancers for a while. A gentle melody provided the backdrop for pairs to turn and sway in intricate patterns, all the while gracefully swirling their skirts. The sky deepened, and the clouds parted to reveal the full moon rising.
He was about to head for the dining tables when the music grew lively again. Recognizing the tune, a young man jumped up and challenged him. Immediately another pair joined them, then another, the crowd cheering as the men performed an athletic dance involving jumps, spins and fancy footwork. Two by two, each pair kept up the frantic pace until one of them dropped in exhaustion and his partner was declared the winner. Joheved applauded proudly at how well Meir danced.
Once it was dark and the torches lit, the merrymakers separated into two groups, one of each gender. Outside, the men recited various Purim parodies that imitated famous Talmudic passages, their themes usually
the praise of wine and those who drink it to excess. The women, who found these mystifying rather than clever, gathered indoors at Sarah’s, where a female jongleur was singing.
Joheved was curious how much she’d understand of the men’s humor, so she joined them, standing close by Meir and her father. Somebody was chanting, in the Talmudic style, a ditty enumerating the diverse foods that must be eaten on Purim.
Rabbi Mordecai said: Twenty-four dishes were told to Moses on Mount Sinai, all of which a man must prepare for Purim. Tortes, pastries, ragout, pouches, venison, buck flesh, geese, chickens, pigeons, swans, ducks, pheasants, partridges, moor hens, stuffed fowl, quails. But it is taught that we must also prepare pancakes, preserves and jellies.
But men didn’t have to prepare all those Purim dishes, Joheved thought to herself; the women did. Then she was distracted by screams of laughter from across the courtyard and realized she was the only female left among the men. She made her way to her aunt’s house and squeezed in next to her sister. The jongleur was strumming a lyre and singing a riddle song. Adding to her audience’s glee, many of the riddles were double entendres, with both an innocuous and a sexual solution.
“Here’s a special riddle for the new brides and betrothed maidens among us.” The jongleur grinned salaciously at the group.
I heard of something rising in a corner
Swelling and standing up, lifting its cover
The proud-hearted bride grabbed at that boneless
Wonder with her hands, the master’s daughter
Covered that swelling thing with a swirl of cloth.
Amid peals of laughter, one of the women cried out the answer, “bread dough.” Joheved giggled nervously, but Miriam, too innocent to understand the phallic innuendo, asked what was so funny. A blushing Joheved found herself unable to say the thing out loud, but an older matron leaned over and whispered it in Miriam’s ear.