by Maggie Anton
“Speaking of dough, here’s another verse for our newly and about-to-be marrieds,” the singer announced. “But first let me slake my thirst.” Immediately one of the many vessels of wine making its way around the room was handed up to her.
Both swayed and shook. The young man hurried,
Was sometimes useful, served well, but always tired
Sooner than she, weary of the work.
Under her girdle began to grow
A hero’s reward that good men often love.
Again the room was raucous with merriment, until it was finally quiet enough for someone to gasp out the explanation: “A churn, they are making butter.”
This time Miriam had an idea what the other meaning was, but Joheved felt obliged to inform her that the couple could also be making a baby. Strumming a chord on her lyre, the musician announced that the next riddle was for the learned among them.
A man sat at wine with his two wives
And his two sons and his two daughters,
Beloved sisters and their two sons, noble, first-born.
The father of each noble one was with them as well,
Uncle and nephew. Altogether there were five
Men and women sitting together.
The room was silent as the women, heads dizzy with wine, tried to count on their fingers and otherwise solve the mystery. Hopeful faces turned towards Miriam and Joheved, expecting them to uphold the town’s honor and provide the answer. Joheved was deep in thought, but Miriam was too drunk to figure out any more than that the man was married to sisters. She looked around the salle, and there was Benjamin. Mon Dieu, how long had he been there?
Suddenly it felt as if all the wine she’d consumed had gone straight to her bladder, and she hurried out to the privy. Luckily Joheved was less intoxicated and was able to provide the riddle’s key: the five were Lot, his two daughters, and their sons, Moab and Ammon. Murmurs of praise for her knowledge of scripture filled the room. Nobody noticed that Benjamin had infiltrated their group, or that he left as soon as Miriam did.
Outside, the moon’s brilliance illuminated several women waiting near the privy. Miriam impatiently went upstairs to use her own chamber pot, only to find Rachel asleep in bed and Salomon snoring there as well. Miriam smiled at the familial scene. He must have been telling her a story when they both nodded off.
Benjamin was waiting for her below. Fearful of waking her father, Miriam had hurried her business and been inattentive in tidying up. An admiring Benjamin couldn’t help but notice that her skirt was stuck in her girdle, exposing her calves and thighs. He pointed out her carelessness, and as she struggled to straighten her bliaut, he offered his assistance and guided her under the stairs where they weren’t likely to be disturbed.
Sometime later, Meir began to tire of the men’s scholarly humor, and he wondered what the women were finding so hilarious. It seemed as if he hadn’t seen Joheved for hours. None too steady on his feet, he made his way to Sarah’s house and listened.
Splendidly it hangs by a man’s thigh
Under the cloak of its master. In its front is a hole.
It is stiff and hard, and has a good place.
When its master lifts his garment over his knee,
He intends to greet that familiar hole
With the head of his hanging thing
Which has so often filled it with even length before.
The room rang with mirth. Meir’s chuckles turned to shock when he noticed not only Joheved, but his mother and his sister also enjoying themselves within. Repulsed at the vulgarity displayed by women he expected to be modest and pious, he turned away before hearing the answer of “key and lock.” But he couldn’t stop thinking about the riddle’s apparent answer, and his loins responded with an uncomfortable pressure.
Such an onslaught by his yetzer hara had become increasingly frequent, and his usual remedy was to douse his face with cold well water until the condition dissipated. But his trip to the well was interrupted when he noticed Salomon’s open front door. The noises within drew him to investigate, and what he discovered there staggered him further.
At first he thought it was two women having a tête-a-tête, but as he watched, he could see they were embracing, their hands busy under each other’s clothes. He shook his muddled head, trying to make sense out of what he was witnessing, when a shaft of moonlight played on the pair long enough for him to identify them. One of the women was his fiancée’s sister, and the other was no woman at all, but Benjamin in feminine dress.
Meir backed away, intending to find Salomon, but once outside, he remembered seeing the man carrying his sleepy daughter upstairs, not to return. By now the moon was low in the sky, and most of the guests had gone home. The ache beneath his chemise continued to throb, and his frustration mounted as he recalled the lasciviousness he had witnessed.
Then he noticed Joheved at one of the far tables, trying to collect the dirty dishes. This was perfect—he would help her bring things into the kitchen and make sure she saw what her supposedly innocent sister was doing. His plan worked, except that Joheved didn’t seem to be as upset as he was.
Thanking him for bringing the matter to her attention, she shooed him outside and told him she’d deal with her errant sibling herself. Minutes later she appeared in the doorway, supporting a pasty-looking Miriam, and the two of them walked quickly over to a nearby wall, where Joheved offered comfort as her sister’s stomach rejected its contents. Then she helped the sick girl upstairs to bed. But this was complicated by Salomon’s presence, and she needed Meir’s help to move him to his own bedroom. When that was accomplished, Joheved was nearly exhausted, but she felt an irrational determination to continue cleaning up.
Meir waited until they were out of earshot and vented his displeasure. “What are you doing? Let your servants do the job tomorrow.”
Why was he so mad about her trying to tidy up? “You mean today, not tomorrow,” she said as a rooster crowed nearby. “I do believe it’s nearly dawn.”
His anger increased when she ignored his question, and he brought up the true source of his indignation. “I can’t believe the depravity I witnessed tonight. You laugh your head off at the most bawdy entertainment, your sister embraces her lover with impunity in your own house and your father lies upstairs in a drunken stupor, oblivious to everything.” Meir had consumed so much wine that any shred of discretion was gone.
Intoxication loosened Joheved’s tongue as well. “How dare you accuse me and my family of immorality! And on Purim yet, when we’re supposed to drink and celebrate! Besides, your mother and sister were laughing just as hard as I was.”
She continued to berate him. After all, he had practically called Miriam a harlot. “And you have the self-righteousness to complain about immorality on Purim. The entire holiday encourages excess. Why do you think the rabbis in Tractate Megillah complain so much about licentiousness at Purim if it didn’t happen to them all the time?”
“And I suppose you’ve studied Tractate Megillah?” Meir’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“I certainly have! And Tractates Berachot, Shabbat and Pesachim too.” Joheved immediately covered her mouth in horror.
Meir stared at her in stunned silence, trying to process the indictment he had heard from her own mouth. He couldn’t resist challenging her learning with his own from Tractate Sotah (the suspected adulteress). “Since you’re such a talmid chacham,” his tone was icy, “I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that I agree when Rav Eliezer says that teaching a woman Torah is teaching her lechery. I suppose your sister studies with you, and we can see where it’s gotten her.”
“Adultery!” Her eyes were blazing and she would have screamed except for fear of waking everyone up. “I have never even looked at another man. As for my sister, the man she was kissing was consecrated to her in erusin, and I won’t have you accusing her of adultery either.” She turned and stalked away, terrified that he intended to put an end to her studies.
But before she’d turned away completely, Meir had seen the tears well up in her eyes. Overcome with remorse, he condemned himself for his drunken rage, for letting his yetzer hara ruin six months of exemplary conduct in his attempt for the Divine Presence to abide with them. So what if she knew Talmud? What did he expect with her growing up in her father’s yeshiva? Wasn’t a learned wife what he wanted, to make sure his sons became scholars? He took off his mantle and replaced it right side out. He’d been enough of an animal tonight.
The next morning, Joheved slept through services. She didn’t want to face Meir, and she suspected, correctly, that there wouldn’t be many other women in synagogue either. She woke in time for the midday meal, and as she prepared to put on tefillin, she wondered if he would forbid her that as well.
Meir had gotten up early, hoping to apologize to Joheved on their way to services. Once it became obvious that she wasn’t coming, he accompanied Salomon, who was in a surprisingly good mood. Under the influence of much wine, Salomon had experienced a catharsis. After depositing a drowsy Rachel in her bed, he had sat down next to her, observing her innocent beauty as she slept. Drink loosened his inhibitions and he began to sob, first for his poor baby Leah, taken from him so young, and eventually, for his mother too. The next thing he knew, it was morning and he was lying in bed next to Rivka, feeling as if a great weight he’d been carrying had been lifted.
At services, Salomon prayed with joyful thanks, while Meir prayed for forgiveness for desecrating the Creator’s festival with ugly words. He also prayed that the Merciful One would open Joheved’s heart and allow her to forgive him as well. Maybe he’d be lucky and find that she had consumed so much wine the previous night that she’d forgotten their argument altogether.
When Joheved finally came down to eat, her first thought was to sit as far away from Meir as possible. But even the students who’d slept through services were on time for disner, so the only place available was her customary one next to him. Not wanting to publicize their quarrel by squeezing in next to Miriam, Joheved took her usual seat, but she kept her hands resolutely on the tabletop.
“Master Salomon taught an amusing text this morning about Rabbah and Rav Zeira,” Meir said cheerfully, teasing the students who had overslept. “Since so many of you missed it, maybe we can convince him to repeat it now.” More important, he wanted Joheved to know that he thought she should hear the Talmud lesson too.
Salomon was happy to comply. “Naturally I taught from Tractate Megillah. I suspect Meir is referring to this passage,
‘Rabbah and Rav Zeira once made a Purim feast together. They got very drunk, and Rabbah went and cut Rav Zeira’s throat. In the morning, Rabbah prayed and brought Rav Zeira back to life. The next year, Rabbah invited Rav Zeira to another Purim feast. But Rabbi Zeira said: No, thank you. A miracle may not happen every time.’”
Those around the table broke into laughter, as much for the funny story as for the knowledge that Master Salomon had recovered his good humor. Benjamin couldn’t resist adding, “It’s a miracle Rav Zeira could even remember what happened if he was that drunk.”
The only one not smiling was Joheved, and the sadness on her face was enough to convince Meir that their argument was neither forgotten nor forgiven. She avoided him the rest of the day, and he grew determined to speak with her.
After souper, he discreetly lingered in the courtyard until she finished in the privy. The orange-striped cat seemed to know Meir needed support and twined companionably around his legs.
“Joheved, please wait.” He stepped in front of her and nearly tripped over the cat. “I have to talk with you.”
“Didn’t you say enough last night?” She nearly bit her tongue in shame at her harsh words. She had hoped he wanted to apologize, but maybe he intended to break their engagement and was being polite by telling her first.
“I want you to know how terribly sorry I am for what I said last night.” He corrected himself, “I mean this morning. It was the wine talking. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I swear to you that—”
“Stop. Don’t make any oaths.” Joheved covered his mouth with her hand, but before he could fully appreciate the feel of her skin against his lips, she pulled away as though burned.
“Let me rephrase that,” he said carefully. Taking oaths was a serious matter that Jews avoided whenever possible. Children died young as the result of their parents’ broken vows. “When we’re married, Le Bon Dieu willing, I will hire as many servants as you need so you have time to study.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Now that I have repented, will you forgive me?”
“I forgive you, Meir,” she replied, her heart bursting with happiness. “And I, in turn, will try not to get upset over anything you say on Purim.”
The relief of her forgiveness felt so good that he decided to open his heart to her. “I must also confess that when I got mad at your sister and Benjamin, part of my anger was because it was them embracing so openly, not you and me.” There, he had said it. He nervously waited for her response.
“Moi aussi,” she said softly and went back indoors, leaving him standing there in elation.
He tried to recapture the fleeting feel of her fingers on his lips, while imagining the two of them in a passionate kiss. The response of his body jolted him back to reality, and he headed to the well. The cat, realizing that there was no food in Meir’s direction, turned and followed Joheved into the kitchen.
Between holding Joheved’s hand at meals and picturing her sleeping body below him at night, Meir found cold water on his face increasingly ineffective. Springtime filled him with pent-up energy, and he took to swimming in the Seine, where the amused fishermen regarded him as a crazy penitent bathing in the chilly river for some kind of Lenten sacrifice.
Joheved was also growing restless. At night, she knew it was only a few planks of wood that separated her from Meir, and she wondered if he was thinking of her too. Sometimes she could almost pretend that he was lying next to her snoring, not Miriam. It was only four months until the anniversary of Grandmama Leah’s death. When was Papa going to set a new wedding date?
At the end of April, Meir went home for Passover and spent more time thinking about Joheved than enjoying the Seder with his family. To make matters worse, it had been unseasonably warm all week and he was having trouble sleeping. He awoke Friday before dawn, keenly missing the pleasure he usually felt as he imagined Joheved waking up below, and decided to return to Troyes.
When Meir entered Salomon’s courtyard, he didn’t know which was warmer, the weather or the smile Joheved gave him when she saw him. At home on such a day, Meir would have been barefoot and wearing only his chemise, but Salomon’s family took disner fully dressed. Sweltering in his wool coˆte, Meir bent over to roll down his hose. At least his legs, hidden beneath the table, wouldn’t be quite so hot. But he hadn’t anticipated how eager Joheved would be to hold hands. Instead of demurely waiting for him to reach for her hand, she took the initiative, and Meir nearly choked when he felt her fingers on his bare thigh. Immediately he grasped her hand and pulled it away, but it was too late. He was excruciatingly aroused.
The only thing Meir could think of to divert his yetzer hara was intense Torah study, but when he asked Salomon to help him with Song of Songs, the biblical text traditionally read on Shabbat during Passover, the scholar declared that it was too hot. He wanted to take his Sabbath nap first. Perhaps Meir could find a study partner at the synagogue. But the place was empty, forcing Meir to study alone.
Salomon taught his students that the Song of Songs should be read as allegory, a duet of longing between God and Israel. Meir knew this, but the literal meaning of the words assailed him.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for his love is better than wine.
Meir savored the line and forced himself to recall that Salomon taught that this really meant that Israel longed for God to teach her Torah, “mouth to mouth,” as at Sinai. When he read,
I am faint
with love, his left hand is under my head and his right hand embraces me,
it became difficult to remember that this referred to Israel in the desert, enveloped in God’s cloud.
The room was sweltering like a desert, and after what had transpired at midday, Meir could only think about real kissing and real embracing. Exasperated, he tried to control his yetzer hara by going back to the text once more. The third chapter began with,
By night upon my bed, I sought him whom I love,
and through a fog he recalled something about Israel wandering in the wilderness before reaching the Promised Land. The fourth chapter contained a litany of verses describing the bride’s beauty: her eyes, hair, teeth, lips, mouth, neck and finally,
Breasts like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, which feed among the lilies…all of you is fair.
Salomon had taught that this referred to the Two Tablets of the Covenant, which nourish Israel, but Meir found himself visualizing a real woman. Finally, it was too much to read,
My bride, you have ravished my heart with one look from your eyes.
Meir gave up and closed the book.
His damp hair clung to his skin; sweat trickled down his face and through his beard. He mopped his brow with his sleeve and decided that this would be a perfect time to take a swim. He set off down the street, but somehow his feet led him, not to the Seine, but to Salomon’s courtyard gate.
Inside Salomon’s wine cellar, attempting to avoid the heat, Joheved was also reading Song of Songs. Salomon, Rachel and the servants were taking naps, while Rivka and Miriam had gone to Johanna’s to relax now that the ordeal of preparing for the leaven-free eight days of Passover had ended. They had urged Joheved to join them, but she had begged off.