Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Joheved was beginning to get an inkling of where Aunt Sarah’s questions were leading. “Oui, I had to buckle it differently to make it larger.” She pulled out the jeweled accessory. “I thought marriage was agreeing with me, like Mistress Johanna.”

  “I’m sure marriage does agree with you, Joheved, which is why I’m asking you all these questions. Let’s see how your wedding girdle fits now.” Sarah watched with satisfaction as Joheved attached the ends at their widest setting.

  “Good heavens, how could I get so fat in just six months?” Joheved looked in awe at the evidence of her increased girth and then up at her aunt’s grinning visage. The evidence was undeniable, but she still had to ask, “Am I going to have a baby?”

  Sarah embraced her. “It certainly looks like it. Now bonne nuit dear, pleasant dreams.”

  Joheved was too excited to sleep; she kept thinking about how happy Meir and her parents would be with the news. She could hear everyone still singing below, so she went back down to join them. Then she stood uncomfortably at her seat, unable to overcome her shyness at bringing up such a delicate subject.

  Aunt Sarah broke the ice for her. “Meir, Joheved has something she wants to tell you.”

  She tried to pretend that she was addressing him alone. “I think you should know that…if Le Bon Dieu wills it…next summer you will be a father.”

  It took a little while for the message to sink in, but as her family shouted their delight, Meir jumped up and kissed her, right in front of everyone. Anna was particularly pleased; she too was pregnant and their children would be playmates. Rivka silently wiped away tears with her sleeve.

  But happiest of all was Salomon, who couldn’t help remembering that it was almost a year ago that he had lost his precious little Leah. He silently thanked his Creator and, though it was probably more than forty days since conception, prayed for a grandson.

  Alone in their bedroom that night, Meir felt chagrined at his earlier doubts. He needed to confess and have his wife forgive him. Surely the explanation for her odd behavior was that her father, lacking sons, had treated her like one. But when Meir revealed his previous fears, Joheved’s reaction surprised him. He had expected her to be hurt or angry.

  But she admitted that she harbored the same concerns herself, “Ever since my grandmama told me that too many masculine interests could give girls a wandering womb.”

  Meir had never heard of a “wandering womb,” but he wanted to reassure her. He placed his hands around her waist and whispered, “Joheved, I have no doubt that your womb is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

  Meir was gazing at her with that familiar look in his eyes, and Joheved could feel the answering warmth within her. It amazed her how her yetzer hara responded to just the expression on his face. But she was pregnant! Should they still be having relations? Would it hurt the baby?

  When Joheved didn’t respond to his initial caresses, Meir had a good idea what was worrying her. His studies had assuaged his own concerns; both the Talmudic Sages and the author of Tractate Kallah advocated marital intimacy during pregnancy.

  “You needn’t worry about the child,” he whispered as he nuzzled her neck, an approach he knew she enjoyed. “In Tractate Yevamot, Rav Shmuel recommends the holy deed during pregnancy.”

  “And none of the other Sages contradict him?” Joheved admitted that she had never studied Yevamot, one of several tractates that dealt with the status of women.

  “No, his opinion stands.” He stroked her belly, very much aware of the new life growing within, and had a flash of insight. “You also needn’t worry about knowing more Talmud than I do.”

  “You know me too well, Meir.” How had he ascertained her anxieties so accurately?

  He moved his hand up to caress her breasts. “And I intend to ‘know’ you much better,” he said softly in Hebrew.

  twenty

  Winter 4835 (1074–75 C.E.)

  Throughout the Cold Fair, Meir tried to bring back the merchants’ news to share with Joheved. Perhaps it would be useful when it came time to negotiate the price of this year’s vintage.

  “Last night I heard that it’s dangerous to travel near Paris without a goodly number of men-at-arms,” he told her one morning. “King Philippe seems helpless to control the petty nobles of his fief. The counts of Beaumont have even pillaged estates belonging to the Abbey of St. Denis.”

  “Hmmm.” Joheved reached for her hairbrush. “If attending the St. Denis fairs is dangerous, perhaps more business will come to our Champagne fairs,” she replied.

  Meir’s expression became grim. “But it’s not just the local barons who have sunk to banditry. They say that Pope Gregory is threatening to excommunicate King Philippe himself for robbing pilgrims and Italian merchants.”

  “But Meir, if the king makes it so difficult to bring goods to Paris, then anyone who succeeds will make a handsome profit,” Joheved said. Maybe she should hire guards for their wine’s trip down the Seine. “Isaac haParnas says that what really angers the pope is Philippe’s refusal to give up the king’s authority to appoint bishops in his lands.”

  “Of course he refuses!” Meir was a lord’s son; naturally he supported the king. “How can Philippe depend on the fealty of a bishop selected by the pope?”

  Joheved smiled at her husband’s defense of the nobility. “Some monarch Philippe is,” she countered. “First he lets William the Bastard unite Normandy and Angleterre, then he allows his vassals to behave like brigands. If that’s not bad enough, he and the queen have been childless for over five years.”

  Meir’s voice became somber. “I know. If he dies without an heir, those same vassals will fight like mad to claim his throne.”

  “Le Bon Dieu be thanked that we live under Count Thibault,” Joheved said, tucking her braids under her veil. “He’s a decent ruler, with three healthy sons, who keeps his roads secure and his nobles under control.”

  They both said “amen” to that.

  More than bringing Joheved the merchant’s politics, Meir wanted to share their Talmud discussions with her. The yeshiva students gossiped that Miriam knew as much Talmud as Benjamin did, and that Joheved surpassed her sister. How was it possible that he had married a chacham, yet they never studied together? He racked his brain until he found an argument so compelling that Joheved would have to conquer whatever aversion she had to learning Talmud with him.

  “After all,” he told her, “what could be a better influence on our unborn child than words of Torah spoken by his parents?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Joheved said slowly, her throat tightening. She couldn’t help but agree with Meir’s premise, even though it obligated her to study with him.

  “You don’t sound convinced. What’s so terrible about studying with me anyway? Do you think I’m such a bad teacher?”

  “No, of course not.” She was quick to reassure him. “I’ve seen you with the boys and I think you’re an excellent teacher.”

  She could see he was waiting for her to answer his earlier question. She took a deep breath and explained in a rush, “I’m sorry, Meir, but I find it hard to believe that any man beside Papa would approve of my learning Talmud.”

  Meir lifted up her chin and forced her to look at him. “I know it didn’t sound like it at Purim, but I can honestly say that I don’t object to your studying Talmud.”

  “But if I say something clever, you might get angry because it makes me look smarter than you.”

  “Joheved, I’m sure I’ll feel proud when you say something clever, not angry.”

  “And if I say something stupid?”

  “No sincere question about Torah is stupid.”

  Despite Meir’s reassurance, Joheved was so reticent that it took several sessions before he saw that he didn’t need to teach her the texts; she’d already memorized them. Even then she merely listened to his explanations and repeated them back. It was only when they reached chapter four of Tractate Rosh Hashanah, which dealt with women
blowing the shofar, that she threw off her timidity and questioned him like a real study partner.

  The debate started with the Mishnah and continued with the Gemara.

  We do not prevent children from blowing the shofar…But we do prevent women.

  Joheved reacted immediately. “What? How does the Mishnah’s statement about children imply a prohibition on women?” If women weren’t allowed to blow the shofar, maybe they weren’t allowed to wear tefillin either.

  “Both women and boys are exempt from the shofar obligation,” Meir began slowly, not sure how much she already knew.

  “Of course.” She tried not to sound impatient. “Boys are exempt because children are not obligated to perform any mitzvot, and women are exempt because shofar is a positive time-bound commandment, performed on the day of Rosh Hashanah.”

  “Well, boys will eventually be obligated when they’re grown.” Meir tried to remember exactly how Salomon had explained it. “And because they must be trained, we allow them to practice.”

  “As for women (he suspected she was about to ask this), the sage in the Gemara apparently holds that if a woman blows the shofar when she’s not obligated to do so, she violates the prohibition against adding anything to the commandments.”

  Joheved’s eyes narrowed in anger, and Meir quickly pointed to the next line.

  But it was taught: We do not prevent either women or children from blowing the shofar on the holy day.

  Her expression softened. Now the discussion would attempt to resolve the obvious contradiction. But would the final decision keep women from performing the mitzvah or not? She had to know.

  Abaye said: There is no difficulty. The Mishnah prohibiting women is the view of Rav Yehuda, and the other teaching is that of Rav Yose and Rav Shimon.

  Joheved jumped in with a question before Meir could say anything. “But how does Abaye know the first sage is Rav Yehuda and the others are Rav Yose and Rav Shimon?” She looked up at him eagerly and her eyes were shining.

  Meir felt his own excitement growing. He smiled and told her the text would answer her question.

  It is taught, regarding Temple sacrifices: The sons of Israel lay hands over their sacrifices, but the daughters of Israel do not. These are the words of Rav Yehuda. Rav Yose and Rav Shimon say: Women may lay hands if they so desire.

  “Since Rav Yose and Rav Shimon’s opinion permitting women, and Rav Yehuda’s opinion restraining them, are known from the teaching about sacrifices, Abaye presumes that they hold the same opinions about the mitzvah of shofar,” Meir explained.

  “Very well, I see that.” Joheved started pacing the room. “Papa taught us that the prohibition against adding anything to the mitzvot only applies to things like putting five paragraphs of Torah in tefillin instead of four.” Her voice began to rise. “I don’t see why it should prevent anyone from voluntarily doing a mitzvah from which they are exempt.”

  “That’s not what Rav Yehuda says.” Meir could see his wife’s anger growing and he quickly added, “Not that I agree with him.”

  Joheved sat down, and they started in on the next paragraph. For the next hour, their words fairly flew around the room.

  Why does Rav Yehuda believe that? The Gemara may explain this situation, but what happens in another one? Are you sure that’s what Abaye means? Perhaps he means this? We must remember to ask Papa about this case. Rava’s explanation doesn’t make sense—he must mean something else. But that can’t be right; it contradicts the Mishnah. What do you think? What do you think?

  Meir hadn’t felt such excitement studying Talmud since he’d moved to Troyes. No wonder women weren’t allowed in the yeshiva.

  Suddenly Joheved was silent for a moment. “But what is the law, Meir? The Sages haven’t said anything else about women, just more about shofar blowing in general.”

  “There is no decision to prevent women from performing mitzvot. Rav Yose and Rav Shimon, Rav Yehuda—they maintain their respective opinions.” Meir gave her a small smile. “You know very well whose rule we follow here. I’ve seen you perform time-bound commandments myself.”

  Joheved didn’t know how to respond. Had Meir discovered that she prayed with tefillin? What else could he be referring to? “What do you mean?” she asked tentatively, her eyes wide.

  She looked like a startled doe Meir had suddenly encountered while riding in the forest. Well, let her hide her tefillin if that’s what she wanted. “Joheved, everyone in your family eats in the sukkah during Sukkot; the women are not restrained. So you all fulfill the mitzvah of dwelling in a sukkah.”

  “And I suppose Rava would say that my mother also performs the mitzvah of sukkah, even if she has no intention of doing so.” Relieved that her secret had not been exposed, Joheved laughed at the absurdity of this conclusion, while Meir noted proudly that she still remembered the text they had studied months earlier.

  Meir continued to share Talmud with Joheved, but they weren’t the only ones attempting to influence their unborn child for the better. Anna now attended services the three days a week when scripture was read publicly. This particular Shabbat, they had come to the part where Joseph was reunited with his brothers after years of separation, hiding his identity from them until he’d ascertained that they had repented of their sins against him.

  Many of the men in the congregation used this time to chat amongst themselves. After all, they had been studying this portion of the Torah all week. There was also much coming and going; people greeting friends, those with weak bladders leaving to relieve themselves, latecomers just arriving. With the Cold Fair in full swing, there were foreign merchants to be speculated about as well.

  The reader had just begun to chant the section from Prophets that followed the Torah reading, when a large, red-haired stranger entered. He was so tall that he had to duck to get through the door, and he seemed poorly dressed for the holy day. The man peered around anxiously, as if not sure what his welcome would be.

  The hubbub, which had increased with his entrance, was suddenly split by a shriek from the women’s gallery. The reader halted in midword, and the congregation’s attention was riveted as Anna pushed her way through the women and raced down the stairs.

  “Nicolae, Nicolae,” she called out, while the stranger watched in astonishment as this hugely pregnant woman bore down on him. Despite the men’s presence, she tore off her veil so he could see her clearly. “Nicolae, don’t you know me? It’s Anna! Anna, Mihail’s daughter.”

  Their audience watched in awe as his face lit in recognition. This real-life drama was even better than Joseph’s story in the Torah. Tears running down both their faces, the man picked her up and swung her around as if she were a child, oblivious to the public display they had created. Only when Salomon and Baruch approached them did Anna notice the sea of curious faces turned in their direction. She quickly replaced her veil, and, all eyes upon them, the foursome exited into the courtyard.

  Anna was too overwrought to speak, so Baruch introduced them. Nicolae was Anna’s uncle, her mother’s youngest brother. If his appearance wasn’t amazing enough, the tall man proceeded to correct Baruch, and, using passable Hebrew, tell Salomon that his name was no longer Nicolae, but “Samson,” an appropriate moniker considering his size and strength. He too was a convert.

  Like any other Jew arriving in a new town, he had presented himself at the local synagogue. But a convert like Samson was at a disadvantage. His poor Hebrew plus his lack of familiarity with the holy texts made it difficult to prove that he was truly a Jew. Samson’s outlandish appearance only emphasized his foreignness, but he was prepared for suspicion.

  He pulled a well-worn sheet of parchment from his sleeve and handed it to Salomon. It was a “letter to the communities,” written by none other than Salomon’s old maître, Isaac haLevi of Mayence. First, in case he was unknown to the reader, Isaac haLevi filled the letter with examples of his Talmudic knowledge, written in erudite Hebrew, so that his testimony could be relied upon without doubt.
Then he requested the reader to “receive Samson ben Abraham graciously, and treat him the same excellent way you are accustomed to treat every traveler.”

  Salomon couldn’t wait to invite Samson to disner and hear about his travels. And what tales they were! The yeshiva students listened eagerly as Samson described how he spent several years in the Carpathian mountains fighting barbarians, becoming expert with many types of weapons, before he was finally captured and sold into slavery. He laughingly told them how his conversion to Judaism had come about because of a Romanian priest.

  “The fellow told me that unless I became a Christian, excuse me, one of the Notzrim, I would be castrated and sold to the Moors as a harem guard.” Samson didn’t understand the Jews’ touchiness about the word, “Christian,” and sometimes he forgot to use an acceptable substitute. “But if I accepted the Church, he would save me, since Jews weren’t allowed to own Notzrim slaves.”

  “Well, I certainly wanted to keep my balls,” he continued, “but I wasn’t about to worship a man who was hanging dead on a cross. What kind of god is that?” Samson shook his head in disgust. “At first my master was furious when I asked him about becoming a Jew,” he said with a smile. “But I told him it was either Judaism or the Church for me, that I had no intention of ending up a eunuch.”

  Samson explained how he continued to travel as a man-at-arms for his Jewish master, from their base in Mayence to Russia for furs or to Byzantium for silks and spices. Once, when they were attacked by bandits, his earlier training stood him in good stead and enabled him to save his master’s life. The merchant had freed Samson in gratitude, and since then, the former slave made his living as a guard with various merchant caravans.

  This year, having heard that roads to Paris were particularly dangerous, he hoped that he might be of service to those wishing to export goods, particularly wine, to that city. Hearing this, Meir and Joheved nodded to each other in silent assent. Several wine buyers at the Cold Fair would be very eager to meet Samson.