Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  The merchants passing through Allemagne heard rumors of increasing tension. Henry appointed new church councilors and Gregory demanded their dismissal. Men whispered that Gregory would excommunicate Henry if he did not obey, and others said the king was preparing his army for an attack on Rome, intending to put a new pope in Peter’s Chair. A war between king and pope would have tremendous implications for those doing business in Allemagne and Italy, and much deliberation was spent on how to best profit from it.

  Salomon was untouched by these political discussions. Scholars who had studied in Mayence had brought him news that his old teacher, Isaac haLevi, had died, and that Rivka’s brother, Isaac ben Judah, was the new Rosh Yeshiva there. But relations between the brothers-in-law were cool. The Germans had never forgiven Salomon for exerting his own authority over how French beef was slaughtered, and when he’d opened his own yeshiva, it only exacerbated the breach.

  But neither scholars’ rivalry nor political intrigue could dampen the happy anticipation of the Jewish community’s biggest social event of the Hot Fair, the feast Isaac haParnas was giving in celebration of his grandsons’ betrothal. The yeshiva students looked forward to congratulating Menachem and Ephraim with such good cheer as only a group of youths presented with unlimited food and drink could provide.

  Salomon and Meir weren’t in a celebratory mood and spent most of the banquet discussing Talmud with their more serious colleagues while Miriam coaxed Joheved into partnering her in the women’s dances. Rachel started out watching her sisters, but it was difficult to see them with so many adults in the way. When she tried to find her mother, she saw only strangers, and her calls for Mama were drowned out by the musicians.

  She rushed through the crowd, desperate to find a familiar face, when suddenly a thin, skeletal hand reached out and grabbed her. Terrified, she looked up to see that she was the prisoner of a little old man in dark robes. She fought to get away but he held her fast.

  “You are Rav Salomon’s little girl.” His accent was so strange that she could barely understand him, but his kind voice calmed her. “Are you lost? Shall I take you to him?”

  She nodded and started to cry. The old man sounded nice, but Rachel knew about witches and warlocks, how they kidnapped innocent children. And if anyone fit her idea of what a warlock looked like, it was this gaunt white-haired man whose skin was as dry and scaly as a lizard’s. But she obediently followed him.

  “Salomon, I believe this valuable commodity belongs to you.”

  Rachel looked up to see her father, standing next to Meir, and several men she recognized as having dined with them on occasion. “Papa!” she cried out and ran to his outstretched arms.

  He kept his hand on her shoulder as she took a tight hold on his tunic. “Rachel, you should thank my friend Ben Yochai for bringing you to me,” Salomon said as the old scholar held out his bony hand.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to kiss that reptilian palm, and squeezed closer to her father, as if hoping to hide in his bliaut, as she had often done when she was little. Ben Yochai, either out of pity or because the ritual of hand kissing was not important to him, moved his hand up to stroke her curly hair.

  “What a delightful child; may the Holy One protect her.” Ben Yochai smiled his toothless grin. “She will be a treasure for you in your old age, Salomon.” He smiled wider as Joheved ran up and scolded Rachel for slipping out of her sight. “Scholarly sons are well and good, but when you’re old and frail, you’ll appreciate your daughters and granddaughters.”

  “And you, Ben Yochai, have so many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that you can’t even keep track of them anymore,” Hiyya ibn Ezra teased his elderly colleague. “Your presence here is fortuitous, my friend. I’m trying to persuade Salomon that it is time for him to study the mysteries of the Torah. You are an authority in these matters, don’t you agree?”

  Before Ben Yochai could reply, Salomon interrupted. “I have no interest in such perilous subjects; I leave them to you in the hot climates. Between my commentaries on scripture and my Talmud kuntres, I have more than enough to study for a lifetime.”

  Joheved changed her mind about returning to the dancing and listened closely to their debate. Papa discouraged his yeshiva students from investigating

  What came before (creation), what came after (death), what was above (heaven and angels), or what was below (the domain of demons).

  He said that the Torah’s secret knowledge was so dangerous to explore that Talmudic sages who’d attempted it had either died or become insane in the process. Joheved never expected to meet a master of the esoteric wisdom, but apparently Ben Yochai was one.

  “I have no doubt that Salomon has the necessary background, but if he has no interest, he would make a poor student,” Ben Yochai replied. “To fully grasp the material, a pupil must study for years, from a mentor who only takes one disciple at a time. Even then it is a waste of effort if he lacks the proper kavanah.”

  Was it really possible, Joheved wondered as the men talked, to use the hidden names of God to summon demons and make them do one’s bidding, to make potions that could heal or kill, to foretell the future? What would it be like to wield such power? Certainly Ben Yochai was not an imposing man, except that he had lived to an exceptional age.

  Salomon turned to admonish Hiyya. “I don’t believe the Creator intended us to know His secrets. If others wish to engage in this risky venture, I will not encourage them.” Then his expression softened. “In any case, I am only thirty-five years old, and it is forbidden to study these things until one is forty. Perhaps when I am older, I will feel the urge to delve into them.”

  As August and the Hot Fair drew to a close, Joheved, to her surprise, was asked by her father-in-law to attend the livestock sales with him and his daughter, Hannah. Since it was unclear which of his children’s sons would eventually inherit his manor, Samuel wanted all their parents to become more knowledgeable about sheep. As long as he was in Troyes, Joheved might as well begin her husbandry education.

  “This summer we must purchase at least one new ram for our flock,” he told her. “You see, during last fall’s mating season, the old lead ram killed a younger one in a battle for dominance, but he was mortally wounded in return.”

  As they walked around the holding pens, Samuel pointed out each ram’s desirable characteristics to the young women. One sturdy fellow impressed them all, but they could not agree on a second. Samuel waited patiently until they came to the conclusion to buy this one animal only and see how the lambs he fathered did in the spring. They could always purchase another ram later.

  Hannah, in the early months of pregnancy, found the odors emanating from the livestock area overpowering. “Joheved, I would be grateful if you could finish shopping for me,” she said. “After all these animals, I’m afraid the spice merchants’ scents will be too much for me.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Joheved gave her sister-in-law directions home (it wouldn’t do for Hannah to end up near Rue de la Petite Tannerie) and set off for the spice sellers’ stalls.

  Hannah slowly walked from the bustling streets surrounding the fairgrounds to the Rû Cordé bridge. All the alleys with their daub and wattle houses looked the same to her, and it took longer than she expected to find Salomon’s courtyard. Relieved, she stood at the gate waiting for her nausea to pass.

  The warm weather had persuaded Meir to take his small group of students outdoors to work on the week’s Torah portion, and their high-pitched chanting was pleasantly soothing. Eventually the singsong came to a stop, and Meir heard a sound behind him.

  He turned to see his sister slumped against the wall. “Hannah, what are you doing here alone? Are you all right?”

  She nodded her head, and he continued, “Are you too warm? Shall I get you some wine from the cellar?”

  “Merci, non,” she said. “But perhaps we could walk along the river where it’s cooler. The fresh air there would be nice too.”

  He dir
ected the boys to continue with their study partners and led Hannah towards Bishop’s Gate. There, far from the tanneries and fairgrounds, they strolled along the tow path that bordered the Seine.

  Between the exercise and clean air, Hannah began to feel better. “Thank you for leaving your students to accompany me,” she said. “The first months of pregnancy are always difficult for me, and I probably should have stayed at home.”

  Meir winced. Here his sister was expecting her third child, and he didn’t have any. Maybe she could help him figure out what he was doing wrong. But it was a delicate subject.

  She interrupted his thoughts to tease him. “Why is my usually talkative little brother so quiet? What deep and scholarly subject is he contemplating?”

  There would be no peace until he told her something, so he took a deep breath and prepared to confide in her. “Hannah, I need your advice.”

  “I don’t believe it. My brother, the talmid chacham, doesn’t know everything?” She raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment.

  “Would you please be serious? This is important.”

  “I’m sorry, Meir, I’ll listen until you’ve said your piece.” His troubled tone of voice, rather than his words, convinced her of his sincerity.

  “Joheved and I have been married almost eighteen months and we still don’t have any children.” Surprisingly, it was difficult to speak without crying. “We must be doing something wrong, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Hannah patted his arm in sympathy. “I think it’s too early to worry about being barren,” she said. “Besides, you’ve had one pregnancy already.”

  “But she lost the baby six months ago, and we’ve been trying so hard since then.” He was ashamed to admit he still suspected his wife was lacking in feminine attributes.

  “Meir, I lost the pregnancy after my daughter’s birth, and it was more than a year after that before we conceived this one. I doubt that you use the bed any less than Simcha and I do.”

  “You miscarried? You didn’t tell me.” It was sobering to think that they had this kind of loss in common.

  “It was just after we heard that Joheved was expecting, and I didn’t want to spoil your happiness.”

  He sighed in remembrance of those carefree times. “I know I should be patient, but it’s so frustrating. Joheved’s flowers aren’t regular—sometimes they’re a month apart, sometimes more. Just when it’s been so long since she last immersed that I’m sure she must be pregnant, then I find out she’s niddah again.”

  “I know it’s difficult, getting your hopes up and then being disappointed, but these things take time.” She smiled up at him. “After all, there’s almost ten years difference between Meshullam and me. Look how many years Mama and Papa have been married, and still they’ve only had the three of us.”

  Meir began to blush. Of course his parents used the bed—all married couples did. But the thought of his father doing with his mother the same things he did with Joheved was disconcerting. Despite Samuel’s gift of Tractate Kallah, Meir hadn’t considered that his father might also have benefited from its wisdom.

  “Surely you don’t think that they only had marital relations three times?” Hannah couldn’t help but laugh at her younger brother’s consternation.

  “All right, I’ll try to be more patient.” His sister often teased him about spending so much time with his books that he was oblivious to the real world, and now he had given her new evidence of his naiveté. “Let’s change the subject. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling better, merci. And I have a question for you.” Now her voice became serious. “How can you stand to live in such a crowded and noisy city when our own manor is so close by? How can you sleep at night or think during the day with so many bells ringing all the time? Don’t you miss the sound of birds singing? And the tanneries’ stink that permeates the town during hot weather is nearly unbearable.”

  “That was more than one question, but I can answer them all by saying that studying Talmud is my life—and that means living in a big city.” Meir didn’t want to hurt his sister’s feeling by saying that, after spending years in Mayence, Worms and Troyes, he preferred the cosmopolitan hustle and bustle to rural torpor.

  “I’ll gladly put up with the summer stench in order to talk Torah with the learned merchants who come to the Hot Fair,” he added. It also meant a great deal to Joheved to learn what she could from the yeshiva, and her happiness was becoming more important to him every day. “Besides, I don’t live a completely urban life. I work in Salomon’s vineyard and I might even become a vintner some day.”

  “You a vintner?” Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “I’d love to see that.”

  They discussed the possibility of growing grapes in Ramerupt and spent the rest of their walk speaking of inconsequential matters. Neither wanted to broach the difficult subject of who would be the one to inherit the family estate. If Meshullam’s sickly son didn’t live to adulthood, then by law the manor should go to Meir. But what if he preferred life in the yeshiva?

  twenty-two

  Early Spring 4836 (1076 C.E.)

  The clattering of horses’ hooves followed by loud, urgent men’s voices jolted Miriam awake. Rays of light appeared from below, and as Papa hurried downstairs, she heard Mama complain, “Just when I was hoping to get some sleep after those night-long Purim parties…”

  Miriam peered out the window. With the moon just past full, the scene below was clearly visible. Aunt Sarah’s manservant was speaking with men at the courtyard gate, men whose horses and swords proclaimed their nobility. Now Sarah herself came out, and the relief the knights displayed proved that they had come to the midwife’s home for the usual reason. Miriam couldn’t contain her curiosity, and when she saw Papa join them, she threw on her clothes and raced outside.

  As she listened to the men’s story, her apprehension grew.

  Countess Adelaide was in labor and unable to find another midwife at this hour. The knights knew nothing of their lady’s condition save that she had been laboring for nearly two days.

  “Miriam, will you help me pack my midwife kit?” Sarah asked. They walked back together, and she whispered to Salomon, “I don’t like this. What could have made the regular midwife disappear?”

  “Must you take Miriam with you?”

  “Oui. It may be that the first midwife failed because more than one attendant is necessary.”

  At Count Thibault’s palace, Miriam held tightly to Aunt Sarah’s hand as they passed through rooms so large that, as hard as she tried, she could see only the small circle of illumination cast by their escorts’ torches. They ascended a staircase wide enough for Miriam, Aunt Sarah and their guide to walk abreast, before arriving at a door that opened immediately when they reached it. Miriam saw that the floor was not wood, but laid with different colored tiles, and the walls were covered with embroidered hangings.

  Even more impressive was the bed, carved with animal shapes. Miriam stopped to stare at them and Aunt Sarah hissed at her, “Never mind the fancy decorations. On the bed lies a pregnant woman struggling in long travail, no different from any other.”

  The countess looked ghastly, her eyes sunken and her pallid skin tinged with grey. Sarah asked the calmest-looking woman what had happened and learned that Her Grace’s water had broken two nights ago and the usual midwife was called.

  “The midwife tied agrimony to Her Grace’s thigh and rubbed her body with the ashes of burnt donkey hoof, but the baby did not come,” the lady-in-waiting said. “We massaged Her Grace’s belly for hours, to no avail. Finally the midwife said she had to get some special herbs for a difficult birth, but that was well before Matins—”

  Suddenly, Countess Adelaide was seized with a contraction. Her face contorted and she moaned in agony. “Let me die. By the bones of Saint Margaret, let me die.” She clutched at Sarah’s hands, which were intently probing her belly. “Or help me to die. I know you have the means.”

  Miriam didn’t k
now which was worse, that the Countess sought death or that she thought Aunt Sarah could provide it. Did she know a Jewish midwife was attending her, reputedly wise in the ways of poisons? Adelaide didn’t seem capable of knowing anything besides the pain that was making her mewl like an injured cat.

  Sarah stood up and confidently addressed the nearest maidservant, “Get me some pure olive oil, and make sure the vessel that holds it is large enough for my entire hand to fit in.”

  Then she turned to Miriam. “The child is laying sideways. Until his head or feet are pointing towards the womb’s opening, he cannot be born. So when the oil arrives, you will stick your hand into the vessel, and then, quickly before the oil drips off, reach into Her Grace’s womb and feel for the child’s hip or shoulder.”

  “What?” Miriam’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Me, stick my hand up into the countess? Won’t that hurt her terribly?” She didn’t dare mention how repugnant she found the procedure. “Isn’t there another way?”

  “Non, Miriam, there isn’t another way. My hand is too big.” Sarah gave her niece an encouraging smile. “You must turn the baby from within while I turn him from the outside.”

  Sarah poured out a cup of wine for her patient and crumpled some leaves into it. “Ragwort and wormwood,” she informed Miriam. “The first to give the mother fortitude, the second to relieve her pain.”

  A large clay pot was offered to Miriam, and she plunged her hand into the warm oil. Then, praying for fortitude for herself, she gingerly inserted her dripping fingers into Adelaide’s birth canal. Telling herself that it wasn’t much different from cleaning a chicken, Miriam slowly slid her way forward. But the opening wasn’t big enough for her whole hand, and she said so.