Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Ben Yochai chortled to himself and continued, “You two will have sons such as were unknown even in the generation of Moses.” He bid Meir see his wife home; they’d meet later at the study session. They left him shaking his head in amazement and muttering, “Sheep, I can’t believe she used sheep.”

  “Meir, please forgive me,” Joheved burst out. “I was only trying to cure you, to expel the demon. I knew it might be dangerous, but I never thought you’d get so sick. And I couldn’t tell you—Ben Yochai said the demon had to be taken by surprise.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, but I forgive you anyway.” He wrinkled his nose in pretend disgust and gave her another hug. “I much prefer the yetzer of a ram to that of a dog.”

  So did she. Then she remembered what the old scholar had said before he left. “Meir, what did Ben Yochai mean about us having sons such as were unknown even in the generation of Moses? He said it as though he expected you to know.”

  “I guess you haven’t studied Tractate Eruvin yet,” he replied. “I know it’s in the tenth chapter. Give me a moment to remember it properly and I’ll quote it for you…”

  Rav Shmuel said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: Any man whose wife solicits him for the holy deed will have children such as were unknown even in Moses’ generation.

  Meir waited for her face to redden and wasn’t disappointed.

  For regarding Moses’ generation it says, “Get yourself intelligent, wise and renowned men.” Then it is written, “And I took as tribal heads, renowned and intelligent men.” He could not find “wise men.”

  “So Moses found intelligent and renowned men, but not wise ones,” she repeated, trying to understand the passage from Deuteronomy. “Go on.”

  But regarding Leah it is written: Leah went out to him (her husband Jacob) and said, “You shall sleep with me tonight, for I have hired you” and it then says, “The children of Issachar (the son conceived by that union) were acquainted with wisdom.”

  “Because she solicited her husband, Jacob, to lie with her, Leah begat Issachar, whose wise descendants were even greater than the men of Moses’ time,” Joheved said uncertainly.

  Women were supposed to behave modestly with their husbands, and this was the first time Joheved heard it was admirable to openly initiate relations. But hadn’t she been doing something like that last autumn? She needed to see the whole Talmud text, not just these few lines. They reached the courtyard gate, and Meir leaned down to kiss her before he returned to the synagogue.

  “Are you sure you’re not angry with me?” she asked.

  “Of course I’m not.” How could she understand that a young man might consider death preferable to impotence? “Joheved, if you hadn’t expelled the demon, divorce would have been inevitable. And I would rather die than see you married to another man!” His vehement devotion startled her, and he tried to lighten his tone. “Just think of all the wonderful sons we’re going to have now.”

  She wanted to return his obvious affection. “That reminds me, I think I’ll study Tractate Eruvin with Miriam tonight while you’re with the scholars. That way I’ll still be awake when you get home.” The invitation in her voice was unmistakable.

  As she watched her husband walk back down the street, Joheved wondered if Ben Yochai would be right, at least the part about having sons. Well, she’d know soon enough. Then she began to smile; she had a feeling Miriam would be as intrigued by that passage in Tractate Eruvin as she was.

  It took some searching before they located the provocative text in their father’s kuntres. The section began with a Baraita that interpreted a verse from Proverbs.

  “He who acts impetuously with his feet is a sinner” refers to one who performs the marital act and then repeats it.

  Joheved knew that scripture often used euphemisms, and sure enough, Papa’s commentary explained that the word “feet” implied a reference to the reproductive organs. “Papa says such behavior is sinful because it badgers the woman. But see here, the Gemara immediately offers a challenge:

  Is this so? Rava said—One who wants to have male children should perform the holy deed and then repeat it.

  “Look at this, Joheved. Papa’s kuntres on this text is longer than the verse.” Miriam eagerly read it to her. “Her desire having been aroused by the first act, the woman will climax and issue her seed before the man does during the second act. Whenever a woman conceives as a result of discharging her seed before her husband, the resulting child will be male.”

  Joheved continued this train of thought aloud. “Since the aroused woman desires the second act, her situation is different from the Baraita, which claims that it bothers her.”

  Miriam giggled and couldn’t resist teasing her sister. “Are you speaking theoretically or from personal experience?”

  The blush on Joheved’s face as she tried to avert her eyes from her sister’s gave her away.

  Miriam continued with the text about Rav Shmuel, and the reward for the wife who solicits her husband for his marital obligation. Joheved was pleased to see that Meir had quoted it accurately. But the Gemara raised an objection, and the text, which had been amusingly risqué, suddenly took a serious turn.

  Is this so? Eve was cursed (for eating from the Tree of Knowledge), as it is written: To the woman He said “I will make severe…your suffering”—this refers to the sorrow of raising children,…“And your childbearing”—this refers to the distress of pregnancy…And in pain you shall bear children”—this is to be understood literally. “Your desire shall be for your husband and he shall rule over you”—this teaches that a woman asks for satisfaction in her heart, and a man with his mouth. And this is decreed a fine thing among women.

  The sisters sat quietly for a few moments. The curses of Eve would fall on them too. Joheved thought of Marona mourning her daughter’s death, what she’d said about the whole village losing children in a smallpox epidemic—the sorrow of raising children. So far the distress of pregnancy had been bearable, but she would soon know firsthand the pain of childbirth. Her throat tightened in fear.

  “I think this section is almost done; let’s finish it.” Joheved wanted to think about anything but the pain of childbirth.

  When is it praiseworthy for a woman to request her desire? When she does so (silently) by making herself attractive before her husband.

  This Papa described as approaching him indirectly with affection and charm, but he wrote nothing else about silent petitioning being admirable except that it contradicted what Rav Shmuel had said earlier.

  Joheved smiled to herself as she thought of the ways she was able to silently encourage Meir these days. A long and lingering kiss or her fingers playing gently on his thigh under the table during souper. At least the last curse didn’t apply to her; she had no difficulty making her needs known to Meir. But not last summer, she reminded herself.

  “Joheved,” Miriam said cautiously, interrupting her sister’s thoughts. “What made you want to study this particular text tonight?”

  Maybe it was the intimacy of having studied together, or maybe because Meir now knew everything, but Joheved confided the entire saga of Meir’s impotence and Ben Yochai’s cure. Miriam was impressed with her sister’s fortitude and expressed disappointment only when Joheved admitted that she had no idea what was in the antidemonic potion.

  “I bet Ben Yochai’s right about your sons,” Miriam said with a giggle. “You must have spent months soliciting your husband.” And with the yetzer of a ram, Meir probably had no difficulty repeating the holy deed.

  “We’ll see.” Joheved wasn’t sure. Maybe her behavior, while silent, was still too brazen. Yet Leah had blatantly told Jacob that he must sleep with her and she was rewarded. Maybe she should ask Meir about it. She yawned widely and wondered what was keeping him. Mama and Rachel had gone to bed ages ago.

  What was keeping Meir was that which often detours men during an evening with good company, especially when the weather is hot and dry. Salomon and his students h
ad lingered at a local tavern. Salomon was in a particularly good mood; he had discovered a fine new student, slightly younger than Meir, who had previously studied in Allemagne. The young man had come to Troyes to marry a wealthy merchant’s daughter, with the understanding that he would continue his studies here at his father-in-law’s expense. His name was Shemayah, and Salomon was looking forward to teaching such an excellent pupil.

  When Salomon and his students finally arrived home, somewhat less sober than when they had left, they found Joheved and Miriam sitting at the dining table, bent over a volume of Talmud. Seeing his daughters deep in study of the holy text filled Salomon’s heart with pride and affection, and he warmly asked them what they were learning.

  “Tractate Eruvin, Papa, the tenth chapter,” Miriam replied with a yawn. “It has an interesting section about women and childbirth in it, and your kuntres explains it very well.”

  “And what made you choose that tractate?” He kept his voice neutral, not wanting to alarm her. Even with his commentary as a guide, it wasn’t appropriate for his daughters to study Arayot on their own.

  Miriam had no idea why she and Joheved should not study this part of Tractate Eruvin, and replied innocently, “Ben Yochai quoted some of it to Joheved and Meir, about how wise their sons were going to be, and Meir told her where to find the passage.”

  The words were already out of her mouth before she realized what her comment implied about her sister and brother-in-law’s intimate relations. Luckily the students were still making a good deal of noise with their chatter, and Miriam hoped that Papa would be the only one to hear and understand what she’d said.

  “Hush!” Joheved whispered. Now the more discerning students would think she brazenly demanded marital relations from Meir.

  When Joheved said, “Hush,” her voice somehow carried across the room. The salon quieted, except for the new student, Shemayah. He had been too poor to frequent taverns in Allemagne, but now, with coins in his purse and comrades to spend them with, he had consumed far more ale than he should have.

  He had both heard and understood Miriam, and was whispering a quote from Tractate Sotah to Asher,

  Rabbi Eliezer said: Whoever teaches his daughter Torah, teaches her “tiflut!”

  Tiflut can be translated as nonsense, but Shemayah intended its usual meaning, lewdness or lechery. Unfortunately for the newcomer, his words seemed to echo through the otherwise silent room. He found himself standing alone, adrift in a sea of animosity. Even those students who didn’t recognize his quote knew that such a saying would infuriate their teacher, and they watched with trepidation as, indeed, Salomon struggled to control his temper.

  It was all Asher could do to restrain Benjamin from physically assaulting the stranger who had just insulted his fiancée. Frenchmen were notoriously sensitive when it came to defending their women’s honor, and in this regard, French Jews were no different than their non-Jewish compatriots.

  Meir was angry too, but he knew he had to prevent Salomon from losing his infamous temper. He turned to the new student and said, as coldly as he could, “Shemayah, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Joheved, and her sister, Miriam, Rabbenu Salomon’s daughters.” Then Meir watched with guilty pleasure while the color drained from Shemayah’s face as the extent of his iniquity dawned on him.

  Shemayah had only just arrived in Troyes and had never been to Salomon’s house before. His intellect dulled by drink, how was he to know who these two women were? He swallowed hard, vowing to never drink ale again.

  Thump! The room was shaken by the sudden crack of Salomon’s fist hitting the dining table. Joheved and Miriam grabbed at their book to keep it from flying off the table, but a ceramic flask crashed to the floor. As the other students slunk back, the terrified new pupil did the only thing he could think of, and humbly introduced himself in return to Joheved and Miriam. It was all he could do to keep from stammering.

  Miriam, who wasn’t sure what tiflut meant, started feeling sorry for the miserable-looking fellow. She could see that if Benjamin got his hands on him, tonight’s woe would be nothing in comparison. So she acknowledged his greeting with a polite nod and set about cleaning up the broken crockery. Joheved, also eager to defuse her father’s fury, stood up and welcomed him to their home.

  Shemayah groaned inwardly when he saw her hugely pregnant form; it was strictly prohibited to mention any sins that a woman approaching childbirth might have committed. Heaven forbid anyone should give the Heavenly Tribunal information about her misdeeds. Undoubtedly her husband and father would be feeling even more protective of her than usual.

  He quailed when Meir, looking down at his hands and appearing annoyed to find that he had no gloves to take off, addressed Salomon, “Rabbenu, I think I need to teach Shemayah some manners.”

  Mon Dieu, thought poor Shemayah, who had never learned to use a sword. Meir was going to challenge him to a duel.

  By this time, the painful throbbing in Salomon’s hand had enabled him to regain control of himself, and he saw that things had gone far enough. He rubbed his aching palm and sighed. “Meir, I think that my new student needs to learn discretion rather than manners. From now on, perhaps you ought to be his study partner?”

  Meir’s study partner? What about her? Joheved shot her father a hurt look and he responded by patting his belly and gently shaking his head. He was right, she thought sadly. Everything would be different once the baby came, for both her and Meir. Then she brightened as she felt a kick from the infant within. The child, she would be the one to teach him…or her.

  Meir, who had never intended to fight Shemayah, took this piece of information with equanimity. He enjoyed going over texts with Joheved, but he missed studying with a regular partner, like Benjamin and Asher did. Each fair he studied with a different merchant, some more learned than others, but it was frustrating having to start anew each season. And there was no denying that Shemayah was very smart.

  Meir wanted to make his agreement public. “Very well, and I intend to teach him all the texts about learned women.” Meir tried to make his smile to Shemayah as warm as he had been cold before. But there was something else he needed to say.

  He chose his words carefully, trying to sum up what he had heard Salomon maintain before. “I have been taught that a man must teach his daughters the mitzvot. As to those that say, ‘He who teaches his daughter Torah teaches her tiflut,’ this refers to the deepest learning, the mysteries of the Torah, which we do not teach to women or to children. But Torah he must teach her, for if she does not know the laws of Shabbat, how can she keep them? And the same goes for all the commandments, in order that she be careful in their performance.”

  Meir’s defense filled Salomon with pride, and he added to his son-in-law’s words. “I read in a manuscript where advice was given to a wise woman on this very question. ‘The statement about tiflut refers to a father teaching a young daughter, who like most girls, is lightheaded, spending her time on nonsense. But women whose hearts have drawn them to approach the Holy One—surely they may ascend the mountain of the Eternal. Scholars should treat them with honor and encourage them in their venture.’”

  The tension in the salon dissipated, and the students began to bid one another “bonne nuit.” When they’d all left, Salomon climbed upstairs with his tired children and whispered to Meir, “Go over Tractate Eruvin with Joheved and make sure she understands it properly. Then she can do the same with her sister.”

  Alone in their room, Joheved was effusive in praise of her husband. Meir let her gush, until finally, sure that his swelled head would explode if he heard any more, he changed the subject. “By the way, I’d like to see this wonderful mirror of yours.”

  Joheved took a step back. “Well, I guess it would be all right,” she said as she rummaged around under the mattress. She pulled out the amulet and handed it to him.

  Meir looked down at the plain, silver mirror. The words, “Meir ben Samuel” were etched around the edge in small Hebr
ew letters. His own visage stared intently back at him, and disconcerted, he quickly returned the mirror to Joheved.

  “It doesn’t look like anything special.”

  “Ben Yochai says it’s just an ordinary mirror now.” She started to put it away, but Meir stayed her hand.

  “Let’s leave it where it was,” he said. “It can’t hurt.”

  “All right,” she replied. His hand was still holding hers and she squeezed it. “We can always take it out again if we need to look in a mirror.”

  His free hand tilted her head up and she returned his kisses enthusiastically. So far she continued to welcome his attentions, although they no longer had relations with him on top.

  He was glad he had thought to show her the Baraita in Tractate Niddah that taught:

  During the last months of pregnancy, marital relations benefit both the woman and the child, because on account of it the child becomes well-formed and strong.

  Of course Joheved wanted to know why this was so, and anticipating a student’s question, Salomon had written in his kuntres, “The semen acts to clean the fluid surrounding the fetus by removing any impurities.” As for why relations should be beneficial for the woman, Salomon wrote that he didn’t know.

  After what happened tonight, Meir decided he had better teach Joheved all the Arayot texts, not just Tractate Eruvin. Otherwise she might attempt to study them on her own or with her sister. But then his wife’s embrace began to cloud his mind, and he forgot about everything except the effect her sweet caresses were having on his body. He blew out the lamp.

  twenty-eight

  Troyes

  Late Summer 4837 (1077 C.E.)

  Another late night, two months later, and Joheved had never felt so exhausted in her life. Yet it was impossible to follow Aunt Sarah’s advice and relax between contractions. No sooner did one pain recede than the next crescendo began, and it was all Joheved could do to keep her moans from turning into screams. But she would not cry out, just as she refused to curse her husband or her Creator.