“I’m sure he doesn’t expect a reward, but I can speak to Meir about it.”
“We were worried that he wouldn’t be able to find you,” Miriam said. “And that you wouldn’t get home in time.”
“Did Mama have any pain at the end?” Rachel asked, afraid of the answer. She felt shame both for missing Mama’s deathbed and for feeling relief at having avoided it.
“Non,” Joheved replied. “She was barely conscious these last few weeks.”
“But when Milo returned, she woke up enough to leave you a message.” Miriam turned to Rachel, who stared back with trepidation. “Mama’s last words were for you to take care of Papa.”
Rachel gulped. “Surely she asked you both the same thing.”
Joheved shook her head. “She asked me to interrupt my mourning to celebrate this baby’s birth, and if it’s a boy, Meir and I must prepare banquets for his brit milah no less sumptuous than for her other grandsons.”
“She told me not to delay Yom Tov’s betrothal on her account,” Miriam said.
“Yom Tov’s betrothal?” Rachel stared at her sister in bewilderment. What else had happened while she was gone?
“When we were in Paris last summer, several families approached us,” Miriam replied. “Judah’s brother, Azariel, did some investigating and then invited Yom Tov to spend Passover week with him, so he can meet potential brides.”
“Shmuel is going with him,” Joheved said. “They can accompany our wine casks and ensure their kosher status.” Her face fell slightly and she sighed. “It will be my first Passover without all the children.”
Rachel exchanged a furtive glance with Miriam, who had to be remembering that terrible Passover she’d spent without her children, sick with the pox in Paris. But Miriam was thinking of their mother.
“We have to expect our children to grow up and leave us eventually.” Miriam’s chin began to quiver. “It will be our first Passover without Mama.”
“It will be Papa’s first Passover without her since they were married,” Rachel said, overwhelmed that Mama had singled her out to care for him. Had Mama finally accepted Rachel’s special place in Papa’s heart? She couldn’t have worried that Joheved and Miriam would neglect him. Rachel sighed. Probably Mama wanted to guarantee that she wouldn’t return to Toledo after sheloshim but would stay in Troyes with Papa.
Joheved yawned. “If you don’t mind, Rachel, I need to go to sleep. Miriam and I were up all night, guarding Mama’s body.”
Rachel felt another stab of guilt and quickly let her sisters prepare for bed. Tired as she was, Rachel had to see how Papa was doing first. Downstairs, he seemed well comforted by Judah, Yom Tov, and Shmuel, while Meir was deep in conversation with Samuel and Simcha de Vitry. When she heard Talmud mentioned, she stopped to listen. Anything to delay going to bed and wondering what was behind Mama’s haunting last words.
“Did you know that the Justification of Judgment prayer comes from the Talmud?” Meir asked.
“Isn’t it from Deuteronomy?” his nephew responded.
“The beginning is, but the reason we recite it at funerals and during mourning comes from Tractate Avodah Zarah.”
After Salomon told him of Rabbi Meir and Beruria’s tragic fate, Meir had read a page earlier in the Gemara and learned how Beruria’s parents had suffered their deaths.
Simcha leaned forward. “Teach it to us . . . if it isn’t too long.”
“Of course,” Meir said.
“They (the Roman tribunal) brought in Rabbi Hanina ben Tradion and asked him: Why have you occupied yourself with Torah? He replied [quoting Deuteronomy]: ‘Thus Adonai, my God commanded me.’ At once they sentenced him to be burnt, his wife to be slain, and his daughter to a brothel.
“Not Beruria, Rabbi Meir’s wife, but Rabbi Hanina’s other daughter,” Meir quickly explained when he saw their shocked expressions.
“As the three went out, they declared the righteousness of Divine judgment. Hanina recited: The Rock, His work is perfect, for all His ways are just. His wife continued: A God of truth and without iniquity, true and upright is He. And the daughter quoted: Wondrous in purpose and mighty in deed, Your eyes observe all the ways of men . . . Rebbi said: How great were these righteous ones, in that these three verses, acknowledging submission to Divine justice, occurred to them exactly at the appropriate moment.”
Simcha and Samuel, both of whom had lost beloved wives in childbirth, sighed sadly at the inscrutability of the Holy One’s ways. Rachel trudged upstairs to try to acknowledge her own loses.
One week later, at the end of shiva, Rachel wasn’t at all sure that Papa needed to be taken care of. Rivka’s grandchildren lamented her loss more than he did, and if he shed any tears, she hadn’t seen them. His grief was clearly not great enough to stop him from teaching Talmud.
“Thirty days is too long for my students to remain idle,” he declared. “However, since this is a house of mourning we will refrain from whatever makes one rejoice, including the study of Torah, because the Nineteenth Psalm reads:The precepts of Adonai are right, rejoicing the heart.”
His students stared in confusion, and Salomon continued, “Thus our Sages allow a mourner to study the sorrowful sacred texts—the books of Job, Lamentations, and Jeremiah, or those passages of Talmud dealing with mourning in Tractate Moed Katan and the Temple’s destruction in Tractate Gittin.”
Salomon picked a nonmourner, the orphan Samson ben Joseph, to read a Mishnah from the third chapter of Moed Katan.
“These are prohibited to a mourner: He is forbidden to work, to bathe, to perfume himself, to have marital relations, and to wear shoes.”
Salomon looked around the room. “Does this Mishnah give rise to any questions?” Several hands rose and Salomon called on his oldest student.
“Who precisely is a mourner?” Simcha de Vitry asked. “I recall that there was a question about Meir mourning his sister.”
Salomon nodded and addressed the room. “Will one of our younger students please recite from Leviticus what the Holy One said to Moses concerning the dead that priests may defile themselves for?”
Before a boy could speak, Hannah answered confidently,“Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say to them: None shall defile himself for the dead among his people except for his kin that are near to him—his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, and his brother; also for a virgin sister that is near to him and has no husband.”
Salomon may not have expected to hear a feminine voice, but he displayed no displeasure and nodded again. “These are the relatives we must mourn by refraining from the activities our Mishnah prohibits.”
Several of Salomon’s pupils looked questioningly at him, who was mourning his wife though Moses had not mentioned a spouse. So he addressed their concerns.
“The Sages interpret ‘his kin’ to denote his wife, and they also include a married sister if she has not moved to a distant location.”
When Salomon said no more, Meir added, “We also mourn for those whom our relatives are mourning. Thus because a man is required to mourn for his wife and she for her parents, he also mourns his in-laws.”
“The most severe restrictions apply to those who mourn a parent,” Salomon continued. “As we also learn in Moed Katan: For all the dead, he may remove his shoes or not; for his father or mother, he removes his shoes . . . For all the dead, he may cut his hair after sheloshim; for his father and mother, only after his friends complain how he looks. For all the dead, he may attend a celebration after sheloshim; for his father or mother, only after twelve months.”
Everyone looked at Joheved, who would hopefully need to celebrate a brit milah in several months. She, along with Miriam and Rachel, had agreed to the stringency of not participating in the Talmud discussion, except as observers.
“The Sages disagree on whether this includes banquets accompanying a mitzvah like a marriage or circumcision,” Judah said. “Some permit mourners to attend and some prohibit this.”
“
In my wife’s case . . .” Salomon paused, and Rachel saw tears glistening in his eyes. “She specifically requested that our daughters celebrate any such mitzvah that occurs in our family.”
Her father’s grief brought only a mist of sympathetic moisture to Rachel’s eyes. She was overwhelmed with contradictory feelings over Mama’s death: grief, guilt, resentment, relief. But uppermost in her thoughts was whether Mama meant to reward her or punish her by making Papa’s care her responsibility.
eighteen
Rachel couldn’t tell if the tapping noise that woke her was coming from her bedroom door or somewhere outside, so she lay still in bed, her senses poised to hear it again. Her daughter Rivka and niece Alvina, inseparable at night as well as by day, lay beside her, their chests rising and falling in gentle unison, and Rachel couldn’t resist the urge to drop a kiss on her child’s forehead.
Tap, tap—this time she knew it was her door. She was slipping on her chemise when Papa whispered from the hall, “Rachel, wake up.”
“What’s the matter, Papa?”
Mama had been dead almost three months, and Rachel had yet to see an indication that Papa had any special need of her. After spending Passover in Ramerupt, she decided to stay in her old room at Papa’s until Eliezer came home, which thank Heaven would be very soon.
“Nothing’s the matter . . . I think.” Salomon’s voice became more urgent. “Put on your mantle and come outside.”
Rachel couldn’t imagine what her father found so interesting outdoors on this moonless night, but she followed him downstairs and onto the porch. Baruch and Anna were already there, staring at the sky, and it seemed that others were standing outside Miriam’s house.
When Papa looked up, Rachel followed his gaze and gasped with wonder as a shooting star bolted across the sky. “Baruch ata Adonai . . . Whose strength and power fill the world,” she recited the Talmudic blessing said upon seeing zikim.
Immediately the meteor was followed by others, then the heavens remained stationary for a short while until another abruptly appeared and disappeared. She found that she could not count to five before a new shooting star burst into view, and sometimes there were several in the sky simultaneously.
She could barely tear herself away from the spectacle overhead when the bells chimed Matins, but the sky was more incredible the following night. By the third night, all the yeshiva students as well as her children were outside at midnight to gape in awe at the stars falling.
“What does it mean?” everyone was asking, for this was surely a sign portending the future.
Judah shrugged his shoulders. “In Berachot the sages ask:What do zikim mean? Shmuel said: the paths of Heaven are as known to me as the streets of Nehardea [where he lived] except for shooting stars; of these I am ignorant.
“So if the great Babylonian astronomer Shmuel didn’t understand them, I don’t see how we can.”
“When Rabbi Hiyya died, fiery stones came down from the sky,” Salomon said. “So they may accompany the death of a scholar, an event we cannot ascertain in advance.”
“My father told me he saw such stars when Guillaume the Bastard invaded Angleterre,” a student from Normandy said.
“So was that a good omen for the Normans or an evil one for the English they defeated?” Miriam asked him.
“Perhaps it foretold the great battle.”
“We learn some omens from Tractate Sukkah,” Salomon said.
“At the time the sun is eclipsed, it is a bad omen for the Edomites; when the moon is eclipsed, it is a bad omen for Israel. For Israel’s calendar follows the moon and the Edomites’ the sun.”
“But how can stars suddenly move like that?” Rachel asked. Knowing that Eliezer was studying astronomy, she’d searched the Talmud for the subject. “Surely they’re fixed in place, as it is taught in Pesachim:Jewish Sages say the sphere is fixed and the constellations rotate, but other sages say the sphere rotates and the constellations are fixed on it. Thus the position of individual stars doesn’t change within their constellations, no matter which sages are correct.”
“Perhaps it is as Rav Huna says,” Judah suggested.
“Zikim are seen when the innermost firmament is torn and light of the upper level appears through the slit.”
No one watching the sky could imagine how the firmament might tear, but surely such a thing was more likely to bode evil than well.
Salomon tried to end their discussion with words of comfort. “Don’t worry. Our Sages also teach in Tractate Sukkah:When Israel does the Holy One’s will, they have no fear of these omens; as it is written [in Jeremiah], ‘Do not be dismayed by the Heavenly portents—let other nations be dismayed by them.’ ”
When Guy de Dampierre dined with Salomon that Thursday, the topic was scripture rather than shooting stars. Having mastered the simpler Hebrew texts, Guy and Étienne were eager to attempt the prophetic words of Isaiah.
Rachel exchanged a surreptitious look with her father, who subtly shook his head. “Isaiah is one of the most difficult Hebrew prophets,” Salomon told Guy. “Besides many obscure words, Isaiah is filled with allegory. I’d prefer that you studied it with Shmuel, once his Latin is equal to the task.”
Isaiah was the prophet whose words were often twisted by the Notzrim to justify their worship of the Hanged One, so Rachel was sure Papa wouldn’t want anyone but an expert discussing the subject with Guy or Étienne. Indeed, Papa excused himself to return to his students and left Guy in her hands.
“Perhaps I can help you learn Psalms,” Rachel offered as she headed toward the cellar to inventory the wine remaining after Passover. Heaven forbid that Guy or Étienne should be offended. “The poetic Hebrew in Psalms can be tricky, but no other text can match its beauty.”
Guy brightened immediately. “Then I shall be sure to bring my Psalter to our next lesson.”
“Learning Psalms while anticipating Isaiah should be worth the wait,” Rachel said. “My nephews are still in Paris and won’t return until the Mai Faire de Provins, when many merchants are on the road. In the meantime Shmuel has been studying with some of your scholars in Paris.”
“Then he’ll be learning Latin from the best.” Guy followed Rachel down the cellar stairs. “It’s wise to travel with a caravan these days: the roads around Paris are infested with highwaymen, those with noble blood among the worst.”
“Can nothing be done to enforce the pope’s truce?”
“Perhaps. Complaints at Piacenza have encouraged Pope Urban to call for another council in Clermont, in the fall.”
Rachel paused to mark an empty cask. “Another church council so soon?”
“Urban has given Philip six months to rid himself of Bertrade, and if the king does so, his excommunication will be lifted at Clermont. Also, ambassadors from Emperor Alexius want Urban’s help in fighting the Turks who threaten Byzantium.”
“If the pope can persuade some of our rapacious barons to exchange local battlefields for those in the east, he would do both France and Alexius a service.” Yet Rachel doubted that even the pope could make this happen.
“Perhaps that will be the great event those shooting stars portend.”
“You’re an optimist, Guy. Most fear a catastrophe.”
“Let people think what they will, but I recall that the birth of our Savior was heralded by a bright new star.” Guy turned to grin at Rachel. “Maybe one of the meteors is for your family: a great scholar to be born here.”
Rachel frowned. “I know you’re joking, but even a jest might bring the Evil Eye on my family.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” He headed for the cellar door. “Is there any particular psalm you want me to start with? Or should I commence with the first one?”
“Pick your favorites, and we’ll begin with those.”
While it was reassuring to believe that Joheved and Meir’s baby might be a great scholar the meteors heralded, most Jews would pessimistically agree that such a massive shower of shooting stars could only forebode dis
aster. Rachel was sure of one thing however: Eliezer was studying with Sepharad’s finest astronomers, more learned than the great Shmuel of Nehardea, and if they understood the meaning, he would tell her.
Joheved calculated that her baby was due in mid-June, but Miriam took no chances and insisted her older sister move to Troyes early in the month. This turned out to be a wise decision, as less than a week elapsed before Joheved gave birth to her sixth child, a fourth son. Despite her advanced age, she did so with less pain and bleeding than while bearing her previous children.
Rachel couldn’t help but remember poor Milo, who would be desperately anxious for news of Joheved’s health. “The weather is so fine today that I think I’ll ride to Ramerupt,” she told her sister. “I’d like to see how the new lambs’ wool compares to last year’s.”
Joheved understood her concern. “Merci. Then Milo will be able to concentrate on supervising the sheep shearing.”
“Don’t worry if I’m not back until sunset. I don’t expect Eliezer just yet, but since my clean days are finished, I may as well immerse in that nice pond you have.”
“It’s too bad it’s so far to ride.” Joheved paused to expertly rouse her sleepy newborn and shift him to her other breast. “I’d rather immerse there when my seven days of childbirth impurity are finished.”
“At least it’s warm enough to use the Seine,” Rachel said. “Miriam and I can show you some quiet streams nearby, not as nice as in Ramerupt, but fine nevertheless.”
Despite the many mazikim reputed to dwell in rivers, and cognizant that no demon could endure the pure water of the synagogue’s mikvah, Rachel, her sisters, and indeed most of the Jewish women of Troyes still preferred to perform their first immersion after childbirth upstream from town. Luckily most tended to give birth when the weather was warm.
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 24