Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel

by Anton, Maggie

  She stamped her foot into the fizzing must, sending waves of half wine toward her daughters in the vat.

  “If that were the case, there’d be no Jews left alive, and Judaism would cease to exist.” Rachel wasn’t about to let Joheved lecture her about Talmud. “For Sanhedrin also says:Is this true that he dies rather than worship idols? But Rabbi Yishmael taught: if they tell a man to worship idols and thus he will not be killed, where do we learn that he should worship them and not be killed? From Leviticus, where it is written, ‘You shall keep My laws, by which man shall live.’ This means live, not die.”

  Meir, treading grapes with their sons in the vat next to his wife, supported her by quoting more of the text, while Shmuel stamped his feet in approval.

  “You might think this means even in public, but it is also written in Leviticus, ‘You shall not profane my Holy Name, that I will be sanctified among Israel.’ This is in agreement with Rabbi Eleazar.

  Thus a Jew should die sanctifying the Holy Name rather than publicly forsake the Laws of Moses, as did the martyrs of Worms and Mayence—may their merit protect us.”

  Eliezer, sharing a wine vat with Judah, quickly turned over his paddle of grapes so he could lean out to refute Joheved. “You tell us that a man should die rather than commit murder. If so, how do you justify what happened in Mayence and Worms, where Jews killed themselves and their children rather than pretend to worship the Hanged One?”

  “Their children would be raised as heretics if they were captured,” Joheved retorted.

  “That’s no call to murder them.” Rachel stomped down into the tangled raft of grapes and stems, sending ripples through the vat she shared with Miriam.

  Miriam was torn between her sisters’ views. While she would rather die than see her children abandon Judaism, she couldn’t imagine killing them to prevent it. “But if your children were captured, wouldn’t it be prudent to submit to the heretics while secretly remaining loyal to the Holy One?” she asked. “Then you could bring them up yourself and see that they followed the Laws of Moses.”

  “Rabbi Yishmael’s view may be appropriate for most Jews.” Judah also took the middle ground. “However, a scholar, who sets an example for the people, should be held to Rabbi Eleazar’s higher standard.”

  Yet who was he to give such advice? Hadn’t he, a talmid chacham, been ready, eager even, to engage in a forbidden sexual relationship when he should have been willing to die instead?

  “That’s absurd.” Eliezer’s voice rose in ire. “If all the scholars are dead, who will teach Torah when other Jews repent?”

  “Yet if scholars worship the Hanged One in public, even if only pretending to do so,” Joheved shook her paddle at him, “then less-educated Jews will believe that they truly committed idolatry and may follow their example.”

  Meir’s eyes flashed with anger. “No true chacham would publicly desecrate the Holy Name in such a manner. He would die first like Rabbi Akiva.”

  Salomon’s students and neighbors in the other vats found his family’s acrimony heartrending. Normally, treading the vintage was a jolly effort, with much singing and joking, and this harvest, after the first year of ample rainfall in some time, had looked to be a cause of celebration.

  “Don’t you see that by choosing martyrdom, the German scholars have allowed their Torah knowledge to die with them?” Rachel heaved her grapes in Meir’s direction and trod on them. “Rather than follow Rabbi Akiva’s example, we should be like Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakai, who escaped Jerusalem and negotiated with the Roman enemy to save his yeshiva in Yavneh.”

  “It’s not as if the anusim can’t return to Judaism.” Miriam stirred the contents of her vat to calm the stormy fermentation, hoping her gentle words would have the same effect on her family. “Once they move where the Church won’t find them, they can repent their idolatry.”

  Judah said aloud what many Jews in Troyes were thinking. “Yet how can we welcome these anusim back without penalty, when they cravenly sullied themselves in the heretic’s evil waters while their brethren died sanctifying the Holy Name?”

  All this time Salomon said nothing, his face growing redder by the moment. Finally he slammed his paddle down hard on the vat’s edge, cracking the wood. “Enough! None of us know what he would do if, Heaven forbid, the sword were at his throat. None of us may judge what another Jew should do under such duress.”

  He stared furiously around the now silent courtyard, bending everyone to his will. “A Jew who sins, no matter how grievously, remains a Jew,” he declared. “One who shows sincere remorse and genuine repentance is received back to his former status.”

  He locked eyes with each family member in turn. “You all know that it is forbidden to remind a penitent of his previous sins. I will not tolerate anyone in my community doing so.”

  Even Salomon’s pronouncement didn’t stop the fighting; it merely moved out of his presence or found another subject.

  His daughters now argued over how many of the astringent stalks to leave in the vats for added flavor and bite, followed by disputes over when to remove the new wine from the lees. The vintner should wait long enough for the flavor to gain complexity, but too long gives the wine an unpleasant yeasty taste. They disagreed over how many whipped egg whites to pour through the wine to clarify it sufficiently without detracting from its character. And no sooner did one daughter open the cellar windows to prevent the rising temperature from speeding the fermentation, than another closed them to keep the fermentation from stopping in the cold.

  When Eliezer returned to Troyes for the Cold Fair, variations of the opinions he’d heard in the wine vats were being bandied around the fairgrounds and whispered in the synagogues. Salomon must have remembered Meir’s condemnation of forced converts, because he gave Judah the responsibility of interviewing prospective students from the Rhineland. Judah was showing Eliezer what texts Salomon intended to teach that winter when a balding middle-aged man and teenage youth hesitantly entered his salon. There was something familiar about the pair; yet Judah was sure he’d never met them before.

  “This is my son, Gedaliah ben Daniel.” The man spoke Hebrew with a German accent. “We resided in Cologne for many years, but I’m not sure we will live there much longer. In the meantime, I’d like him to stay in Troyes and study at your yeshiva.”

  Eliezer observed the pair with interest. They were likely survivors of the massacres, possibly even anusim.

  Judah reacted with astonishment. His first study partner, Daniel ben Gedaliah, had hailed from that city. Judah stared at the man’s thin hair and slack jowls, trying to find some hint of the youth he’d studied with, and loved so desperately, in Worms.

  “We’re always eager for more students.” Judah reached out and clasped Daniel’s hand. “I’m Judah ben Natan, the rosh yeshiva’s son-in-law.” He carefully observed the man’s reaction.

  Daniel squinted at Judah and scratched his head. Then his jaw dropped. “Judah ben Natan of Paris? A student in Worms about twenty years ago? Is it really you?”

  Judah smiled and held out his arms.

  “I don’t deserve a warm welcome.” Daniel’s eyes lowered in remorse. “Especially from a talmid chacham like you. I have committed too great a sin.”

  Judah waved everyone to the table. “Sit down and have some wine.” He brought a flask and cups from the kitchen.

  Eliezer was impressed that, instead of pouring the wine himself, Judah deliberately handed the flask to Daniel and busied himself with wiping some imaginary dirt from one of the cups. Jewish Law prohibited Jews from drinking wine handled by non-Jews, which was why Salomon employed Jewish servants. Without a word, Judah demonstrated to Daniel that, whatever the man’s sin, Judah considered him a Jew.

  “Thank you.” Daniel’s voice conveyed his gratitude for more than a cup of wine. “The last six months have been a nightmare.”

  Before Daniel could continue, the front door opened to admit Miriam and Rachel, home from vineyard, where they’d spe
nt the afternoon pulling out the vine props and stacking them between rows. All that tugging and bending was arduous work that had to be completed before the vines could be pruned.

  The two women collapsed onto benches while Judah made the introductions and Eliezer got more cups.

  “I’m mortified by my transgression,” Daniel said. “Yet I feel a great need to explain what happened to us in Cologne.”

  “You will find us a most compassionate audience.” Miriam’s voice was warm in its sincerity.

  The others nodded and pulled their benches closer; at last they would hear an eyewitness report instead of rumors.

  “On the eve of Shavuot we learned that the communities of Worms and Mayence had been decimated.” Daniel’s voice betrayed no emotion. “So we fled to our Notzrim acquaintances and hid as the enemy looted our homes, destroyed the synagogue, and desecrated the Torah scrolls.” He took a deep breath. “But we were still alive.”

  “We heard that Cologne suffered the same fate as Worms and Mayence,” Rachel said without thinking.

  “Not at this juncture it hadn’t.” Daniel proceeded to describe how the archbishop divided the community and sent them to seven of his most fortified towns.

  “We hid in the countryside for almost a month,” Gedaliah said.

  Daniel began to tremble, sending Judah to stand beside him and pat his shoulder. “One day the priest came running to us, yelling that Emicho’s men were coming, that we should follow him to a new hiding place. The rest of the townsfolk were with him, urging us to come with them, that they would protect us.”

  He put his head in his hands and fell silent.

  Gedaliah continued his father’s tale. “The people surrounded us, herding us like sheep toward the river. Before we realized it, we were standing in the water while the priest said something in Latin and made his evil sign over us.”

  Daniel’s eyes begged for mercy. “When the enemy arrived, we were huddled together on the riverbank, shivering like wet dogs. The priest told Emicho, may his bones be ground between iron millstones, to leave us in peace, that he had baptized us.”

  “His men didn’t harm you?” Rachel asked in astonishment.

  He shook his head. “So we returned to Cologne. There we heard that most of the other Jews had thrown themselves into the Rhine . . . including my brother.”

  Daniel paused to control his feelings. “He and his study partner loved each other greatly, such that neither could bear to see the other die. They climbed a high tower, kissed and embraced, and jumped into the river, clasped in each other’s arms.”

  Judah gasped and Miriam took his hand in sympathy. Daniel’s brother had chosen to die in another man’s arms and received admiration for his act, not condemnation.

  Gedaliah concluded, “Of the seven towns the archbishop sent us to, only Kerpen was able to protect its Jews.”

  “Your town saved its Jews,” Rachel said. “Everyone sent there from Cologne survived.”

  “We desecrated the Holy Name; we deserved to die.” Daniel’s face was a mask of pain. “How could He leave such unworthy ones as us alive and let the pious Jews be killed?”

  “None of us can fathom the Holy One’s ways,” Eliezer declared. “It is not for us to question who is worthy or not.”

  “Surely your community returned to the Law of Moses after the enemy left?” Miriam asked. “And repented at Yom Kippur?”

  “My family did.” Daniel brightened at their support.

  “Sending Gedaliah to yeshiva is proof of your loyalty to the Law of Moses.” Judah gave Daniel a hug. “It’s almost time for afternoon services. Please come worship with us.”

  Rachel and Eliezer hung back from the others as they walked. “I don’t understand the heretics,” she whispered. “One instant Jews are despised infidels who killed the Hanged One and the next, with no change in our beliefs, merely being dunked in water, we are welcomed into the fold.”

  “Emicho may not have attacked the anusim, but I doubt that his men warmly embraced them.” Eliezer grimaced. “And I suspect that no matter how hard the anusim try to prove they’ve abandoned their old faith, someone in the Church will always be distrusting them, checking on them, spying on them.”

  “So they’ll never be safe. What a terrible way to live.”

  Eliezer nodded. Right now his family was secure in Troyes. But who knows for how long? He had no doubts that if Emicho’s army had attacked Troyes’ Jewish community, the inexperienced Count Hugues would have offered little protection. Maybe it would be a good thing if Rachel’s aspirations to be a clothier were never realized. Then they could all move to Toledo and be safe.

  Rachel tallied her accounts in late November and despaired of ever putting her woolen business into operation. Joheved’s sheep would soon start giving high-quality wool, but who would Rachel find to weave it? The two horizontal looms still sat unused in the cellar. Yet she had to succeed: with all these armed pilgrims on the road, Eliezer’s travels would only grow more dangerous.

  Alette the Spinster had come to borrow money at the start of the Cold Fair, promising to pay it when the fair closed, and Rachel had lent it to her, although the wool Alette spun would never bring in the income they’d earned from Albert’s weaving. Indeed a month later Alette was back, and judging by her stooped posture as she crept through the courtyard she would be needing another loan rather than paying off the last one.

  “Oh, Mistress Rachel, I don’t know what to do,” Alette whined as Rachel mentally calculated how much she could spare for the weaver. “Albert came back yesterday, but he’s in a terrible state.”

  Albert—back in Troyes already? “How is that possible?” No one could get to Constantinople and back that fast, never mind Jerusalem.

  “I don’t know. He has refused to speak since his return. I am wondering if he is able. He just went straight to bed. And he was limping something awful.”

  “Let me see him.” Rachel jumped up and grabbed her mantle. They hurried down the chilly street, Rachel only half listening to Alette’s anxious voice. What difference did it make if Albert remained mute? The important question was could he weave.

  Alette called out and opened the door slowly when they arrived, careful not to startle her brother.

  Albert sat by the hearth, staring at the fire, and he neither turned nor greeted his sister when they entered. “I’ve brought you a visitor,” Alette announced in an artificially cheerful tone. “Mistress Rachel.”

  Albert turned around, but his expression was blank.

  Rachel took in the gaunt lined face, the listless eyes, and knew he’d undergone some trauma on his pilgrimage. “I’m glad to see that you’ve come back to us. Alette tells me that you hurt your leg.”

  To her surprise, Albert stretched out his leg and pulled up his pants. It was obvious what ailed him—just below the knee his leg was bent at an odd angle. But the break must have happened early on his journey; his skin wasn’t discolored.

  “Oh, Albert,” Alette cried out. “Does it hurt much? Let me fetch the doctor.”

  Albert shook his head vigorously, although the poorly healed break must be painful.

  Rachel gave a sigh of relief that Albert was capable of some communication. “Do you think you can work the foot pedals of a loom again?” she asked him. “If not, you must allow the doctor to help you. Your family will starve unless you start weaving again.”

  Albert gingerly pumped his injured foot up and down a few times, grimacing slightly.

  “Your loom is in my cellar. Do you want to try it there?” Rachel suggested.

  He shook his head and pointed to the empty space where the loom used to sit. Alette looked at him doubtfully and asked, “You just got back. Maybe you should wait to regain your strength.”

  Albert scowled, shook his head again, and pointed several times to the empty area in his sister’s salon. She turned to Rachel and shrugged in acquiescence.

  “I’ll have a carter bring it over,” Rachel said. Maybe exercisi
ng his hurt leg would help it heal. Perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t speak. After hearing the Jews’ horror stories, she wasn’t sure she could listen to his.

  Alette, however, didn’t think there was anything horrific behind her brother’s sudden dumbness. “Clearly he broke his leg at the beginning,” she said after the loom was delivered. “Since he could no longer keep up with the other pilgrims, they left him behind to heal. When he ended up lame, it became impossible to catch up with them, so he returned home.”

  But Albert didn’t nod or show any sign of agreement with his sister’s wishful explanation. Rather he clenched his jaw and worked the loom even faster.

  The first inkling of what befell Albert and others who’d followed Peter the Hermit came when another refugee turned up at Rachel’s door during the week before Hanukkah. She was preparing the children for bed, and Eliezer was about to return to the Old Synagogue for Salomon’s evening Talmud session. He’d just stepped out of the privy when Baruch called to him from the open courtyard gate.

  “Eliezer, I’m glad you haven’t left yet. That pilgrim fellow who was here last spring—he’s back. Do you want to see him or shall I give him souper and send him on his way?”

  “Please, Master Eliezer, please help me.” The panicky voice belonged to Jehan. “You’re the only person left in the world I know. Geoffrey, my brother, all the others—they’re dead.”

  Eliezer’s jaw dropped, and he stopped in his tracks. What the devil was Jehan doing back in Troyes? Eliezer realized he couldn’t turn the miserable fellow away. Jehan had made his captivity bearable, possibly saving his life. And if the youth was the only survivor of the horde that had camped outside Troyes last spring, Eliezer had to hear what happened.

  “It’s all right, Baruch. He can stay in the attic for the time being.” Eliezer put his arm around Jehan, noting that the youth was little more than skin and bones, and led him indoors.