“Thus we manipulate the calendar so that neither Rosh Hashanah nor Yom Kippur falls on Friday or Sunday,” Eliezer said.
“I see,” Rachel nodded with understanding. “If either Holy Day fell the day before or the day after Shabbat, we would have two days in a row when you couldn’t cook or hold a funeral.”
“Which would be a hardship for the people.” Eliezer finished his wife’s thought. “But instead of changing the length of Elul as the beit din did, today we change Heshvan or Kislev, sometimes adding an extra day to Heshvan, making it full instead of deficient, and sometimes by shortening Kislev from thirty days to twenty-nine.”
“What is the fourth rule?” Rachel asked. Surely the other three were sufficient.
“It is based on the section of our Gemara that discusses the molad.” Eliezer took a deep breath before continuing. He’d saved the most complicated rule for last.
“Oy,” groaned Meir. “Understanding the molad is more aggravating than my bad back.
A molad, the birth of the new moon, was the exact moment when the sun and moon were in conjunction. However, due to the sun’s brightness, the moon is invisible at that time, which complicates determining when a new month begins. The subject was abstruse even for the Talmud, necessitating one of Salomon’s longest commentaries.
“It’s not that difficult,” Eliezer insisted. “Let’s go back to our Gemara, where Rav Zeira says:The moon [near molad] is not visible for twenty-four hours . . . six hours of the new moon and eighteen of the old moon in Eretz Israel.”
Eliezer tried to curb his impatience when four confused faces stared at him blankly. “Imagine the sky at sunset on Rosh Hashanah. Since the new moon trails behind the sun, the first sliver of the new moon will be observed immediately after the sun sets, as the sky darkens; but only for a brief time until the moon itself sets.”
No one challenged this so he continued. “Remember, the new moon cannot be seen in Jerusalem until at least six hours have passed since molad . . .” He paused for them to consider this. “So for any molad that occurs at noon or later, no one will be able to see the moon until the following day.”
Miriam was quick to demonstrate her understanding. “Because six hours later the moon has already set.”
“Exactly.” He smiled with relief as the others nodded their agreement. “Since Rosh Hashanah may begin only after the new moon of Tishri is sighted in Jerusalem, we delay yom tov a day if the molad occurs after midday.”
“And if that day is Sunday, Wednesday, or Friday, we must delay another day,” Meir added. “Otherwise Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur would occur immediately before or after Shabbat.”
“This coming year the molad will occur on Shabbat, at two hours past noon, so the fourth rule postpones Rosh Hashanah to the next day.” Eliezer waited to see who would continue his reasoning.
It was Joheved who spoke. “But the third rule says that Rosh Hashanah may not fall on Sunday, so we delay an additional day to Monday.” She smiled at the others. By this time everyone knew that the upcoming New Year would be celebrated on the last Monday of September.
“That’s why Heshvan and Kislev will both be deficient this coming year, to make up the two days that Rosh Hashanah was delayed,” Rachel said, proud of her comprehension.
That evening, after Eliezer showed her how to determine the molad anywhere with the astrolabe, she asked him, “You’re an astronomer; tell me how accurate is this cycle? Did the Sod ha-Ibur make any mistakes?”
He grinned and nodded. “The lunar part is very accurate; after six hundred years the calculated molad will only be an hour off from true conjunction.” Then he sighed. “But the solar calendar gains a day every 224 years.”
“Don’t worry.” Rachel laughed seductively. “It will take ten thousand years to be off a month and there’s sure to be a new Sanhedrin in Jerusalem before then to fix it.”
He pulled her into his arms. His wife had immersed in the Seine three days ago, and he didn’t care what would happen in ten thousand years. Abraham bar Hiyya had determined that the Messiah would come long before then.
twenty-five
Heavy autumn rains pelted the windows, and outside the wind howled, but Salomon’s cellar was warm and sweet smelling from the new vintage’s fermentation. Rachel give silent thanks that the storm had delayed its attack until after Sukkot, saving her family the unhappy choice of dwelling in a wet sukkah or not performing the mitzvah. When the weather cleared, she and her sisters would return to the vineyard to collect straw ties and vine props, but today they did indoor chores, cleaning the winemaking equipment and sharpening pruning knives.
“What’s bothering you, Joheved?” Miriam asked as she handed a knife back to her older sister. “This is the third blade you’ve sharpened that still has a significant burr.”
Curious how Joheved would respond, Rachel restrained her pique that Miriam had returned her poorly sharpened knives without the slightest concern that something might be bothering her. Not that Rachel wanted to share how discouraged she felt that the fuller Albert recommended had turned out to be less competent than she expected—or her frustration that Eliezer would spend yet another winter and spring in Toledo.
Joheved sighed. “I don’t know what to do about Shlomo. He doesn’t want to go to school.”
“He doesn’t want to study Torah?” Rachel blurted out, almost dropping her knife. “Papa’s namesake?”
“I’m so ashamed.” Joheved blinked back tears.
“Maybe it’s the school itself Shlomo doesn’t like . . . or his teacher.” Miriam glared at Rachel. “Judah hated his when he was young, yet he became a talmid chacham.”
“Perhaps he misses his family,” Rachel suggested, trying to be more helpful. “Or he resents being sent away while his brothers and cousins study at home.”
“Of course he’d prefer to study at home,” Joheved replied. “But Meir is occupied with the new yeshiva, and I have even less time now that all those boys are boarding with us.”
Meir’s back had continued to plague him, preventing his regular rides between Ramerupt and Troyes. So Salomon chose to split the yeshiva: the younger students to study in Ramerupt with Meir while the older ones remained in Troyes.
“I’d love to teach Shlomo, but I’m already teaching all the women I can handle.” Miriam held up her knife to inspect the blade, and then, satisfied, took up another. “I had no idea my Torah class would be so popular.”
“Why can’t Hannah teach him? She’s not getting married until Hanukkah,” Rachel suggested. “And if Hannah gets pregnant right away, Leah can take over.”
To Rachel’s surprise, Miriam supported her. “Shlomo’s only beginning Torah study, Joheved. Surely your daughters are competent to teach him.”
“I suppose we can try it and see if he likes his studies better.” But there was more doubt than hope in Joheved’s voice.
A few weeks later, Joheved burst into her father’s kitchen shortly before disner, her face brimming with excitement. She headed straight for Rachel, who was tasting a pot of stew, and embraced her. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for suggesting that Hannah teach Shlomo.”
Rachel put down the spoon and grinned. “So he no longer hates his studies?”
“Oui, that’s true. He’s doing quite well now,” Joheved replied. “But that’s not why I’m here. It’s about Jacob.”
“What about Jacob?” Concern etched Salomon’s face.
“He’s talking. And not just a few words but whole sentences.” Smiling broadly, Joheved began speaking faster. “He’s been sitting with Hannah and Shlomo as they study, and one day when Shlomo stumbled over a verse Jacob corrected him. When I asked Jacob, I discovered that he’s not only understood the weekly Torah portion for some time now but he’s memorized nearly every verse.”
Her audience stared at her in amazement.
“That’s not all,” Joheved continued proudly. “You should hear his questions. Last week when Hannah taught about Noah’s Ark, Ja
cob asked why Noah didn’t have any children when he was young, like normal people do, but only after he was five hundred years old.”
“Meir must be relieved,” Miriam said.
“Meir never had the slightest doubt about our son’s abilities.” Inexplicably Joheved blushed.
She had become pregnant with Jacob shortly after Meir began “kissing that place” as a prelude to using the bed. With the Talmud teaching that the quality of a child is proportional to the quality of the act that conceives him, Meir assured her that the boy would outshine their older children. Despite the phenomenal pleasure Joheved experienced, she hadn’t quite shared her husband’s confidence. Now he’d been vindicated.
She noticed that the stew was almost boiling over and picked up a spoon from the table to stir it down.
“Wait, Joheved.” Too late Rachel grabbed for her sister’s arm. “That’s a milk spoon—the one Anna uses to make cheese.”
“Oh no.” Her face flaming, Joheved snatched the errant spoon from the stew and threw it in a pan of soapy water. She turned to her father. “Papa, what are we going to do?”
Rachel frowned. “Don’t tell me we have to throw the stew out?” When was Joheved going to realize that Rachel was in charge of Papa’s kitchen?
Salomon stroked his beard. Jewish Law demanded a strict separation of milk and meat. Dairy and meat dishes were never served at the same meal, and a plate or utensil used for one could not be used for the other without washing it in between. His daughters gazed at him anxiously, awaiting his decision.
“When did Anna last use the milk spoon?” he asked.
“I think it was yesterday morning,” Miriam said. “Or maybe the day before.”
Salomon nodded. “In that case I will permit the stew, the spoon, and the pot because . . .” He paused to let his daughters come to their own conclusions first. “Most important, there is more than sixty times as much meat in the pot as milk on the spoon. Also the spoon has not been used for over twenty-four hours.” He smiled at Joheved. “And we cannot say that you used the spoon to give the stew a better taste.”
When Rachel hugged him with relief, he added, “But to avoid further problems, wash the spoon in hot water before anyone uses it again.”
Embarrassed at her negligence, Joheved brought the subject back to her son. “This week, with the binding of Isaac, Jacob asked us why Abraham didn’t tell Sarah about sacrificing their son, and if that’s why she died afterward.”
“So my youngest grandson is indeed Jacob Tam.” Salomon’s eyes twinkled with pleasure as he made a mental note to answer Jacob’s questions in his Torah commentary. Yet his voice held a chilly warning.
A child this brilliant would inflame the demons’ jealousy. Better everyone should continue to call the boy Jacob the Simple to fool the evil spirits, protecting him from their enmity.
Joheved clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in fear at how she’d just endangered her son. “Never mind, it’s nothing important,” she stammered. “Let’s go eat.”
“I always welcome news of my little nephews, Shlomo and Jacob Tam.” Rachel carried the bread into the dining room. “May the Holy One protect them.”
Joheved gazed around the unusually empty table, where only Simcha and his son Samuel sat at the men’s end. “Where’s Shmuel? And the other students?”
“They’re at my house,” Miriam said. “Your son and Judah got into quite a debate this morning about Creation, and the students are keen to hear the outcome.”
The family had barely finished blessing the bread when the air was split with the clanging of church bells. Salomon’s family exchanged looks of surprised curiosity; the noon hour had already chimed. Eventually all the churches in Troyes had their say, and as the final echo melted away, Guy de Dampierre stood in the doorway, his expression more ecstatic than Joheved’s was earlier.
“We’ve received marvelous news.” The canon paused to catch his breath. “The Franks have defeated the Turks and taken Jerusalem. Pope Urban’s great quest has been successful.”
It seemed an eternity before Miriam broke the stunned silence. “So that’s why all the bells are ringing.”
He nodded and turned to Salomon, eager for the Jewish scholar’s opinion.
“What a shame that Urban died before he could celebrate the event.” Salomon’s bland statement was crafted to hide his true opinion while not antagonizing the cleric.
Guy was too thrilled to notice his audience’s dismay. “Oui. He died a mere fourteen days after Jerusalem fell, but I’m sure he celebrated the joyous tidings in Heaven.”
Rachel had no choice but to set a place for Guy, who babbled on excitedly, “Who could imagine the pilgrims succeeding, especially when Count Étienne returned after fleeing the siege of Antioch? And who would believe that Raymond de Toulouse and Godfrey de Bouillon both rejected sovereignty over Jerusalem, refusing to rule the city where Jesus suffered?”
Salomon passed Guy a dish of pickled leeks. “That doesn’t sound like the Godfrey de Bouillon I’m familiar with.”
“Godfrey declared that he wouldn’t wear a crown of gold where Christ had worn a crown of thorns.”
Rachel flinched at the mention of Christ. The word meant “Messiah,” so Jews avoided using it.
“So who rules Jerusalem now?” Joheved asked only to be polite.
Guy flashed the grin the sisters recognized as one preceding the dissemination of gossip. “Apparently Raymond’s refusal was merely a feint, a show of piety he expected would make the other nobles insist he take the throne. But they turned to Godfrey instead, who took leadership not as king, but as ‘Defender of the Holy Sepulchre.’ Furious, Raymond removed his army and laid siege to Tripoli.”
“Count Étienne must be mortified at the news.” Rachel refilled Guy’s bowl of stew.
“I hear that Adèle is making his life miserable with accusations of cowardice,” Guy said. “Despite Étienne spending three years on pilgrimage and going all the way to Antioch.”
“Unlike his brother Hugues, who never stepped foot out of Champagne,” Joheved pointed out.
Miriam turned to Guy. “Do you think Hugues should have gone?” Countess Adelaide’s second son, Philip, had recently died after a lengthy illness, and any mother would prefer that her last living son not embark on such a dangerous enterprise. “Who would rule Champagne if he died there?”
“I suppose Adelaide was right to keep him home; one brother on pilgrimage was enough. But that won’t stop people from calling Thibault’s sons craven.”
Rachel nodded. Whatever feelings the Jews of Troyes might have about the fall of Jerusalem, they would share their sovereign’s shame when he was mocked as a coward.
Guy, his enthusiasm somewhat deflated, drained his cup of wine and found an excuse to leave.
As soon as Rachel heard the courtyard gate close, she turned to her father. Salomon seemed frozen, lost in thought. Sure that Guy’s visit had plunged him back into despair over the Rhineland’s lost yeshivot, she racked her brain for something to distract him. “Papa, Eliezer heard a rumor that Godfrey de Bouillon once consulted you. Is it true?”
All heads turned toward Salomon, who let out a sigh. “Actually it was his envoy, Godfrey de Esch-sur-Sûre, not the duke himself.”
“What did he want?” Simcha asked.
“He wanted me to travel to Lorraine, to write a letter urging its Jewish communities to generously provision him and his knights for their pilgrimage.” Salomon was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“But you never left Troyes,” Miriam pointed out.
Salomon shook his head. “After I heard that Godfrey’s messenger was looking for me, I absented myself whenever he came around, until eventually he left me in peace.” He sighed again. “Not that it made any difference. Godfrey was perfectly capable of extorting money himself, including a chest of silver from the parnas of Mayence.”
“You defied Godfrey de Bouillon without evil consequences.” Samue
l looked at Salomon with awe. “Weren’t you afraid?”
“I didn’t think the duke would come into Troyes to chastise me,” Salomon replied. “Count Hugues would never have allowed such a violation of his territory. Look how he fought Érard of Brienne for five years over one small castle.”
“Thank Heaven that war is finally over without Ramerupt getting dragged into it,” Joheved said.
“In any case, I don’t have to worry about Godfrey chastising me now,” Salomon said. “As sovereign of Jerusalem, he’s unlikely to return to France.”
While the others speculated over whether the Edomites would prove better rulers of Jerusalem than the Turks, how long it would be until the Saracens ousted them, and what it all meant for the Jews, Salomon sat silently stroking his beard.
It was Samuel who naively asked, “Rabbenu, what do you think of all this?”
“Pardon me.” Salomon looked embarrassed, as if he’d been caught napping in synagogue.
Samuel repeated his question, and, to Rachel’s surprise, her father replied, “I was thinking of Judah and Shmuel arguing over Creation. And how I’ll need to revise my Torah commentary.”
“Revise it?” Miriam asked. “But why?” It was his Talmud commentary that wasn’t finished.
Before he could answer, Judah and Shmuel rushed in, followed by their students. “You’re going to rewrite your Torah commentary? Again?” Judah stared at him, aghast.
“But you’ve been pushing to finish your kuntres before . . .” Shmuel began. Joheved loudly cleared her throat, and her son’s words trailed off before he could mention how little time Salomon might have to live.
“I know I haven’t many years left.” Salomon’s stern visage silenced any protests. “But Miriam, the minim will use conquest of Jerusalem as proof that the Holy One has abandoned us and proof that He has made a covenant with them, the new Israel.”
The room erupted in angry murmurs. “Never.”
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 34