Rachel kissed each of them, thankful for their support, then limped inside and closed the door. The folded piece of parchment lay on top of the covers, pale in stark contrast to the dark blanket. She hesitated to touch it, as if it were poisoned, but eventually put her fear aside and picked it up. With nary a word, Eliezer hadn’t come home in almost two years; what could he say now to hurt her more?
Abruptly she unfolded the missive and held it up. “Dearest Rachel,” it began. “There is not a day when I don’t long to see you. I have learned of Troyes’ precarious position as your sovereign recovers from his wounds and believe more strongly than ever that there is no future for our people in Ashkenaz. So I urge you one more time to join me in Toledo, for I have no intention of returning to France.”
Rachel wiped away the tears brimming in her eyes. “You still have the conditional get I wrote you years ago. If you cannot bring yourself to live with me here, you should take it to court, obtain a divorce, and be free of me. Between the house and jewelry in Troyes, there are ample funds to pay your ketubah. I myself am content to remain married to you, since a wife in France makes no difference to my life in Sepharad. But you are too young to be left in living widowhood.”
Here the letter closed abruptly, with no wishes for her good health or any other casual chitchat. Rachel dropped the letter on the bed, then lay down next to it and wept.
Divorce! It has finally come to this—Eliezer isn’t coming home again, ever.
She never wanted to leave this room. How could she endure the shame of being abandoned by her husband? How could she endure the pain of this rejection?
Sometime later there was a soft knocking on the door, followed by Shemiah’s pleading voice. “Please, Mama, let us in.”
Wordlessly she handed Eliezer’s letter to her son, who scanned it and passed it to Rivka. Neither child shed any tears.
“Are you moving to Toledo?” Rivka’s voice was trembling with fear. “I don’t want you to go.”
Rachel pulled her daughter close, not sure who was comforting whom. “I’m not moving anywhere.”
“I don’t care if Papa never comes back,” Rivka said. “Uncle Judah’s been nicer to me than Papa ever was, and I’m glad he’s going to be my father-in-law.”
Rachel sighed at Rivka’s misguided effort to be supportive. There was nothing Rachel wanted more than for Eliezer to return to her, but she would not display her weakness to her children.
“Are you going to get divorced?” Shemiah sounded more angry than frightened at the prospect.
“I don’t know; I just don’t know. I need to think about it.”
thirty-two
For six months Rachel told no one about Eliezer’s letter. She tried to learn more from Shemiah and Pesach, but, surprisingly, neither had spent much time with her husband. Both reported that Eliezer was like a man possessed, spending nearly every waking hour at the observatory.
“Even his own son could not drag him away from his calculations for a decent conversation,” Shemiah complained. “All Papa wanted to talk about was how he was going to prove that the planets moved around the sun.”
“How did he look?” Rachel asked. “Was he well?”
Shemiah shook his head. “He’s lost weight, and he’s as pale as you’d expect for someone who never goes out in the daytime.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Divorce him.” Shemiah was adamant. “He’s taken another wife and made it clear that he’s never coming back to Troyes. And considering how much time he spends looking at the stars, you’d never see him even if you did move to Toledo.”
Rachel was certain that Joheved would agree with Shemiah, especially once her sister knew about Eliezer’s second wife. But maybe Miriam could help her decide what to do; after all, Miriam had rejected a divorce from Judah despite his refusal to use the bed with her. But finding private time to consult her sister was not easy. Rachel was forced to wait until they were collecting the vine props on a windy autumn afternoon.
“Miriam, I need to talk to you about something important.” Rachel looked around to be sure no one was within hearing distance. “Just the two of us.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow and moved to the row behind Rachel.
Rachel didn’t waste time. “Why did you refuse Judah a divorce when he wanted one?”
“That was over ten years ago. Why do you want to know now?”
“Just answer me, please.”
“I don’t regret my decision.” Miriam pulled her mantle closed as the wind blew a swirl of grape leaves around them. “I would have lost my children to Judah, and if he’d moved away, I might never have seen them again.”
“That’s the only reason?” Rachel asked in surprise.
“In nearly every way, Judah was, and is, an exemplary husband. Living with him was not so repulsive that I would have preferred to live alone.” Miriam waited for Rachel’s response, but when none was forthcoming, she continued, “You didn’t answer my question. Why do you want to know?”
Rachel took a deep breath. “Eliezer has offered me a divorce, and I need your advice.” When Miriam gasped, she added, “He wants to live in Toledo and I want to live in Troyes.” She wanted her sister’s reply without mentioning his second wife.
Miriam hesitated, her expression reminding Rachel of their father stroking his beard. “Since you and Eliezer are already living apart, I can think of only one advantage for you to divorce him. And that is if you intend to marry again.”
“Marry again?” Rachel pulled up a vine prop so vigorously that she nearly fell over. “What do you mean?”
“Your children are grown, so he can’t take them away, and you don’t need his income to live comfortably,” Miriam said. “So there is no disadvantage to your getting divorced.”
“Other than the shame and gossip,” Rachel interrupted.
“Since when have you cared about shame and gossip?” Miriam pointed out. “Frankly, the only legal difference between being married to Eliezer and not is the freedom to marry someone else.”
“So you think I should accept his conditional get?”
Miriam’s voice softened. “It depends on how you feel. Do you want to be married to him, even if you will never live with him again?”
“I want to be married to him and live with him, but I want to live here.” As soon as she spoke, Rachel knew Miriam would hear a spoiled little girl, pouting because she couldn’t have what she wanted.
Miriam said gently, “But Rachel, that doesn’t seem to be what Eliezer wants.”
Rachel sighed. “Do you think Papa would be disappointed if I got divorced? Nobody else in our family has.”
“He might be, but I’m sure his main concern would be your happiness.”
“So as long as I don’t intend to remarry, there’s no reason for me to divorce?” Rachel asked. Except that Eliezer has another wife, and he’s only allowed one.
Miriam nodded and Rachel made her decision. “Then I may as well stay married for the time being.”
Rachel spent much of the winter in Ramerupt, continuing her studies with Dovid. They had completed the Bible twice, and both felt confident in their ability to understand the other’s language. Rachel was hoping to concentrate on Salomon’s commentary during the upcoming cycle, but Dovid surprised her.
“I’ve been to two of your family’s Passover feasts,” he said. “And while I have vague memories from my childhood, much of the ritual was a mystery to me. According to my understanding of the Torah, Jews were supposed to bring their Passover offering to the Temple in Jerusalem and sacrifice it there. There’s no mention of a home ceremony.”
“That’s correct,” Rachel said slowly. Did she dare explain how the seder is described in the Mishnah?
Papa had strongly cautioned her and Shmuel to never mention Talmud to the minim. As long as the Notzrim believed that they and the Jews shared the same holy text, they viewed the Jews benignly, rather like an ignorant younger brother who woul
d eventually become educated. They would be shocked to discover that Jews had postbiblical works that solidified Jewish beliefs and traditions, compiled after the Hanged One’s death and therefore heretical.
“But it’s clear that all Jews celebrate Passover the same way, even with the same words,” Dovid continued. “And from your family’s discussions at the feast, I can tell there’s another book this comes from.”
Rachel merely nodded, unprepared to confirm his conclusion.
“I want to study that book in Hebrew,” Dovid declared.
“Why?”
“So I can be prepared for Passover this year and not sit there like an ignoramus.”
Impressed with Dovid’s reasoning, Rachel began to consider his request in spite of her father’s warnings. Dovid was a Jew, after all, and the Talmud was his patrimony. Besides, with so many recent forced converts, some of whom had not returned to Judaism, the Talmud wouldn’t remain a secret. But it was Dovid’s stated desire to study in Hebrew that gave her an escape. She could teach him Mishnah from the last chapter of Tractate Pesachim, the one that describes the seder. He wouldn’t have to know how much more there was in the Talmud.
“There is another book where the ritual is presented,” she admitted.
“It’s written in Hebrew, and not very long, so I could probably teach it to you before Passover.”
Dovid grinned triumphantly. “I was right; I knew it.”
“We’ll start with you writing down the words I dictate,” she said. “Then you can study them and prepare questions.” She would teach him Mishnah the same way she’d learned it.
“On the eve of Passover, from the afternoon offering time, one may not eat until nightfall. Even the poorest in Israel must not eat unless he reclines, and they should give him not less than four cups of wine, even if they come from charity.”
“What and when is the afternoon offering time?” Dovid asked exactly the question Rachel expected.
“It is the ninth hour after sunrise, at which time the priests in the Holy Temple sacrificed their animals,” she replied. “If we eat nothing in the afternoon, when it comes time for the Passover meal that evening we’ll be hungry and eat the matzah with a good appetite.”
“I remember your father explaining why the poor recline,” Dovid said proudly. “Reclining at the table is the mark of a free man and Passover celebrates our freedom.”
“Papa teaches that there are two ways of interpreting the part about wine,” Rachel said. “It could mean that those distributing wine to the poor should not give them less than four cups of wine. Others say that it applies to all Israel, that none should drink fewer than four cups of wine during the seder, even if they have to accept charity for the expense.”
“Surely no Jew in Champagne is that poor.”
“Maybe not today. But Joheved told me that when Papa was away studying in Mayence they could only afford enough wine at Passover because their family were vintners.”
“According to three of the four gospels, Jesus’s last souper was on the eve of Passover,” Dovid said. “There Jesus explains that the wine represents his blood, and the matzah his body.”
Rachel shuddered at the idea, and Dovid quickly added, “I’m only telling you what the monks taught me.”
After they’d been studying a few weeks, Joheved caught up with Rachel on her way to the fulling mill. “You didn’t tell me you were teaching Dovid Mishnah.” Joheved’s voice wasn’t condemning, more as though Rachel had kept good news a secret.
“He wanted to learn more Hebrew, so I thought he could try the last chapter of Tractate Pesachim.” Rachel tried not to look like a guilty child. “How did you know?”
“Dovid asked me a question about the seder.” Joheved’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “But never mind that. Since you’re teaching him Pesachim, would you mind if Jacob Tam joined you? He’s been out of sorts since Shlomo started studying with Meir at the yeshiva.”
At that moment Rachel realized that she would mind a great deal, but she couldn’t refuse her sister’s request. “Not at all. It will give Dovid someone to review his lessons with.” If Joheved thought she and Dovid required a chaperone, they could do worse than young Jacob.
Rachel and her two students slowly worked their way through the Mishnah, sometimes in Dovid’s cottage and, as the weather warmed, more often at a table outside. To her relief, Dovid didn’t mind appearing more ignorant than an eight-year-old boy, particularly when the boy was a prodigy like her nephew.
They bring him matzah, lettuce, and haroset, and two cooked dishes, though the haroset is not mandatory. Rabbi Elazar son of Rabbi Zadok says it is mandatory. In the Temple, they bring him the Pesach offering.
“After the appetizers, the servants bring in the special festival foods,” Rachel said. “Matzah, of course, is explicitly commanded in the Torah. The lettuce is the maror, the bitter herb also mandated by Torah.”
“But haroset isn’t in the Torah,” Jacob pointed out. “Where does it come from?”
Rachel hesitated. If Jacob had been her only student, she would have given him the Talmud’s answer. But she was reluctant to do so in front of Dovid. “There’s more written about Passover than what I gave you, but it’s not in Hebrew.” She turned to Jacob. “It asks the same question you do.
Why is haroset mandatory? Rabbi Levi says it is a symbol of the apple tree, but Rabbi Yohanan says it is a symbol of the mortar.”
“I assume Rabbi Yohanan means the mortar the Hebrew slaves used to make bricks for Pharaoh,” Dovid said. “But I don’t recall anything about apple trees in the seder.”
“Apple trees aren’t mentioned in the seder, but that’s where the Hebrew women gave birth without pain in Egypt, away from Pharaoh’s men who wanted to kill the baby boys,” Rachel explained. “As it says in Song of Songs:Under the apple tree I roused you; there your mother conceived you; there she who bore you conceived you.”
Dovid stared at her in bewilderment, but before Rachel could respond, Jacob asked, “Is that why haroset is made with apples, to remind us of the brave Hebrew women who defied Pharaoh and kept having children despite the danger?”
Rachel nodded. Her gaze lingered on the curve of Dovid’s lips until she abruptly realized that Jacob might notice her lapse. “In addition haroset contains spices such as cinnamon and ginger because its sticks resemble the straw used for bricks.”
Her other concern, Dovid discovering Talmud, was realized when Jacob asked, “Is your answer from the Gemara on this Mishnah?”
“What is the Gemara?” Dovid asked, now more confused.
Jacob Tam looked at Dovid as if he had asked what bread is. “The Gemara and Mishnah together make up the Talmud, the Oral Law, which was given to Moses on Mount Sinai along with the written Torah.”
Rachel had no choice but to interrupt. “Jews only discuss Talmud with other Jews, Dovid. Then Notzrim can’t criticize us by accusing the Talmud of distorting our Torah, preventing us from realizing the truth about—” She caught herself just before saying “the Hanged One” and said, “Jesus.”
“Grandpapa says that Dovid is Jewish.” Jacob turned to the fuller. “But if you’re Jewish, why aren’t you married? Only Notzrim don’t marry.”
Rachel thought she’d die of embarrassment, but to her surprise Dovid smiled and tousled the boy’s hair. “Your grandfather isn’t married.”
“But Grandpapa is old,” Jacob replied. “And besides, he was married for a long time.”
“So who would you have me marry?” Dovid asked. “Jews consider me Jewish, and the Church considers me a Christian.”
Jacob squinted at Dovid. “What do you consider yourself?”
Rachel thought to chastise Jacob for such a personal question, but she was curious about Dovid’s answer.
“I don’t know, I haven’t decided.” He was silent a while before adding, “I suppose that’s why I’m not married.”
“Let’s get back to our studies,” Rachel broke in. Then she said
to Dovid, “The Talmud is a fence around the Torah. Since all the commandments are spread throughout the twenty-four books of the Bible, a little here and a little there, one who learns a particular law may forget it before he reaches the next. Thus our Sages established tractates and arranged all the laws of Passover together in Tractate Pesachim, just as all the laws of Sabbath are explained in Tractate Shabbat.”
“The Mishnah contains the laws,” Jacob added. “And the Gemara answers the questions the Sages asked about the Mishnah.”
“To answer your question, Jacob Tam,” Rachel said sternly. “What I explained about the apple tree and spices did come from the Gemara on our Mishnah.”
Studying Mishnah with Dovid and little Jacob was both pleasant and frustrating. On one hand, Dovid and Jacob asked the most intriguing questions. But on the other hand, Rachel longed for the idyllic hours she and Dovid used to spend studying alone in his cottage, where there were no witnesses if she covertly admired his countenance while he spoke. In the weeks following Passover, her feelings grew more conflicted. Shemiah left for Sepharad, and she anxiously awaited the report he would bring.
The Jewish Festival of Freedom served to drive home the message that neither she nor Dovid were free to marry. He would not find a bride until he settled in one religion or the other; she was tied to Eliezer until she accepted his get. As the weather warmed, she was increasingly presented with the enticing sight of Dovid’s muscular body, clearly outlined beneath his wet chemise in the fulling tank. At night, when she grew restless and her hand slipped between her thighs to give her relief, it was often Dovid she imagined in bed with her, not her husband.
Yet when she thought of accepting Eliezer’s divorce, she couldn’t see how she could break the news to Papa until he’d regained his health. For no sooner had he returned home from Passover at Ramerupt than he was attacked by the fever demon Kadachas. Moses haCohen recommended a diet rich in wine and red meat to strengthen his blood, but Papa insisted on following the regimen found in the Talmud at the end of Tractate Shabbat’s sixth chapter, a cure based on reciting verses from Exodus that describe Moses’s encounter with the burning bush.
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 44