by Rena Rossner
There’s a knock at the door.
I’m back in my room now. One of the chambermaids came to replace me. I probably should have asked her name. I am like her now—a servant in a palace—but I was so tired it took everything in me not to fall asleep where I stood.
“This water needs to be changed and her chamber pot emptied,” I told her. “The air in the room must be fresh. Do not wake her. Keep the poultice on her chest and if she’s thirsty, give her this to drink,” I showed her the pitcher of tea by the bedside.
I must go to sleep, but I wanted to finish writing down everything, in case I need to consult my notes tomorrow. I can finally climb into what I know will be the softest bed I’ve ever slept in. This has been by far one of the most wonderful days of my life.
3 Cheshvan 5120—a few hours later
When I woke up, there was sunlight streaming into the room and a smell of fresh pastry. (Sarah would want to know exactly what pastry—with vivid descriptions of everything I was served, but she’ll have to forgive me for I don’t have the time for it now.) I sat up in bed, wondering what time it was and how long I’d slept. On the table where I left Eema’s satchel, there was a tray laden with food and steam rising from a pitcher which smelled strong and inviting. My mouth watered—but I knew I couldn’t eat. The food wasn’t kosher.
I spent the rest of the day by the duchess’s bedside. Her color was better, her breath more steady, so I continued the treatment as before. Supper was brought to her room, though she still hadn’t woken up. I placed some fruit and nuts in my pockets for later. At dusk, I was relieved by a chambermaid again—her name is Soria.
Back in my room, as I counted three stars and prepared to break my fast, there was a knock at the door.
“May I come in?”
It was Jakob, his arms laden with bread and meat and cheese.
“What’s all this?” I said.
“I went to the yeshiva. They explained why you won’t eat. I brought you some things to break your fast… They’re kosher.” He blushed.
I relieved him of some of the things he carried, and as I did, my hand brushed up against his. There was a spark in the space where I touched him. I pulled away.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Hannah, you don’t need to be afraid,” he said softly, placing his hand on mine. I felt the same spark again. I looked at him and when my eyes met his I felt warm and cold all over. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him. He’s wrong for me in every way possible, but when he’s near me, my body sings the way plants drink up sunshine. I want to feel his arms around me, I want to touch my lips to his. And it’s all forbidden, which makes it that much more tantalizing and sweet. I know I’m not supposed to look at any man unless he is to be my husband. But my heart was beating so hard in that moment that I didn’t know what to think and couldn’t look away.
“I’m not afraid,” I said back to him, defiant.
“Then what?”
I opened my mouth to say something about our people, our traditions, but nothing came.
“You feel it too?” He moved his hand to cup my cheek. “There’s something between us.”
Is he courting me? Or are these words he says to every pretty girl?
Less than a day ago, I thought the future had finally found me. But now I’m not so sure. He’s not Jewish, Hannah! I heard my sister Sarah’s disapproving voice in my head.
Everything and everyone here is so foreign—so unlike my family. Many roads diverge from every space—how do we know which road to take?
4 Cheshvan 5120
The duchess is improving. She now spends much of the day awake. I suspect it is the Black Mist she suffers from, because when I lay my hands on her chest it feels the way it did when I removed the black spots from under all the leaves in the garden—like something cold and calculating. I think most of the lesions on her lungs are now gone. I saw the shape of them dissolving in air—in what looked very much like a mist—at night when she exhaled.
But what’s really been taking up my time, besides being by her bedside, is that every evening, Jakob has knocked on my bedroom door.
The first two days we sat and talked. He asked many questions about Judaism and the “Order of the Solomonars”—as he calls it. I never thought of us as an order, but in his eyes, I suppose that’s what we are.
Today we went out for a walk in the garden. Jakob told me that he’s recently become a member of the Order of the Dragon. He wears a crest with the words “O how merciful is God, faithful and just” on it. The dragon is circular, like it’s eating its own tail, and it carries a red cross on its back.
“I hope you’re not offended if I say that looking at it makes me uncomfortable,” I told him.
“I don’t mind your saying so, but I want to know why,” Jakob replied.
“Crosses have never meant anything good for the Jews.”
“But you’re not just a Jew,” he said. “You’re a Solomonar! From an esteemed family.”
I wanted to tell him that every Jew is equal in God’s eyes, but I didn’t.
“My family might be esteemed today,” I said instead, “but we are only here at the grace of King Béla. Tomorrow, he might change his mind and that would be the end of our freedom.”
“I don’t think you know how highly your father is respected.”
His words made me feel both better and worse. The responsibility to represent my family and heal the duchess felt even heavier. I still know how everything could be taken away in an instant, I wanted to say.
All these thoughts were swirling in my head, but then Jakob stopped walking, his face a combination of pain and shock and fear. He fell down, grasping his leg. He screamed. It took a moment to realize what had happened, but then I saw the snake as it slithered away. I had to stay calm. I could call for help—and maybe help was already on its way, but I had to act quickly. I sat down on the ground, folded up his pants leg, rolled down his stockings, and placed my hands over the bite.
He was shaking and pale. “What are you doing?” he stammered.
“Shhh…” I said. “I must work quickly.”
I closed my eyes “Yimchatz ve’yadav yirpena—He wounds and His hands make whole.” I felt the words draw upon the calming waters within me, traveling up my arms and down through my hands. Eema always warned us to use real herbs and remedies so that we’re not accused of witchcraft, but there’s no time now. It’s a risk, but I’ve been taught to save a life above all.
My fingers grew warm, my palms white-hot with heat. My head hurt from the concentration and pressure I applied, but I felt the venom rising up to meet my hands, draining out of his wound. I wiped it away with the hem of my skirt, again and again, until there was nothing left but two clean puncture wounds, seeping blood.
I sat back, sweating and bone-tired. But it was done. “We’ll need to bind that now.” I looked up at him.
He looked at me in reverence, in awe. His color had returned but his mouth gaped open. For a moment, I worried he was frozen in shock, but then he moved, placing his hand on my arm. He winced in pain as he moved his leg an inch closer to me. “You’re an angel,” he said.
“What?” I laughed. “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You saved me. How?”
“My mother taught me. It’s a way we have of laying our hands to draw out illness.”
“Is that how you’ve been healing Mother?” he asked.
“That and other things,” I said. “Herbs and poultices, other remedies are important too. The body can only do so much—there are natural elements that help the healing process along. Like your leg—I will need to dress it and bind it. But the venom is gone.”
“God has sent you to me. An angel to save me and my family.” His eyes filled with tears. “I will not forget this.” His eyes on me were worshipful, but I didn’t feel worthy of his praise. God forbid anyone should think me an angel or a saint.
“Please don’t speak of what happened here. My ancesto
rs… my people have been persecuted for less,” I told him.
“No harm will ever come to you. You can be my angel in disguise,” he laughed. “I swear it.”
He leaned his head closer. I wanted to pull back, but I felt a spark again—warm and alive and stronger than before. He pressed his lips to mine and the sensation traveled through every inch of me—like liquid fire. My lips moved against his, and it was like whispering a prayer. I closed my eyes and wished for God to show me if this indeed was the path he meant for me to follow.
15 Kislev 5120
The duchess finally feels better. I wouldn’t say we have a relationship, but she sits up in bed and doesn’t question my ministrations. She’s asked me to call her Eliszabetta.
I continue to rub oil and salt into her palms and soles. I make her horehound tea and mix it with lavender, rosemary, mint, sage, and garlic. She drinks this tea as often as possible.
I apply Eema’s ointments and poultices, but mainly at night.
Only when she’s asleep do I mouth the words to Eema’s healing prayers, Heal me God, for my bones tremble in fear. And others. Over and over again as my hands fill with warmth and I spread that warmth deep into her bones with my touch.
The day following the snake incident, I found two dresses waiting for me when I got back to my room. They are finer than anything I’ve ever worn. When Jakob and I go for walks, I feel like a proper lady now, dressed in silks. We have many conversations about faith. I never hide what I believe. He holds my hand as we walk and each time, I feel the same spark. It’s undeniable. And I know it is not a spark of danger warning me away. A fire burns bright inside me whenever he’s near—a torch ignited by the same flame. He asks me questions about the Torah, questions about the plants and flowers we pass. Each day is more wonderful than the next.
Today I noticed little white Gyöngyi flowers blooming in the steps our feet made. “Do you see those flowers?” I asked him.
“The little white ones?”
“Yes, isn’t it strange how they’re blooming?”
“Perhaps, but I don’t pay much attention to the garden when I’m with you.”
“Well, you’re supposed to,” I said, swatting his hand playfully. “I thought I was giving you lessons.”
“So teach me!” He grinned and stopped to peck a kiss on my lips.
“Gyöngyi flowers can stimulate the heart.”
“I like the sound of that.” He leaned down to pick one, but I stilled his hand with mine.
“If ingested in quantity, they can poison the blood. They’re also called Pearl’s Blood.”
“Well then, I’ll have to find some other flower to pick for you,” he said.
When I got back to my room, there was a vase of beautiful white flowers waiting for me.
But I wonder if the Gyöngyi flowers are an omen. They’ve unsettled me.
20 Tevet 5120
It’s been more than a month since I last wrote, and the duchess is finally well. I haven’t had much time to write, except for my daily treatment log. Eema would be so proud of me, but there are parts of this log that I can never show her—too many emotions written here which I would never want her to see.
I can’t believe I’m about to embark on a short journey back home. So much has happened to me this past month. I’ve learned from Jakob—that non-Jews can be as good and kind as any Jew I know. That I can love and give of myself in a way I’d never quite tested. That I have feelings and sensations I never knew my body could contain. I’ve grown as a healer and as a woman. Being here has challenged me in so many ways. I wonder if my family will even recognize me. I look at myself in the gilded mirror in my bedroom and I barely recognize myself.
I think I’ve fallen in love with Jakob. Maybe that’s what the spark is—like fire, it is both the most wonderful and most terrible thing. There is no future for us. Abba will never allow me to marry him. But the truth is worse. I’m no lady—I’m a Jew. I know that Jakob will never ask.
20 Tevet 5120—a few hours later
I’m home and my family’s asleep. I missed my sisters and parents like an ache in my chest that refused to go away, but now I miss my room and my bed and my desk in the palace. Will I ever see Jakob again?
We were silent as we rode back up the road that led to the small outcropping of homes in the Jewish quarter. There wasn’t much to say. It was clear this was goodbye.
I knocked on the door and Eema opened it, and in an instant I was in her arms. “We missed you so much,” she said. I could only reply with my tears.
I turned to Abba, glad I’d caught him before he’d gone off to maariv prayers. He gathered me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Blessed is God who revives the dead!”
I smiled. It’s what we say when we see someone after not having seen them for a very long time. Within seconds, I’d been catapulted back into my home and community. Our way of life. It felt doubly important today—the duchess is well again, completely healed. I did that. Me. I revived her from the dead.
“Your grace,” Abba said to Jakob.
Jakob bowed to Abba. “May we speak?”
“Follow me,” he said, but I saw Abba’s eyes flit first to me.
My eyes must have been wide with panic because Eema said, “Your garden has missed you…”
I understood her meaning immediately. “Yes, I will go check on it.”
Abba’s lean-to office is on the way to the garden. I walked past the door and around the corner, then inclined my head, just under the window.
I could barely make out their voices, but I heard some of what they said.
“What will you take for a dowry?” Jakob asked. I gasped and had to place my hand over my mouth to keep silent.
“My daughter is not for sale. There is no sum—”
“What do I need to do?”
“There is nothing—”
“Whatever it is. I will do it. Tell me your conditions. You said she must marry a Jew and a scholar. How do I become a Jew? What must I study? Please.”
“It’s impossible,” Abba said.
“Nothing is impossible,” Jakob replied. “Tell me what to do and give me your oath that if I fulfill your conditions, you will allow me to marry her.”
My heart beat fast. I couldn’t believe his words. It was more than I ever dreamed possible. There was no way Abba would approve… no way he’d agree. I heard Eema’s words in my head, the ones she said when I left, they were finally making sense—behold the days will come when woman will encircle man.
Jakob wrestled with an angel—that angel was me. But did he win? Do I want him to?
I knew I should leave in case they came bursting out the front door and saw me, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
“I shall let you marry my daughter if you fulfill the following conditions,” Abba said. “Two years of Talmud study, at which point, you must distinguish yourself as a light unto others. You must prove diligent in your studies, wise beyond your years, pious in the path of our Lord, fluent in Hebrew and Aramaic, with broad knowledge of our holy texts and sharp understanding. It is an impossible feat to accomplish in such a short amount of time, but if you succeed, I will make sure she is still here, unmarried, and waiting for you. But if you do not return within two years, with all those conditions fulfilled, she will marry another more befitting of her.”
“I accept your conditions,” Jakob said.
As I write this now, I know Jakob will be unable to fulfill Abba’s terms. He will never come back. My hands shake. If God can bring people back from the dead, certainly he can bring two souls back together. “Blessed are you God, King of the universe, who brings people back from the dead,” I say.
Bring him back to me, I pray. Please, just bring him back.
It is important to move one’s body during prayer—the word nah’anuah is the same motion we apply to the lulav on the holiday of Sukkot, the etrog is the heart, the aravot are the lips, the hadassim are the eyes, and the lulav is the spine. The
y all remind us that every limb of our bodies must praise God. Like a flame trying to free itself from its wick, so our souls desire to reunite with God. It is a way of coupling with the Shechinah.
—The Book of the Solomonars, page 3, verses 8–12
The wind that whistled through the trees of the Satu Mare forest that night sang a low and mournful melody. Something in the tone had changed. Something had been set in motion. The voices in the trees echoed poisoned thoughts that reached the ears of the duchess.
Where has your son gone? The wind said. Where has she taken him? it whispered. He is bewitched. The wind roared. Remember, it said, how the mist first appeared in the forest where the Solomonars pray?
And indeed, as the mist moved in from the fields and the forest to cover the town, the holy Reb Isaac spent every night fighting back the fog. But something sinister was spreading over the town, something dark and black and old, and eventually there would be nothing Reb Isaac or his followers could do to tame it back.
Sarah
It was easy to sneak out when Hannah was away. I only had to wait to hear Levana’s soft snores and then I could go. I’m worried Hannah will find a way to keep me from meeting Guvriel, that she’ll find out about our nighttime trysts. Once, Hannah and I used to whisper to each other. We used to share secrets. But now she stares at the ceiling for so long I don’t think she will ever close her eyes. I can tell she’s keeping something close to her heart. Some kind of secret. She’s changed, but I’ve changed too. I feel more distant from her than ever, and I have no desire to bridge that gap. Even though we still share a bed, I have my own secrets now.
Meeting Guvriel every night has become a balm for my wounded soul. I no longer have trouble controlling my impulses. I stop setting fires and putting them out, raveling and unraveling the neighbors’ rugs. I go through each day doing everything exactly as I should because I know that at night, as soon as everyone is asleep, as soon as Abba creeps out of the house to go say the tikkun, within a few minutes I’ll be sneaking out too—to go wait for Guvriel by the rocks. I’ve started to say the tikkun too and I’m studying Perek Shirah and it calms me in a way that weaving never did. Every night, after the first watch is over, Guvriel sits with me and teaches me everything he knows.
