Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  The first thing I learned was that, because of various astrological and angelic influences, there were just seven propitious dates during the month when amulets could be inscribed at any hour during the day and eleven additional dates when we were restricted to the morning. Kimchit explained these to me at synagogue, and I took care to memorize their anomalies. For instance, since Third Day was under the influence of the planet Mars, which predisposes the world to war and misfortune, one would never write a healing or protective amulet on that day of the week, no matter what the date.

  There were also a few particularly auspicious times: First Day during the seventh hour, Second Day in the fifth hour, Fourth Day in the second hour, Fifth Day in the fourth hour, and Sixth Day during the fifth and tenth hours. These should be reserved for the most favored clients or those willing to pay extra. Kimchit admitted not understanding all the reasons why amulets should be written at certain times and not at others but assured me that other scribes, in Sura at least, worked under the same restrictions. Those who didn’t, she warned, were quickly ostracized after their failures were made public.

  Thus I became well acquainted with the Jewish calendar, as Kimchit expected me to spend every appropriate hour composing amulets. She chose my first session at the beginning of Iyar for two reasons: Fifth Day was under the influence of Jupiter and thus propitious for beginning a new enterprise, plus the waxing moon encouraged growth and development.

  That morning, Kimchit and I, along with her daughters-in-law and Zahra, left synagogue early to ensure plenty of time before the all-important fourth hour. She was a short woman with a slightly humped back, who shuffled as we walked. On the way, she impressed upon me the importance of the scribe.

  “Before we begin, you need to understand a critical difference between inscribing bowls and amulets.” Her voice was solemn. “While you certainly wouldn’t inscribe Rahel’s vessels in a state of impurity, their power comes from her when she chants the incantation and buries them.”

  When I nodded, she continued. “An amulet’s power comes from the scribe’s ability to adjure certain angels to follow the spell’s instructions for the client’s good health or to force demons to desist their evil against the client.” Kimchit locked eyes with me. “My previous apprentice ran out of space on the papyrus once and left off ‘liliths,’ and the client miscarried.”

  My throat tightened. “But I don’t have any power over angels or demons.” Writing the incantation accurately should be simple, but I had little confidence in the other part of my job.

  “You have more than you think,” she said confidently. “Your family must have powerful protection against liliths. What else explains how your mother not only survived the births of nine children, seven of them boys, but that all nine are still alive?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. I’d never considered Mother’s history unusual before.

  “None of your sisters-in-law has succumbed in childbirth either.” Kimchit’s tone was an accusation. “And the children in your household don’t wear amulets, yet they are rarely ill.”

  “My father is a pious Torah scholar. His studies protect us.”

  “Your father prays for rain and it comes,” she said. “But surely all the prayers of your pious family are heard on high.”

  “Inscribing an amulet is like praying?”

  Kimchit stared at me with her small, beady eyes. “Exactly. Once you’ve met the clients and heard their sad stories, you’ll want to help them,” she said. “As you write the protective spell, you pray with all your heart that Heaven heed your words, so your compassion imbues the amulet with healing power.”

  “I will try,” I replied.

  “Your first client will be waiting for us when we arrive. During the fourth hour, you will inscribe a simple amulet, already proven, to protect her child against illness.”

  “Doesn’t the child already have such an amulet?”

  “He was recently cured of a fever,” Kimchit replied. “Some of his amulet’s original power was diminished when it healed him.”

  Kimchit’s family, like most inhabitants of Sura, lived in one of several dwellings surrounding a common courtyard. Two men working at a forge outside greeted us, while inside a young woman holding a toddler’s hand hurried to meet us at the door.

  “I’m sorry if I’m early…,” the woman began.

  Kimchit waved aside the apology. “Of course you’re anxious for your son to receive his new amulet as soon as possible.”

  A slave brought in some cushions and rearranged the tables to make space for all of us in the crowded main room. I had to be careful not to kick or poke anyone as I sat down, and the little boy squirmed in his mother’s lap.

  “Hisdadukh, this is Esther,” Kimchit said. “You will be inscribing an amulet for her son, Dimi.”

  Relief coursed through me when Esther looked at me with interest instead of alarm. “Shalom aleichem,” I said politely, and Esther returned my greeting.

  Kimchit handed me a well-worn piece of parchment, along with a blank piece of papyrus. “If you use the same size letters, you should be able to copy the spell during the time allotted.”

  I gulped hard. Was everyone, including Esther, going to watch while I wrote? I could feel the sweat on my forehead.

  Thankfully, Kimchit continued, “Come with me to the workroom. The light is better there.”

  I followed her to a small courtyard separate from the main one, where a workbench littered with scraps of papyrus, bottles of ink, and assorted quills awaited us.

  Kimchit waited until I found a satisfactory quill. “It’s almost time,” she said, eyeing the shadows. “Keep a clear image of the boy in your mind as you write. You may say the words aloud if you like.”

  Abruptly she was gone. I sat quietly for a few moments to compose myself, and remembered the prayer Hashkivenu, which Father taught me to say at bedtime for protection against demons during the night. As clearly as if I were with them, I envisioned shining angels fashioning an impervious yet transparent sukkah to shelter Dimi bar Esther as he slept and played.

  Then I began to write: “This good amulet is from Savaot Adonai for Dimi bar Esther to save him from evil tormentors, from mazikim, from the Evil Eye, from shaydim, from impure spirits. If you will obey YHVH your God, doing what is right in His eyes, giving ear to His commandments, and keeping His laws, then I will not bring upon you any of the diseases that I brought upon the Egyptians, for I am YHVH your healer. In the name of the holy and mighty Anael, prince of archangels, may Dimi bar Esther be guarded by night and by day. Amen. Amen. Selah.”

  I wrote slowly and deliberately. When the angelic images had dissolved completely, I sat for a moment in wonder before making sure there were no errors. Still, I easily finished in time since the spell was similar to those I’d inscribed on Rahel’s vessels. Of course I recognized the verses from the fifteenth chapter of Exodus. Mother and Nurse had whispered them over my bed when I was sick. But why Anael and not more important archangels like Michael, Raphael, or Gabriel?

  After Kimchit pronounced my amulet acceptable, one of her sons rolled it up and inserted it into a small metal tube that Esther eagerly tied around Dimi’s neck with a red ribbon. Money changed hands, though I couldn’t see how much, and once Esther was gone, Kimchit’s slaves served the midday meal.

  Though Rahel had warned me about her am-ha’aretz clients, I was surprised, nay, shocked, when Kimchit’s family began eating without any blessings at all. Father always blessed the bread and wine at home, and the rest of us followed by saying amen. If for some reason Father wasn’t there, one of my brothers did it. At Kimchit’s I had no choice but to make the bread blessing myself, which I did as quietly and unobtrusively as I could. I was expecting to also say the grace after meals by myself, but the family recited a thanksgiving prayer I’d never heard before. I responded, “Amen,” anyway.

  Dimi’s was the only amulet I inscribed that day. In the afternoon I watched as Kimchit wrote a nea
rly identical pair for two pregnant women, both spells being quite a bit longer than what I’d written earlier. On our way home, she asked if I had any questions.

  “What is the difference between evil tormentors, mazikim, shaydim, and impure spirits that we have to write all of them in the amulet? Why not just write ‘demons’ and save ink?”

  Kimchit looked around suspiciously, but everyone on the road looked innocuous. “Evil tormentors are human beings, kashafot and such, who cast malevolent spells. Mazikim, shaydim, and ruchim, or spirits, are three different kinds of demons,” she said. “An amulet is most effective when the specific type of demon is named, so for general protection it’s best to name as many as possible.”

  “I see.” Mazikim were the imps of demons, more mischievous than wicked, while ruchim were spirits of evil people who had died. Worst of all were shaydim, the minions of Nasus and Ashmedai, whose sole purpose was to plague humanity.

  We were passing field workers returning to the city when I remembered the question I had about Anael.

  Kimchit replied without hesitation. “When an amulet is written during one of the six auspicious hours, invoking the archangel who rules that hour makes it more powerful.”

  “Who rules the other hours?” Could I possibly have received a vision of Anael because I’d appealed to him then?

  “Michael rules the fifth hour of Second Day, Kafziel the second hour of Fourth Day, Zadkiel the fifth hour, and Gabriel the tenth hour of Sixth Day.”

  “What about the seventh hour of First Day?” I was too naive to realize that she had deliberately skipped it.

  “That hour is ruled by Samael,” she whispered. “Those who sell curse tablets inscribe them then, and that’s all I will say on the subject.”

  Samael was the Angel of Death. No wonder Kimchit didn’t write curse tablets, or even want to mention them.

  Father must have heard about my new project, because the next week he taught a Mishna from Tractate Shabbat that discussed amulets. “This subject is complicated, as it tries to ascertain which amulets are permitted on Shabbat,” he said. “As you know, it is forbidden to carry anything into the public domain on Shabbat, unless it is necessary to save someone’s life.”

  My brother Nachman added, “That is why we are permitted to violate Shabbat to heat water and bring jars of oil for a woman in childbirth.”

  Father nodded. “I want all of you to pay careful attention and to question me immediately if you don’t understand anything. As always, be sure to share any Baraita you’ve learned on the subject.” He paused for a moment and then quoted the Mishna. “None may go out on Shabbat with…an amulet not made by one who is skilled.”

  He had repeated only it twice before several students raised their hands to interrogate him, including Rami and Abba. Father smiled and continued, “First, this does not mean that the only amulets permitted on Shabbat must be written by a skilled scribe and be proven effective.” He emphasized the word “and.”

  Oh no. How could I tell if Kimchit were skilled or if her amulets were proven effective? I’d just assumed they were.

  My brother Mari asked, “So as long as the scribe is an expert, her amulets may be carried on Shabbat, even unproven ones?”

  After Father nodded, Abba, his voice abruptly switching between high pitched and low, supported him. “This is because our Mishna only mentions the skilled scribe. It says nothing about the amulet’s efficacy.”

  As usual, Rami disagreed with Abba. “But there’s a Baraita that one may go out on Shabbat with a proven amulet.”

  Abaye was also eager to challenge Abba. “This same Baraita teaches that a proven amulet spell is one that has cured three times. It may be worn on Shabbat by one who has fallen ill, and also so he does not fall ill.”

  Father had Abaye repeat the Baraita until everyone knew it. It was plain to me that between the Mishna and this Baraita both proven amulets and those written by expert scribes were permitted on Shabbat. But I was impatient to learn what it was that made an amulet scribe skilled or an amulet’s incantation effective.

  Refusing to be cowed, Abba jumped back into the argument. “But it is taught in another Baraita: What is a reliable amulet? One that has cured three people.”

  Father held up his hand for quiet. “So what are we dealing with here? The first Baraita says that a reliable amulet healed three times, even if each time it cured the same person, while the second Baraita says that it healed three different people.”

  I thought of the incantation I’d written at Kimchit’s. It had cured Esther’s son Dimi at least three times, and surely many more children besides. So it was an effective amulet under either definition. But there was still the conflict between the two Baraita to settle, although Father’s confident voice made it clear that he was about to do so.

  “There is no difficulty,” he said. “The first Baraita teaches that the amulet incantation is proven effective after it cures three times.” He waited to make sure no one had questions. “The second, on healing three people, teaches how we prove that the scribe is skilled.”

  “So if a scribe writes three different amulets for three people, and each one is cured three times,” Rami suggested, “then the scribe is deemed skilled and the amulets reliable.”

  “But if she writes three different amulets for three people and each is cured just once,” Abaye added, “then she is deemed an expert and all her amulets are permitted on Shabbat. However, none of the three amulets are proven effective and they may not be worn on Shabbat if written by someone else.”

  The room was silent as we all pondered this, none more concerned than me. There was no question that Dimi’s amulet was proven, but was Kimchit an expert because it had healed three different children?

  Abba answered my unspoken question. “And if she writes one amulet for three people with the same illness, each of whom is cured, then the amulet is reliable, no matter who writes it, but the scribe has not proved her expertise.”

  “Excellent.” Father beamed at the class, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “But what about the case where she writes three different amulets for one person and cures him of three diverse diseases?”

  When the students stared at him blankly, Father answered, “The amulets are not proven, for each has only cured once. But though the scribe has achieved three cures, we do not know if this is due to her skill or to the patient’s merit. To be deemed skilled, the scribe must cure three different people.”

  I wanted to point out that while a proven amulet spell healed three times, the amulet itself grew weaker each time it cured someone, and thus might only work once or twice. But I said nothing. I was already pleased enough that Father had validated my new lessons by teaching that the Rabbis not only deemed amulets effective and recognized expert practitioners, but that they also provided criteria for this.

  Before Grandfather and I went to bed, we reviewed the discussion about amulets until I was sure I understood it.

  “So far I’ve only written one type of amulet, a proven protective spell for children,” I told him as I helped him up the stairs to our kiton.

  “I wonder how one proves a protective spell. Clearly it doesn’t work if the child becomes sick immediately, but how long must he remain well?” he asked. “A month? A year?”

  “I don’t know about a month, but surely a year should be enough,” I said. “Even if he gets sick right away, I believe the amulet would be considered effective if he recovers.”

  Grandfather watched Zahra set up our beds. “So, Hisdadukh, you have one effective amulet to your credit. Now you need to inscribe two other kinds, and have them proven, in order to be considered skilled.”

  “But Kimchit only seems to know two different spells, one for protecting children and the other for protecting pregnant women,” I complained. “I could write a hundred amulets like that and I still won’t be an expert.”

  “Surely she knows a few more, even if she rarely uses them. You must wait patiently until you see her
write one and then ask her to let you do it the next time.”

  “I will.”

  “But you must be careful that you have the correct spell for the circumstances. For example, sorb trees in the city harbor sixty shaydim, while rural sorbs only have one.” I could tell he was about to tell a story so I leaned closer.

  “Once a city guard was standing near a sorb tree and the shaydim attacked him. A young rabbi came along who didn’t know this and wrote him an amulet for only one demon, which was so ineffective that the shaydim began tormenting the rabbi too. Luckily another rabbi arrived who knew about city sorb trees and wrote an amulet against sixty demons. This caused the shaydim to flee immediately, just in time to save both men’s lives.”

  “Grandfather, where do the shaydim come from?” I asked. They weren’t mentioned in the first chapter of Torah where Elohim created the world.

  He cleared his throat before answering. “A pair of demons, Ashmedai and Machlat, was created at sunset on the final day of creation,” he said in a low voice.

  “So all the others come from them?” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “When Adam saw that his sin had brought death to the world, he abstained from relations with Eve for 130 years as a penance. But during that time, Machlat came to him at night and stole his semen, forcing him to father ruchim, shaydim, and liliths.”

  No wonder Rahel wrote bowls to protect men from liliths at night. I shivered at the thought that Rami might be vulnerable to their attack until we were married.

  Grandfather must have noticed my reaction, because he immediately had us say the bedtime Shema and antidemonic Ninety-First Psalm.

  I gave him a hug before slipping into bed. “I’m glad you’re sleeping in my room now. It was lonely without Achti.”

  He leaned down to kiss my forehead and his beard tickled my nose. “I thought it might be.”

  During the two months I worked with Kimchit, I also learned things that had nothing to do with amulets. Assuming that her customers were representative of Sura’s residents, the city was inhabited predominantly by Jews, with Persians in the minority. This I’d also seen from Rahel’s clients, but at Kimchit’s I came to comprehend that Rahel was right. Jews who followed Father’s interpretation of Torah were as much a minority of the Jewish population as Persians were compared to Jews.