Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  If it weren’t for Yochani insisting that I attend services, I wouldn’t have left her house. When we visited the synagogue that Julia and Claudia had attended and Yochani saw me looking toward their usual seats, she said, “There’s another thing I want to tell you, but only after we get home. You’ve been so ill. I don’t want to bring on a relapse.”

  She waited until after our midday meal. Then she took a deep breath and sighed. “Julia and her children died of the same malady as Yehudit.” She took another deep breath and added, “Claudia and her children died in the arena, along with other Nazarenes, mauled by wild beasts.”

  That sent me into such a downward spiral of sorrow that Rava chastised her for giving me this distressing news so soon. But he agreed that it was important for me to get some exercise and fresh air, so I reluctantly attended synagogue, although not the one where we’d met the God-fearers. I still needed to rest most afternoons, which is when Rava called on rabbis and other prominent men in the city.

  The last day of Pesach, Yochani prevailed upon Rava to take me to the Babylonian synagogue. The walk was fatiguing, and at the end I had to lean on his arm for support. At last we arrived, but I was unprepared for the disruption we caused. Until that day it hadn’t struck me as odd that Rava eschewed Roman clothes in favor of his Persian attire. But every conversation ceased and every eye was upon us as Rava, his tefillin proclaiming his rabbinic status and his colorful tunic and trousers screaming his foreignness, helped me to a seat.

  How could I have been so naive as to think we could slip into services and pray as usual? My daughter had recently died and I had been at death’s door for over a month, yet as if sent by Heaven, this strange rabbi had arrived from Bavel just in time to heal me and destroy my adversary. Yochani had surely spread the word to her friends, and they to theirs, plus some congregants must have noticed my absence and inquired. We were probably the most exciting thing to happen here in years.

  After services, people I’d known since I first came to Sepphons approached us cautiously. Everyone expressed sympathy over Yehudit’s death and good wishes for my continuing recovery, but it took all the strength I could muster to thank them for their concern instead of breaking down and crying. Only a few stayed to talk with Rava after I introduced him. It was as though a lion had suddenly entered the room, a powerful and dangerous creature that appeared calm and controlled but should nevertheless be kept at a safe distance.

  That night Rava announced he would be going to Tiberias the next morning. He had neglected Rabbis Assi and Ami too long, and since he no longer had my illness as an excuse, they would feel insulted if he stayed away much longer. I suggested meekly that Yochani might lend him some of Simeon’s clothes for the trip. But as I expected, he refused, stating that riding was much more comfortable in trousers. He returned three days later in a foul mood, which lightened somewhat when he observed that I could walk to the Babylonian synagogue without assistance.

  Despite the kashafa’s death, few clients came to me for amulets anymore, most likely because I had been incapable of protecting myself and my daughter from her. Those that did come, I turned away. Though I knew many proven spells, I did not feel strong enough to inscribe them with confidence.

  The next week I asked Rava to walk with me to where Yehudit was buried. The cemetery was on the outskirts of town, the farthest I’d walked since I’d become ill. I approached her grave with both trepidation and longing, and then sank to the ground, sobbing, when we reached it. Rava stood patiently nearby until I eventually lifted my hand for him to help me up, and at that moment I appreciated him not being from a priestly family and thus forbidden to enter a graveyard. My legs felt heavy as lead as we walked away, leaving my precious little girl behind.

  When we reached the Street of Leatherworkers, he further slowed our pace. “Do you feel strong enough to ride to Caesarea with me? Now that I’ve been to Tiberias, it is time for me to meet Rabbi Avahu.”

  “I won’t know unless I try,” I said slowly. “It’s encouraging how far I can walk now without tiring, but eventually I must be able to ride a camel for many weeks.”

  “You’re determined to return to Bavel, then?” He sounded skeptical.

  “More than ever.”

  Rava frowned. “I was given the impression in Tiberias that you intended to remain in the West and marry Rav Zeira.”

  I nearly choked on my indignation. “By the pious rabbi himself, no doubt,” I said sarcastically.

  “He is certainly smitten with you. He was quite convinced that you would soon be his bride.”

  “Zeira may have convinced the entire town of Tiberias, including you,” I said crossly. “But he’d have to convince the entire host of Heaven before he could convince me.”

  Rava almost smiled. “I should know better than most that you don’t run to marry a man merely because he wants you.” He paused and sighed. “Your usual reaction is to run away.”

  His words stopped me in my tracks. Why was I so eager to return to Bavel? Was I running away from Rav Zeira, or from Salaman for that matter? No, it wasn’t that. Seeing my daughter’s grave had given me a stark choice. If I remained a widow in Sepphoris, weeping and grieving over my losses like the Jews here mourned Jerusalem on Tisha B’Av, it would mean ignoring that I still had a living son in Sura, one who would soon be old enough to know his real mother. Yehudit’s body might be in Sepphoris, but she’d always be in my heart.

  Those were grounds for not staying in the West, but I knew I was missing something, that there was still another reason for going home, one that was just beyond my grasp.

  “What’s the matter?” Rava asked urgently. “Why are you stopping here on the road? Are you ill again? Do you need help to reach Yochani’s?”

  “I am well.” I took a deep breath of the warm spring air and felt better than I had in months. “You just reminded me of something important.”

  He raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.

  “I am not going to run away like I did from you.” There, now Rava knew I’d been running from him. “Before we leave, I will go to Tiberias and bid a firm farewell to Rav Zeira.”

  Anticipating the meeting between Rava and Rabbi Avahu, I traveled to Caesarea with some apprehension. The two scholars were kindred spirits, both with brilliant minds and the authority that came from knowing it. This meant they could just as easily embrace each other as brothers or quarrel over territory. I realized that I hadn’t helped matters by telling Rabbi Avahu that I’d left Bavel to avoid an unwanted suitor named Abba bar Joseph. Maybe his being called Rava now would prove useful.

  Indeed, the impression I got as they stood together, throwing Mishna and Baraita at each other, was of two cats, fur standing on edge as they faced off over the same fish. Susanna took in the situation and quickly escorted me to my quarters, which in her usual conscientious manner were different from the rooms I’d previously shared with Yehudit.

  After offering me condolences and talking about Yehudit for a polite amount of time, she asked boldly, “So who is this Rava? I don’t recall hearing about him before.”

  “That’s the name he took at his ordination,” I explained. There was no way to hide his real name, so I didn’t try to. “He was born Abba bar Joseph.”

  Susanna gazed at me as if she were looking into my heart. “So after all this time, he has finally come looking for you.” Then she smiled. “How very interesting this visit will be.”

  “I must tell you that this will likely be the last time you and I see each other. I will be returning to Bavel as soon as I am strong enough.”

  “With him, I presume,” she said slyly. When I nodded, she looked me in the eye and asked, “Has he given you the get?”

  “Not yet,” I replied, and then quickly added, “I haven’t asked him for it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

  I didn’t want to admit how my feelings for Rava had changed, were still changing. They were like a growing soap bubble that clo
se examination would burst. Before I could think of an appropriate reply, a slave announced the evening meal.

  Whatever had passed between Rava and Rabbi Avahu earlier, they entered the traklin as best of friends.

  The first thing Rabbi Avahu said, after the appropriate mealtime blessings, was, “Rava, please tell Hisdadukh what you taught me earlier about why Jerusalem was destroyed.”

  “Apparently Rabbi Avahu objected to my explanation that the city was destroyed because truthful men had disappeared,” Rava said. “He rightfully pointed out that, rather than lie, the people there admitted their ignorance of Torah.”

  “But my colleague has shown that there is no contradiction.” Rabbi Avahu gestured for Rava to speak.

  “In Rabbi Avahu’s case, the inhabitants were talking about Torah and spoke the truth,” he said. “However, I was referring to matters of business, in regards to which there were in fact no honest people left in Jerusalem.”

  I gazed at Rava in admiration. Years after the Tisha B’Av discussion when Rabbi Avahu had contested his explanation for Jerusalem’s destruction, Rava had neatly countered it and proved that his original argument had been correct.

  The meal, as well as the rest of our stay, passed most agreeably. Rava spent all his time with Rabbi Avahu and his students, while I walked on the beach, recalling the bittersweet days when Yehudit had played there so happily. I also indulged in nostalgia whenever I walked over one of Salaman’s mosaics.

  Susanna noticed me staring at one, lost in memories. “You know, Salaman is here in Caesarea.”

  “Where?” I didn’t have a moment’s hesitation. “I’d like to say good-bye to him.”

  “He’s repairing the mosaics at a bathhouse I frequent. I’d be glad to take you there.”

  I tried not to think of how Salaman would react to seeing me, and prepared myself to merely thank him for introducing me to Ezra and then make my farewell with no apologies and no recriminations. After all, we would be meeting in public.

  But he was working alone in a section of the bathhouse closed for maintenance. He stood up as soon as he saw me enter, and again there was grout in his hair. After I said all the farewells I’d planned, he surprised me by saying, “So your Chaldean rabbi has finally arrived.”

  Flustered, and unsure how he could have known this, I only nodded.

  “I met him in Sepphoris.” He cleared his throat and I knew he was hesitating over what to tell me. “At the city councilor’s residence.”

  My eyes widened in astonishment. “He saw my mosaic? But he never mentioned it.”

  “I heard that the councilor was hosting a banquet in honor of this great rabbi from the East who happened to be visiting Sepphoris,” he said. “On a hunch, I decided to invite myself. When I saw him standing over your portrait as if spellbound, I came over and introduced myself.”

  “Ha-Elohim.” I let my breath out slowly. “What did he say?”

  “He said it was magnificent, and then he told me how very ill you’d been.” Salaman’s face clouded. “I’m so sorry about your little girl. I didn’t know until he told me.”

  I blinked back tears. Of course Salaman wouldn’t have heard. Our paths never crossed anymore. Plus he was newly married. “Did Rava say anything else?”

  “We spoke for some time, but it would be breaking a confidence to share our conversation with you.” He sounded serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “The only thing I’ll say is that I understand why you belong in his world, not mine.”

  We might have said more, but Susanna peeked in. “If we’re going to bathe and be home for the evening meal, we need to start soon,” she called to me.

  I looked Salaman in the face. “I wish you good health and many children.”

  He gave me that wonderful smile as a parting gift. “I wish you the same.”

  When Rava and I were about to take our leave from Caesarea, Susanna approached him and abruptly said, “Hisdadukh says you still haven’t given her the get. Why not?”

  Rava was taken aback, but he soon recovered. “I was waiting for an appropriate time, with proper witnesses.” He rummaged through his belongings to pull out a quill and a thin scroll, and then turned to Rabbi Avahu. “If you would find me some ink and call in a couple of your best students…”

  When everyone was present, Rava sat down and began to write. “I, Abba bar Joseph, release and discharge you, Hisdadukh bat Hisda, my wife, from this day and for always, that you be permitted, and have authority over yourself, to marry any man.”

  He blew on the parchment to dry the ink and handed it to Rabbi Avahu. “I would be honored if you would see that this is in order and sign as the first witness.”

  As an older student proceeded to witness the document, I felt myself growing uneasy. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. Of course I wanted the get, my life was at a standstill without it, but something inside me was protesting.

  Suddenly, with a certainty I recognized from when I told Father I wanted to marry both Rami and Abba, I spoke. “I’m pleased that the get is now ready, but I cannot receive and accept it until we reach Sura.” Like before, I didn’t know the source of my confidence, only that it came from both within and outside me, and that I had to say what it told me to.

  Everyone looked at me in astonishment, but I continued. “Rava and I have much traveling to do, and there may be times when it would be best if we appear to be husband and wife. Since I won’t have legally accepted his get, we would not be acting falsely.”

  Rava and Susanna were speechless, but Rabbi Avahu eventually nodded and said, “Hisdadukh makes a strong argument.”

  Rava quickly concurred. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer in order to facilitate our journey.”

  Susanna said nothing until I was on my mule. “I hope you’re doing the right thing,” she whispered. “I wish you good fortune on this and all your journeys.”

  I prayed that I was doing the right thing too.

  Yochani insisted on accompanying Rava and me to Tiberias. From there we would travel to Damascus and join a caravan heading to Bavel. In preparation for leaving Sepphoris, I gave her my pallae and stolae before donning my Persian clothes. These were not only more comfortable for riding, but wearing them declared my allegiance louder than anything I could say. Yochani insisted that I keep my yellow silk and woolen outfit, and in the end it was easier to take it than to argue with her.

  Once in Tiberias, Rava told Rabbis Ami and Assi that he regretted not staying to teach in their academy, while I gently but firmly informed Rav Zeira that I had no plans to return to Eretz Israel once I reached my father’s house.

  It was far more difficult to leave Yochani. Her hair was completely gray now, and she seemed shorter than when we first met. We wept on each other’s shoulders as I thanked her for everything, and she insisted that it had been her pleasure, that I was like the daughter she never had. Rava waited patiently, but the other travelers made no effort to hide their irritation. In the end she made me promise that I would send word to her regularly via my brother.

  It was only after Rava and I, plus our slaves and our belongings, were securely mounted on camels that he rode close enough to me that we could speak privately.

  “You understand that we will likely have to share a tent?” he asked, in seeming disbelief.

  I nodded. “I’ve traveled this route twice before. But you claim that you have great control of your yetzer hara now,” I said. “In addition, you should know that I have not been in a mikvah for many months, and thus I am still niddah.”

  “You have been quite clever,” he said admiringly. “You couldn’t have chosen a better way to torment me.”

  “Almost as clever as you,” I said, matching his teasing tone. “Or was it my imagination that you concocted this scheme where I would be tied to you, unable to remarry, until you decided to divorce me, no matter how long it took?”

  But he had been in earnest, for he looked away, his face flushed with s
hame. “I did want to prevent you from remarrying, to give me time to court you. Until you had actually received my get, the betrothal I’d arranged with your father could become valid once I’d persuaded you to accept me.” He sighed with frustration. “I didn’t expect you to move to Eretz Israel, and I certainly didn’t expect that a war would separate us for so long.”

  “Rava, I am not doing this to torture you.” I should have known that he would never tease me as easily as Salaman had. “I need to get back to Sura. I’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It wasn’t your fault that Yehudit died, and in truth the kashafa in Sepphoris wasn’t responsible either.” I had been thinking about this a great deal, and the answer had come to me in Caesarea. “I was to blame, for it was my ignorance and foolhardiness that caused her death. I had been cautioned, not once, but twice, that it was dangerous for me to inscribe amulets in Sepphoris. But I ignored the warnings.”

  I fought back tears. “I was always protected from harm in my father’s house, so I never imagined that protection would end. I played at being a charasheta, inscribing amulets and installing kasa d’charasha, without fully realizing the powerful forces I was dealing with. My daughter paid the price for my folly, and I would have died too if not for you.”

  “You didn’t just play at being a charasheta.” His voice was resolute. “You were one. I saw you.”

  “When? What did you see?” Heaven forbid that he’d seen me in the cemetery assisting Tabita to curse Pushbi.

  “Rami told us about what you were learning and how he hid to watch you bury bowls under someone’s house,” he explained. “It sounded so intriguing that I decided to follow you the next time. Rami was right—you were impressive. You truly had the power, Hisdadukh. You were a charasheta.”

  Rava’s reassurance warmed me, so I shared my goal. “That is why I need to be in Bavel, to continue my training. I’m going to be a real charasheta, not merely an amateur who dabbles in it.”

  He gazed at me intently, silently encouraging me to continue.