Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  —Anonymous student of Peter Abelard,

  twelfth-century Paris

  Declared Ben Azzai: “A man must teach his daughter Torah so that if she drinks she will know that her merit will suspend her punishment.” Rav Eliezer said: “Whoever teaches his daughter Torah teaches her lechery.”

  —Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sotah 20a

  Rashi’s

  Daughters

  Book I: Joheved

  prologue

  STUDENTS OF JEWISH HISTORY are aware that medieval Spanish Jewry enjoyed a golden age for five hundred years prior to the Inquisition. It is less well known that the Jews of Northern France possessed at least a silver age for approximately two hundred years at the beginning of the second millennium, in the peace that existed between the final Norse invasion and the start of the One Hundred Years War. Ironically it was through the efforts of two unknown inventors that this period of prosperity, tolerance and intellectual accomplishment was set in motion.

  Midway through the eleventh century, the ideas of covering both a plough’s wooden nose and a horse’s delicate hooves with metal precipitated a revolution in agriculture. With the power of a horse hitched to his sturdy steel-plated plough, a peasant was able to work the heavy soil deeper and faster. Productivity skyrocketed and for the first time in its history, the land of Northern France yielded more food than its inhabitants could eat.

  Eager to trade their surplus produce for luxuries, the French lords found the Jews, who had lived among them since the days of the Romans, a perfect partner. The Jewish merchant knew that, no matter how far away he traveled, he’d always find other Jews who shared the Hebrew language, who would shelter him in their midst, and who trusted him implicitly. They also provided invaluable information, such as which goods could be acquired cheaply and which were in demand, as well as which routes were safe and which were dangerous. Thus Jews enjoyed a great advantage in commerce.

  In the feudal system, the Jews’ social status was high, equal to that of knights. The Jewish trader was a welcome visitor to French estates, buying their surfeit produce and selling them imported goods. Money-lending, the frequently perceived source of Jewish income during the Middle Ages, was not yet a common livelihood among the Jews, only becoming widespread centuries later when other professions became restricted.

  Another misconception about the Middle Ages is that Jews suffered greatly from anti-Semitism. While there was no love lost between most Jews and their Christian neighbors prior to the First Crusade, relations between them were cordial and occasional friendships flourished. The Jews and their fellow citizens dressed the same, spoke the same language, and shared the same interest in local politics.

  The Catholic Church preached tolerance, with sanctioned persecution still years away. The split between Roman and Byzantium Christians was recent enough that much of the Church’s attention was focused on attempts to heal it, and besides, the Church was too busy consolidating its own power and purging France of heretical Christian sects to take much notice of the Jews. In addition, there were still pagans in Europe, and the Church saw them as a higher priority for conversion than the Jews.

  Times were good. Commerce increased. Cities sprang up where trade routes crossed. The cities organized fairs where many merchants could buy and sell together, and the rulers who encouraged these fairs grew rich by taxing the transactions that took place at them. And the greatest of these fairs were the two that were held in Troyes, the capital of the French province whose ruler was the Count of Champagne.

  Here our chronicle begins. In 1068 Salomon ben Isaac is unknown, but in one hundred years, he will be considered one of the greatest Jewish scholars who ever lived. The first Hebrew book printed will be his Bible commentary, and when the Talmud is printed in the fifteenth century, his extraordinarily clear and concise commentary will fill the inside column of every page. Then he will be known as “Rashi,” a Hebrew acronym for Rabbi Shlomo ha Yitzhaki.

  Even today, no Talmud is printed without his comments in that same spot, and the words of his grandsons and disciples, known as the Tosaphists, are found on the outside column. But our tale is not really about him or about his grandsons. It is the story of the forgotten generation between them, Rashi’s daughters.

  one

  Troyes, France

  Spring 4829 (1069 C.E.)

  The cold slowly forced Joheved awake. Sure that Miriam, her younger sister, was comfortably wrapped in more than her share of bedding, Joheved reached out for the covers, only to find them still in their proper place, topped by the rough blanket that Mama had woven from their first clumsy attempts to spin thread from raw wool. There wasn’t a hint of morning light, so Joheved snuggled under the covers, determined to ignore her discomfort and find sleep again. Her feet were freezing, but getting up to find her hose would just make them worse. If only she and Miriam could have a charcoal brazier in their room at night. She sighed.

  Why did Mama and Papa have to be so secretive about being poor? Did they think they could protect her from poverty by never mentioning it, by telling her that only babies and old people needed their rooms heated once Passover was finished? A girl in her twelfth year was old enough to be told the truth. Joheved rubbed her feet against each other to warm them and bumped into something small lying at the edge of the bed. The room’s silence was broken by purring.

  People might think it odd that cats slept in Joheved’s house at night, but Papa was a scholar who owned valuable manuscripts made of parchment. It was his cats’ responsibility to keep mice from nibbling on them, and three cats seemed to be sufficient to protect his treasured collection. Papa once joked that he was merely a three-cat chacham, while his old teacher, Jacob ben Yakar of Worms, had been a seven-cat chacham, and Rabbenu Gershom—Light of the Exile, who died before Papa was even born, surely he had been a ten-cat talmid chacham.

  Joheved nudged the cat and moved her feet onto the warm spot the creature had vacated. Pleased at this solution, she listened to the small noises outside as she waited for sleep to overtake her. Every so often, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves or crunch of cartwheels echoed on a nearby road. What errands kept someone away from home at this hour, when the demon Agrat bat Machlat and her eighteen myriads stalked the night outside?

  Joheved shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around her. She had just about drifted off when a low-pitched moan, like someone in pain, jerked her back to consciousness. But this noise wasn’t from outside; it was coming from just beyond the bedroom door. Terrified of what had to be an approaching demon, Joheved dived under the covers and grabbed for Miriam.

  And felt no one.

  A frantic search proved that she was alone in their bed. Convinced that the demon who had somehow taken Miriam was coming for her, she recited the words she’d been taught to say if evil spirits ever threatened her.

  “Be split, be accursed, broken and banned, you son of mud, son of clay, like Shamgaz, Merigaz and Istemaah,” Joheved whispered through chattering teeth, and then, because incantations said three times were the most powerful, she repeated it twice more. Heart pounding, she waited.

  And waited. The cat, still purring, nosed its head under her hand, eager to be scratched. Her fear slowly dissipating, Joheved began to feel both relieved and foolish. How often had she watched the cats chase their invisible prey? Surely no cat would lie so contentedly in her bed if demons lurked nearby.

  The world was plagued with evil spirits: from Ashmadia, King of Demons, and Shibeta, who strangles children with croup or whooping cough, to the cauchmares, who bring on bad dreams, and little Feltrech, responsible for tangling a sleeper’s long hair at night. There were more demons than there were people. Most feared of all was Lillit, whose prey was women in childbirth and their newborn babies. And Mama was due to give birth any day now.

  Mon Dieu, what if Mama was in labor right now? Was that where Miriam had gone? It would be just like her little sister too, leaving her to miss out on all the excitement. The cold for
gotten, Joheved jumped out of bed. She groped her way along the wall to the pole holding their clothes where, in fact, only her own were hanging. She hurriedly slipped her long linen chemise over her head, making for the doorway at the same time.

  Across the landing from where she stood, the door to her parents’ room was ajar, and sure enough, a lamp was lit within. Light came from downstairs as well. Joheved tiptoed towards the brightness before her. She had almost reached her parents’ doorway when she heard the moaning again, this time followed by a familiar voice, low and melodic, a voice identical to Mama’s, except for a slight German accent.

  “Miriam, it would be a great help to me if you could keep counting between your mama’s pains.” The voice belonged to Aunt Sarah, Mama’s widowed older sister. “We can tell how soon the baby will come as the number you count gets smaller.”

  Mama was having the baby! And Miriam was in there as well. Joheved was filled with a whirl of feelings—happiness and excitement, anxiety and fear, plus some righteous indignation that everyone had been quite ready to let her sleep through it.

  She stepped boldly into the room and then stopped short. “Oh, what’s that smell?” The air was pungent with a strange odor, not unpleasant, but sweet and spicy. It made Joheved’s nose want to sneeze.

  Mama lay in bed, her eyes closed and her right hand clutching the protective amulet she always wore around her neck. Her long, dark hair was disheveled, spread loosely on the pillow. She appeared to be sleeping, except that she opened her eyes after hearing Joheved’s voice and gave her older daughter a wan smile.

  Joheved stared at her mother. “How come Mama’s hair is spread out like that?” Mama was fastidious about her appearance, her hair always kept out of sight under her veil.

  “Aunt Sarah says that it’s important to have nothing tight or constricted near the childbed, especially not the mother’s hair,” Miriam said, proud of her newly acquired knowledge. “It makes it easier for the baby to come out.”

  Sarah turned around and said firmly, “Hush. Your mama needs to rest between pains, and I don’t want you disturbing her. Joheved, you can sit next to Miriam and keep count with her.” Her voice softened to the gentle tone Joheved was accustomed to, as she continued, “What you smell is the fennel I’ve scattered around the floor. It sweetens the air and wards off evil spirits.”

  A chastened Joheved edged towards the chest where Miriam was sitting. When her sister slid only a handbreadth to the side, Joheved shoved Miriam over, forcing Aunt Sarah to give her nieces a quick frown of reproach. They had barely settled down when Rivka began to breathe faster and clutch at the bedclothes. A groan escaped her lips. Then, as suddenly as it began, whatever had disturbed her was gone. Her grimace faded and she reached for the amulet at her throat.

  Aunt Sarah looked at Miriam questioningly, and Miriam replied, “Five hundred. I counted to five hundred that time.”

  The dread that gripped Joheved was fading now that Mama seemed calm again, but her heart was racing and her stomach felt funny. She had completely forgotten about the counting.

  “Don’t worry, Joheved, Mama always does that when the pains come, but then they stop right away.” Miriam gave her older sister a reassuring hug. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Joheved did feel ill. Was having a baby always like this, one agonizing pain after another? And when the time came, would it be like that for her too? “Miriam, is it…?”

  “You two go outside and chat,” Aunt Sarah interrupted, motioning them towards the door. “We don’t need a count between every contraction.” Sympathetic grey eyes focused on Joheved’s pale face. “Don’t worry. Your mama is doing fine. By the time the sun is up, you’ll have a new brother—may the Holy One bless us—or sister.”

  They went out into the hall, their bare feet moving quietly over the rushes on the floor, and Miriam leaned casually against the wall.

  “How long have you been in there?” Joheved asked her little sister, whose confident posture and calm demeanor made her seem quite grown up.

  “Not very long. I only did a few counts, all over five hundred, and Aunt Sarah wasn’t interested if I counted more than that. She says that things won’t begin to happen until I get below two hundred, that Mama’s birth pangs will get stronger and last longer, until finally she’s in pain most of the time.” Miriam straightened up and began gesturing with her hands. “Then we get her out of bed, onto the birthing stool, and she pushes the baby out. Isn’t it exciting? I can’t wait for the baby to come!”

  Joheved’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “How can you stand it?”

  “You mean how can I stand Mama having a baby?” Miriam recalled how her sister preferred to pluck a chicken rather than gut one, even though it took a lot more time. “Well, probably because I’m not squeamish like you.”

  “I mean doesn’t it bother you to see Mama in pain?” Joheved said. “Besides, you’re not doing much except counting.”

  “I think it’s wonderful, and Aunt Sarah let me make up Mama’s special drink. It’s got the most amazing ingredients in it: myrrh, cinnamon and savin, all mixed together in wine with honey.” This was a rare opportunity for Miriam to outshine her sister.

  “When the baby’s about to come, I’ll be able to do more. Aunt Sarah says I can even be her assistant. A laboring woman shouldn’t be left alone, on account of demons, so I can run downstairs to fetch things, or I can tend to Mama if Aunt Sarah has to go do something. I might even be a midwife like Aunt Sarah when I grow up.” Thank goodness she wasn’t a coward like Joheved.

  Joheved didn’t need to be reminded that Mama was in danger. She wanted to ask if Aunt Sarah had said anything else about demons, particularly about Lillit, but she didn’t like her little sister thinking she was ignorant or scared. Besides, it was best to speak of demons as little as possible.

  “If you’re a midwife, you won’t have to worry about money. It’s not like making wine, where you never know if you’re going to have a good harvest or not. Women are always having babies.”

  “Aunt Sarah probably does all right.” Miriam lowered her voice, loath to provoke the Evil Eye. “She’s the only Jewish midwife in Troyes, and she only has herself to support.”

  Joheved matched her sister’s furtive tone and whispered, “I hope Mama has another girl, not a boy baby.”

  Miriam had also been hoping for a baby sister, but all the same, it was shocking to hear the words from Joheved’s mouth. She peered down the hall, not wanting to be overheard. “I’ve been praying: please don’t let Mama die in childbirth and please, make the baby a girl.”

  There, it was out in the open. Miriam felt guilty about praying that second part; she was pretty sure that Papa, and Mama too, were praying for a boy. “I don’t think Papa would pay us any attention if he had a son.”

  “Not that he pays that much attention to us now.” Joheved agreed with her sister, but she didn’t want to tempt any evil spirits to harm the baby, no matter what its gender. “Let’s go see how Mama is doing,” she said. She didn’t really want to watch her mother’s painful progress, but her parents’ room was warm.

  They returned to find Aunt Sarah wiping Mama’s face with a small cloth. “Rivka, your daughters are here.” She motioned for them to stand on either side of the large bed.

  Mama took hold of their hands and gave each a gentle squeeze. “Now I have my guardian angels watching over me.” She smiled up at them. “This is a woman’s greatest blessing, when she can bring forth new life. This is what the Holy One created us to do. I pray that I may live to see you two give me grandchildren.”

  Perhaps she wanted to say more, but she stopped and began to grip their hands tighter. Right then Joheved wanted nothing more than to get away from the bedside, but Mama held her fast. Joheved shut her eyes rather than watch up close as Mama went through another contraction, clenching her hand tighter and tighter until it was all Joheved could do not to cry out herself. Yet Mama just moaned softly, a
nd suddenly the pressure on Joheved’s hand relaxed.

  Joheved opened her eyes to see the room starting to spin around her. She felt Aunt Sarah’s strong arms supporting her just as her legs began to fail, then helping her over to the storage chest. She could hear Miriam counting, “Five, six, seven, eight,” and she felt awful, not only because of her head, which was starting to feel less dizzy, but also because she realized that she was more of a hindrance than a help.

  “Joheved, we don’t really need two people up here to count,” Aunt Sarah said gently. “Why don’t you go downstairs and keep your papa company. He must be lonely and worried down there by himself. We’ll call you when the baby’s been born.”

  Feeling rejected and useless, Joheved slowly made her way down the circular staircase. Only a faint light came from below, and she took each step carefully. Her father was seated at the dining table facing the hearth, staring into the fire. In the dimness, his brown hair looked black and his grey eyes were hooded under dark brows. Papa was stroking his beard like he always did when he wanted to think, and it seemed as if he was looking at something far away.

  Uncertainty stopped Joheved’s descent. She didn’t dare interrupt him, but she couldn’t return to Mama’s room; she’d just been expelled. Maybe she should go back to bed?

  The room’s walls and furnishings had disappeared into the night. Illuminated solely by the flickering flames and an oil lamp on the table, Rabbi Salomon ben Isaac sat alone in a vast darkness, manuscripts spread before him. In isolated monasteries across the continent, a few monks laboriously copied ancient texts, but Europe had lost the knowledge of Greek philosophy and science. Yet the Jews, despite the bleak intellectual atmosphere of the time, kept the light of their forbearers’ wisdom burning bright. Salomon himself had spent the last fifteen years studying at the elite Talmud academies in Allemagne.