by Maggie Anton
As his sister-in-law had intuited, at this moment Salomon was feeling both lonely and worried. It was the first time he’d been present when Rivka was giving birth, and it was a terrible, solitary vigil. In Mayence when a chacham’s wife was in labor, his students gathered at the scholar’s house. To protect her from demons, they brought a Torah scroll with them and chanted Psalms until the baby arrived, all night if need be. But Salomon had been back in Troyes less than a year, and when Rivka went into labor, he felt reluctant to ask any local men to keep him company.
So he sat at the table, trying to keep his attention focused on the Torah commentary he was writing. Several times he had fought the urge to stand up and pace the room. It was so quiet upstairs. Hearing Rivka’s cries earlier had been bad, but this silence was worse. He tried to calm himself and get back to his studies. His sister-in-law was an excellent and experienced midwife; she’d warn him if things were going badly.
If only he were still in Mayence, surrounded by students. But no, he was trapped in Troyes, his mother no longer competent to manage the family’s vineyard. He returned to his manuscripts with a sigh. He would have to be satisfied teaching invisible students, the ones he imagined might someday read his kuntres (commentaries) and learn from them.
Salomon heard someone coming down the stairs and jumped up to receive the news she brought him, sending the cat that had been asleep at his feet scurrying off in a huff. But rather than the midwife, it was his elder daughter, Joheved, standing timidly at the bottom of the stairs. Her two long braids were coming undone and she was barefoot. Dressed in a rather threadbare chemise that barely covered her knees, her arms hugging herself, she seemed a forlorn figure. He recalled that a girl’s chemise ought to be ankle length and felt a pang of remorse. His daughter had probably been wearing this one for years.
Three times a day, as part of the prescribed liturgy, Salomon prayed for the year’s produce to be blessed with abundance. If the Holy One blessed him with a good wine harvest this fall, he might finally be able to afford new clothes for his family at Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Especially for his older daughter, who appeared to be growing out of her old ones before his eyes. She was already taller than Rivka, on the very threshold of womanhood. Sadness came over him again. How was he ever going to afford a dowry for her and her sister, when he scarcely had the money for food and parchment? And now another mouth to feed.
His immediate worries suppressed his future ones. “So, ma fille, what news do you have for me?”
“Everything is fine, Papa. Aunt Sarah says the baby should come before dawn.” Joheved shivered in her thin chemise. It was much colder downstairs than in Mama’s cozy bedroom.
“Come closer to the hearth,” Salomon beckoned to her. “We don’t want you to catch cold.”
Joheved approached the fireplace, but feeling shy, she stopped at the far side of the table. She could feel, rather than see, his deep-set eyes scrutinizing her. What was he thinking, this stranger who was her father? She was still getting used to his being home. Except for Passover, Shavuot, and Rosh Hashanah, when Papa returned for a few weeks at a time, their household had been completely female.
Even now, except for meals, they hardly spent any time together. Papa went to synagogue in the morning, labored all day in the vineyard, and worked on his manuscripts after souper. Maybe she could ask him about demons. He was a scholar.
“Papa, why does Lillit hate newborn babies so much?”
Surprised by her question, yet hungry to be teaching again, Salomon chose to answer his daughter exactly as he would have for one of the young students at the yeshiva. She has a right to know about Lillit, he told himself. She’d be a mother herself one day, Le Bon Dieu willing.
“Lillit was Adam’s first wife. Because she too was created from the dust of the ground, Lillit insisted on equality with her husband. They quarreled, and she left him.” Joheved’s rapt expression encouraged Salomon to continue. “Three angels were sent to capture her, but when they did, she refused to return. They threatened her, yet Lillit preferred being punished to living with Adam. Now she takes her revenge by harming new mothers and their babies, boys before their circumcision and girls until they’re twenty days old.”
Joheved was appalled. She had vague memories of Mama having other babies who died, and she recalled a neighbor woman who had died in childbirth last year. She grabbed her father’s arm and appealed to him, “What can we do to protect Mama and the baby, to keep Lillit away?”
Tears were forming in his daughter’s blue eyes and Salomon felt ashamed for frightening her. He should know better; a good teacher gives lessons appropriate for his student’s level.
“The Almighty has given us powerful tools of protection, ma fille. Your mama is wearing the amulet her mother gave her, my tefillin are wrapped around the top of our bed, and as soon as the baby is born, he will be given an amulet with those three angels’ names on it. In addition, I am here praying and studying Torah. Don’t worry—the Merciful One will guard our pious household.”
Papa’s calm words reassured her. He was home now and that would make the difference. Joheved didn’t want to jeopardize the closeness that had suddenly developed between them, but she had to ask another question. “Papa, you called the baby ‘he.’ Are you praying for a son?”
Salomon hesitated as he considered how best to answer his daughter. He did not see how he could give an honest explanation, one that did not compromise his integrity as a teacher, without using the Talmud as its source. But teaching Talmud to a girl?
He began to argue with himself: I can’t teach Joheved from the Talmud; women aren’t allowed to study Talmud. Yes, you can. You know it isn’t actually forbidden. And didn’t you yourself take notes at the yeshiva even though all study is supposed to be oral? Women certainly don’t study at the yeshiva. Yet the Talmud itself mentions learned women, often the daughters of scholars. She won’t understand Talmud; women are light-headed. Joheved might understand; she knows the Bible, both in Hebrew and Aramaic. Your mother saw to that. If only I had a son to teach. Well, you don’t have one, and if you want to teach your children, you’ll have to make do with her. But a father’s obligated to teach Torah to his sons, not to his daughters. It doesn’t matter that you’re not obligated to teach her; you want to teach her; don’t deny it.
Watching his daughter’s chin begin to quiver with rejection, Salomon realized that he wouldn’t disappoint Joheved or himself. He could no more refuse to teach an eager student than he could stop breathing, and if it was sinful to teach his daughter Talmud, then let the sin be on his head.
He smiled down at Joheved and said, “Just when I was sighing over not having any students, the Merciful One has provided me with one. Tell me, do you know what Talmud is?”
Her father’s long silence had worried Joheved. But he didn’t look angry. She had no idea why he was asking her about Talmud, but she answered, “Oui, Papa, it’s the Oral Law.”
Salomon nodded his head. “That’s right. When Moses, our teacher, received the Law on Mount Sinai, it was in two forms, the Written Law, which we read in the synagogue—and the Oral Law, which was taught in person from teacher to student. Moses taught it to Joshua, and so on down to the earliest rabbis. After the Holy Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, Rabbi Judah the Prince worried that too many scholars who knew the Oral Law had been killed, that it might be forgotten. So he ordered the Oral Law, called the Talmud, to be recorded. Do you understand?”
“Oui, Papa. Grandmama taught me and Miriam all about it.”
“That’s right, she wrote me about what good students you were.” He paused and stroked his beard before continuing. “Talmud has two parts, Mishnah and Gemara. Suppose you wanted to find all the laws in the Torah concerning a certain subject, let’s say the Sabbath. Judah the Prince knew that was difficult, so he wrote the Mishnah, which takes the laws from all over the Torah and arranges them by topic.”
Joheved nodded as he spoke, so he continued, “
But Mishnah is only a small part of the Talmud. Most of Talmud is Gemara, which records the sages’ discussions about the meaning of the Mishnah. Don’t worry; you’ll understand better when you see it.”
When you see it! Joheved couldn’t believe her ears. Papa was going to teach her, a girl, Talmud! Terrified, yet fascinated, she didn’t dare do anything to interrupt him, to give him a chance to reconsider what he was doing.
She nodded her head and squeaked out, “Oui, Papa.”
Salomon got up from the chest he was sitting on and rummaged around inside it. He pulled out a large volume, bound in leather, which had seen much wear, and he thumbed through it until he reached nearly the end. Joheved could see that the pages were covered with Hebrew script. She was almost sure she’d be able to read it, if only the light was brighter. She leaned forward to get a better look.
Chuckling at her eagerness, he said, “This book, the Talmud’s first tractate, is called Berachot, ‘Blessings.’ It concerns, as you might surmise, the laws of prayer. Here in the ninth chapter, we have a Mishnah that answers your question. See if you can read it to me. It shouldn’t be much different from reading scripture.”
He pointed to where the characters were written slightly larger than the rest of the text. Joheved was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to understand it, that Papa would realize it was a mistake to try to teach a girl Talmud, yet she was excited and curious too. She sighed in relief when she saw that she could read the words, which were written in Papa’s own handwriting, like the occasional letters he had written home to them.
two
Troyes
Spring 4829 (1069 C.E.)
Heart racing, Joheved began reading the Mishnah aloud.
If a man cries out (to God) over what is past, his prayer is in vain. If his wife is with child and he says, “May it be Your will that my wife bear a male,” this prayer is in vain.
Salomon gave an inward sigh of relief; Joheved had read the text without difficulty. “And you understand why these prayers are in vain, for no purpose?” he asked her.
Joheved gulped. Had she and Miriam sinned when they prayed for a sister? “If the wife is with child, then it is already either a boy or a girl, and no prayer can change that,” she said slowly.
“Oui, ma fille.” Salomon was even more pleased with his daughter. “But while it is true that these prayers are empty or useless, they are not forbidden, because it is man’s nature to pray these things.”
Joheved sighed with relief and he continued, “Let’s look at the Gemara and see what the rabbis say about this Mishnah.” He took her hand and placed her finger on the text. “See, first they discuss the pregnant wife and conclude,
These prayers will not help.
But then Rav Joseph objects and questions the part in Genesis about Leah’s children:
And afterwards she bore a daughter. But what is meant by afterwards?”
Salomon could see his daughter blinking in confusion, so he paused.
This part about Leah and Dinah baffled her. Papa was obviously waiting for her and she didn’t want to sit there dumbly. So she asked, “Why does Rav Joseph care about the word ‘afterwards’?”
Salomon loved this part of teaching, when he enabled the perplexed student to understand the lesson. “When Leah has each of her sons, it says simply, ‘She bore a son.’ But when Leah bears a daughter, it says ‘afterwards.’ Why?”
He smiled and gave the answer. “It says ‘afterwards’ because the Holy One wants us to ask: After what?”
Joheved stared at the text open mouthed. She considered herself learned because she knew scripture, but this was a different, deeper kind of learning. The fire of her curiosity stoked, she looked up at her father and asked, “So what was it after?”
The pleasure Salomon felt in watching his daughter’s demeanor change from confused and frustrated to excited and eager to learn was almost physical in its intensity. “Be patient, ma fille. The very next thing we read in the Gemara is Rav Joseph’s answer: After pregnant Leah prayed, saying,
‘Twelve tribes will descend from my husband, Jacob. Six have come from me and four from his concubines, making ten. If this child is a male, my sister Rachel will not be equal to even one of the concubines.’ Immediately the child was turned into a girl, as it is written: And afterwards she bore a daughter.”
Joheved thought for a while and then asked him, “So Rav Joseph says that prayer can change the sex of a pregnant woman’s child. Does this mean the Mishnah is wrong?”
He smiled and motioned Joheved to read on.
We cannot cite a miracle to refute the Mishnah. Only those righteous like Leah may pray for miracles and have their prayers answered.
Joheved sighed. “I see, Papa, regular people like us shouldn’t expect miracles.”
“Exactly,” Salomon said.
She continued reading.
From the third to 40th day, he should pray that it will be a male. From the 40th day to three months, he should pray that it not be deformed. From three months to six months, he should pray that it not be a stillborn. From six months to nine months, he should pray for a safe delivery.
Salomon reached over and closed the book. “According to this view, the baby’s sex is not determined until forty days, so one may pray for a boy until then. Of course,” he quickly added, “if the parents desire a daughter instead of a son, they may also ask during this time. And praying for a safe delivery at nine months is what we should both be doing right now.”
Joheved closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on Mama in the room upstairs. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. Papa had taught her Talmud and she had understood it! And there were so many tractates of Talmud. Who knew what amazing things were written in them? As fervently as Joheved prayed for her mother’s safety, she also prayed that today would be the first of many such study sessions with her father.
Salomon closed his eyes as well, but he was thinking about the Gemara that followed the text they had studied. There it said that the sex of the embryo was determined at conception. If the woman is so aroused that she emits seed first, she bears a male, but if the man emits his seed first, she bears a female. It was just as well that he had closed the book quickly; satisfaction in marital relations was not a subject he wanted to discuss with his young daughter. Especially since he felt certain that this baby, like the others, would be female because he lacked the ability to give his wife sufficient pleasure in their marriage bed.
Would he have spent so much time away if he’d known the cost would be having no sons? It was a foolish question. Nobody can change the past. Hadn’t he just studied that very subject in the Talmud with his daughter? And he intended to keep teaching her too, no matter what others might think. He would teach Joheved any Mishnah and Gemara she wanted to learn. And not just Joheved; he would teach Miriam and this young one too!
Salomon knew he had made the right decision when Joheved turned to him with anxious eyes and asked, “When will you teach me more Talmud, Papa? I want to learn what the rabbis say about everything, not just about prayers.”
“Ma fille, we can study together every night. We’ll start with blessings and see how things go after that.”
It would have been difficult at that moment to say which of them felt happier. Their joy was shattered by Rivka’s scream, followed by the thin wail of a newborn baby. Father and daughter stared at each other for a moment, then Joheved raced for the stairs and almost collided with Miriam coming out of the bedroom.
“A girl, the baby is a big, healthy, girl!” Miriam was so excited, she was almost dancing. “Mama is fine too,” she added before disappearing back into the bedroom.
When Salomon and Joheved were finally allowed to enter, Rivka, her hair neatly tucked under her veil, was soothing the baby with a mother’s own best remedy. The room smelled different now; something sweet was smoking in the charcoal brazier.
“A pleasant smell encourages the baby to come out quickly, s
o Aunt Sarah burned some rosemary,” Miriam explained before Joheved could ask.
Obviously all was well, and Salomon began the traditional Shehecheyanu prayer of thanksgiving, said on those happy occasions when something is done for the first time. “Baruch ata Adonai (Blessed are You, Lord) our God, King of the World, Who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.”
Aunt Sarah’s dawn estimate for the baby’s arrival had been accurate, for no sooner had Salomon finished the blessing for seeing his youngest daughter for the first time, than Troyes’ many church bells began their daily cacophony. When all was silent, Rivka began giving her daughters the necessary instructions to keep her household running smoothly.
“Go downstairs and tell Marie that the baby has come. She’ll know what to do. While she’s helping Grandmama Leah get dressed, you two stoke the fire and get breakfast ready.” Rivka paused and shifted the baby to her other breast. “There should be some oatmeal stirabout that just needs to be heated, as well as some stewed fruit. And for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on.”
“Don’t you worry about breakfast,” Aunt Sarah told her nieces once they were out in the hall. “I’ll prepare it myself.” Anticipating the early morning birth, she had bought some special foods for what she hoped would be a celebration. And celebrate they would, even if the baby was another girl. After all, Rivka had come through the birth safely. And not only that, which, the Merciful One be blessed, was plenty to be happy about, but Miriam had also shown unexpected promise as an apprentice midwife.
Sarah was even more pleased when she reached the kitchen and found that Marie, the young maidservant, already had a fire burning in the fireplace. Two kettles hung on the hearth from a toothed iron rack, the large copper one full of water. There were some smaller pots standing on tripods above the flames, their warm contents giving off enticing smells.
