by Maggie Anton
Joheved was too stunned to speak, but Johanna continued giving instructions. “Miriam, why don’t you help your sister get dressed? And you can wear your new bliaut too. Hurry up, now.”
The two girls raced upstairs. Miriam insisted that Joheved take time to rebraid her hair. They said little besides the occasional “Mon Dieu,” and “I wonder who it could be.” Miriam didn’t have the heart to tease her sister. She’d never seen Joheved’s face this white, and the poor girl’s hands were shaking so badly that Miriam had to do her hair for her. If Johanna said people were coming to arrange Joheved’s betrothal, then it must be so. But why hadn’t Papa or Mama told them about it earlier?
They came downstairs to find that Isaac and Joseph had arrived with some delicacies for dessert. Joheved, her dread mounting, listened as the men confirmed that they had seen Salomon leave the synagogue with a well-dressed couple and a youth whose likeness proved him to be their son.
Joheved wanted to ask questions, but her mouth was too dry. It didn’t help that the last thing Miriam said before they joined the company was, “Remember, they can’t make you marry this fellow if you don’t want to. You have to agree or there’s no betrothal.” Then Miriam disappeared outside to keep a lookout.
Rivka sensed her daughter’s fear and tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Joheved, you look lovely.” She then added, as much to herself as to her daughter, “I’m sure everything will be fine,” and gave Joheved a lengthy hug.
“Joheved will make an excellent impression,” Isaac haParnas said loudly. Then he turned and whispered to Johanna, “It’s a good thing you got us invited, too. Salomon is a scholar with his head in his books, and now I can make sure any negotiations are done under my auspices.”
Suddenly Miriam popped back into the room. “They’re coming, they’re coming,” she squealed. “Papa, a grey-bearded man and a tall woman, and their son.”
The company arranged themselves around the salle as though nothing extraordinary was happening. So when Salomon arrived home with his guests, he was surprised, but not too surprised, to find Joheved and Miriam in their best clothes, a sumptuous meal prepared, and Isaac haParnas’s family visiting.
As guests were introduced, Joheved’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure that everyone in the room could hear it. The boy’s name was Meir, and he had apparently attended yeshiva in Mayence with Papa. Conversation avoided the subject of what these people were doing in Troyes, besides sending their son back to his studies. Salomon had Meir telling him all the latest news from the yeshiva, while Isaac questioned Samuel about his livelihood. Miriam couldn’t resist poking her sister when Samuel replied that he had an estate in Ramerupt that produced wheat and sheep.
At the women’s end of the table, Marona tried, with Johanna’s help, to draw Joheved into conversation, but Leah dominated their discussion. Joheved didn’t mind; her emotions were too jumbled for her to say anything worthwhile. Rivka, relieved beyond belief upon hearing that Meir had actually studied with her husband, hoped desperately that Leah wouldn’t make up some improbable tale because she could no longer remember what had really happened.
The two young people, on whose account these strangers found themselves eating together, said nothing to each other. They knew better than to stare, but couldn’t resist frequent glances in the other’s direction. Joheved didn’t find Meir especially handsome; he was too skinny and his skin was bad. But he wasn’t ugly. His hair was nice, a warm shade of brown that was flattered by his deep gold bliaut and sunny yellow chemise, identical to his father’s. He had a pleasant, low-pitched voice, and when she caught him looking at her, he grinned and revealed a fine set of white teeth. She was glad he was taller than her.
And he was a yeshiva student. She could study as much Talmud as she wanted now that Papa had found her a learned husband. Then her heart sank. If she married him, they would spend who knows how many years apart. Meir’s father could probably afford to keep him studying in Mayence a long time. She tried to conquer her despair. Maybe his father would pay for both of them to live in Mayence, but then she’d never see her family.
All the grown-ups around the table seemed to be staring at her, and Joheved knew she was trapped. She didn’t dare refuse the match, not with all the adults in agreement, not after Papa had made good on his promise to find a scholar for her to marry. Yet she didn’t really want to refuse—for some reason this youth appealed to her. Enough! She must stop thinking about potential problems, problems that were out of her control, and start the new year with an optimistic frame of mind.
The first thing Meir noticed about Joheved was that her eyes were exactly the same shade of blue as her bliaut. But she was so young, still only a child. He glanced at her chest and quickly looked away; she hadn’t even grown breasts yet. An early marriage was out of the question, and he tried to hide his disappointment. The girl wasn’t bad looking—not that it mattered what she looked like, as long as she wasn’t ugly. The important thing was she was Rav Salomon’s daughter. Their sons would be great scholars.
Gradually the meal came to a close. Grandmama Leah was having trouble sitting still, and Rivka suggested that the girls take her for a walk. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, Meir jumped up and offered to accompany them.
But before they could leave, Salomon stood up and addressed his daughter. “Joheved, you know why all these people are here?” he asked gently. When she nodded, he continued, “I will not betroth you without your consent; you must see your bridegroom and accept him.”
Salomon glanced back at Joheved, whose gaze was fixed on the plate in front on her. “So here he is, standing in front of you. Do you want Meir ben Samuel for your husband? Shall I work out an agreement with his father?”
Even though she knew what her answer would be, what her answer had to be, Joheved made a point of looking at Meir from head to foot before speaking. Then she took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Oui, Papa, I will have him. I give my consent.” At least her future husband did not shy away, but returned her stare with an equally searching look.
Meir knew that he would be asked for his approval next. He had studied the part in Tractate Kiddushin about betrothals where
Rav Judah said: A man may not marry a woman until he has first seen her, and Rav Eleazar said: A man may not give his daughter in marriage until she is old enough to say “I want so-and-so.”
Meir didn’t wait for the question, but said with what he hoped sounded like confidence, “I have seen your daughter and I agree to take her as my bride.”
Salomon felt uncomfortable with magical incantations based on scripture, but he had been to enough betrothals to know that it was expected. He stroked his beard and considered what mystic blessing he would invoke for the couple. Then he put his hands on Meir’s and Joheved’s shoulders, closed his eyes, and began chanting in Aramaic:
How sweet is your love, my own, my bride. When the wind blows softly and the shadows flee, I will betake me to the mount of myrrh. You have captured my heart, my own, my bride. Drink deep of my love. How much more delightful is your love than wine. Every part of you is fair, my darling, and there is no blemish in you.
Although they had no idea what words Salomon had spoken, Rivka, Marona, and even Johanna had tears in their eyes.
Isaac stood up, raised his wine goblet, and offered his congratulations, “So may joy be with you in the future.”
Leah alone seemed unaffected. “We can celebrate when the agreements are signed. And with my granddaughter’s yichus, you shouldn’t need a large dowry. My brother was the talmid chacham, Simon ben Isaac haZaken—may his merit protect us—and Rivka’s brother, Isaac ben Judah of Mayence, is also a great scholar.”
“Papa,” Meir whispered urgently. “Isaac ben Judah is one of my teachers in Mayence. Some say he’ll be the next Rosh Yeshiva.”
Samuel nodded back with a grin. Content to be aligned with Salomon’s family based on the chacham’s own worth, he now found
that Joheved had an even greater lineage. Isaac haParnas was also smiling; this new information would make negotiations easier.
Leah, oblivious to the effect her announcement was having on the company, had sat long enough. “Right now I need to walk. Who’s coming with me?”
The four walkers left the others to work out the financial details. They strolled along the Rû Cordé canal, which marked the western edge of both the old city and its Jewish quarter, past the public baths and the castle at the north end of the canal, where it split off from the Seine, then they walked south again towards Thibault’s palace. Joheved’s moment of boldness had passed, and she left conversation to her grandmother and sister. Miriam proudly informed Meir that they knew how to make parchment, and he admitted his ignorance on the subject.
It was only as they approached Salomon’s courtyard that Joheved found the courage to speak. “Meir, you understood what my father said?” It was more a statement than a question, but he nodded and she continued, “It sounded like the fourth chapter of Song of Songs, except the verses were out of order.”
“You’re right. I’ve been to several betrothals in Mayence and somebody always makes an Aramaic incantation from that chapter of Song of Songs. But they never say it like it’s written.” Meir hesitated a moment as his gaze met hers, and he stared into those incredibly blue eyes. “I mean, sometimes they transpose the words or recite a few of the verses three times. Once I heard it chanted backwards.”
“Thank you for explaining it to me,” Joheved replied as they approached the house, and Meir felt a rush of pride at being able to demonstrate his esoteric knowledge to her.
It took several days, under Isaac’s patient supervision, to negotiate the detailed betrothal agreement. Joheved found spinning thread kept her nervous hands occupied, so Marona got plenty of opportunity to observe her competence with spindle and distaff. Samuel, eager for scholarly grandsons, didn’t quibble about the small dowry—one third of Salomon’s vineyard and some jewelry from Leah. As a token of his esteem for the chacham, Samuel would begin providing any parchment Salomon needed.
The nisuin (wedding) would take place as soon as Joheved was old enough. As was customary, Samuel would provide the wedding banquet, excepting the wine, of course, which would be Salomon’s pleasure to supply. With everything finally arranged, the congregation was invited to the erusin (betrothal) ceremony. Once the erusin documents were signed and witnessed, Joheved and Meir were married according to Jewish Law. Only death or divorce could prevent nisuin, and the cohabitation that would finalize their marriage.
When Meir finally left Troyes, groggy and hung over from the previous night’s raucous betrothal celebration, he could hardly believe how quickly his life had changed. When his fellows in Mayence asked about his holidays, and he acknowledged that he now had a fiancée waiting for him back home, several more nights of revel followed. By the time Meir was back at his studies, those days in Troyes seemed almost like a dream. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t quite remember what Joheved looked like, except that she had blue eyes. That she was learned enough to recognize Song of Songs recited at random in Aramaic had escaped him completely.
For Joheved, excepting that Rivka made her cover her hair in public now, life went on much as before. She worked on the vintage, studied Talmud and helped Grandmama Leah lead the women’s services. She didn’t feel betrothed, whatever that ought to feel like—she didn’t think she felt different at all. But in quiet moments, especially at night, she remembered that somewhere to the east was Meir ben Samuel, the young scholar who, Le Bon Dieu willing, would one day be the father of her children, and she wondered what he was studying.
eight
Similar to its summer cousin, the Troyes Cold Fair began with cloth and finished with account settling. The winter livestock market was larger, because sellers hoped to avoid maintaining extra animals through the cold weather. Numerous knights looking to buy warhorses also ensured the presence of merchants selling armor and weapons. For Salomon’s family, the Cold Fair was when the new vintage would be ready to taste and sell. The Parisian wine dealers would be there in force, needing only to load their barrels onto barges and float them downriver to market.
As during the Hot Fair, Salomon spent his mornings and evenings studying with the merchant scholars. Determined that all his vines would be properly cut back this year, he spent the short afternoons preparing to prune the vineyard. Joheved, Miriam and Grandmama Leah’s job was pulling out the vine-props and stacking them between the rows. As much as the girls disliked all the bending involved, they realized that their father had the truly backbreaking work.
Vineyards were planted on hillsides, and men had the task of transporting back up the slope earth that had gradually slipped downhill during the year. After several years of this, a vintner could truthfully claim to have carried his entire vineyard on his back. Thank heaven Isaac haParnas had found several strapping young fellows willing to work for meals and a few coins at the end of the week, reducing Salomon’s toil considerably.
One afternoon, Grandmama Leah announced that she was too cold to continue in the vineyard. So Joheved, sure her grandmother would never be able to find her way back alone, volunteered to take her home.
Marie met them at the door with a look of relief. “Joheved, I’m so glad to see you. Mistress Rivka is out shopping, Rachel is napping, and Isaac haParnas just arrived with a strange man to see Master Salomon.”
“It’s all right Marie; just help Grandmama get upstairs,” Joheved said. “I’ll see to Isaac haParnas myself.”
Isaac introduced the stranger as Hiyya ibn Ezra’s agent.
“I hope that Hiyya is well,” Joheved said in Hebrew, not sure how well the man spoke French. “And that he arrived home safely.”
“Hiyya had an excellent voyage,” the stranger replied, also in Hebrew. His gaze darted around the room. “Will your father be home soon?”
“I don’t believe Papa was planning to leave the vineyard until sunset. Perhaps you should come back and see him later.”
Isaac broke in before his companion could answer. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Joheved. It’s nearly sunset now, and I’m sure he’ll be home directly. In the meantime, you can show us the wine cellar and explain the different vintages.”
Joheved lifted up the trap door and showed the two men the stairs going down into the cellar. The high windows brought daylight into the large room, and when Joheved reached the floor, she took a deep breath and sighed. The wine casks stood protectively around her and the wine cellar smelled pleasantly damp and fruity. Isaac was treating her like a knowledgeable adult. Was it because she was betrothed now, or did he still remember how she’d helped him convince Papa to buy new clothes?
“This year we’ll have four different kinds of wine.” Joheved hesitated when Hiyya’s agent stared at her blankly. How could she make the wine process understandable?
“First,” she began again, “or maybe I should say first and second, we have wine made with grapes from our vineyard and wine made with the abbey’s grapes. That’s two kinds.”
The men were cautiously looking around the cellar, with Isaac pointing out identifying marks on the various barrels. He urged Joheved to continue.
“Then with the grapes from each vineyard, there’s the free-run wine, which gets drawn off before we use the wine-press, and then there’s the additional amount the press produces. That’s four kinds. The free-run wine is superior, so it costs more, but we won’t know exactly how much more until Hanukkah.”
The stranger’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t have any idea what you’ll charge until the dealers make their offers?”
Isaac put a reassuring arm around the man’s shoulder. “During Hanukkah, after the Sabbath has ended, Salomon and Jewish winemakers throughout France will taste their new vintages for the first time. He, and those of us lucky enough to be in his company, will toast the festival with his new wine.” Isaac gave the man a knowin
g wink. “I expect quite a celebration this year.”
“And therefore, quite a profit for Hiyya.” The merchant edged his way towards the outside door and said, “Could you please excuse me? I need to find the privy.”
Isaac directed him to the back of the courtyard, but made no move to follow. “Joheved, you’ve impressed me once again.” He grinned down at her. “A lord’s son and a scholar—I think you have a worthy husband in Meir ben Samuel. Don’t you agree?”
Joheved tried to control her emotions, but the sudden change of conversation took her by surprise. Everyone else had been so thrilled with her betrothal that she had kept her fears to herself. But Isaac looked at her with such concern that, tears rolling down her cheeks, she unburdened herself to him.
“Please don’t think I’m being finicky or ungrateful,” she concluded. “But I don’t want to live in Troyes while Meir lives in Mayence, and I don’t want to live in Mayence if the rest of my family lives in Troyes.” It sounded so selfish; when she actually heard the words out loud, she felt ashamed.
But Isaac didn’t admonish her. He smiled and said gently, “But one of the clauses in your betrothal agreement stipulates that part of your dowry will be Meir’s board at Troyes from the beginning of the Hot Fair through the end of the Cold Fair. I reminded your father how busy he was last summer and suggested that Meir could help with the younger students.”
Joheved blinked and looked at him without comprehension.
“It is one of my foremost goals that your father establish a yeshiva in Troyes,” Isaac whispered.
Once they were married, Meir would be living in Troyes at least half the year! Joheved couldn’t believe her ears. “Does Papa know about your plans?”
“I haven’t told him as directly as I’ve just told you,” he admitted, “but he must realize that he can’t go back to Allemagne. Even if he hired the best workers available, the vineyard still needs his supervision.”
