Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  “Well, of course I want to avoid the mazikim; everyone does. But good, pious folk who say their bedtime Shema and don’t brag about their good fortune shouldn’t be bothered by demons. You two don’t need to worry; your father is a talmid chacham.”

  They came to a grove of black alder trees and stopped to peel off the bark. “How did Mama end up marrying Papa?” Miriam asked.

  “Being the oldest, I married while my father was still alive, so I got my share of his estate as my dowry.” Sarah paused and a flicker of pain creased her forehead. “My first husband died without giving me any children, so I collected my ketubah payment and married his younger brother. I had just given birth to my son, Eleazar, when my second husband died too, and with that ketubah I had enough money to live on without getting married again. Which was just as well, since few men will marry a ‘killer wife’ who’s already buried two husbands.”

  “So what happened to Mama after you got married?” Joheved wanted to hear about their mother’s life, not Aunt Sarah’s.

  “Then our father died.” Sarah sighed. “And that meant his estate was mortgaged to our stepmother’s ketubah. Naturally she wanted to provide for her own children, rather than set aside money for Rivka’s dowry.”

  “But Mama knew she’d marry eventually,” Miriam said, thinking of Catharina, “instead of staying on as a servant.”

  Sarah picked up the alder bark that had fallen around the base of the tree. “Oui, and it fell to our brother, Isaac, to arrange her marriage. Salomon was also a student at the yeshiva in Mayence, and Leah didn’t care about a big dowry; she wanted a daughter-in-law from a learned family. So it seemed a good match. Your mama met your papa only once before their wedding in Troyes.”

  Rachel began to lag behind and Joheved hoisted the toddler onto her hip. “So how did you come to live here, Aunt Sarah?” she asked. “Did you stay with Mama after her wedding or did you move to Troyes later?”

  “I’m not proud of what happened next, but as long as I’ve told you this much…” Sarah paused a moment. “You may as well know that in-laws don’t always get along. My brother and I stayed in Troyes for the celebratory wedding week, and what I saw of Leah’s domineering ways convinced me that I should move to Troyes to help my lonely and frightened sister. I’m ashamed to say that I thought Leah would treat your mother badly.”

  Joheved had suspected there was some problem between Aunt Sarah and Grandmama Leah because their aunt didn’t seem to visit anymore. She’d never dared to ask about it, but now at least she’d hear Aunt Sarah’s side of the story.

  “When I found out that Troyes’ Jewish midwife had recently died, I made up my mind. My son, Eleazar, was grown, living with my brother Isaac in Mayence and studying at the yeshiva. So I bought a house here, in the same courtyard as Leah’s. She was immediately suspicious.”

  Joheved and Miriam stared at each in amazement. Rachel was squirming to get down, and distracted, Joheved almost set her down in a stand of nettles. Who would have imagined her aunt and grandmother being jealous of Mama’s affection?

  “But there was no battle for Rivka’s loyalty.” Sarah shook her head wanly. “My sister was relieved, happy even, to be the dutiful daughter-in-law under Leah’s overprotective wing, to let Leah run the household. Leah became the mother she never had.”

  They stopped to inventory the herbs they’d collected so far. “When Rivka had you, Joheved, and Miriam soon after, Leah became a doting grandmother,” Sarah said. “And now I have to admit that Leah did an excellent job of teaching her granddaughters.”

  Sarah paused to let her nieces enjoy the memory of their grandmother in her better days. “But then Leah’s illness started. She imagined that I was plotting behind her back, and she even accused me of putting a curse on Rivka, my own sister, so she wouldn’t have any more children.”

  “It was too much for me.” There was hurt and anger in her eyes. “I didn’t want to cause any more grief than Rivka already had with Leah, so I tried to avoid her whenever Leah was home.”

  Joheved and Miriam stood in pained silence. Each struggled to find something suitable to say, but could think of nothing that might begin to address the years of estrangement between their mother and her sister. In desperation, Joheved said the first thing that came into her mind.

  “Aunt Sarah, what’s a wandering womb?”

  The older woman turned to her in surprise. “Where did you hear about wandering wombs?”

  “Somebody told me that girls who study too much will get it.”

  “Joheved.” Aunt Sarah smiled and shook her head. “Girls don’t get wandering wombs; only grown women do. And the proper term is hysteria,” she continued, this time addressing Miriam as well, “which is caused by a wandering womb.”

  “What are the symptoms?” Miriam asked eagerly.

  “It depends on where the womb wanders to. If it goes to her head, the woman suffers from headaches. When it presses against her lungs, she has trouble breathing, and if it lodges near her stomach or intestines, she experiences indigestion. But only the Notzrim get hysteria.”

  Observing her nieces’ puzzled expressions, she explained, “Not all the Notzrim, of course, just women who don’t marry, like nuns. Married women, Jewish or not, are not susceptible to hysteria.”

  Sarah had a good idea what the girls’ next question was going to be, but before she could decide how to tell her innocent young nieces that it was regular sexual relations that prevented hysteria, the men’s enthusiastic shouts interrupted their conversation. They picked up Rachel and the herbs they’d collected, and arrived in time to see the men carefully lowering the top of the honey tree, now severed from its trunk, to the ground with a contraption of ropes.

  The hollow tree was almost completely filled with honeycombs. It took every container they had plus Salomon’s empty wine barrels to hold it all. Benjamin immediately became a hero to his fellows, and his popularity grew when Salomon sold the excess honey at the Hot Fair and divided the proceeds among the students. His pupils couldn’t believe their good fortune; here they were, at the largest fair in France, their purses full of spending money.

  eleven

  Summer 4831 (1071 C.E.)

  Once the foreign merchants arrived in Troyes, Salomon’s yeshiva gained more students. Shemiah ben Asher, an associate of Hiyya ibn Ezra, came all the way from Provence for this purpose. Shemiah was accompanied by two boys, the older one about the age for starting yeshiva, the younger perhaps attending school for the first time. Father and sons were very tanned, though not so swarthy as Hiyya, with dark, curling locks that cascaded out from under their hats. Shemiah had an unusual offer for Salomon.

  “I would like my son Asher to begin his studies in Troyes immediately, and I also wish to secure little Eliezer’s future education,” Shemiah said. “In payment, I offer you a pair of Jewish slaves, Baruch and Anna. I intended to sell them in Andalusia, but since they converted to Judaism, I have no choice but to sell or trade them to a Jew.”

  “Slaves?” Salomon knew that some foreign Jews owned slaves, but they were a rarity in France.

  “Few of us still trade in slaves,” Shemiah said. “I have considered leaving the field, since it is getting more difficult to find pagans for sale.” He paused and frowned slightly. “The Byzantines who worship the Hanged One are rapidly converting the Slavs to their misguided faith, and the French bishops will only allow pagan slaves to cross their lands.”

  Salomon’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How do you get these slaves, and where do they come from?”

  “The land of the Slavs, which is east of the Danube, is regularly invaded by barbarian armies who are only too happy to sell the vanquished occupants into servitude.”

  Hiyya leaned forward and addressed his host. “Surely you see, Salomon, how acquiring Jewish slaves would benefit you in your winemaking business. And with so many students, an extra maidservant will lessen the burden on your wife and daughters.”

  Salomon saw the hope
in his wife’s eyes. Taking care of his mother and the yeshiva students was a hardship for her. “I assume that Baruch and Anna are married?”

  “Oui,” Shemiah replied.

  “Do they speak our language?” Rivka asked, encouraged that Salomon had asked about the slaves’ status. “I need servants I can talk to.”

  “Baruch’s French is very good, and Anna’s is improving daily,” Shemiah said. “Why don’t you come meet them?”

  He took them to the fairgrounds near St. Jean’s square, where Baruch and Anna were waiting. “Rabbi Salomon ben Isaac, this is my servant, Baruch ben Abraham.” Shemiah motioned to the woman. “And his wife, Anna.”

  The two couples exchanged glances, and Salomon hoped he didn’t look too much like a shopper checking merchandise for defects. Baruch was trying to stand calmly, while Anna, a rabbit forced out of its hole into a predator’s view, cowered at his side.

  Rivka recognized the dread and panic in Anna’s demeanor, and felt her heart swell with empathy. It had been so difficult when she’d first moved to Troyes, living with strangers and not knowing their language. She felt an urge to protect and shelter the frightened young woman. Rivka looked at Salomon, who was watching for her reaction, and gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.

  Now that he had his wife’s approval, Salomon examined the slaves more closely. The man was in his early twenties and the woman slightly younger. They were fair skinned and freckled, and the man had straight, reddish-brown hair. The woman seemed to possess red hair as well, but it was hidden under her cap. Both were unusually tall and looked strong and sturdy.

  “Very well, I’ll take them,” Salomon said. “It will be a relief to have their help, especially during the wine harvest.”

  One morning in mid-August, Joheved was awakened by Leah’s shrill voice, insisting that she needed to go on a walk. Joheved listened as Anna soothingly told her to be patient, to wait until her hair was done. Outside she could hear Baruch chopping wood in the courtyard. Oddly, it seemed as if the slaves had been with them for months instead of weeks. Baruch had easily learned his vineyard duties, and Anna needed no lessons in caring for Leah and Rachel.

  And just in time, Joheved thought, recalling how difficult last summer had been. There were so many more wine buyers this summer, people who could show up at any time of day, and the accounts were more complicated too. A few customers paid cash, but most, like the baker and butcher, traded their wares for Salomon’s wine. Thank heaven Anna was able to keep Leah occupied; otherwise Joheved would never have time to balance the household books properly. It was a shame that Grandmama was never able to remember who Baruch was.

  In the next room, Leah complained again that she wanted to go out now, and again Anna calmed her, assuring her that Master Salomon was almost done with his prayers and then he’d be happy to walk with her. It was early Elul, the month preceding the Days of Awe, when Papa got up before dawn to add selichot, special penitential prayers and supplications, to his morning litany.

  Joheved, sure she would have to lead Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services for the women, wanted to pray selichot herself in preparation, but it was difficult waking up early.

  But now she was awake with time enough for the longest prayer. When she heard her father join Grandmama Leah downstairs, Joheved stepped into the hall. Mama and the servants were below, preparing the morning meal. She tiptoed towards her parents’ room, peeked in, and saw that Rachel was still asleep in her cradle. Another late sleeper like her.

  Then she noticed that Papa had forgotten to put his tefillin away. Joheved stared at the worn black leather straps and boxes that made up the tefillin, one box for the hand and the other for the forehead, as it was written in Deuteronomy, following the Shema. “Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them be a symbol on your forehead.” Before they were Papa’s, they had belonged to Grandpapa Isaac. It didn’t seem right for such holy objects to be left out on the bed, exposed and vulnerable. What if a mouse gnawed on the leather?

  With every intention of returning the tefillin to their storage bag, Joheved silently entered her parents’ room. She picked up the arm box first; its long straps were in disarray and she tried to gather them up quickly. She couldn’t help but caress the lengths of black leather, supple from years of handling. Papa, and all Jewish men, wore tefillin when they said their morning prayers, as a sign of accepting the commandments. Tefillin were also powerful protection—Papa had hung them on the bed frame when Mama was in labor.

  Joheved had almost finished folding up the straps when a shocking thought struck her. She accepted the commandments. Why shouldn’t she pray with tefillin? Nobody would see her if she closed the door. She’d just try it once, to see what it was like.

  Shaking with fear and excitement, she rolled up the sleeves of her chemise, unwrapped the tefillin’s arm straps, and started putting them on. When she finished winding them around her hand, a sense of holiness enveloped her that obliterated any feeling of wrongdoing. The sacred leather, pressing tightly against her skin, gave her a constant awareness of the Holy One’s presence. Before, it had been hard to shut out the world and concentrate on her prayers. Wearing tefillin, she had no difficulty devoting herself to her selichot.

  When her morning blessings were done, she reluctantly removed the tefillin and carefully replaced them on the bed, just as she had found them. As much as she regretted leaving them exposed, she didn’t dare put them away and have Papa wonder who had disturbed his things. Then, heart pounding, she slipped back to her room, leaving Rachel still asleep and nobody the wiser. The rest of the morning Joheved could feel where the tefillin straps had left their mark on her arm, and she was careful to keep her chemise sleeves lowered.

  The next day, overcome with remorse, she fought the temptation to wear Papa’s tefillin again. But she kept thinking how the tight tefillin straps made her feel as if the Holy One was holding her arm Himself, and she was unable to focus on her prayers. So the following morning, terrified but helpless to stop herself, she stole into Papa’s bedroom and prayed with his tefillin. Again she felt the Holy One’s strength fill her as she donned the ritual objects, and she knew she couldn’t be committing a sin.

  Except for Shabbat, when tefillin weren’t worn because the holiday itself is the sign of devotion, Joheved began urging Miriam to wake her early. Then, as soon as Papa took Grandmama Leah on their walk, she quickly put on his tefillin and prayed.

  It wasn’t long before Mama, not Papa, discovered her, after coming upstairs to wake her sleepyhead daughters.

  As Rivka watched in appalled silence, she couldn’t help but observe the look of awe and concentration on Joheved’s face. She shook her head, sighed heavily and waited for her daughter to finish, all the while trying to decide what she should say.

  It was her inability to give Salomon sons that had made him teach the girls Talmud in the first place, Rivka thought bitterly. She had hoped that once the yeshiva was thriving he would concentrate on his male students and forget about educating his daughters; but no, he had encouraged the girls to listen to his lessons. Perhaps he had sanctioned them to lay tefillin too.

  Rivka groaned inwardly. This could only lead to marital problems for her daughters. Salomon had made good on his promise to find Joheved a talmid husband and would likely find matches for the other girls among his students, but what would they think when their wives acted more like men than women? Rivka wrung her hands in frustration. How could she prevent her husband from raising the girls however he wished, particularly when they were willing accomplices?

  The surprise and fear on Joheved’s face when she turned and saw her mother convinced Rivka that Salomon knew nothing of his daughter’s actions. Joheved had tried to think of what she would say when she was finally caught, as she knew she would be, but she was speechless. She quietly put the tefillin away while waiting for her mother’s angry lecture, one she knew she deserved.

  But Rivka couldn’t bring herself to chastise her daughter. The girl
had only been praying, after all. Besides, this was Salomon’s problem. He had Joheved studying Talmud like a boy—how would he react when he found that she wanted to pray like one too? Rivka felt a surge of satisfaction at her husband’s dilemma.

  She addressed Joheved simply. “If your father allows you to pray with tefillin, then any objections I have are meaningless. You are a betrothed maiden, no longer a child, so I have no intention of running to your father with this tale of misbehavior. You must speak to him yourself, and not use his things again until he gives you permission.”

  Tears of remorse and shame filled Joheved’s eyes; she had not expected to be treated with such respect. “I’ll talk to Papa soon; I promise.” Unable to face her mother, she slowly walked past her, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry, Mama. I should have asked him first.”

  But Joheved couldn’t find the right time or the right way to ask Salomon about the tefillin, even though morning prayers no longer felt right without them.

  Miriam was sympathetic, but not very encouraging. “It’s too bad he’s not still in Mayence,” she said as they took turns braiding each other’s hair. “Then you could write him, and not have to actually face him with your question.”

  Her sister’s offhand comment was just what Joheved needed. “Miriam, I will write to him. I’ll send him a query just like other people do when they have a difficult ritual question.”

  “A betrothed maiden (thus she is an adult) who studies Talmud (therefore she is learned) wishes to observe the commandment of tefillin. Is this permitted?” Joheved read the letter out loud for Miriam’s approval. “There, what do you think?”

  “Short and to the point, it sounds fine to me.” Miriam gave Joheved a quick hug. “Good luck.”

  That evening Joheved paced the salon waiting for her father to come home. She wanted to give him the letter in private, and she hoped he would be in a pleasant mood after studying with other scholars. She tried to compose herself, to be ready to defend her position against any objections he might offer. But when she heard the door open, her heart began to pound.