Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Even as a child, she’d hated going to other women’s houses during the festival week. She’d never been taught chess or any of the nut games the other girls liked to play, and they made fun of her when she lost. She couldn’t remember ever enjoying Passover; it was so much work to clean everything, and then Papa came home for such a short amount of time that it was mostly a disruption.

  Joheved knew things were different now, but the old feelings still surfaced this time of year. Miriam was an apprentice midwife now and friendly with all the young women, but Joheved felt comfortable with women only if she was leading them in prayer. Their talk of husbands, children, clothes and where to find the freshest meat was not the least bit interesting.

  Joheved sighed and focused her attention on the text. Some time ago she had heard Papa discussing Song of Songs with the monk, Robert. The prior declared it an allegory about love between God and the Church, while Papa countered that the song told of God’s relationship with Israel through time. After Robert left, Papa had muttered angrily about the minim appropriating the holy song for their heresy, when it was obviously a message of consolation to the Jews.

  Now Joheved was determined to study the song herself, to see if she could find the historical verses Papa said were there. It wasn’t difficult. There in the first chapter was

  I have compared you to a mare in Pharaoh’s chariots,

  an obvious reference to Egypt, and in the second chapter, she found

  He brought me to the banquet house and his banner over me was love…his fruit was sweet to my lips,

  which was about God’s giving Israel the Torah. Solving this riddle was far more entertaining than visiting with a bunch of gossipy women, Joheved thought, and eagerly began chapter three. She had finished chapter six, where

  You are beautiful, my love, comely as Jerusalem

  meant building the Holy Temple, and was deep into chapter seven when Meir discovered her reading by the light of the clerestory windows. Dressed only in her chemise, her silhouette was clearly outlined beneath it.

  Meir’s body responded like lightning coursing through him and a gasp escaped his lips. Joheved looked up, smiled in recognition, and any hope he had of leaving undetected vanished.

  “Meir, what perfect timing.” She jumped up and showed him the book. “Papa told me that the verses in Song of Songs teach the history of Israel. Here, let me show you.”

  Excited to share her knowledge, Joheved was oblivious to the effect her nearness and thin clothing were having upon Meir. “See all the verses that mention wine or vineyards. Papa says that a vineyard often means study hall in the Gemara, so that these lines symbolize the progress from Mishnah to Talmud:

  Come my beloved…let us see if the vine has budded, if its blossoms have opened.

  Meir automatically continued with the line that followed,

  If the pomegranates are in flower, there I will give you my love.

  Joheved remembered how smelling grape blossoms had affected Miriam, and was suddenly very aware of the words she and Meir had just recited, as well as his proximity.

  In the weeks that followed, whenever Joheved thought about that sultry afternoon in the cellar, which was often, she could never recollect exactly how it had happened. One moment she and Meir were quoting Song of Songs, and the next, he was kissing her with the hunger of a starving man presented with a banquet. And she was responding just as ardently.

  He fervently kissed her lips, cheeks and ears; he kissed her neck and inhaled the fragrance of her hair. When she turned so he could kiss her lips again, he sank onto a bench and pulled her into his lap. Time seemed suspended, and Joheved had no idea how long they were lost in each other’s arms. She also had no idea that her father, standing at the top of the cellar stairs, had discovered them and was trying to restrain his outrage.

  seventeen

  Salomon had awakened, hot and thirsty. He was about to descend into the cellar for a cool cup of wine when he heard the unmistakable sounds below, and a glance was all he needed to identify the lovers. At first, his anger blazed at how Meir had taken advantage of his hospitality and at how enthusiastically his daughter had abandoned her modesty. But by force of habit, Salomon’s intellect began to temper his emotions.

  He could see the passion that enveloped the couple, rendering them oblivious to his presence, and contrasted it with his own awkward wedding night. He suddenly realized that the Creator had just given him an opportunity to ensure himself grandsons.

  The sound of a polite cough shattered the lovers’ private world, and disoriented, they looked up into what Salomon hoped was a face of furious disapproval. They sprang apart immediately, and he angrily demanded an explanation for their disgraceful behavior.

  “Rabbenu,” Meir used the honorific title, intending to say whatever was necessary to protect Joheved’s reputation. “I apologize for subjecting you to this display. It was entirely my fault. Joheved did nothing to entice me.” He seemed to be groveling, but Salomon noticed that Meir hadn’t actually said he was sorry for his actions, only for exposing his teacher to them.

  Joheved was humiliated beyond belief by her father catching her in such a compromising position. Her yetzer hara, coupled with years of resentment and adolescent rebellion, fanned her anger. She stepped forward and challenged her father.

  “Don’t you blame Meir, Papa; it’s not his fault.” Her voice rose. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d arranged for us to be married already!”

  Now Salomon had no need to feign indignation. How dare his daughter address him in such an insolent tone? In a voice of barely controlled fury, he began lecturing Joheved about showing proper respect for parents, reminding her that, according to scripture, a rebellious youth forfeits his life.

  “Well, what do you expect?” she retorted. “You were never here to teach me appropriate behavior.”

  Salomon’s eyes blazed as he shushed her. “Keep your voice down; people are trying to sleep upstairs.” He had better end this confrontation before his daughter said anything more she’d regret. “Joheved, go to your room and think about the fourth commandment and repentance until you come to your senses.”

  Then he turned to Meir, who was nearly frozen with shock, and said, “Come with me, Meir. Let’s take a walk.”

  They mutely trod the city streets. Most people were either indoors or at the river, and while Meir felt relieved that they weren’t likely to meet anyone he knew, he waited in dread for Salomon’s chastisement.

  “If it weren’t Shabbat, we’d be on our way to Ramerupt,” his future father-in-law finally broke the silence.

  Now Meir was even more worried; surely Salomon didn’t intend to inform his parents of the afternoon’s debacle. He summoned the courage to face Salomon again. “I apologize for being unable to control my yetzer hara; I beg you to forgive me.” He ought to have promised that it would never happen again, but he didn’t dare make such a vow.

  Suddenly Salomon started to chuckle. “The yetzer hara certainly took control of you and Joheved today. Are you sure you want to marry my daughter now that you’ve experienced her temper?”

  There was nothing Meir wanted more than to marry the woman who had kissed him with such fervor, but he said merely, “I do.”

  Salomon sighed at the young man’s glum tone. Then, to Meir’s amazement, Salomon told him that in a way, Joheved was right. “We do need to set a wedding date, and the sooner the better.”

  Meir’s heart soared as his future father-in-law teasingly scolded him about their poor timing. “Instead of marrying quickly next week, you two must now wait a month until Lag b’Omer.”

  Since Talmudic times, when a plague among Rabbi Akiva’s students lasted thirty-three days from Passover until Lag b’Omer, those days have been ones of semimourning when no weddings are held. “As soon as Shabbat is over,” Salomon said, “we will ride to Ramerupt and confirm the wedding date with your parents.”

  They walked again in silence, Meir basking in his sud
den good fortune, until Salomon interrupted his musing. “Meir, I have never told anyone what I am about to share with you.”

  “When Rivka and I were married,” he began somberly, “I had no father or older brother to advise me about ‘using the bed.’ To my shame, I thought that what I’d learned from Talmud was all I needed to know.” Salomon paused a moment. “I assume you’ve studied Arayot?”

  Meir nodded. Last summer, a chacham reputed to be happily married had taught him and another student the various Talmud texts having to do with sexual matters.

  “Well, then, let me remind you of the discussion in Tractate Ketubot about the pain women bear when they lose their virginity.”

  “I remember it,” Meir replied. “There’s a debate over whether a rapist should pay for the pain he inflicts on his virgin victim since she would otherwise suffer the same pain when she married. The Sages decide that the rapist must still pay damages for pain because,

  There is no comparison between engaging in relations on a dunghill and engaging in relations in a bridal chamber.”

  “That’s right,” Salomon said. “Then they wonder if a seducer should also pay damages for pain, and they ask their wives to describe what a woman feels at that time.

  Rava said: The daughter of Rav Hisda told me that it is like the prick of a blood letter’s lancet. Rav Pappa said: The daughter of Abba Sura told me it is like a dry crust in the gums.

  “So the rabbis conclude that a woman feels almost no pain in consensual relations, and like a fool, I asked no questions.” Salomon’s voice grew so quiet that Meir had to strain to hear. “When the time came, I found my wife’s passage so tightly blocked that it took all my strength to break through. Rivka never cried out, and I only realized later how much I must have hurt her.”

  “Even now, I doubt she has much pleasure in the holy deed.” He shook his head sadly. “I didn’t realize that only when a woman feels desire will it be as Rava and Rav Pappa described.”

  “I see,” Meir said. And also when she and her husband have a relationship where they can discuss such an intimate subject.

  Salomon proceeded to explain his plan. “I will pretend to be angry, while you arrange to see Joheved alone. Remember what it says in Proverbs: ‘Stolen waters are sweet and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.’ If you increase her desire for you, she will find pleasure in your bed, emit her seed first, and conceive fine sons.”

  Meir nodded in dazed agreement, recalling that the Sages taught that the quality of a child’s traits reflected the quality of the marital act that conceived him.

  Salomon turned to face Meir and asked, “Can you do this and still control your yetzer hara?”

  “I believe so. After all, it’ll only be for a few weeks,” Meir replied with apparent confidence. He hoped he could.

  While Salomon and Meir were plotting, Miriam had come home early, hoping to study Song of Songs with Joheved. But she found the house silent, all the bedroom doors closed. Sure that everyone was enjoying the traditional Sabbath nap, she tiptoed up the stairs and quietly entered the room she shared with her sisters.

  Joheved, who had been lying face down on the bed, snapped to a sitting position. She had obviously been crying.

  “Mon Dieu, Joheved. What’s wrong?” It couldn’t be a death or injury; somebody would have gotten her and Rivka earlier.

  Reluctantly, and with great embarrassment, Joheved related her story. Miriam didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine which was more unlikely, Joheved speaking so rudely to their father or him catching her and Meir kissing.

  “It’s not fair,” Joheved said between sobs. “You and Benjamin steal kisses all the time and never get caught, but the first time it happens to me, Papa has to walk in on us.”

  “Do you think Papa is more angry about you and Meir kissing, or your talking back to him?” Miriam longed to know how they had come to be embracing in the cellar, but that would have to wait.

  “I don’t know. And what difference does it make anyway?”

  “The difference is that you’d better come up with an appropriate apology before Papa gets home.”

  They were still trying to compose one when they heard voices below. Joheved began pacing the room. “I can’t face them yet. Please, Miriam, tell Mama that I’m not well, that I’m not coming down to eat.” She was shaking with fright.

  But it was too late. Salomon stuck his head in the door, and in a voice that brooked no excuses, said he expected them both to join the family for the final Shabbat meal. At the table, he and Meir discussed the historical allegory of the Song of Songs, and Miriam added a few comments of her own. Joheved said nothing—her gaze fixed firmly downward, her face blazing with shame, both hands clearly visible on the tablecloth. Papa obviously intended her discipline to wait until the festive day had ended.

  After Havdalah, when Salomon announced that he and Meir were riding to Ramerupt that very night, Rivka expressed her alarm. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? You know how dangerous it is to go out tonight?” Saturday night was particularly perilous because the evil spirits released from Gehenna for the Sabbath were angry at being forced back to their eternal punishment.

  “Don’t worry, Rivka; we’ll be safe. The moon is nearly full and we’ll stay out of the shadows.” He reassured her even though he knew from Tractate Pesachim that Wednesday and Saturday were the very nights the demon Agrat went abroad with eighteen myriads of destroying angels. “Besides, a ride in the cool evening air is just what I need after such a warm day.”

  They would also be protected because they were on their way to perform the mitzvah of arranging a wedding, but Salomon wasn’t ready to make that announcement yet. He had Joheved walk them to the gate, where he sternly told her that he’d hear what she had to say when he returned. As soon as they left, she ran upstairs, threw herself on the bed and burst into fresh tears.

  Was he sending Meir away? She couldn’t imagine a single good reason for them to see Meir’s parents in the middle of the night. Miriam couldn’t think why the two of them needed to go to Ramerupt either, but she forced Joheved back to the task at hand.

  When Joheved finally felt that she had the proper penitent words fixed in her memory, she went outside to wait. The full moon lit up the courtyard, reminding her of last month’s Purim celebration. How ironic that Miriam, who had shared her fiancé’s embraces with impunity, had been too drunk to remember them the next day. Right now, Joheved would have given anything to have her own memory erased in the morning.

  Suddenly she heard men’s voices. Unable to stand the suspense, she threw herself at her father as soon as he opened the gate. “Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry I said all those terrible things to you.” Her carefully composed apology had disappeared from her mind. “I’m so ashamed of myself. I didn’t mean to show you disrespect.” She babbled on with words of contrition and remorse.

  “Very well, ma fille, I forgive you.” Salomon gave her a hug. “And I hope you will forgive me for delaying your marriage when I tell you that I have arranged with Meir’s parents for a Lag b’Omer wedding. His mother has sent some fabric for your wedding dress.” He thrust a bolt of material at her.

  Joheved looked back and forth several times between her father’s smile, Meir’s beaming face, and the blue silk in her hands, then she almost knocked Salomon down hugging him in return. Salomon extricated himself from her arms and warned the couple to control their yetzers until the wedding. “I expect no repetition of today’s incident,” he said, giving Meir a wink.

  In the weeks that followed, Meir managed to steal ever more kisses and caresses from Joheved. At first she was reluctant, and he had to carefully choose a time when Salomon was away. But soon she was taking the initiative, even using Miriam to make sure the coast was clear. Meir knew that Salomon was trying not to discover them, but they still had to stay clear of Rivka.

  Finally it was Meir’s last night in the attic. Tomorrow several students would ride with him to his parents’ home, and from th
en on, as a precaution against demons, neither he nor Joheved would be left alone until the wedding. Tonight would be their boldest meeting yet; they had arranged that he would stay downstairs studying until the household was asleep; then Joheved would sneak down when the bells began to chime matins.

  Joheved met him wearing only her chemise, and he reached out to caress her through the thin fabric. Her two yetzers warred within her: the good one telling her to stop him, that they should wait until their wedding night, and her yetzer hara, its attention focused on Meir fondling her breasts. She could feel her nipples harden between his fingers, and her hips began to rotate every so subtly against his.

  Meir couldn’t imagine how he would be able to end this glorious encounter, but he needn’t have worried. Salomon had been sleeping fitfully, expecting such an assignation. When the sounds below grew loud enough to make him think things had gone far enough, he began to cough heavily and make more noise than usual using the chamber pot. Sure enough, it was only a short time later that he heard his daughter sprinting back up the stairs.

  The next night, Salomon and Samuel began the task of instructing their respective children in proper marital behavior. Arayot were traditionally taught to two students, so Salomon decided to teach Joheved and Miriam together. He brought out Tractate Shabbat and showed them a spot nearly at its end. Joheved read the text aloud.

  Rav Hisda said to his daughters: You should be modest before your husband. You should not eat herbs at night.

  This was amazing—the Talmud never addressed women.

  “But I eat herbs in front of Benjamin all the time,” Miriam objected.

  “He means the herbs that give your breath an unpleasant odor,” Salomon explained.

  Miriam continued eagerly.

  You should not eat dates at night, and you should not drink beer at night. And you should not relieve yourselves where your husbands relieve themselves.