by Maggie Anton
But Meir’s troubles were only beginning. The night mares followed him back to his marital bed, and the night before his wife was due to immerse in the mikvah, they took on a new, more frightening, aspect. This time, instead of opening the door to behold his dead sister, it was Joheved’s corpse on the stained bedding. It was her open belly he saw, and her lifeless eyes stared at him accusingly.
“Non!” Meir jerked awake with a cry that woke Salomon’s entire household. Heart pounding, his body drenched with sweat, it took Meir a few moments to get his bearings, to realize that his wife was very much alive and sitting right next to him.
“It’s all right,” Joheved said soothingly. “You’ve had a bad dream, that’s all. But we’re home now; there’s nothing to worry about here.”
She wanted to find a cloth to dry his clammy skin, but he clutched her tightly. Miriam was trying to comfort a frightened Rachel in the next room and the murmur of her parents’ voices carried from down the hall. Light glimmered from beneath the door—downstairs someone had lit a lamp.
“Meir, let go of me; I haven’t immersed yet.” Joheved struggled to get away, and he slowly loosened his grasp. “Let me get Papa and Mama to bless you over your bad dream, so they don’t think we’ve been murdered in our beds.”
Meir tried to speak in a firm, calm voice. “I’m sure they can hear us talking in here; they’ll know we’re all right.” He’d been so terrified that he’d actually touched his wife while she was still niddah, not to mention waking up a house full of people. Even the orange-striped cat seemed offended; it had jumped off the bed immediately and was balefully staring at Meir from the floor.
As for Joheved getting up to make her parents bless him, he was embarrassed enough as it was. “Just stay here with me, and I’ll be fine.”
“Very well,” she said. It was certainly more pleasant in their warm bed than walking about in the cold night air, even if they did have to sleep with separate linens.
Joheved soon fell asleep, but even the sound of his wife’s breathing next to him couldn’t dispel Meir’s lingering anxiety. He kept thinking about the second Mishnah in Tractate Shabbat, the one that stated:
For three transgressions women die in childbirth; for neglecting niddah, the dough offering of Challah, and lighting the Sabbath lamp.
Surely Joheved would never fail to observe any of the women’s mitzvot—she was so eager to perform mitzvot that she even performed the ones women were exempt from. But he couldn’t believe that Hannah had been guilty of such things either, and still she had died.
The next night, Meir accompanied Joheved to synagogue and waited with the other men for their wives to use the mikvah. This time he couldn’t bring himself to join in their high-spirited mood. How could these men laugh and joke when any one of them might be signing his wife’s death warrant tonight by impregnating her? How could they be so callous?
Immediately he rebuked himself. The Holy One commanded man to be fruitful and multiply. Life and death were in His hands.
Meir walked his wife home in silence. Despite his best intentions, once he was alone with Joheved, his yetzer refused to cooperate. He kissed her and tried to enjoy the sensation of her lips moving against his, but the vision of her dead body lying on the bloody bed appeared before him. He stroked her backside and belly, trying to concentrate on how soft her skin felt under his hands, but again the horrible image assailed him. It was all he could do not to pull his hands away, so strong was the feeling that if he did so, he would find them covered with blood. He struggled to discover something that would excite his desire enough to banish his nightmarish memories, but he failed.
Joheved sensed there was something wrong almost immediately. There was no pleasure, no passion, in Meir’s kisses. Yet he kissed her so hard that it almost hurt her lips. The hands that wandered over her flesh were not those of an experienced lover, confident of arousing his wife’s desire, but somehow conveyed desperation, and finally, hopelessness.
He was kissing her neck almost frantically when she pulled away to ask, “What’s the matter? Have I done anything to upset you?”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing the matter,” he lied. “It’s just taking me a bit longer than usual. Try to be patient.”
Joheved submitted to more vigorous caresses, her own desire now as diminished as her husband’s. How could she end this without humiliating him?
“Meir, please stop for a moment,” she whispered. “I know you’re tired, that you didn’t sleep very well last night. Let’s just go to bed now and get a good night’s sleep. I’m sure you’ll be your old self again once you’re rested.” Maybe he’d be fine in the morning after they’d spent the night snuggled together.
But he wasn’t.
So they decided he must still be despondent over Hannah’s death and agreed to wait until sheloshim, the thirty-day period of less intense mourning, was over. This time, walking home from the mikvah, Meir felt more anxious than on his wedding night. Nervous as a bridegroom, he thought ruefully, but with none of a groom’s eager lust. Joheved was worried too, though she tried to hide it under a mask of forced cheerfulness. Their artificial gaiety only made things worse, and again they were disappointed and frustrated.
It was during the Hot Fair, three months later, while Salomon was teaching at the synagogue, that he noticed something that disturbed him so greatly that he dismissed the merchants in order to walk home alone with his son-in-law.
“Tell me, Meir, did my eyes deceive me?” Salomon tried to keep the apprehension out of his voice. “Did I see Joheved leave the mikvah earlier, while you remained here?”
Meir knew he could no longer hide his incapacity. “Oui, Rabbenu Salomon, you did.”
The misery in his son-in-law’s response almost broke Salomon’s heart. “And so?” He waited for the confession that was sure to follow.
Meir took a deep breath. “Rabbenu, I am no longer capable of marital relations. A demon has bound me,” he answered, using the Hebrew euphemism for “impotent.” “I have been this way since my sister died.” There, he had said “impotence” without crying.
Salomon couldn’t hide his shock. Impotent! How could this young man, whose yetzer was so strong that he could barely keep the fellow off his daughter before the wedding, be impotent? A sudden memory of Meir screaming in the night answered his question. Rivka had begged him to go with her right then and bless their son-in-law, and when he demurred, she’d insisted that he get two other scholars to bless Meir in the morning. But he had done nothing, and here was the result.
It must have been a powerful demon to bind Meir. Well, Torah scholars were not without power themselves. Salomon immediately resolved to bring a Torah scroll into his home and hold daily services in his salon. Instead of waiting until the month before Rosh Hashanah to rise at midnight for penitential prayers, he would begin reciting them forthwith. His piety would drive this demon out from under his roof.
“Don’t worry, mon fils.” He put his arm around the young man. “I’m sure your yetzer hara is too strong to be bound for long. But even so, I believe I am developing a craving for lentils cooked in garlic.”
When Salomon announced his sudden food preference and insisted that Meir share the dishes with him, Joheved knew their secret was out, and this gave her the courage to consult Aunt Sarah. For if Meir remained in his current state, she’d never get pregnant.
But Sarah only shook her head. To free Meir from the demon’s binding was beyond her skill. “You must go see Ben Yochai, the herb and potion merchant,” she said. “Do you know who I mean?”
“Oui, Aunt Sarah. I’ve seen you buy herbs from him, and he has shared meals with us on occasion.” Joheved remembered the wizened old scholar well. If anyone knew how to expel this demon that bound her husband, it was Ben Yochai.
Joheved waited for an afternoon when everyone was going to the vineyard and then feigned a digestive problem that necessitated her remaining at home with easy access to the privy. As soon as t
he house was empty, she set off for the fairgrounds. To her dismay, quite a few customers were gathered at Ben Yochai’s stall, apparently more interested in discussing politics than potions. She made herself inconspicuous and resigned herself to wait.
“Ben Yochai, you know everything that happens in the south. Is it true that King Henry tried to assassinate the pope, and when that failed, he deposed him from office?” one man asked.
“I heard that while the misguided ones in Rome were celebrating the birth of their false messiah, men at arms seized the pope and offered him a choice between abdication and death,” another man announced. He sounded excited.
“Bah, he was freed the next morning, no worse for the experience, and his captors fled back to Allemagne,” said a man with a deep voice. It seemed that Ben Yochai wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise.
“But that’s old news. That attack took place over six months ago. Does anyone know what’s happened since?”
The deep-voiced man answered, “Let me see; I think it was just before Purim that Henry deposed Gregory officially, who in turn excommunicated not only the king but all the bishops who signed the decree.”
“But Gregory is only bishop of Rome. Doesn’t Henry have the authority to appoint and remove his own bishops, just as Count Thibault does for the bishops of Troyes and Provins?” This speaker sounded like a local man.
“That’s certainly what Henry thinks.”
The discussion continued as the men weighed the arguments for and against war, and if so, where and when. None of them seemed to have the slightest interest in buying anything from Ben Yochai, or in getting his opinion. Joheved was seething with impatience.
Just when it seemed that she’d have to leave and return another day, who should arrive to consult Ben Yochai but Johanna? In a voice of authority, she announced that she had business with the herb dealer, private business. As the men backed off to let her through, Joheved shrank into the shadows.
But Johanna must have met with Ben Yochai earlier, because she left immediately after collecting a small packet, after which, he motioned Joheved to enter his stall. Then Ben Yochai closed the shutters, took a kettle off the brazier, and poured them each a steaming drink. The voices of the men outside gradually drifted away, undoubtedly to a nearby tavern.
Ben Yochai sipped his beverage in silence. He knew very well who his client was and what ailed her, since her father had spoken to him only yesterday. But he waited patiently for Joheved to speak first, to hear how she would describe the problem. Right now she was eyeing her cup with skepticism.
“It’s an herbal infusion from the East called ‘tea,’” he said. “A pleasant change from wine or ale, more stimulating.”
As far as Joheved was concerned, only sick people drank hot water steeped with herbs. But never mind the drink; enough time had been wasted this afternoon already. “I need your help, Ben Yochai. My husband has lost his virility; a demon has bound him.”
Excellent, Ben Yochai thought. The girl was straightforward and spoke to the point. The cure he had in mind needed fortitude, not timidity. “Tell me when this all started, and how,” he urged her. “It will help me identify the demon we are dealing with.”
She explained about Hannah’s death and Meir’s night mares, while he nodded thoughtfully, stroked his beard and asked a few questions. This was a difficult business, and there was more to it than she knew. But he had heard enough.
“Joheved, you know that demons hate human beings, but they hate Torah scholars most of all. They will do whatever they can to harry us, with their worst efforts aimed at preventing our procreation.” Ben Yochai spoke quietly, as if not to be overheard, but his tone was urgent.
“You are Rav Salomon’s daughter and your husband is one of his disciples. Surely the demons would consider it a great victory if they could prevent the birth of your sons. But have no fear; we will thwart them.”
Joheved almost wept with relief at his confident tone. He rummaged through one of his chests and took out a silver mirror and a small knife. He handed them to her and told her to carve Meir’s name into the finish. He watched as she did so, all the while explaining exactly what she had to do.
“Take this mirror, and when you see a pair of dogs copulating, hold the mirror up to capture the image of their coupling. Then, three days before the new moon, put the mirror under your husband’s bed and recite the fifth verse of chapter eight of Song of Songs three times in Aramaic. Then, starting three weeks later, give him a drop of this liquid in wine every night for seven days.” Suddenly there was a small vial in his hand.
“It may take a while, but when your husband’s yetzer is first released, that doesn’t mean the demon is banished, only that you have temporarily overcome it. You must encourage your husband’s yetzer to grow strong, and while I realize you’ve been taught to be modest, you must avoid cohabiting in darkness. Demons have their greatest power in the dark; light weakens them.”
The warning in Ben Yochai’s voice sent a shiver of fear through Joheved. What had she gotten herself into?
“One last thing, Joheved. It would be best not to share our plans with anyone, particularly not your husband. The demon will be most vulnerable when surprised.” He opened a ceramic jar and handed her a large green leaf. “Put this betony under your husband’s pillow; it will keep the mares away. It will also serve as a convenient excuse for your visit here.”
The betony leaf proved effective, but during the next several weeks, Joheved wished that her true assignment was as easily accomplished as ridding Meir of bad dreams. Even if she were free to wander the alleys of Troyes all day, it seemed unlikely that she would encounter any mating dogs. But she refused to give in to despair, and kept the mirror tied up in her sleeve should any opportunity present itself. As it turned out, it was Miriam who offered a way out of her predicament, albeit quite inadvertently.
twenty-four
Troyes
Summer 4836 (1076 C.E.)
With less than a week left until the new moon of Elul, Joheved returned discouraged from another fruitless foray. She had wandered around for hours but on this hot, August afternoon, the few dogs she saw were sound asleep. So she was astonished to find Miriam in the courtyard, furiously chopping wood.
“Miriam, what are you doing? Can’t you find somebody to help you in this heat? Where are all the students?”
“I don’t need any help,” Miriam said through clenched teeth. “I want to chop wood, if you don’t mind.” She whacked the ax a few more times. “In honor of Asher’s impending nuptials, his friends have gone to Ramerupt to observe the rams sporting with the ewes, after which they intend to return and sport with the local harlots.”
Joheved suspected that Miriam was imagining Asher or Benjamin in the log’s place. “And I suppose Benjamin went with them?”
“With great enthusiasm, I’m sure.” Miriam’s log split in two with a loud crack. “Rest assured that your faithful husband stayed home.”
Joheved wouldn’t have minded if Meir had gone to watch the rams and ewes if it produced the results the other young men anticipated. But no—in hopes that his piousness would oust the demon, Meir joined Salomon in midnight penitential prayers, fasted Monday and Thursday and ate meat only on the Sabbath.
Joheved sighed and tried to calm her sister. “Miriam, I know you’re upset, but what else can men do when they don’t have wives? If they didn’t relieve their urges with common women, they might not be able to restrain themselves with decent ones.”
“Just because everyone condones it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Miriam shot back.
“Well, maybe Asher and Benjamin are hoping to learn about women from them.” Joheved was certain most men did not have access to anything like Tractate Kallah. “Wouldn’t you prefer that your husband practice on a common woman, so he can come to your bed with experience?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I want him to practice on me!” Miriam turned around and went back to chopping wood.
&
nbsp; Joheved didn’t like her own argument either, but if men wanted to visit harlots, what could women do about it? It was their nature, and maybe it did protect their wives and daughters. It did seem excessive to go watch the rutting sheep first.
The sheep! Good heavens—she’d been an idiot! She’d wasted weeks trying to find mating dogs in Troyes when the rams were pastured with the ewes in Ramerupt. And a rutting ram would be even more powerful than a lowly dog. She couldn’t go today; the students would be there. But tomorrow, or the next day…
Four days before the new moon, Joheved got up early and caught up with her father as he left the privy. Finding him alone was almost as difficult as finding mating dogs. “Papa, I need your help. I want you to invent an errand that requires me to take a horse and be gone for several hours.”
Salomon could see his daughter’s desperation. “Let me think,” he said slowly, and stood there stroking his beard. “Ah, I will say that Robert seeks my advice about his new vineyard in Molesme. His duties prevent him from coming to Troyes, and I, of course, cannot spare the time now to call on him. In my stead, I will delegate my well-qualified eldest daughter.”
To Salomon’s gratification, his old friend Robert had found the location at Collan unsuitable and set up a new monastery at Molesme, which was only as far south of Troyes as Ramerupt was north of it. Robert was abbot now, with responsibilities that left little time for visits, but the two men had managed to renew their relationship through correspondence.
“What do you think, Joheved?”
“Merci, Papa. That should cover my absence very well.” She gave him a hug. “Just as long as Robert doesn’t decide to show up suddenly while I’m gone.”
The next day Salomon acted so disappointed at not being able to help Robert that Miriam took the bait and suggested that Joheved go. Benjamin, trying to escape from his fiancée’s bad graces, enthusiastically supported her idea.
