Rashi’s Daughters Book I: Joheved

by Maggie Anton

  Jewish Law declared that infants younger than thirty days old had not yet acquired a soul, so if they died, their ordained soul remained with the Creator. Even older babies who died went straight to the Garden of Eden—what sins could they possibly have committed in such a short life?

  Catharina had never thought about the theological differences between Jews and Christians. She had learned that, in their stubbornness, Jews didn’t accept Jesus as Savior, for which they were eternally damned, but that in time they would see the error of their ways. She had also been taught that they were a greedy, wretched people, abandoned by God to live in crowded, miserable hovels in the worst part of town.

  But Catharina saw no evidence of misery in Sarah or Miriam’s households, and inside, they were finely furnished. The Jews didn’t think that God had abandoned them, and in fact, believed quite the opposite. They appeared to be perfectly content with their own religion and its rituals, and it was obvious to all that Miriam’s father was a good and pious man.

  The longer Catharina resided with Sarah, the more impressed she was with how the Jews lived. She was awed by the discovery that every Jewish male knew how to read and write, as did many of the women. In the Christian world, only the wealthy educated their sons, and even they rarely schooled more than one.

  Catharina’s conversations with Anna also forced her to see Christianity in a less appealing light. Anna knew only paganism before she converted, and she was curious about this religion the Jews viewed with such hostility. She never dared to question the other servants, but one morning when they were doing laundry together, Catharina seemed approachable.

  First they filled the large wooden washing trough with hot water, then added wood ashes and caustic soda. Chemises were always laundered first, while the wash water was fresh, the bed and table linens later. The two women were stirring the clothes around when Anna brought up the touchy subject.

  “So who exactly is Jesus and what did he do?” Anna asked. She knew that he had to be somebody important for the Notzrim, mainly because the Jews vilified him so much.

  “Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.” Catharina scrubbed at a stubborn stain with some mutton fat soap. “He lived a long time ago, died for our sins, and if you believe in him, you go to heaven.”

  “The Messiah? The hero who’s supposed to bring peace to the world and take the Jews back to the Holy Land?” Anna knew what the word meant; the Jews prayed every day for the Messiah to come. But if he had lived so long ago, then why was there still war and how come Jews still lived in France and Allemagne?

  Catharina examined the chemise for any remaining stains, and finding none, rinsed it out and hung it up to dry. “Jesus will do that when he comes back again. He just came the first time to be crucified, resurrected and be our Savior.”

  Catharina could see that Anna looked confused. Maybe she didn’t know what “crucified” meant. “When they crucified him, what they did was to nail him to a cross and leave him there until he died. That’s why the cross is our symbol.”

  Anna noticed a chemise with loose embroidery and put it aside for mending. Now she understood why the Jews referred to the Notzrim as “those who worshipped the Hanged One.” She couldn’t imagine praying to a corpse, and she tried to think of something else to ask about while she went inside to get more hot water.

  “You said Jesus was the Son of God. Who was his mother?” Anna had overheard merchants telling stories about Jesus’ mother. One version said she was seduced by a wicked neighbor while her husband was away studying at the yeshiva, thereby making her son, the product of adultery, a bastard. Another version improved on this tale by also making his mother niddah when the stranger lay with her, thus adding an additional sin to Jesus’ conception.

  Catharina threw a handful of chicken feathers into the washtub and dumped in the dirty table linens; chicken feathers and hot water were particularly good for removing grease stains. “His mother was the Blessed Virgin Mary, a mortal woman, who is now at her son’s side in heaven. If you pray to her, she can influence him to be merciful and help you.” She hoped Anna didn’t ask about the immaculate conception, a concept that only the most learned clergy understood.

  “Oh, I see.” Anna had grown up with the Roman gods, who regularly impregnated human females.

  The two women silently scrubbed the soiled tablecloths and napkins, pausing occasionally to pour some green grape verjuice cleaner on the worst stains. Anna was about to ask how Jesus’ mother could be virgin, when Catharina asked if they could go to the bathhouse together the next time she went.

  Catharina had never been to the stews until Sarah insisted that she bathe once she’d recovered from her illness. She’d gone with Miriam and Joheved the following Friday afternoon and discovered the nearest thing to heaven on earth. To relax in the warm water, surrounded by happy women looking forward to the Sabbath, was an unimaginable delight. And this was no rare occasion. Most Jewish women bathed at least monthly.

  Even more amazing, when they started on the bed linens, Anna informed her that Jewish men were not allowed to lie with their wives whenever they felt like it, like animals did. “He must not even touch her during her flowers and for a week afterward,” Anna explained. “At the end of that time, the woman bathes and then goes to the ritual bath. There she says a prayer, immerses and is again permitted to her husband.”

  “You mean that, if I were to become Jewish, there would be two weeks a month when no man could force his attentions on me?” Catharina turned around to face Anna, almost dropping the sheet she was trying to hang up, and Anna nodded emphatically.

  “That’s the most persuasive argument in favor of Judaism I’ve heard yet,” Catharina said, her voice bitter.

  Anna was convinced that men’s mistreatment lay behind Catharina’s sarcasm. As they folded the tablecloths and hung the rest of the bed linens to dry, Anna confided some of the details of her time as a barbarian captive, and how, when she immersed in the mikvah at her conversion, the pain and horror began to wash away in the pure water. And when she went to the mikvah again, after the product of her captor’s rape had been expelled from her body, she emerged from the “living waters” a new woman, her trauma healed. Now those memories were little more than a dream.

  That ritual immersion could cleanse Catharina too, and thereby remove the stains of her harlotry and subsequent abortion, was enough—she didn’t need any more convincing. But unlike Anna, Catharina did realize the danger, and she wanted to wait until the time was right. One thing she did do was to accept Anna’s offer to ask Samson to retrieve her possessions on his next trip to Provins. And to her relief, he did so without asking any questions.

  He was an intriguing man, this tall, red-haired convert who had traveled so far to find his long-lost son, and she enjoyed watching them play together in the courtyard. She knew he admired her by the way he looked at her whenever she worked outside; he was almost as subtle at hiding his desire as the students were. But then it had been her business to notice such things.

  twenty-seven

  Summer 4837 (1077 C.E.)

  It was late June, and with the Hot Fair approaching, Joheved was filled with conflicting emotions. Thank heaven her pregnancy had advanced to the point where the child would likely survive if she went into early labor. But once Papa began studying with the fair merchants, supervising the vineyard would fall to her, and walking any distance these days was so tiring. Even worse, there had been no rain for over a month, and if it didn’t rain soon, the grape harvest would suffer. Then there was the dread she didn’t dare think about, that of childbirth itself.

  Papa and Mama hid their anxiety and acted eager for the birth of their first grandchild. Miriam worried too, but much of her attention was focused elsewhere; Papa had hinted that he would soon set her and Benjamin’s wedding date. Only Meir viewed the future with complete trepidation. As advised in Tractate Berachot, he had spent three months praying that the babe not be stillborn, and now he diligently prayed f
or a safe delivery. But neither he nor Joheved could forget Hannah.

  Count Thibault and his advisors were also worried. Besides the lack of rain, there was disturbing news from the east.

  “Your Grace,” Henri, the new seneschal, began his report. “Last winter, despite the heavy snow, King Henry managed to cross the Alps and meet with Pope Gregory. They say the king wore a penitent’s smock and stood barefoot in the cold before the pope.”

  “I find it hard to believe that a monarch would debase himself so.” Guy, the chamberlain, gazed at Henri with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure your information is accurate?”

  Henri stared back at Guy. “Several people have confirmed it,” he replied, his voice firm.

  “What did King Henry give up?” Thibault asked anxiously.

  “Nothing, Your Grace.” Henri sounded puzzled. “There was no mention of lay investiture or selling of offices.”

  “Now all hell has broken loose,” the seneschal continued. “The princes of Allemagne have chosen an antiking, Duke Rudolph of Swabia, and as soon as he was crowned, there was civil war. One side holds that no obedience is owed to an excommunicate, the other that a pope must not sit in judgment on kings.”

  Guy had heard enough from that pup, Henri. “I don’t care what the pope and German kings do to each other, but their war is creating havoc for travelers.” He stood up and began to pace the room. “Here it is, the first week of July…many merchants have been delayed and who knows how many will stay away altogether?”

  “You are right to be concerned, Guy.” Henri tried to mollify the older man. “The merchants’ tempers flare when they finally do arrive in town, only to find others ensconced in their favorite stalls. My sergeants have been increasingly busy keeping order.”

  Thibault motioned his chamberlain to sit. “Don’t worry. War usually means higher prices and greater profits, which ought to keep the merchants cordial.” Neither he nor his men dared tempt fate and mention their real concern, the prospect of drought.

  But not all merchants encountered delays. Hiyya ibn Ezra and others who traveled by ship avoided the battlefields and arrived on time, as did wool dealers from the north like Nissim. Yet there was no sign of Ben Yochai. Salomon tried to quell Joheved’s anxiety by reminding her that Ben Yochai was very old; they couldn’t expect him to keep making such an arduous trip forever. But she had to see him, to confront him over the cure that had nearly killed her husband.

  As the Hot Fair entered an even hotter and drier second month, wheat prices rose so high that Thibault issued an edict that any speculator’s grain would be confiscated. With any luck, word of the shortage would spread, and cartloads of wheat would arrive in time for the Cold Fair.

  Thibault congratulated himself for strictly keeping his lands on a three-field system, thus insuring that they still had oats and barley from the spring harvest. Folks might have to eat more black bread than they liked, but it would take more than four months without rain before his Champagnois went hungry.

  Wheat was not the only crop devastated by the dry weather. Vintners watched in dismay as their grapes withered on the vine. By filling empty casks in the Seine and forming a bucket brigade, Joheved managed to keep some of the vineyard irrigated. But this would produce only enough wine for local Jews, thus drastically reducing their income. Thank heaven she’d decided to sell the “Vin Champagne” at exorbitant prices rather than reduced ones.

  Correspondence with Rheims confirmed a drought there as well. Reluctantly agreeing that neither one could afford a wedding until after next year’s harvest, Salomon and Benjamin’s father scheduled a tentative date for the following fall. Benjamin and Miriam consoled each other that at least their nisuin was arranged.

  The hot, dry weather took its toll on Joheved. Now eight months pregnant, she’d never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Climbing stairs left her breathless, and for the first time, she prayed the afternoon service at home, only going to synagogue in the morning when it was not quite so stifling in the women’s gallery. The women there smiled at her sympathetically, and a few told her that they prayed better when she was there to lead them. But the baby’s vigorous movements cheered her, as did Aunt Sarah’s pronouncement that all was going well.

  Joheved had all but given up on seeing Ben Yochai again when Papa returned from afternoon services with some guests to share the evening meal. She was in the cellar, savoring its coolness while she took her time drawing a pitcher of wine, when he called to her. “Come up, ma fille; there’s somebody here who especially wants to greet you.”

  The cellar steps were impossible to climb in her condition, especially carrying a pitcher of wine, so Joheved came in through the kitchen door. Her face lit up, and at first Meir thought she was smiling at him, not at the old man standing beside him who was searching his sleeves to find sugar almonds for Rachel.

  “Shalom aleichem, Mistress Joheved.” Ben Yochai’s eyes widened at the sight of her swollen belly. He continued with obvious satisfaction, “I am so pleased to see you again. You are looking well indeed.”

  “Aleichem shalom, Ben Yochai, it’s my pleasure to greet you,” she replied in turn. He looked even more wizened than she remembered. “I hope your health is good.”

  “My health is in the Merciful One’s hands,” he answered. “But your health is another matter. If you come to my stall, I have a special protective amulet for you and your child.”

  Those few words were all they said to each other, but Meir sensed that more had been communicated between them. So when the elderly scholar rose to leave, and Joheved too eagerly volunteered to see him to the courtyard gate, Meir grew suspicious. Her poorly hidden distress when he suggested that they both walk their guest back to the synagogue only confirmed his misgivings.

  Joheved said nothing as they strolled along, occasionally nodding at acquaintances they met on the way. While the fair was in session, Count Thibault kept torches burning to light Troyes’ streets at night, and many people were outdoors taking advantage of the cool evening air. She wasn’t happy about going to the fairgrounds to meet Ben Yochai, but she had to speak to him alone.

  Meir must have read her thoughts. “Ben Yochai,” he said, “I don’t think it’s good for my wife to be wandering around the marketplace in her condition. Can’t you bring the amulets here?”

  The old scholar heard more than concern for Joheved’s propriety in the young man’s voice. The cure had obviously been successful; secrecy was unnecessary now.

  “Meir, if you allow me a few moments of private conversation with your wife, I will answer all your questions on our way to synagogue.” When Ben Yochai saw the way Meir’s expression hardened in response, he knew he was right.

  It would be impolite to deny their guest’s request, so Meir stalked off ahead of them. His wife and Ben Yochai were up to something, and the sorcerer’s explanation had better be a good one.

  “Just one question,” Joheved spoke hurriedly. The longer she kept Meir waiting, the more upset he’d be. “When should I take the mirror out from under the bed? It’s still there.” She wanted to ask about Meir’s illness, but that would take too much time.

  “You can remove it now; its work is done.” He glanced at Meir, leaning against a wall and tapping his foot while waiting for them to finish. “Does your husband know anything?”

  Joheved shook her head and Ben Yochai continued, “Then I think it is best for us to tell him.” He motioned for Meir to rejoin them.

  “Ahem, Meir.” The old man cleared his throat. “Last summer your wife consulted me about a very delicate matter.”

  Meir caught the scholar’s drift, and a red flush began creeping up his face. Joheved kept her eyes cast down as Ben Yochai continued, “It was manifest to me that we were dealing with a dangerous and powerful demon. So I gave your wife two weapons to fight it, which apparently have been effective. Oui?”

  Meir could only nod; he was so embarrassed that this stranger should be privy to such intimate information. Then he
remembered the man’s reputation and his curiosity won out. “Is it permitted, Master, for you to explain what these weapons were?”

  Ben Yochai waited for the people nearby to walk on. “One was a potion to weaken the demon and the other was an amulet for strengthening your yetzer hara. I can’t divulge the potion’s ingredients, but I can tell you that the amulet consisted of a plain silver mirror…” He explained Joheved’s part in their battle plan.

  “But, Master,” Joheved couldn’t let Ben Yochai continue under false pretenses. “I tried for several weeks, but I couldn’t find any dogs mating in time for the new moon. Then I remembered that Meir’s family raises sheep, so I captured reflections of them.” Not wanting to see either man’s expression, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

  Ben Yochai erupted with a startled exclamation in some foreign language and then immediately apologized. “You procured images of rams and ewes? That’s far too much power for such a small mirror. May the Merciful One protect us all; it’s a miracle your husband is still alive.”

  Joheved’s worst fears were confirmed. She had tampered with the amulet’s spell and only narrowly averted tragedy. “But he did nearly die!” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

  Meir put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, Joheved, don’t cry.”

  Now he understood her mysterious absences. Nobody had asked him, but if they had, he would have considered death an acceptable risk. Besides, he had not only survived, he was better than ever. He turned and addressed Ben Yochai, “There’s no damage done, is there?”

  “You would know if there was, young man.” The sorcerer’s wrinkled face took on an expression somewhere between a bemused smirk and a lecherous grin. “You are a very lucky fellow, or perhaps I should say that your wife is a very lucky woman.”