She decided to change the subject. “I’m glad that Joheved had a healthy baby boy, but I would have liked to name a son Salomon after you.”
He smiled at her. “There’s nothing to prevent you, ma fille. Meir’s father has two grandsons named after him.”
“Oui, and now that they’re both studying here it’s confusing to have two Samuels, even if one does prefer to be called Shmuel.”
His expression clouded and his voice dropped. “Joheved’s baby seems well enough—may the Holy One protect him. But pairs are unlucky, and naming this boy Salomon after the previous one died of smallpox . . .” He stopped, reluctant to say anything to provoke the Evil Eye.
“I thought Miriam did the circumcision beautifully.” Rachel quickly found another topic to discuss.
Salomon shook his head. “She is adept at the procedure, but honestly I wish there were a qualified man in Troyes to be our junior mohel.”
Here was a topic they could debate all day. “But you have us sit in the sukkah and say the Shema; you bought us our own tefillin—you taught us Talmud. The Mishnah says that women are exempt from all these.”
He chuckled at her vehemence. “The Mishnah doesn’t say anything about women studying Talmud. But Tractate Kiddushin says:A father is obligated to teach his son Torah . . . how do we know that a mother is not? Because it is written [in Deuteronomy]: v’limad’tem [you teach], which can also be read as ul’mad’tem [you study]. Thus a man, who is commanded to study Torah, is commanded to teach his son. And a woman, who is not commanded to study Torah, is not commanded to teach.
Because Hebrew is written without vowels, different words can be spelled identically—in this case ‘teach’ and ‘study.’ The Sages of the Talmud regularly used comparisons of this kind for exegesis.
“But this assumes that women are not commanded to study Torah,” Rachel objected.
Salomon smiled and raised one finger in the air as he made his point, quoting more of the Gemara.
“How do we know that she is not obligated to study and teach herself? Because it is written: v’limad’tem, which can also be read as ul’mad’tem. Thus a son, whom a father is commanded to teach Torah, is also commanded to study, and a daughter, not commanded to be taught Torah, is not commanded to study.”
“That argument is circular and you know it.” Rachel’s voice began to rise.
“True. This contention hinges on the premise that a father is not commanded to teach his daughter Torah.” He looked Rachel in the eye. “You know the next line as well as I do,” and they quoted the text together:“How do we know that others are not commanded to teach her? Because it is written [in Deuteronomy]: ‘You shall teach them to your sons [benaichem].’ And thus not to your daughters.”
Rachel looked at him, an earnest expression on her face. “Papa, why did you teach us?”
“Some interpret benaichem to mean children, and thus fathers without sons can perform the mitzvah of v’limad’tem by teaching a daughter Torah.”
“Maybe they teach only one daughter? You taught all three of us.”
“You and your sisters are all competent to study Talmud. You’re not light-headed like most women.”
“Most men are no better.”
“Which is why their fathers are obligated to teach them Torah,” he said. “If not for Torah, a man would be unable to control his yetzer hara. Look how violent the Edomite lords are, always attacking each other.”
She smiled and shook her finger at him. “You’ve managed to avoid answering my question about women doing mitzvot they’re exempt from.”
“If women want to fulfill the men’s mitzvot, if it gives them nachat ruach, ‘spiritual satisfaction,’ then they are of course permitted.” He playfully shook his finger back at her. “Not that we could prevent them.”
“But in Maghreb they do prevent them.” Rachel’s voice was suddenly serious. “You should have seen the way the women looked at me when I put on tefillin—like I was some kind of demon.”
“Every community has its own customs, which eventually take on the force of halachah.”
Their conversation ceased as they saw Simcha approaching. “Excuse me, Rabbenu. I have a question about this morning’s lesson.”
Rachel discreetly backed away, but not out of hearing distance. Papa treated every student’s questions with respect, which is why the older man often came to him. She hadn’t heard Simcha ask a silly question yet, and sometimes they were quite interesting.
This time Simcha’s question was easily answered by encouraging him to be patient; the Gemara would address his issue a few pages later. And when several young pupils quickly followed with questions of their own, Rachel realized that they had been reluctant to interrupt the conversation she’d been having with her father.
It seemed that Papa’s answer to Simcha was her answer too. Somehow she must wait and keep herself from becoming bitter like Mama, who, despite Papa’s words to the contrary, never resigned herself to her daughters performing the men’s mitzvot, a situation she hated but couldn’t change.
The days went by and Passover concluded with no sign of Eliezer, but Rachel refused to give up hope that he might return before their child was born. And when she gave birth to a boy on May Day, she still harbored hopes that he would arrive in time for the brit.
But that was not to be. It was Papa who held the baby while she climbed up to the bima and took her seat on one of the two elaborately carved chairs. The other was reserved for Elijah the Prophet; the only people who used it were bridegrooms. The bride sat in its mate, everyone hoping that she would soon occupy it again with a son to be circumcised.
While Papa recited the father’s traditional introduction, “Behold, I am prepared to fulfill the mitzvah of circumcising my son, as the Creator, blessed be He, commanded us,” Rachel sighed. She regarded the empty chair and recalled how Eliezer had filled it on their wedding day. But then she brightened; less than ten months later, she was sitting on the bride’s chair again with newborn Shemiah on her lap. And now there was another son for them.
She gently settled the baby on her lap and spread his legs. Papa might prefer that a man perform the brit, but Rachel was glad that it was a woman leaning in so close to her thighs. When she felt comfortable, she nodded at Miriam, who made the mohel’s blessing and picked up the azmil, the two-sided circumciser’s knife.
Rachel was determined to keep her eyes open; yet when the moment came, instinct made them close. Only the sound of her son’s cry made her realize that she had missed his brit milah as well as Shemiah’s. She looked down in time to see Miriam take a swig of wine and then bend over the howling infant. This was motzitzin, drawing the blood, and according to the Talmud, any mohel who did not cleanse the baby’s wound with his mouth is a danger and must be dismissed.
Now Miriam was smearing the cut with a salve of olive oil and cumin, the same as she applied after cutting his cord. Since no father was present to whisper the chosen name to Papa before he made the final blessing, Rachel had told him earlier that the boy would be called Asher. When the ceremony was complete, tears of disappointment wet her eyelashes. The cumin Eliezer had imported was here, but he was not.
Seven days had passed since the birth of her son, and though she was still bleeding, she was no longer considered niddah. According to Torah, her blood was dam tahor, “the blood of purity,” and she was permitted to her husband. Talmudic Sages wondered why a woman giving birth to a boy was impure for seven days, while a girl made the mother impure for fourteen days, and give the answer in Tractate Niddah:Why does the Torah say that milah is done on the eighth day? So that it does not happen that everyone else is joyful while the father and mother are sad.
Papa explained that if the circumcision were done earlier, while the mother was impure, the guests could enjoy themselves at the feast afterward while the parents were forbidden even to touch each other.
So instead of snuggling close to Eliezer, Rachel sat between Papa and Mama at the ban
quet, baby Asher asleep in her arms, as all her guests ate and drank and danced and laughed and enjoyed themselves—and as she tried to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She was rescued by Miriam, who had seen quite a few new mothers grow inexplicably melancholy.
Miriam announced, “It’s been three hours since Asher’s brit. I’d like to check if he has wet his swaddling.”
“I’ll come too.” Joheved followed her sisters, her six-month-old son on her hip.
Mama had just joined them at Rachel’s door when they heard a loud masculine voice drunkenly call out, “You are to be congratulated, Rabbenu Salomon. For a man who started out with no sons at all, you now have acquired a minyan between your grandsons and sons-in-law.”
All four women, as well as many in the crowd, gasped in horror. How could anyone, even inebriated, be so reckless as to praise a man’s quantity of male descendants? Such a declaration would surely provoke the Evil Eye to lessen the number.
“Who the devil was that?” Mama’s eyes were blazing.
They strained to see the man, but none of them recognized him.
Rachel could hear voices in the courtyard, hushing the stranger. But he would not be silenced.
“I am certainly correct,” he shouted. “The eldest has three, as does the middle daughter. The youngest now has two, plus their three husbands. That’s ten males—a minyan.”
Mama blanched and Rachel had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out that he was not correct, that his count totaled eleven. She saw Meir, flushed with fury, forcing his way through the celebrants, and then Miriam took her by the arm and led her sisters inside.
By the time Miriam had checked Asher’s swaddling, which thankfully was wet with urine, and after both Rachel and Joheved had nursed their babies, calm had returned to the feast.
Meir was pacing the floor when they came downstairs. “Nobody knows that boor’s name.” He swore under his breath. “It seems that he heard about the brit milah while attending the May Fair in Provins.”
“What does it matter who he is?” Miriam asked.
“It matters to me.”
Joheved took hold of his hand, hovering close to the knife at his belt. “You’re not going to challenge him. The less attention we pay to him the better.”
“I expect you’re right, but, even so, I asked Shemayah to inquire at the New Synagogue.”
Rachel agreed with Meir. “Once your study partner discovers who this fellow is, we can ensure that his business in Troyes is both brief and unsuccessful.” The drunkard had so much as cursed her new baby, and he would pay for it.
Mama fingered the amulet she wore around her neck and said, “Amen to that.”
At disner the next day, Shemayah reported grimly that the fellow was known as Adam, a merchant from Roanne. “According to those who lodge with him, Adam drank so much wine at our banquet that he has no recollection of anything said there.”
Salomon sat quietly at the table while his family awaited his decision. If told to ignore the incident, they would do so.
Suddenly Judah scowled. “Wait a moment. Adam of Roanne—that name sounds familiar.”
Salomon half closed his eyes and stroked his beard. “Oui, I have heard it too . . . One of my responsa, I think.”
“I’m sure that I have never heard of him,” Meir said.
“Then the query must have come while you were at Ramerupt, not during the fair seasons.” Judah’s face froze with concentration. “I have it. Last year, after Passover, you received a letter complaining about a merchant named Adam, asking for your legal opinion.”
Salomon shook his head. “That Adam lived in Vénissieux.”
“But the people of Vénissieux said that he had moved to Roanne.” Judah walked to the cupboard and brought out a small chest. “These are the responsa from last year. I should have the one we want in a moment.”
The room was silent as he rummaged through the chest. “Here. I believe this is the letter in question.”
He handed a sheaf of parchment to Salomon, who read it aloud. “The Jews of Vénissieux complain about a merchant named Adam. He travels behind various rapacious barons and their knights when they loot their rivals’ villages. Adam buys the spoils cheaply and resells them at much higher prices, often to the very people they were stolen from.”
Rachel scowled. “Such an unscrupulous man menaces every Jewish merchant. With so few Jews in the countryside, Edomites who encounter this fellow will believe we’re all that greedy.”
“Exactly.” Salomon continued reading, his voice rising in anger. “Adam’s activities have aroused the hatred of the plundered villagers, and of their lords, who say: ‘This Jew, because he is always ready to buy looted goods, entices our enemies to attack us. He is the real cause of our troubles; yet he walks in safety.’ ”
“But what was the responsa about, Papa? What did the Jews of Vénissieux want from you?” Miriam asked.
“The Jews there were outraged at being associated with Adam, particularly since several of them were taken captive and held for ransom on his account. They placed him in herem and banished him, but he merely moved to Roanne and continued his evil ways.” Salomon held out his hands helplessly. “They turned to me for support, but there was nothing I or they could do. Each Jewish community is independent, and if Roanne chooses to tolerate Adam’s behavior, despite the danger, it is its prerogative.”
Joheved didn’t need to hear any more. “The Jews of Vénissieux have put Adam under herem, and for good reason. What if he starts buying stolen property in Champagne? Next the petty nobles will be pillaging each other’s villages to sell to him, and we will have no peace in Ramerupt.”
“Don’t worry.” Meir patted Joheved’s hand. “We will denounce him at services so everyone will know his history.”
“Adam is an uncommon name,” Miriam pointed out. “But we can’t accuse him without proof that he’s the same man.”
Salomon turned to Shemayah. “Go back to the New Synagogue and find out whether Adam of Roanne once lived in Vénissieux, and if so, did that community excommunicate him?”
“He must be the same man,” Rachel said. “There couldn’t be two men so wicked with that same name, and the sooner he leaves Troyes the better.”
Mama whispered what they all were thinking. “I pray that it’s not too late.”
A stab of fear pierced Rachel’s heart, and she hugged her new son close. Surely Papa’s piety would protect his family from the Evil Eye. Yet demons hated Torah scholars above all and seized any opportunity to harass them. When Joheved gave birth to a boy less than a month after Miriam had her youngest son, the bad luck of pairs brought on Lillit’s attack. Joheved nearly succumbed to childbed fever, and her first baby named Salomon died a year later. All of Papa’s Torah study wasn’t powerful enough to save his namesake then; would it be powerful enough now, with eight grandsons in jeopardy?
Walking home from Shavuot services, Rachel pulled Joheved aside and whispered, “Now that Adam has left Troyes, do you think we still have to worry about our babies—may the Holy One protect them?”
Little Salomon squirmed in Joheved’s arms, and she shifted him to her other hip. Her son could walk while holding on, but she wasn’t about to put him down in the muddy road, filthy with every kind of garbage a person could throw in it.
“I don’t know. My worries over him never cease.” A smile lit her face as she watched Meir take hold of their daughters’ hands and cautiously cross the street. “I worry about all my children.”
Adam from Roanne had proved to be the very man that the Jews of Vénissieux had put in herem, and it took less than a week before Troyes affirmed the ban. Once everyone in the community refused to speak to him and made sure they stood at least four cubits away, it became clear that he would do no business in the city.
Rachel checked that the red threads around Asher’s wrists weren’t too tight; he was growing so fast. Though Adam had only given the Evil Eye to Salomon’s male family members, Ma
ma saw to it that all her grandchildren wore red threads these days.
Mama also insisted that Papa inspect every mezuzah within their courtyard; never mind that they were written less than three years ago. And each night, after Rachel nursed Asher and tucked her older children in their beds, Papa blessed them with verses from Numbers that were especially effective in protecting children from the Evil Eye.
May Adonai bless you and protect you. May Adonai make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May Adonai lift up His favor upon you and give you peace.
In the morning, before they headed for synagogue, Papa followed the advice that the Sages gave in the ninth chapter of Tractate Berachot.He who fears the Evil Eye—let him put his right thumb in his left hand, and his left thumb in his right hand. And he says, “I, A son of B, am of Joseph’s seed, and the Evil Eye has no power over me. As it is written: May they be teeming like fish.” Just as the waters cover fish and thus the Evil Eye has no power over them, so too the Evil Eye has no power over Joseph’s descendents.
When Rachel asked how he knew they were descended from Joseph, rather than another of Jacob’s sons, he explained that all Jewish people were Joseph’s progeny and that the Evil Eye is easily fooled. Thus the incantation works whether a man is of Joseph’s seed or not.
Rachel wished she shared Papa’s confidence a few days later when Shemiah came to her complaining, “Mama, I don’t feel good.”
five
Rachel’s chest tightened. “What’s the matter?” “I feel hot and my throat hurts.” Shemiah sneezed and blew his nose onto the ground. “And my nose is dripping all the time.”
She reached out and felt his forehead for fever. It was warm but not burning. “Go on up to bed. I’ll have Cook prepare some chicken broth for you.”
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 6
