Jephte's Daughter (44 page)

“No, Aba, not a fool,” Batsheva said softly.

He lifted her head, lowered in pain and humiliation for the suffering she had caused him, lowered because she had once hated him and had felt she could never forgive him. He wiped the glistening tears from her eyes and she felt the unconditional love and forgiveness flow from his large, familiar hands, the hands that had once, long ago, reached deep into pockets filled with toys and candies for his beloved child. All the long-forgotten love of that child came flooding back to her. She put her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered: “Forgive me.”

Gently, he stroked her soft, shining hair and felt the living warmth of her head. He had thought her lost to him forever. He felt the warmth of life, like a long robe, fall over his shoulders and take away the cold isolation and death that had clung to him since reading her letter. He reached out and took his grandchild’s firm, active little hand in his. Alive, both of them. A miracle. He closed his eyes. He lost his balance for a moment and felt his wife’s comforting arm suddenly thread through his. He leaned on her gratefully, knowing now he had come full circle. Thank you, dear all-merciful God. He looked up at Rabbi Magnes and the two men’s eyes met in perfect understanding.

“No, Batsheva. You must forgive me. It was my vow. I am the continuation of the Ha-Levis. I cannot, for my lifetime, push that burden off on anyone else.”

Rabbi Magnes’s thick brows knitted together and his finger threaded thoughtfully through his snow-white beard. He glanced at his colleagues, who nodded in agreement. “This is important information. We will now retire to discuss it and then will give our final decision.”

The three rabbis rose and disappeared behind the closed door of their chambers. The agonizing minutes passed like hours. Then, finally, the door opened and the judges filed out with solemn, unhurried dignity. There was no sound in the courtroom except the brush of their clothes against their chairs, and the soft tick of the clock. Even the noise in the street seemed to fall mysteriously silent in anticipation.

Rabbi Magnes cleared his throat. “Taking a life, even one’s own, is an inexcusable act that cannot be forgiven. Even a failed attempt at such an act cannot be excused under any circumstances.”

So, I am lost, Batsheva thought.

“However, in light of the new evidence before us, the court recognizes that perhaps no such act was ever seriously contemplated. Given the extraordinary state of mind of Batsheva and her desire to spare her father’s feelings, the court feels that there were mitigating one-time circumstances that are not likely to occur again in her lifetime. In this light, the court has decided that Batsheva Harshen is to have conditional custody of the child under certain strict guidelines. First, he must be brought up in Jerusalem and may not be taken out of the country without specific permission of the court. Second, his father is to retain full visiting rights. If these terms are not met, we will reconvene and reconsider our decision. Is that clear?”

Batsheva, leaning on her father, nodded gratefully, full of incredulous joy, unable to believe that it was really over. It was like that blessed moment right after giving birth when all the hellish pain is finally behind you and you hold the new baby, safe and perfect, saved from the million illnesses and deformities and mishaps that faced you both every step of the way for nine months. Unable to speak, she mouthed the words
thank you
. And for a moment it seemed as if a rare gleam, a softening, took place in Rabbi Magnes’s fierce, old eyes.

The scribe wrote out the bill of divorce, which was then read out loud: “…Thus do I set free, release thee, and put thee aside in order that thou may have the permission and the authority over thyself to go and marry any man thou may desire. No person may hinder thee from this day onward, and thou art permitted to every man. This shall be for thee from me a bill of dismissal, a letter of release and a document of freedom, in accordance with the laws of Moses and Israel.”

The rabbis witnessed the document with their signatures and then it was rolled up and handed to Isaac. He grasped it, and as is the custom, threw it to Batsheva; then he turned on his heel and walked furiously out of the courtroom. She caught the precious scroll, pressing it to her heart, and in so doing showed her acceptance of this freedom, officially ending her marriage to Isaac Harshen. Cries of “
Mazel tov
” rang out around the room. She embraced her father and mother and then sought David’s eyes and trembled, filling with the wondrous benediction she saw reflected in his shining face.

Abraham Ha-Levi walked slowly out into the street and faced his Hassidim, his head bent low with humility and final acceptance of a role he had so long fled. He raised his arms and the crowd grew tensely quiet. “According to the Law, a
talmid chacham
is not only a brilliant scholar. He is also a student of the wise, following the good and pious life of his teachers.” He raised his eyes, and the crowd saw a terrible anger contort his features. “Isaac Harshen has proven himself no
talmid chacham!
”

He shouted with all of the pent-up rage that exploded like an atom bomb hurled from its secret silo. “I renounce him! I throw him out of any authority!” The crowd broke into loud shouts of joy and of furious disbelief. Abraham Ha-Levi raised his hands once again and waited patiently for the quiet to reassert itself. When the crowd stopped, all anger drained from him. “I am the heir to the Ha-Levis. Take me if you wish or reject me. But do not put the burden of your belief on anyone else.”

At this the crowd seemed to divide. Those who hated the Ha-Levis called out to each other to follow Isaac Harshen, having found a new hero. As for the rest—a noise, like the roar of the seas dividing before Moses’ outstretched arm, rose in exaltation and bounced off the white church and the long, low prison walls, and the pavement reverberated with the thunderous, joyous pounding of thousands of dancing feet.

David Hope and Batsheva Ha-Levi were married, according to the Law of Moses and Israel, after the prescribed three-month period between a divorce and remarriage. It was a simple wedding, as different from her marriage to Isaac Harshen as white is from black.

Batsheva rose early and looked out her window, all her plans dependent upon the blessing of good weather. As if by a miracle, it was one of those wonderful rare days that sometime happen in Israel in the middle of January: a day as warm and fragrant and bright as spring. A day where the sky, so cloudless and blue, proclaims there never was such a thing as a storm, there never will be such a thing as a storm.

She put on a simple white dress of a beautiful soft silk moiré and attached her veil to a few fresh roses that she pinned into her shining black hair. When she looked into the mirror, she saw a woman she had known once long ago, in the first spring of her eighteenth year. Her life had been sadder and sweeter than even that spoiled, vibrant, carelessly happy young child/woman had ever dreamt possible as she leapt recklessly headlong into the adventure of life. She trembled a little, remembering how naïve she had been, how unprepared for reality. Could one really start over, erase all the bitterness of the past from one’s heart and mind? Was there really such a thing as a clean slate, a purifying rite of repentance? I don’t know, she thought, afraid.

She wanted so much to come to David as a new bride, without knowledge, without memories, simple and pure and good. He deserved that. She wanted to give him herself as one bestows the gift of the first fruits picked from new trees that have blossomed and yielded for the first time. She looked at the white dress that shimmered with radiant purity in the morning light. If only I could be like that inside, she mourned. Was it possible? Or would she carry the touch and smell of Isaac Harshen on her body and in her nostrils until the end of time, allowing his memory to come between her and David?

And so the bride, exquisite and tremulous, said a silent prayer. I ask you, dear Lord, for only one thing—to wash me clean of the past.

David Hope also noticed the beauty of the day and took it for an omen, a benediction. He put on a clean white shirt and a dark-blue suit. As he shaved, he rubbed his palm anxiously over his face, feeling for any stubble. It must be absolutely soft and smooth. He looked at himself and smiled foolishly, a little embarrassed by the unbridled, unbelievable, and (no doubt, he told himself) immature and unmanly but nevertheless wonderful state of absolute bliss that filled every corner, every ounce, of his entire body and soul. To have her near him always—her and the boy whom he already loved like his own son! To wake up in the morning and just reach out and find her lovely face so close to his he would feel her soft, fragrant breath on his eyes and mouth! To be able to reach out and hold her without guilt, with the full love of God within him! Could it be possible, such happiness? He had never imagined it. Always before he had felt weighted down with the sense of darkness and sin that they had convinced him was Adam’s legacy to mankind. Becoming a Jew, he was released from that. It was wrong. Sin could not be given as an inheritance. Each of us was born Adam on the first day of creation, born pure with the ability to choose good over evil. Our connection to God was direct. We needed no one to plead for us. Our prayers, silent, only thoughts perhaps, went to Him directly.

How else could one explain this wonderful, perfect day, the first day of the rest of his life as Batsheva Ha-Levi’s husband and lover, father to their children?

The ceremony took place on the hill called the Tomb of Samuel the Prophet. Abraham Ha-Levi, Lord Hope, Ian, and Rabbi Gershon each held one corner of a prayer shawl above the heads of the couple as Rabbi Magnes recited the blessings of marriage. And as the ceremony began, Batsheva looked behind her and saw the dear faces of her mother and Elizabeth, Gita and Lady Hope, look at her full of deep happiness. She turned her face forward and looked out at the hills of Judea and the white stones of the houses nestled in their sides and into the immense, almost white illumination that was the sky.

And all at once she understood what the artist Chesterton had meant when he wrote that white is a color—not just a lack of color. It was a shining and affirmative thing—as rich as red, as intense as black. And goodness, too, was not just an absence of sin, an avoidance of the wrong moral choices. It didn’t mean just not being cruel or sparing people revenge and punishment. Goodness was a vivid and separate thing, like a gift or a strong embrace. It was as real and tangible and positive a thing as the sun that had risen that morning to give them this brand-new day in which to begin again.

1. The biblical story of Jephte and his daughter can be found in the Book of Judges. Why do you think the author called her book by this title? Are there any parallels between the life of Batsheva Ha-Levi and the biblical figure of Jephte’s daughter? What are they?
   
 

2. In the opening quote, the author uses the words of Aliosha from
   The Brothers Karamazov
   : “Dear children, do not be afraid of life. How good is life once you have done something good, once you have been true to the truth within you.” Why do you think the author chose this quote? To what characters, and to what incidents, might it refer?
   
 

3. Many of the characters in
   Jephte’s Daughter
   are motivated by the need to fulfill obligations—religious, social, family—that are larger than their personal need for happiness and fulfillment. In what way does their attempt to be true to their obligations set them free, and in what way does it entrap them?
   
 

4. The concept of “women’s role in life” is very rigid in the
   haredi
   world in which Batsheva finds herself. How would you describe that role, and in what way do the women characters fulfill it—Batsheva, her mother, Mrs. Harshen? In what ways do they defy it?
   
 

5. How would you describe the character of Elizabeth? What is her motivation? Although she is from a completely different background and culture, in many ways, she and Batsheva undergo similar experiences. Describe them.
   
 

6. At the beginning of the book, Elizabeth and Batsheva discuss the idea of the continuum, or the rainbow; the idea of the great chain of being. When does this idea reappear in the book? Is it significant?
   
 

7. The men in
   Jephte’s Daughter
   are vastly different in background, but have many similarities. Can you talk about how Abraham Ha-Levi, Isaac Harshen, and Graham MacLeish relate to women, to themselves, and to their studies?
   
 

8. What did Batsheva expect from marriage? What did she receive? Do you think her expectations were realistic, or unrealistic?
   
 

9. Jephte’s Daughter
   is based on a real story: the tragic death of a young
   haredi
   woman who leaped to her death with her small child in her arms, killing them both. Do you think the author should have followed the original story? Why? Why not?
   
 

10. In the book, the characters discuss whether art is removed from life, or whether the artist has a responsibility for the moral consequences of his art. Look up this passage (pages 313–14) and join the discussion.
    
 

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.