Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (20 page)

“
Merci
, Mistress. Drink it in good health.” Proud of selling the wine at such a good price, Rachel tied the ring into the sleeve of her chemise and wrote the sale into the wine account book.

She meant to give the ring to Papa when he returned, but Mama and Miriam came back first, and in the excitement of seeing what they’d purchased, she forgot. Then, in the tumult that only multiplied as Miriam’s wedding day drew closer, the woman wine buyer and her ring disappeared from Rachel’s mind.

 

Suddenly the month of Tammuz was upon them, and every bed in the Jewish Quarter seemed filled with wedding guests from Paris. But with every woman who congratulated her for finding such a handsome, learned, and rich bridegroom, Miriam grew more morose. She hadn’t cared how poor and unattractive Benjamin was, and she’d been so eager to go to the
mikvah
before their wedding day. Now she felt only anxiety as Mama and Joheved accompanied her to the synagogue’s ritual bath.

Miriam had heard her clients complain about the
mikvah
, but she had never been down into it before. It lay deep below the building, behind a large wooden door. Mama lit the lamp hanging next to the key and unlocked the door.

Miriam stared into a dark corridor completely lined with stones and felt her stomach tighten. Mama started down the steps, beckoning her to follow. The stone stairs sloped precipitously, and when Miriam reached out to steady herself, the damp and slimy wall made her quickly pull back her hand. As she continued her descent, drops of condensation landed on her head and rolled down her face. Finally the steps ended at the entrance to a small room with a domed ceiling. That is, they appeared to end. When Miriam got closer, she could see that they continued down into a black pool of water.

Mama placed the lamp on its shelf on the wall, and the two women crowded into the small space. Trying not to worry about who had used the
mikvah
last and how rarely it was cleaned, Miriam undressed and hung her clothes on the pegs provided for this purpose. Spreading out her arms and fingers to make sure the water reached every part of her skin, she took a deep breath and slowly lowered herself into the murky ritual bath.

Apparently the temperature didn’t vary much underground, for the water was neither warm nor cold. Miriam slipped beneath the surface, deep enough that her hair was completely covered, letting her body float so that none of her limbs touched the sides. She lay submerged, trying to relax and imagine herself a baby in its womb, until she was forced up to take a breath.

She sank into the tepid water twice more before rising to say the blessing: “
Baruch ata Adonai
... Who commanded us with immersion.” The Talmud taught that this was the only blessing Jews say after performing the
mitzvah
instead of before.

The atmosphere was very close, and Miriam couldn’t wait to get into the fresh air. At any moment the ceiling might collapse and she’d be buried alive. Even Mama and Joheved’s welcoming embraces did nothing to allay her fears. How could Mama endure years of coming to this dank cave of a room alone at night? No wonder Joheved preferred to immerse in the Aube.

 

Anxiety about her wedding night now replaced anxiety about the
mikvah
, compelling Miriam to seek her mother’s guidance. “Mama,” she asked as Rivka brushed her hair, “what was it like when you and Papa, you know, first slept together?”

Rivka nearly dropped the brush. “That was a long time ago. I think Joheved is better qualified to advise you.”

“But Papa was a stranger when you married him, not like Joheved and Meir.”

Non
,
not like Joheved and Meir at all.
They didn’t realize that she knew, but from the upstairs windows Rivka had seen them hugging and kissing before the wedding. Once she even watched her husband quickly turn back when he came around a corner and saw them together.
Non
, it wasn’t like that when she’d married. She sighed.

“Miriam, I can’t help you. You’re older than I was then, and you’ve found something appealing about Judah that made you accept his suit.” Rivka couldn’t bring herself to tell her daughter about the fear and pain she had endured. “Imagine the wonderful children you and Judah will have.”

“
Merci
, Mama.” Miriam reached out and took her mother’s hand. Mama’s entire life revolved around Papa and their children, but Miriam’s would be different. She was a midwife and she studied Talmud. She would never be as cowed by her husband as her mother was.

“Here’s one suggestion I can offer.” Rivka kissed her daughter good night. “Drink a lot of wine at the wedding banquet, and try not to worry.”

Convinced that her parents’ wedding night had been a debacle, Miriam wondered what she could do to avoid a similar fate. Perhaps she should consult Aunt Sarah, who’d had two wedding nights. But Aunt Sarah was out with a woman in labor, and though Miriam was awake to hear the bells chiming both Matins at midnight and Lauds at three, she never saw her aunt return. Then it seemed as though she had just fallen asleep when the bells tolling Prime woke her at dawn, each one loudly proclaiming, “Today is Friday, your wedding day.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Miriam barely looked in Joheved’s mirror as she was sewn into the red silk
bliaut
and the violet chemise with matching red and gold embroidery, as her hair was loosened and she was adorned with her new jewelry. At the synagogue her mind played tricks on her, and she had to look at Judah several times to prove to herself that she wasn’t marrying Benjamin after all.

As sunset approached to mark the beginning of Shabbat, Miriam felt like a lonely island in a sea of merriment. Had she made a mistake marrying Judah so quickly? Why hadn’t she waited to see who else at the Hot Fair wanted to marry her? Following her mother’s advice, she had emptied as many cups of wine as she could in between all the dancing, eating, and visiting. It seemed that every woman in Troyes wanted to chat with her, dance with her, or both, while the men kept Judah equally occupied. Neither of them made any effort to leave the party, but their guests finally forced the newlyweds out of the courtyard and into Aunt Sarah’s house.

Upstairs Joheved helped Miriam out of her fancy clothes and jewelry, all the while providing an encouraging and detailed description of the pleasures that marriage would soon offer her. Too soon Miriam was left wearing only a chemise, and, forcing one foot in front of the other, she walked toward her new room, a room where Judah, and Heaven knows what experience, was waiting for her.

As she approached the door, she detected a familiar odor and stopped in dismay. Somebody, undoubtedly hoping the aphrodisiac fragrance would have the appropriate effect, had risked Salomon’s wrath to trespass into the vineyard and gather some grape blossoms to decorate the wedding chamber.

Miriam’s heart sank as she remembered how Benjamin had contrived for them to meet outside the vineyard during this season so many years before, a meeting that ended with a kiss and a proposal of marriage. The cloying scent of grape flowers brought that time back as if it were yesterday.

Fighting tears, she entered her new bedroom and faced her new husband. The sweet smell of grape flowers was even stronger inside, and, the wine having made her maudlin instead of relaxed, Miriam’s grief welled up and threatened to choke her.

 

Judah, who had been pacing back and forth, heard the door finally open. Startled, he jerked around and watched his bride slowly enter the room. Earlier that evening his new mother-in-law had addressed him. In an urgent whisper she had begged him, “Be gentle,” the only words she had thus far spoken to him. Now her plea haunted him, and he regretted how he had arrogantly rejected Azariel’s offer of instructions, saying that he didn’t need to learn how to seduce serving wenches.

Stop worrying, Judah told himself. Miriam was a widow; she’d know what to do. Rooted to the spot, he waited for his wife to approach him, but she took only enough steps to close the door behind her.

Somebody had left them a dish of strawberries, but Miriam’s stomach was too jumpy to eat, even her favorite fruit. Sure that she’d burst into tears if she tried to say anything, she could only think of Benjamin and how this should have been their wedding chamber.

“What are you waiting for?” Judah asked helplessly.

Miriam was brought back to reality at the desperation in his voice. Without thinking, she replied, “I’m waiting for you. Who do you think I’m waiting for?”

“But I don’t know what to do.” He hesitated and, even in the darkened room, she could see him blush. “I thought you’d know ... you being a widow after all.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Judah could have kicked himself.
How could I be so stupid as to mention my bride’s deceased husband?
Miriam’s face crumpled, and he watched with trepidation as she struggled to speak.

“But I was widowed from
erusin
, not
nisuin
. Didn’t you listen when they read the
ketubah
amount for a virgin?” The mention of her widowhood was all Miriam needed to lose control. Her tears flowed slowly at first, but then she sank down on the bed and began to bawl like a child.

Twice his tactlessness had made Miriam cry, but Judah didn’t know what to do except wait. He sat down on the bed and reminded himself that, like the patriarch Jacob, he too was destined to overcome many obstacles before obtaining his
bashert
.

When she finally quieted, he said softly, “I’m sorry for your loss. Would you like to tell me about him?” If her first husband stood between them, it was better to know now.

“His name was Benjamin ben Reuben, and he was one of my father’s first students.”

Judah groaned inwardly. She had spent years growing fond of the fellow. “And undoubtedly one of his best students too.”

“
Non
, not anywhere near as good as you are,” she said. “Benjamin was a better vintner than Talmud student.” It was strange to be discussing her first husband with her second, but the need to unburden herself was too great, especially with Judah listening so sympathetically.

Judah didn’t mind listening. His mind was whirling with the night’s possible outcomes. One thing was becoming certain—despite years of trying to prevent erections and then feeling mortified when they appeared anyway, tonight even Lillit wouldn’t be able to arouse him. That gave him an idea.

“Miriam,” he gently interrupted her. “I see that Benjamin was very dear to you and ...” He hesitated, grasping the enormity of what he was about to propose. “Perhaps it would be best if we wait awhile, until you feel ready, before we, uh, use the bed.”

Miriam grabbed his hands and squeezed them. “You mean it?” Her voice was incredulous, but the way her face lit up convinced Judah that he had made the correct decision.

He pulled one of his hands away and patted hers soothingly. “Absolutely. It wouldn’t be right if you were thinking about another man.”

“But what about the bed? If it isn’t bloodstained, they’ll ask all sorts of embarrassing questions.”

“That’s easily solved.” To his new wife’s amazement, Judah pulled back the covers, took his knife and made a quick cut across his hand, after which he wiped the blood into the sheet.

Miriam thanked him profusely. She told him how difficult it was for her when Benjamin died, how impatient everyone was, and ended up explaining how painful it felt to smell the grape blossoms now when they only served to remind her of that grief.

“The scent is cloying.” He flashed her a conspiratorial grin. “Why don’t we just throw them out the window?”

With a sudden flurry of activity, the offending blossoms were gone, and Miriam was relieved to smell the herbs that were strewn among the rushes on the floor.

“So what shall we do now?” he asked. “We can’t very well go downstairs and rejoin the wedding banquet.”

Despite her lack of rest, Miriam was too jittery to go to sleep. Then she remembered Marona and Samuel’s wedding gift. “Would you like to play chess? Meir’s parents gave us a set.”

“I’ve never played chess.” Tonight would be a night of many firsts, just not the one he’d anticipated.

“Then I’ll teach you.” She set up the board and chessmen before he could protest.

Judah learned the fundamentals quickly but played without enthusiasm. At least there will be some mating going on in this room tonight, he thought, no longer sure that delaying their coupling had been a good idea.

Miriam soon suspected that, unlike serious players, her husband would not object if they talked during their game. He was being so nice; she wanted to pay him a compliment.

“You look very handsome today.” Did he actually frown when she said that? She started again. “I know red isn’t one of my best colors, but the red silk brocade was becoming on you.”

“Stop.” He held up his hand to silence her. “There’s something about me you need to understand. As far as I’m concerned, my appearance is a curse. And I hate the color red. Ever since I was little, my mother made me wear it.”

“Shall we throw our wedding clothes out the window, too?” she asked with a smile.

He sighed. “As much as I’d like to, we’ll probably have to wear them all this week, as well as when my mother decides to visit us for holidays. She’s done so much for me, I don’t want to hurt her feelings over something so silly.” He made a chess move that he immediately regretted.

She took the errant piece and they returned to the silent chess game. Until she remembered something she was curious about.

“You really don’t know what to do with a woman?” When he nodded, she asked him, “Didn’t you study the Arayot at your old yeshiva? Papa teaches them to his students before their weddings. He even taught some to me and Joheved, but mostly she learned them from Meir and I learned them from her.”

Suddenly Judah understood about the private lessons that his companions had been privy to. “Nobody had a chance to teach me,” he replied. “Remember, I wasn’t betrothed yet. And then I left Mayence immediately after Azariel arrived.”