Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (24 page)

When Shemayah first began criticizing her, Meir tried to offer helpful advice, but it soon became obvious that his friend was not going to change his ways or his attitude. When Meir grew so exasperated that he asked Shemayah why he didn’t divorce Brunetta if she vexed him so, Shemayah replied bitterly that he was a poor man. Where would he find the assets to pay her
ketubah
? After that, Meir just tried to change the subject whenever the topic of Shemayah’s unhappy marriage came up.

Meir sighed. “I thought that when his wife became pregnant, things were getting better at home, but then their baby boy died after being circumcised.”

Samuel nodded. “Now I remember him.”

Meir turned to Miriam. “I don’t think he’s any better at all. He can’t make up his mind what to do, so he just sits around moping. If Judah hadn’t coaxed him into helping with Salomon’s
kuntres
, I doubt he’d get out of bed in the morning.”

Joheved raised her eyebrows. “I used to think his constant complaining was annoying, but this melancholy is worse.”

“He’s not the only man to see his first child die.” Miriam’s sympathy was entirely with Brunetta. “There’s no reason to blame his wife; she didn’t know her family was cursed.”

“Her father knew and he should have warned them.” Meir explained further for his parents’ benefit. “After the boy bled to death, it came out that both Shemayah’s mother-in-law and her sister had baby boys die the same way after circumcision.”

“But in the sixth chapter of Tractate Yevamot it says that even with two such deaths in a family we still circumcise a third time.” Judah quoted the Gemara.

Judah concluded, “Thus we learn that only after three such tragedies is the pattern clear.”

“Shemayah is free to divorce Brunetta without paying her
ketubah
.” Joheved’s exasperation was clear. “After all his whining, you would think he’d be glad to be rid of her.”

“Perhaps he’s the kind of man who likes to complain, who thinks it keeps the Evil Eye away,” Marona suggested.

“My mother taught me that a man who complains over trivial matters is asking the Accuser to give him something serious to complain about,” Samuel said. “That’s why I tried to raise my children with sanguine personalities.”

Meir smiled at his father. “Shemayah married for money and there’s no guarantee that he’ll find another wealthy father-in-law to support him while he studies Torah.”

“He hasn’t seen Brunetta since the baby died.” Miriam’s voice began to rise. “He can’t just leave her waiting like this. He needs to decide one way or another.”

“It’s been long enough that she could insist he divorce her,” Joheved said. “So she’s waiting too.”

“She has to. Who else would marry her now that everyone knows about her family’s curse?” Miriam shook her head sadly. “If Shemayah divorces her, she’ll probably never marry again.”

“There’s nothing I can do to hurry him.” Meir sighed. “He must decide if healthy sons or money is more important.”

“I think he should stay with her,” Samuel declared. “After all, most men lose children. Why should this Shemayah expect that he’d be any different?” Samuel spoke from sad experience; only two of his five children were still alive.

“Come, it’s Shabbat,” Marona said. “Let’s not dwell on this unhappy topic. Meir, please lead us in some Sabbath songs.”

The evening continued in a more pleasant fashion, with Joheved agreeing to stay in Ramerupt through Passover to observe the lamb buyers. In the meantime, she was learning so much about running the manor by watching Marona.

One of the first things Joheved learned, to her disappointment, was that the lady of the manor does not get to sleep late. In winter Marona woke before dawn, then quickly dressed and said her morning prayers before breakfast. She spent the rest of the morning with the steward hearing reports from the manor’s staff and dealing with whichever of their problems required intervention. There were items needing repair, goods to be inspected, servants to be disciplined, and quarrels between villeins to be adjudicated. Samuel preferred to pray and study in the morning, receiving his summary of the proceedings later.

If there was time before the midday meal to visit the sick, Marona did so, but in the winter this task had to be postponed. Once home she went over the finances, with separate accounts for rents and income received from the villeins, sales of wool, sheep and wheat produced by the estate, household expenses, charitable donations, and all payments pertaining to Count André, including the knights and the squires they supported for him. There was also a personal treasury for purchasing things like her family’s apparel and books. Joheved thanked Heaven that Grandmama Leah had taught her how to keep the wine accounts.

Every afternoon Marona left time to play with little Isaac, and if the weather permitted, to stroll or ride around the estate’s grounds. If not, she’d enjoy a game of chess with Miriam. Before
souper
she supervised the cook’s menus and tasted any cheese or ale produced that day. During the evening she saw that any visitors were suitably housed and entertained. Guests were rare this time of year, but during the fair seasons they often hosted merchants who couldn’t reach Troyes before dark.

Joheved learned something new from her mother-in-law every day, yet she vacillated between returning to Troyes and staying in Ramerupt. Like Shemayah, it was easier to decide by not deciding. Which is exactly what Shemayah was doing, she realized with sudden insight. He had no intention of divorcing his wife; he was perfectly content to remain at the yeshiva in Troyes indefinitely while his wife continued to live in her father’s house in Provins.

 

Snow was falling gently when Judah and Meir left on Sunday morning. It snowed for the rest of the week, preventing Miriam from returning to Troyes for Purim and her husband from visiting the next Shabbat. Finally an evening came when she could see the moon through the clouds. Maybe Judah would come before she was
niddah
again?

Miriam was ready for bed when Joheved clutched her belly and gasped. Miriam ran to her sister’s side. “Is it the baby?”

Joheved took another sharp intake of breath. “How can it be? Aunt Sarah said I wasn’t due until after Passover.”

Marona turned to Miriam. “Let’s find out.”

Together they helped Joheved up the stairs, pausing several times for her to catch her breath. “But if the baby’s coming now, it won’t live. It’s only been eight months.”

Like days of the week, months of pregnancy came under the sovereignty of specific planets, with Saturn ruling the eighth and Jupiter the ninth. Between the malevolent influence of Saturn and the unlucky even number eight, the Talmud considered a child born in the eighth month to be nonviable. Some Sages said that such a child shouldn’t be nursed except when it would be dangerous for the mother to retain her milk.

“Whether it’s been eight months or nine, this baby is coming,” Miriam said after examining her sister. “Your womb is fully open and I can feel the head.”

Joheved moaned as another contraction shook her. “That one really hurt.”

“Quickly now,” Miriam said to Marona. “Find all our tefillin. We don’t have time for chalk.”

Marona headed for the door. “I’ll send a servant with the birthing stool, and Samuel will start saying psalms.”

“My birth amulet ... it’s is in the chest ... near my bed.” Joheved could barely get the words out. “Somebody ... should go ... get Meir.”

By the time Marona returned, Joheved was on the birthing stool. “Try to relax between the pains,” Miriam urged her.

“I can’t ... it hurts too much.” Joheved squeezed Marona’s hand. “Mon Dieu, I need to push.”

Before Miriam could worry about possible problems and how she would deal with them without her midwife’s kit, the baby’s head was in her hands.

“Mazel tov!” Marona shouted as Miriam delivered the rest of him. “Another son for you.”

 

When his in-laws came downstairs for breakfast, Meir was gone. Moments after his father’s servant woke him to share the good news, Meir threw on his mantle and mounted his horse. The streets of Troyes were just coming alive. Trying to avoid the chamber pots being emptied from above, Meir rode past yawning maidservants drawing water at the wells and heavily dressed men with farm tools on their way to the fields. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread caught his nose as he passed a bakery, a few patrons already lined up outside. He’d have plenty to eat in Ramerupt, he admonished his growling stomach.

Once outside the city walls, Meir admired the silent landscape that seemed to glide past him as he rode. The brown soil was a stark contrast to the snow-covered trees and bushes surrounding the fields, and Meir inhaled the earthy odor of freshly tilled loam. He easily found the manservant’s trail through the forest and grinned as a startled doe with her twin fawns bolted from his path.

A boy, another boy
—
it
’
s a miracle!
And both Joheved and the baby were fine—another miracle. And it was all over before he even knew she was in labor—that was truly a miracle.

The gates at Ramerupt-sur-Aube were open, and as soon as he dismounted a servant handed him a warm drink. Miriam was all smiles as she assured him that all was well. A short stab of pain assailed him as he passed the door to his sister’s old bedroom, and his already rapid stride quickened.

The door to his room was open and there was Joheved, sitting up in bed, three sets of tefillin still hanging at its head—his father’s, hers, and Miriam’s. Then he was at the bed’s side, and it took every bit of restraint he could manage not to take his wife in his arms and hug her tightly. Childbirth had made her
niddah
, and it would be seven days before he could touch her again.

“He’s so little,” Meir said as he cradled the tiny infant. “Was Isaac ever this small?”

“Joheved was worried that he might be an eighth month baby,” Miriam said. “But I don’t think so. He has plenty of hair and all his nails are fully formed.”

She fought back tears as Meir recited the blessing of thanksgiving, “
Baruch ata Adonai
...
Shehecheyanu
... Who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.”

Miriam sighed.
How long will it be before I hear Judah saying those words, carrying our child in his arms?
The baby stirred, began to whimper, and Meir gave him back to Joheved, who put the baby to her breast. Watching the baby suck greedily, Miriam felt a pang of longing that was almost painful.

Before Miriam could get to bed, Judah and Salomon rode up, soon followed by carts carrying her family and the entire yeshiva’s student body, all of whom would be staying until after the baby’s circumcision. With the yeshiva students in residence, Joheved and her baby would be continually protected by their studies and prayers.

 

The day before the
brit milah
members of the Jewish community began to arrive from Troyes, including Avram the goldsmith and his son Obadiah. In addition to his metalwork, Avram was also the local mohel, and Obadiah was his apprentice in both trades. Obadiah had spent a couple of years at the yeshiva, during which Salomon had made sure to teach the sections in Tractate Shabbat that dealt with circumcision. Miriam remembered him as a mediocre student who preferred to be elsewhere.

Avram immediately joined the other men, leaving his son alone at the dining table to prepare the mohel’s paraphernalia. Unsure whether her presence would be an intrusion or welcome company, Miriam stood at the door with her distaff and spindle.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.

Obadiah didn’t look up. “Suit yourself.”

Not wanting to appear rude, Miriam sat down at the end of the table and began spinning wool. She watched silently as Obadiah cut and rolled the linen into several small bandages. His thumbnails were very long and cut to form a triangle with a sharp point. When he unpacked the mohel’s knife and began sharpening it, first one side and then the other, she had to question him.

“I’ve never seen a knife with both sides sharp,” she said. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“The
azmil
isn’t a kitchen knife.” He sounded annoyed. “When the mohel picks it up, he doesn’t waste time checking for the sharp side.”

“It would be more dangerous than other knives.” Miriam recalled the accidents she’d seen pruning the vineyard.

Obadiah apparently took that as a compliment because he nodded and said, “
Oui
. We have to handle it very carefully.”

Miriam was about to ask about his odd nails when Avram came in. “Finish your sharpening later, Obadiah. It’s time for afternoon prayers.”

Meir and Shemayah hurried by, and Miriam worried that the mohel’s presence might throw Shemayah into deeper melancholy, but the next day he appeared more wistful than despondent.

 

Salomon had also been wondering about Shemayah, but he realized that he was too irritable to deal with his student properly. He disliked public speaking, and now he not only had to prepare his annual Passover sermon, but he was expected to give a
drash
at the baby’s
brit
as well.

To make matters worse, he learned that Samuel had invited Count André and his court to the banquet—to do otherwise would be an insult to the sovereign. No matter that it was Lent and Notzrim were expected to fast until Easter. Étienne, the steward, assured Marona that the noble guests were only forbidden to eat meat and would gladly feast on fish and fowl.

Salomon was annoyed at having to teach Torah to non-Jews, but he felt guilty about the enormous amount of money fate had saved him by Joheved giving birth in Ramerupt, and thus emptying Samuel’s coffers for the banquet instead of his own.