Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (28 page)

“I’m
niddah
now.” Miriam paused to calculate when she’d be clean again. “So I’ll be going to the
mikvah
again just before Selichot. But I don’t want to do this while we’re preparing for the Days of Awe.”

 

Selichot—the word itself means prayer of repentance—was the highlight of the penitential month of Elul. All month the pious rose at midnight and again before dawn to confess their sins and plead for the Almighty’s forgiveness. Ordinary Jews were satisfied with the Selichot service that took place at midnight on the Saturday preceding Rosh Hashanah.

Only a few women left their homes in the middle of the night for the service at the synagogue. Joheved had gone a few times after she married, but once little Isaac was born she began staying home, and Miriam would join her in the penitential prayers in the salon. But now Miriam was married, so she decided to accompany Judah for Selichot. She would reap one benefit of not having children.

Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Miriam waited quietly between her father and husband as Meir lit the torch. When Judah closed the courtyard gate, several neighbors approached to join them. They slowly walked through the silent streets, meeting other torch-lit groups making their somber way toward the old stone synagogue. Wisps of fog floated by, and Miriam could almost imagine the
mazikim
heading back to Gehenna after their Shabbat respite. No wonder Mama wouldn’t let Rachel go.

Inside, the synagogue lacked the usual cheerful hubbub of voices. Lit only by the torches below, the women’s gallery was dark and shadowy, and without a word of discussion Miriam and the other women returned downstairs to take up places along the side. When the Matins bells finished chiming, Papa mounted the raised bima in the center and the service began, as it says in Psalms,

At other times prominent men bid for the privilege of being the synagogue’s reader, but tonight the community turned to its most pious and learned member to plead their case. He began by quoting from Mishnah Tractate Taanit, a litany in which the important men of scripture, from Abraham through Ezra, were listed as examples of the Holy One’s mercy.

Miriam reflected on her own predicament. Should she only have her hymen cut or give Judah the potion as well? And if the latter, should she drink some herself? Such a powerful potion would be dangerous. What if it affected her but not him?

She forced her thoughts back to Selichot as the congregation responded by reciting the Thirteen Divine Attributes revealed to Moses after the Israelites sinned with the golden calf. When Moses prayed on their behalf, “Show me Your glory,” the Almighty forgave them and proclaimed,

Miriam smiled to herself as she remembered how she and Joheved had argued about what the attributes actually were and how to get thirteen of them from this list.

Papa reminded the congregation, “The reason we recite the Thirteen Divine Attributes so often during our
selichot
prayers is because in Tractate Rosh Hashanah,

Thus we repeat this supplication of Moses, hoping that our prayers will prove equally efficacious.”

But penitential prayers recited without remorse are worthless, so the congregation followed the Thirteen Divine Attributes with a confession of sins. In previous years Miriam barely paid attention to the words as she beat her breast when each sin was admitted, but this time she felt increasingly troubled as she declared, “We have acted perversely ... we have been presumptuous ... we have led others astray.”

Wouldn’t she be committing these sins if she gave the potion to Judah without telling him? But being fruitful and multiplying was the first commandment the Holy One gave man after creating him; surely her actions would not be sinful if that was the intended result. And shouldn’t she use every means available to get pregnant? Yet what about the danger? As the service drew to a close, she made her decision. They would both drink the potion; may the Holy One grant her mercy and forgiveness.

 

By Yom Kippur, Miriam had asked for and received Judah’s forgiveness for any injury she caused or might cause him, and he had done the same with her. He even asked her to forgive him for not fulfilling his marital duties more diligently and practically begged her to let him increase their frequency.

Without a hint of what lay in store for her husband, she agreed that after her next visit to the
mikvah
, they could perform the holy deed on Tuesday night as well as on Erev Shabbat. That was a propitious time, since it was only after the Holy One finished with creation on Tuesday that He said “it was good” twice. Besides, everyone knew that a child conceived on Sunday or Monday would be born on Shabbat, which would surely entail desecrating the holy day.

Miriam’s flowers began the day after Yom Kippur, and that night she yelped briefly as Aunt Sarah took her sharpest knife and cut out the recalcitrant membrane. But three days later, on the eve of Sukkot, came news that threatened to scuttle their plan. The women were nearly finished with preparations for the evening meal in the sukkah, when Meir burst through the gate, picked up little Isaac, and began swinging him around.

“Guess who’s going to be Bridegroom of the Law and Bridegroom of the Beginning at Simchat Torah?” he shouted. When his son happily replied, “Who?” Meir proudly answered, “Your Uncle Judah and I.”

“What’s a Bridegroom of the Law?” the little boy asked.

Meir tried to explain it simply. “Simchat Torah, which means ‘rejoicing in the law,’ is when we read the last verse of Deuteronomy. But instead of ending there, we show that Torah study never ends by immediately continuing with the first chapter of Genesis.”

“But what does it have to do with weddings?”

“There isn’t a real wedding.” Meir smiled at his son’s confusion. “On Simchat Torah we honor two men by choosing one to bless the reading at the end of the Torah and the other to bless the beginning. The one who has the end is the Bridegroom of the Law and the one who has the beginning is?”

“The Bridegroom of the Beginning!” Isaac yelled back.

Meir swung Isaac around again. “And we have a big party for them and their wives, almost as much fun as a real wedding.”

Joheved’s forehead creased in worry. “Can we afford it?” Though men no longer bid for Simchat Torah honors, those chosen were expected to make a substantial contribution to the charity fund. She suspected this was the reason that Salomon’s name had never been picked.

“With our fine wheat harvest, the manor’s revenue should be sufficient.” He smiled at Miriam and added, “And if it’s not, I’m sure Judah can make up the difference.”

“Probably,” she replied, trying to hide her dismay. “Alvina did a good deal of business at the Hot Fair after they granted her residency. So she didn’t have to split her profits with a local middleman.”

Meir’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they chose Judah for that very reason, to get some of that money back.”

The Jewish community of Troyes was very particular about whom they considered a resident. No one could just move into the city and begin doing business there; even when an outsider married into a local Jewish family, he might wait years before being considered a resident. Out of respect for Salomon, Meir had become one upon his marriage to Joheved, but then his family’s business at the fairs was limited, just occasional trading in the livestock market.

Judah received the same benefit, but when Alvina insisted that this advantage also accrued to her, many protested that they were Parisians, not true citizens of Troyes. In the end, a compromise was reached where she was permitted to do business as a resident, provided that her fair profits remained in Troyes in the form of a letter of credit for her son and Miriam.

“What am I going to do?” Miriam ran in desperation to Aunt Sarah when she heard the news. “Simchat Torah is the night I’ll be ready to visit the
mikvah
. How will I manage if Judah’s going to be Bridegroom of the Law?”

“Then he’ll be in a festive mood,” Sarah said. “You’re lucky he’s the Bridegroom of the Law. Most of his reading will be done by the time you go to bed, and he’ll only have to chant a little in the morning before Meir takes over.”

“If there’s any difficulty that night, I won’t give him the potion.”

“Don’t be pessimistic.” Sarah gave her niece a quick hug. “Remember what an honor it is to be Bride of the Law.”

Miriam smiled.
It will be like getting married again
—
only this time Judah and I will have a real wedding night.

 

As the festival of Sukkot drew to a close, with Simchat Torah as its climax, Miriam was drawn into the exciting preparations. Rivka could scarcely contain her pride as she helped her two oldest daughters into their wedding clothes. To Miriam’s relief, Judah assumed his role as bridegroom and wore his red silk
bliaut
without complaint. He even managed a smile when she whispered that she had visited the
mikvah
while he and Meir were at the bathhouse.

When the sky darkened, Judah and Meir’s attendants arrived at the courtyard. Eight men, bearing banners and torches, would escort the bridegrooms to and from the synagogue. There were four ladies each to escort Joheved and Miriam as well. After several toasts of Salomon’s best wine, the party enthusiastically set off.

For Miriam, the evening was a startling reminder of her wedding. Again Judah was the hero. Special hymns greeted his arrival at the synagogue; sweets and scented sprays showered down at him as he headed to the seat of honor, where he was given the Torah scroll to hold. When it came time for his recitation, Miriam could see that he made an effort to actually read the holy text even though he knew it by heart.

Miriam smiled as she remembered how Papa’s commentary on these verses anticipated a student’s question. “How is it possible that Moses died, and then (afterward) wrote, ‘So Moses died there’? Some say that Joshua wrote from here onward, but our text says that Moses died according to the word of the Eternal, which teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, dictated this passage to Moses, who then wrote it in tears.”

When Judah finished the blessings following the Torah reading, pandemonium broke out. Lusty songs split the air as a crowd of dancing men, dressed in their finest, surrounded him and Meir. One by one, each danced with a Torah scroll while the rest of the men kept the two bridegrooms at the center of the swirling mass. Upstairs in their gallery, the women sang and danced around Miriam and Joheved.

Eventually Meir finished his portion, and the celebration spilled into the synagogue courtyard. Banners and torches waving, the crowd soon filled the street outside. Musicians appeared out of nowhere, and the singing grew louder as men and women mingled.

Back home the festive meal awaited them. Miriam had no need to ply Judah with wine; men continually brought him up to dance, and each time he sat down another cup was thrust at him. Miriam had her share of dances, and as she drank more wine she began to appreciate how very attractive Judah was. She saw that she was but one of many females whose gaze followed his dancing form, his dark hair loose around his shoulders and his red silk tunic shining in the torchlight. She also noticed that Judah was growing unsteady on his feet and remembered that she still had a long night ahead of her.

“Judah, it’s getting late.” She separated him from the men he was dancing with and, hoping she sounded seductive, said, “Have a cup of wine with me upstairs before we go to bed.”

Judah’s companions sent him off with jokes and suggestive remarks concerning his bridegroom status, and as Miriam pulled him toward the house, they serenaded the couple.

Judah was drunker than she had anticipated, making it a struggle to get him up the stairs. He tried to sing the rest of the verses, only to stop and go back to the beginning again.

By the time Miriam managed to get him into their bedroom, he had only reached the third line: “Sons to your sons shall you see, your old age’s crown.”

With trembling hands Miriam picked up the waiting wine goblet. “I saved a cup of Papa’s finest vintage for us to share tonight.” She boldly took a long swallow, and then waited anxiously for Judah to finish it.

He sat down heavily on the bed and tugged at his boots. “Could you help me get these off, I’m exhausted.” He leaned back and put his feet up for her to reach.

The first boot required some effort, and by the time Miriam had worked the second one off and collapsed on the bed herself, Judah was snoring next to her.
Mon Dieu, what am I going to do now?

It took awhile to remove all her finery, and when she finally stood to hang up her
bliaut
, she began to notice an itching, tingling sensation in that hidden place between her legs. As it grew more insistent, Miriam approached her husband’s prostrate form and began to strip off his clothes. He moaned as she pulled down his
braises
, and she extinguished the lamp.