Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (33 page)

“Is Shavuot over?” Miriam asked as she held the baby up for the men to admire. “Was he born before sunset?”

Though Monday was an unpropitious day for beginning a new enterprise, children born that day, under the influence of the moon, would have a balanced disposition. Thank Heaven she’d given birth before Tuesday, when the baleful influence of Mars portended a life filled with war, enmity, envy, and destruction.

“I believe so.” Salomon peeked through the shutters. “The sun is just setting now.” He thumped Judah on the shoulders. “So what do you think of your new son? Isn’t he handsome?”

Judah, who made it a point to focus his attention elsewhere during a circumcision, had never seen a newborn close-up before. Frankly, he did not think the red-faced child with its oddly shaped head was the least bit handsome. He was saved from having to answer his father-in-law by Jewish tradition, which dictated the first words a father says upon seeing his new child.

“
Barach ata Adonai
... Who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.” Judah’s voice shook, and, feeling a bit faint, he sank down onto a bench next to the bed. How well Miriam looked; he’d expected that she would be in pain or ill or, worse yet, angry with him for having caused her suffering.

“Judah, when was the last time you ate?” Miriam’s sympathetic nature, buoyed by maternal instinct, exerted itself, and her husband admitted that he had eaten nothing after news of her condition had interrupted breakfast.

“Papa, could you see if there’s some of today’s feast left for me and Judah?” Miriam realized that she was hungry as well.

“Are you really all right?” Judah’s skepticism made Miriam smile, and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

She laughed, glad it was over and she was safe. “I’ve rarely felt better. Have you thought of a name for him?”

“I would have wanted to name a girl Alvina.”

“So you want to name him after your father?” Was Judah being subtle about not mentioning the chosen name?

“
Non
, not Natan.” Judah cringed at memories of the merchant from Prague, but when he saw her alarm, he calmed himself and added, “My brother’s oldest son is already named for him.”

“We could name him after my father.” And use the name Salomon before Joheved did.

“It would hurt my mother’s feelings if we ignored my father in favor of yours.” Were they approaching an impasse? Should he suggest the name Benjamin or would she find that too painful?

“Oh, here’s Mama and Papa coming, and look at all the food they’ve brought.” Miriam grabbed a handful of strawberries, and the new parents set aside their discussion.

 

The next morning Miriam’s family crowded around Sarah’s dining table for breakfast. No matter how pleasant the late May weather, Miriam and the baby were confined to Sarah’s house until he was safely circumcised. Samuel and Marona had left for Ramerupt, but Joheved didn’t see much point in going back only to return a few days later for Shabbat and her nephew’s
brit
. Besides, Miriam might need her.

Salomon beamed as his gaze took in his three grandsons. Isaac sat at his left and little Samuel sat further down on Joheved’s lap. At the end of the table, Rivka held their latest in her arms.

“What a little
yom tov
baby you are,” she cooed. “In one month you’ll have had four feasts in your honor.”

Isaac looked up at her, a questioning expression on his face, and Rivka counted them off on her fingers. “One feast yesterday for his birthday, two for his
brit milah
, one the night before and the other after the ceremony, another for his
pidyon ha-ben
next month.”

“But Grandmama, yesterday’s feast was for Shavuot, not his birthday.”

Salomon tousled the boy’s hair affectionately. “Ah, but we wouldn’t have had the
yom tov
feast here if it hadn’t been his birthday. So it was in his honor.”

Isaac was only silent a moment. “What’s a
pidyon ha-ben
?”

Everyone at the table knew the answer, but they waited for Salomon to explain it. “In the Torah we are taught that every firstborn male, both man and beast, belongs to the Holy One. When the Holy Temple stood, the firstborn sons worked for the priests, who ate the firstborn animals. If a father wanted to keep his son, he redeemed him by giving money to the priests instead. That’s what
pidyon ha-ben
means, ‘redeeming the son.’ Today when we redeem him, we give the money to charity.”

Isaac stared smugly at his little brother. “Only the firstborn son gets a
pidyon ha-ben
? Like me and this
yom tov
baby,” he said proudly.

Salomon, Meir, and Joheved exchanged worried looks. Because of Joheved’s earlier miscarriage, Isaac was not considered her firstborn, the first issue of her womb. Should they try to explain such distinctions to a four-year-old?

Meir put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Your mama had another baby before you, but it died,” he said softly.

Isaac was silent for a moment. “So what if baby Yom Tov has the first
pidyon ha-ben
, I had the first
brit milah
.”

“The baby’s name isn’t Yom Tov,” Joheved warned him. “We won’t know what his name is until his
brit
.”

“But we can call still him baby Yom Tov,” Rachel said. “The wrong name will confuse the
mazikim
more than no name.”

“But they might name him Yom Tov.” Meir winked at Isaac.

Miriam could barely keep her eyes open, but Meir’s comment jerked her wide-awake.
Name him Yom Tov? Why not?

She glanced at Judah, who was looking at her questioningly, and they exchanged nearly imperceptible nods. So Yom Tov it would be. She smiled at the knowledge that her son had not only been born on a festival, he’d been conceived on one as well.

“Let’s just call him ‘the baby’ for now,” she said.

 

Before she knew it, a week had passed and Miriam was trying to decide what to wear to her son’s
brit milah
that morning.

“We don’t have to wear red,” she told Judah.

He deserved a reward. Except to use the privy, he’d never left her and the baby’s side. Together they had studied various sections of Talmud concerning the laws of
brit milah
, and Miriam had to admit that he was a good teacher. He was becoming a devoted father too, holding the boy while they studied and bringing him to her at night so she needn’t get out of bed.

“I don’t mind wearing our wedding clothes,” he replied. “It’s traditional. Besides, didn’t your mother make a red baby outfit to match?”

“
Oui
.”

“Then he’ll have additional protection today.”

Miriam wanted to nurse her new son before they left for the synagogue. She settled the baby at her breast and felt a flood of affection as he began to suck. Nursing was an unexpected delight of new motherhood. The physical release that came when her milk was suckled was one of the most pleasurable feelings she’d ever experienced, radiating from her breasts through her whole body. No wonder Joheved preferred to nurse her children herself.

After arriving in synagogue and hearing the other women describe how they shut their eyes during their sons’ circumcisions, Miriam decided to watch the procedure. She was a midwife; blood and babies crying were nothing new to her. And if her other children were girls, she would never have another chance to see it.

Like at Samuel’s
brit
, Obadiah carried in the mohel’s supplies. He handed his father the
azmil
and gave Miriam the wine-soaked cloth for her baby to suck. She noticed that both men had the same odd pointed thumbnails, except Avram’s were thick and yellow while Obadiah’s were pale and thin like his other nails. A moment later she saw why they were cut that way.

In one smooth movement, Avram put his thumbnail under her son’s foreskin, pulled it taut, and sliced off the extra skin. Then he used his sharp nails to push down the membrane underneath, exposing the corona. Miriam could feel Judah lean heavily on her shoulder when their child cried out, and for a moment she worried that he was going to faint. But then he steadied himself with his other hand and the weight lifted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Miriam saw Papa ascending the bima, and she stopped watching the mohel to take the cup of wine Papa offered her and join in the blessings for her health and that of her son. Papa’s eyes twinkled when Judah whispered the chosen name in his ear, and smiling broadly he recited the blessing that announced Yom Tov’s name to the congregation. When Miriam looked down again, Obadiah had finished the bandage, and with her son clutched to her bosom, she sat contentedly while the men congratulated Judah.

Only Obadiah hung back, petulantly asking his father, “When are you going to let me do the cutting, Papa? I’m ready.”

Avram lowered his voice. “You don’t expect me to let you do your first
milah
on the
parnas
’s grandson, or the rosh yeshiva’s either? And the others were girls.”

“So when? There’s not another baby due for a month.”

“You’ll be ready when you’re ready, not a day sooner.” Then Avram noticed Miriam watching and led his son out of earshot.

 

Alvina arrived in Troyes two weeks later, annoyed that she’d missed both Yom Tov’s birth and
brit milah
. That he wasn’t named for her late husband only made matters worse.

Assuming she had an equally aggrieved ear in Salomon, she poured out her frustration to him on the way to synagogue. “Why did they have to name the baby after a holiday? It’s not as if they didn’t have perfectly good family names to use.”

Judah shook his head in exasperation. “Mama, we’ve been over this. My son’s name is Yom Tov and nothing is going to change it.”

“Perhaps our children couldn’t agree on a family name,” Salomon said in a soothing tone. “Perhaps they didn’t want to favor one grandfather over another.”

Miriam abruptly stopped in the road. “Excuse me, Alvina, I think there’s a rock in my shoe. Would you please hold Yom Tov while I shake it out?” As she anticipated, the new grandmother eagerly took the child and began to coo at him.

Salomon smiled at his daughter’s subterfuge. “When I was born, my parents couldn’t agree on a name for me. In fact they still hadn’t chosen my name on the day of my
brit
.”

“What happened?” Rachel asked eagerly. His voice sounded like he was about to tell a story.

“My father, may his merit protect us, refused to name me Isaac after my mother’s father because that was his name, and my mother, may she rest in peace, wouldn’t name me Jacob after his father because that was the name of her first husband.”

Rachel heard a window opening above and jumped away from the street. “So did they each have a relative named Salomon?”

He chuckled. “
Non
, I’m not named for anyone in my family.”

Apparently the building’s occupant was only interested in fresh air, for nothing rained down on them. Rachel stepped back and took her father’s arm. “Papa, stop teasing and tell us who you’re named for.”

“I’m named for King Salomon.”

“
Non
, really.”

Miriam and Judah turned to hear his reply. “Really, I was.” He held up his hand to shush Rachel. “I was born on the last Shabbat of Shevat, so the haftarah portion read on my
brit milah
was from First Kings.”

He waited to see which of them would figure it out first. Rachel, Miriam, and Judah quoted the text almost simultaneously,

Then they each added their own thought.

“You were named for the day you got circumcised,” Miriam said with a sigh of relief. Yom Tov wasn’t the only one in their family not named after a relative.

“You were born on the Sabbath?” Judah asked in disbelief.

“Your father thought of your name at the last moment, when he heard the haftarah chanted?” Rachel’s eyes were wide with amazement. “Grandmama Leah didn’t know what her own son’s name was going to be?”

“
Oui
to all your questions,” he said when they arrived at the synagogue.

“Your mother must have been very angry,” Alvina said.

As the women headed for the stairs, Salomon turned to her. “Mama wasn’t angry at all. She knew I’d be a scholar, so she was quite pleased with Papa for thinking of it.”

Miriam leaned over to whisper to him, “That doesn’t sound like the Grandmama Leah I used to know.”

“That’s the story my father told me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no recollection of the day myself.”

Alvina’s anger melted as she spent more time with her new grandson. She was also happily occupied with Rivka in arranging a sumptuous banquet in honor of his
pidyon ha-ben
on Midsummer Day, the first day of the Troyes Hot Fair.

Miriam’s only request was for Moses haCohen to officiate. There were other Cohens in Troyes during the Hot Fair, older and more learned descendants of the ancient priestly tribe, but the doctor was her and Judah’s friend. Miriam, often the guest of grateful parents whose firstborn sons she’d safely delivered, was familiar with the
pidyon ha-ben
ritual. The role of redeeming priest was merely ceremonial; any male Cohen might perform it.

When the longest day of the year arrived, Miriam and Judah agreed to appease his mother by dressing in their wedding finery. His red silk
bliaut
protected by a small cloth, Judah held Yom Tov at his shoulder and welcomed the last-minute arrivals. Miriam saw him greet Johanna and her heart sank.

Johanna walked slowly through the courtyard, leaning heavily on Joseph’s arm. She looked like she’d aged ten years in the last few months. Rumors circulated about her declining health, with Shavuot being the only time she’d attended synagogue since the
brit
of her son Samson, an appropriate moniker considering his size. Miriam sighed sadly; Johanna had been a great friend to her family and it hurt to see her so ill.