Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (49 page)

Giuseppe cleared his throat. “After all, in our Mishnah, when the rabbis discuss the obligations of the
ben
(son) and the
av
(father) to each other, it’s clear that
ben
refers to both sons and daughters and that
av
includes both father and mother.”

Giuseppe’s voice, which had started out quite softly, was louder now as he concluded, “From what I’ve heard this summer,
benaichem
usually means ‘children,’ both boys and girls. So why in the case of Torah study, does
benaichem
mean only ‘sons’ and thus exclude daughters?”

Judah stared at Giuseppe. He needed to think. He’d been taught that this was the text’s meaning, but it never occurred to him to ask why.

The room was silent until Eliezer slapped the table and burst out laughing. “What a question!” He punched Giuseppe’s arm. “I only know the answer because my wife told me.”

He turned to address the stunned class. “Belle Assez, I mean Rachel, said that when she and Miriam were studying this section, she asked her father the same question.” He paused to heighten the suspense. “Of course they got into a row over it, until Salomon admitted that the interpretation of
benaichem
as sons, not daughters, is actually
miSinai
.”

“MiSinai is what the Holy One told Moses on Mount Sinai when He gave him the Oral Law,” Judah explained.
MiSinai
was the explanation for an otherwise inexplicable law, the answer that ended all debate.

“Salomon promised Rachel that he would add that to his
kuntres
, in case anyone else wondered about it,” Eliezer said.

Giuseppe, who wasn’t sure whether he’d asked a brilliant question or a stupid one, started to look proud of himself. “So there is no logical reason, no supporting proof text,” he said. “The Holy One told Moses that in this verse
benaichem
meant sons only, not sons and daughters.”

Elisha squeezed Giuseppe’s shoulder. “Rav Salomon was right when he told us that wise men learn from everyone, especially those with less knowledge.”

Jeanne was clearing the dishes when Miriam rushed in, her face lit up with joy. “Blanche had a boy,” she announced, throwing her arms around Judah. “I’m so excited.”

 

Six days later, when Obadiah arrived at synagogue alone and mentioned that Avram wasn’t feeling well, Miriam’s heart began beating so hard she was sure everyone could hear it. This was the signal she’d been waiting for; tomorrow she would circumcise Blanche’s new son. The women in the gallery began whispering to each other and several of them smiled encouragingly at her.

Miriam was trying so hard not to be distracted from the prayer service that she didn’t notice when the commotion began downstairs. Only when Rachel nudged her arm did she stop and look below.

Fleur’s father was standing up and waving his arm. “I demand that everyone hear my complaint,” he shouted.

“Oh
non
,” Rachel groaned as the other women hurried to the gallery’s edge to watch the proceedings.

Interrupting services was a time-honored tradition in the Jewish community. Anyone with an unresolved grievance had the privilege of interrupting services until he received a public promise of redress. It was not a privilege to be taken lightly, so most people went to the beit din with their quarrels before they risked antagonizing the community this way.

“We have tolerated a woman training to do
brit milah
only because no men would do it, but that is no longer the case.” He gestured for a young man nearby to stand. “My cousin Ishaiah here is a mohel. If Avram is unable to perform the
brit
tomorrow, Ishaiah is the most expert mohel present, which means he must do it.”

Miriam reached out for Rachel’s hand. Who, if anyone, would defend her? To her surprise, it was Obadiah.

“How do we know this man is an expert mohel?” he asked. “Let me see his hands.”

Ishaiah held up his hands, which did have the requisite pointed thumbnails, but they were as pale as Miriam’s, not thick and yellow with experience like Avram’s. “I admit I haven’t done a
brit
in many months,” Ishaiah said. “I’ve been traveling to Troyes and occupied at the fair.”

Then Fleur’s cousin Leontin addressed the crowd. “Many of you have told me how shameful it is for Troyes to have a woman mohel instead of a man as the Holy One intended. Now we have a man who is willing to move to Troyes for this purpose.”

There was so much conversation in the room that no one voice stood out except Blanche’s husband. “I will not have some stranger with dubious credentials circumcise my son,” he yelled. “Ishaiah will not be my agent tomorrow.”

Several people shouted back that only men should do circumcisions. Then Judah stood and began to speak. Immediately the room quieted.

“In our learned community it is not enough that the mohel be technically competent.” He turned to confront Ishaiah. “The final chapter of Tractate Shabbat deals with
milah
, indeed that is the chapter’s title. Can you tell us what Rabban Gamliel teaches us there?”

Ishaiah didn’t reply, so Judah added, “I’ll give you a hint. It’s a Baraita that comes just after the first Mishnah.”

When Ishaiah remained silent, Judah looked up at the women’s gallery. “I expect that my wife is familiar with this text.”

Rachel gasped and clutched her sister’s hand, but Miriam felt strangely calm. Of course she knew the Baraita; she always studied this Gemara the week before a
brit
. Besides, the people below were her community ; surely they knew she studied Talmud.

She focused her attention on Judah and recited the text.

She concluded with the explanation Papa gave in his
kuntres
. “ ‘Your word,’ in the singular, means the commandment that is binding on Israel above all other, the one given to Abraham first, which is
milah
.”

Before anyone could comment, Eliezer began to laugh. “Very clever, Judah. This Baraita makes it clear that the attempt to foist this unknown mohel on us is not motivated by love of mitzvot, but for revenge by Fleur’s family now that Joseph’s deathbed gift has been validated in Mayence.”

The room buzzed with voices until Moses haCohen waved for the right to speak. “Never mind that. What is this fellow’s occupation that he can perform a
brit
at short notice?”

The room quieted as Ishaiah replied, “Don’t worry, I’m not a doctor. I’m a moneylender.” But it became even noisier when he sat down.

Miriam could hear men arguing that they would never give coveted residence in Troyes to someone in competition with them all, that a man who loaned on interest but sold no merchandise would give them a bad name among the Edomites. Then Cresslin said that Fleur was lucky to get as much money as she did, marrying an older man for his wealth, causing Leontin to overturn several benches to lunge for him. Miriam watched openmouthed, sure they would come to blows, but others with cooler heads restrained them.

Now people were shushing others, saying that services had been interrupted long enough. That’s when Isaac haParnas stood up. “The decision of admitting new residents to Troyes belongs to our community council,” he said calmly. “I suggest that Ishaiah apply for residency as any other candidate would do.”

The hazzan began praying again where he’d left off, and to Miriam’s relief, the congregation joined him.

T
hat night Elisha stayed out late again, returning only as Judah was leaving for his early morning study session. When he complained to Miriam at breakfast that Elisha’s mind didn’t seem as focused as before, she patted his hand and reminded him that this was a difficult time for the youth.

“Elisha is beginning a new life; soon he’ll be a merchant and a father instead of a student,” she said, helping herself to another slice of cheese. “It’s probably more difficult for him to leave us than for us to lose him. After all, we’ll have many more students, but you’ll be his last teacher.”

Judah sighed. Miriam was undoubtedly correct, but her words didn’t comfort him.

“I want to thank you for yesterday.” She smiled. “What made you think to ask Ishaiah about Tractate Shabbat?”

“He hasn’t attended a single one of Papa’s lectures, so I guessed that he wouldn’t know Talmud very well.”

“That was very astute.” Miriam scooped up a large dollop of strawberry preserves with her piece of bread.

“I’m glad to see you’re eating better.”

“Everyone kept telling me I ought to drink more ginger tisane, that it would soothe my stomach so I could eat more.”

“But you said that ginger was too hot and dry, that it might hurt the baby.”

“I had Moses suggest some foods that were cold and damp, to balance the ginger.” Miriam took another bite of bread and jam. “That’s why I’m trying to eat more fish and less meat.” She smiled up at her husband and added, “And why I’m eating so much strawberry jam.”

“Whatever you’re doing, it seems to be working.” Judah had almost said something about how much better Miriam looked these days, but caught himself in time. Heaven forbid that she imagine an insult over how bad she looked before.

“It doesn’t seem to be hurting the baby.” She placed a hand on her belly. “He, or she, is as active as ever—may the Holy One protect him or her.”

“I was sure that you’d have done a
brit milah
by now, but perhaps it’s
bashert
that your first one be our own son.”

“It was good of Avram to let me know that he feels better this morning,” she said. “I suppose I won’t be doing my first
milah
until Ishaiah has left Troyes.”

Judah grinned. “You don’t think he’ll be settling here anytime soon either.”

She smiled back at him. “I think our merchants would rather have an idolater do circumcisions here than share their clients with Ishaiah.”

“If you’ve finally finished eating, we’d better get the boys ready for services,” he said. “You may not do the actual
milah
, but Avram will probably have you do everything else.”

 

Judah could tell by the fullness of his bladder that the night was nearly over, and this was confirmed when he peeked out the window and saw the nearly full moon low in the sky. He slipped on his chemise and went downstairs to use the privy. The Hot Fair was in its final week, and on such a balmy night there was no need to foul the air in the bedroom by using the chamber pot. A quick glance while passing the upstairs bedroom was enough to ascertain that Elisha still hadn’t come home.

Judah stepped onto the porch and drew a deep breath. The world seemed so peaceful in those few hours before dawn. As he walked to the privy, he again wondered where Elisha was, what was keeping him up so late these days. Of course the privy was empty, and relatively odorless as well, two advantages of being the first to use it this morning. The disadvantage was that nobody had collected any fresh moss yet, so Judah had to make do with straw.

He had nearly finished when he heard the courtyard gate close.
Is that Elisha at last?
Through the privy’s small window he saw two men heading toward his house, but they continued past it and stopped just beyond the wall. Here they were invisible to the courtyard’s residents, but from the privy, Judah had a clear view of them.

It was Giuseppe and Elisha. Judah reached for the straw, but when he glanced through the window again, the moonlit sight rooted him to the spot. The two men were kissing—and not just a friendly peck good night. Their arms wound around each other and they were kissing like . . . well, like Eliezer and Rachel.

Judah took a sharp intake of breath; he felt as if he were suffocating. His
yetzer hara
wanted to rage out of the privy and confront them, but instead he exited silently and sank back against the closed door. He peeked around the side for another look. Maybe he’d been imagining things; maybe the Sheyd shel haBetkisey demon had sent him this tortuous vision.

Elisha and Giuseppe were still there. Judah’s
yetzer tov
told him to avert his eyes, to slam the privy door loudly and then walk back to the house and greet Elisha as usual, but his
yetzer hara
wouldn’t let him tear his eyes away. So he took it all in—Giuseppe’s mouth hungry on Elisha’s lips, Elisha’s hands gripping Giuseppe’s derriere, their torsos straining against each other.

It was astonishing actually, that two men would kiss the same way a man and a woman did. Somehow Judah assumed that when two men lay together it would be a hurried, sordid thing with no preliminaries, just a quick coupling before each man went on his way. But men as lovers? Unthinkable—except for the evidence before his eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, a rooster crowed and the two men sprang apart. A few kisses followed, but it was obviously in preparation for parting. It was only when Giuseppe closed the courtyard gate behind him and Elisha headed for the privy that Judah realized his own predicament. Heaven forbid Elisha should encounter him outside. Judah quietly circled the privy, remaining on the opposite side from Elisha, and then sprinted home.

Once inside, his heart was pounding, and as clearly as he heard his
yetzer tov
telling him to say nothing and avoid a confrontation, Judah knew he would ignore this advice. He convinced himself that he would be doing Elisha a service, warning him that he and Giuseppe should be more circumspect in the future. Judah waited until he heard Elisha on the porch and then stepped outside.