Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (55 page)

 

As Joheved’s fever continued to rage, her family settled into an awkward routine. Normally Salomon, Meir, and Judah spent nearly all day with the scholars at synagogue or teaching at home once the Cold Fair opened. But now Salomon woke early to perform the healing spells, after which the family prayed the morning service together in the salon. Only then did the men head for synagogue. On the way home Meir visited his new son at the wet nurse’s, and after
disner
he studied Talmud with Shemayah upstairs in the sickroom, while Salomon and Judah worked with the yeshiva students below.

Alvina took care of Miriam and Rachel’s clients so they could sit with Joheved and study while the men were away and say the Twentieth Psalm nine times when the bells tolled None in midafternoon. Since Miriam already got up several times a night to nurse, she slept in her old bedroom so she could easily recite the healing psalm in Joheved’s ear at Lauds, the ninth hour after sunset. She alternated between relief when all she could smell in Joheved’s room was Mama’s garlic chicken soup, and despair as days passed without any improvement in her sister’s condition.

Saturday night Meir wanted to stay up late praying and studying, but his eyes kept closing before he could complete a page. The third time his head started to droop, Shemayah took the manuscript out of his hands and closed it. “Meir, you’re exhausted. Go to bed; I’ll continue downstairs with the others.”

Meir tried to protest, but he was yawning too much, and Shemayah was out the door before he could reply. So he undressed and got into bed with his wife. It had been six days since they’d begun their regimen against Lillit’s fever demons, and still Joheved’s body felt so hot. Nine days, he thought, the spell was supposed to work by nine days.

“
Shema Israel Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad
,” he began the bedtime prayer, making sure to pronounce each word loudly and clearly. He was so sleepy, but he forced himself to say the Ninety-first Psalm without yawning, changing “him” to “her” at the end.

Dawn was breaking when Meir woke up shivering, entangled in damp sheets. Panic gripped him as he reached for Joheved’s cold and clammy body, but he relaxed when he felt her chest rise and fall.
Mon Dieu, has her fever finally broken?

Meir forced down his exaltation and concentrated on gently moving Joheved toward his side of the bed, where the sheets weren’t soggy. She murmured something about not wanting to get up yet, that it was still dark.

He had to tell the others, so he threw on his chemise and bounded down the stairs, pausing to reach up and touch the new mezuzah on the bedroom doorpost. Salomon was at the first step, the new knife in his hand, and Miriam peeked out her bedroom door, little Elisha in her arms.

“Joheved sweated a river last night,” Meir said, his eyes shining with happiness. “We need to change her sheets.”

“Her fever?” Miriam whispered as she headed for the sickroom.

“I think it’s gone.”

“
Baruch ata Adonai
... Who heals the sick,” Salomon said as the others joined him.

By the time the bells had finished chiming Prime, Joheved was propped up in bed, dipping pieces of freshly baked bread into a large bowl of chicken soup, and asking about her baby.

“How soon can I see him?” she asked, once assured that little Salomon was doing well at the wet nurse’s.

“Your fever just broke last night. I think we should wait a couple of days before we bring him to visit you.” Miriam wagged her finger at her sister. “I must insist that you stay indoors and rest for another week at least.”

“What about Hanukkah?” Salomon asked. “We will be toasting the new vintage in ten days.”

“Erev Hanukkah is six days away; we’ll see how she’s doing then.” Miriam stared at them sternly. “We don’t want a relapse.”

 

The following week Miriam and Joheved stood in Salomon’s courtyard, scanning the sky for the three stars whose appearance would herald the Sabbath’s end. The weather was fair for the end of November, and Joheved rejoiced in her first day out of her father’s house. That morning she had taken her new son to synagogue and said the
gomel
prayer thanking God for her escape from danger.

Standing opposite her older sister in the Havdalah circle, Miriam wasn’t quite as joyful. She knew better than anyone, except maybe Aunt Sarah, how precarious Joheved’s recovery was, how much rest those recuperating from childbed fever needed, and would need for many weeks to come. Aunt Sarah was still bedridden with the fever she had caught when Joheved became ill.

“Think of it as an extra-long Hanukkah vacation,” Miriam told Joheved. “Many women take the whole festival week off, and now you can make up for all the years when you worked during it.”

She couldn’t help but smile as their father adjudicated Yom Tov and Shmuel’s argument over who got to hold the spice box.

“Shmuel had it last week,” Yom Tov protested.

“But you live in Troyes,” his cousin pointed out. “You get to hold it all the time.”

“I do not. Your family comes here for Shabbat.”

“Not in the winter. Once it starts snowing we’ll be stuck in Ramerupt.”

Years ago she and Joheved had squabbled like that over whose turn it was to wash first.

But Papa didn’t lose his temper. “Who can tell me why we smell the sweet spices during Havdalah?”

Both boys stared at their feet.

Isaac stepped forward. “Grandpapa, doesn’t it have to do with the
mazikim
?”

Salomon agreed and the children crowded around him. “You know that we’re forbidden to light a fire on the Sabbath.”

He waited until his small audience nodded. “So it is that the fires of Gehenna are extinguished on Friday at sunset and not lit again until it is time for Havdalah. And what do you think happens to all the evil spirits there when the fire goes out on Shabbat?”

“They stop getting burned?” Yom Tov replied hesitantly.

“Not only that,” Salomon replied. “On Shabbat the
mazikim
are released from Gehenna entirely.”

“That’s why it’s so dangerous to travel on Saturday night,” Isaac said. “Because they’re not all back in Gehenna yet.”

“Not only are the
mazikim
still abroad in our world, but they’re angry because they have to return to Gehenna and start getting burned again,” Salomon explained. “Which makes them particularly eager to attack travelers.”

“But what does this have to do with the spices?” Shmuel couldn’t let his brother have all the attention.

“Have you ever smelled burnt hair?”

When the children grimaced at this, Salomon smiled and said, “Once the fires in Gehenna are relit on Saturday night, the smell is a thousand times worse.”

“Which is why we need the Havdalah spices, to mask that terrible stench,” Isaac haParnas concluded.

Salomon embraced his business partner. “I didn’t expect you and little Samson until later, when we start to celebrate the new vintage.” He reached down and ruffled the orphan’s hair. “But since you’re in time for Havdalah, perhaps you could take the wine cup while Samson holds the spice box.”

Positioned between her mother and grandmother, Hannah lifted the Havdalah candle high for Salomon to light, flinching slightly as a drop of hot wax landed on her hand. Meir stood proudly in the midst of his family, his left arm supporting Joheved, his right hand holding his daughter Leah’s. Despite his wife’s apparent good health, he insisted on spending the afternoons at her bedside studying with Shemayah, and though Joheved often appeared to be napping, Meir could tell by her questions later that she had followed their discussions. He wasn’t worried about neglecting his students; they were doing fine with Judah, who managed to juggle the beginning and intermediate Talmud classes in addition to his own studies with Eliezer.

Judah took a sip of the wine and then took a little on his fingertip before passing the cup to Eliezer who did the same. Then both men touched their wet fingertips to their eyelids, to give them insight. Eliezer also touched his finger to his empty purse, as did Isaac haParnas when the wine cup reached him again, so that their business might prosper in the coming week. They finished Havdalah with the incantation against Potach, Prince of Forgetfulness, and then it was time to light the Hanukkah menorah.

The musicians arrived when the five small flames were nearly gutted, signaling bedtime for the younger children. While Miriam checked on Aunt Sarah, Judah tried to get his weeping middle son ready for bed.

“But I’m not sleepy yet.” Shimson struggled as Judah removed his shoes and hose. “Yom Tov doesn’t have to leave.”

“Yom Tov is older,” Judah responded calmly. “When he was your age we put him to bed even earlier, as soon as we lit the menorah.”

“Just let me stay up tonight . . . please, Papa. I’ll go to bed early tomorrow.”

Judah pulled off his son’s
bliaut
and chemise, stifling his protests. “If you go to sleep without a fuss tonight, I’ll let you stay up as late as Grandmama Alvina on the eighth night.” That was too easy. His mother usually went to bed as soon as the menorah flames were extinguished.

“Sit with me until I fall asleep,” Shimson pleaded.

“I’ll sit with you and we can say the Shema together, but I have to go help your grandpapa open the new wine. Now use the chamber pot like a good boy and get under the covers.”

By the time Judah had finished saying the bedtime prayers, Shimson was asleep. He tiptoed down the stairs only to stop in consternation at the bottom.

Elisha, still wearing traveler’s clothes, rushed forward to embrace him. “Judah. It’s so good to see you again.”

Elisha had returned to Troyes as though nothing had changed. But for Judah the blade that used to be sharp enough to cut was dull with disuse. The fire that had blazed hot enough to burn him last summer was now reduced to coals.

Judah stepped back as soon as he could without hurting Elisha’s feelings. “Congratulations on your new son.”

Elisha smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “Who could have imagined last year that I would be the father of Judah ben Elisha and you the father of Elisha ben Judah?”

“Miriam is done nursing your namesake. Would you like to see him?”

“I’d prefer to get something to eat,” Elisha said. “I haven’t eaten since
disner
.”

“You were riding on the Sabbath?” Judah’s voice was heavy with disapproval. “I thought you weren’t going to commit any other sins.”

“We spent the Sabbath at that inn just east of Troyes,” Elisha said. “I left Giuseppe there with our merchandise as soon as the sun set.”

Judah felt flattered that Elisha had abandoned his new lover for him, at least for one night. He was wondering what to say when he heard Miriam on the stairs.

“Shame on you Elisha. You know how dangerous it is to ride alone by yourself on Saturday night? Especially when there’s no moon.” She scowled at him. “You’re a father now, aren’t you? You should be more responsible.”

Elisha was immediately contrite. “You’re right, Miriam. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Judah took Elisha by the arm and led him to the door. “You picked the right time to be hungry. There’s probably enough food in our courtyard to feed the whole city.”

They stepped outside into the hubbub of people eating, talking, and laughing. Boys raced back and forth, stopping only long enough to wolf down some food from the long tables laden with plates and dishes. A few people were dancing, but most were milling around, eager for the moment when Salomon and Isaac haParnas would open the wine casks now sitting next to the cellar doors.

“There you are, Miriam,” Rachel called to her. “Papa’s waiting for you.”

The sisters made their way through the crowd to where their parents stood with Isaac haParnas. Joheved sat on a bench next to them, her sleeping baby in her arms. When Salomon saw them, he held up his cup, made the blessing over the wine, and took a drink. He smiled and gave the cup to Rivka, who tasted it and passed it on to Joheved.

“It’s not bad,” Joheved declared, handing the cup to Miriam. “But we’ve had better.”

“And we’ve had worse,” Miriam said.

“I don’t have as much experience as you two.” Rachel licked her lips. “But I think it tastes pretty good.”

Salomon had a satisfied expression on his face. “It’s not our finest vintage, but our customers will be content.”

The celebration grew louder as jugs of wine began making their way around the courtyard. Miriam saw Judah and Elisha go inside to study, and she half expected Eliezer or Meir to follow them. But her two brothers-in-law headed for the dancing. Before she could decide whether to join her husband in study, Rachel seized her hand and pulled her into a circle of dancing women.

“Our nephew’s
brit
was no fun at all,” Rachel said. “Now we can finally celebrate . . . and I intend to.”

“Meir must feel the same way,” Miriam said as she watched him swing Salomon around.

Rachel lifted her skirt and twirled. “We can dance as long as we like. Judah will find you when your baby gets hungry.”

“I hope Joheved doesn’t get up to dance.” Miriam craned her neck to see what her older sister was doing. “She shouldn’t attempt anything too exhausting yet.”