Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (64 page)

“Yom Tov, could you watch Elisha?” she asked. “Your father and I need a little time to ourselves before services.”

Once she closed the bedroom door behind them, Miriam handed him the letter. “This came with Aaron’s things.”

Judah only read for a moment before he had to sit down. Soon his hand was shaking so hard he couldn’t read the words.

“I’m so very sorry,” Miriam said.

He’d wronged her terribly, Judah thought. He ought to be the one asking for forgiveness, but she was the one apologizing. He had managed to hide his grief from his sons, but now there was no stopping his tears, and when Miriam opened her arms he laid his head on her breast and wept.

Miriam rocked her husband as though he were an injured child. Rachel would have been furious with her, would have said she was a fool to offer comfort to the man who had betrayed her, who had returned to her only because his lover hadn’t come for him. But she knew what he was suffering; she knew better than anyone.

M
iriam couldn’t remember such a miserable Sukkot. Count Thibault died on the second day of the festival, so Judah’s grief blended into the city’s mourning. He rarely spoke unless someone addressed him, and Miriam thought that he was losing weight faster than she was gaining it. He was far more melancholy now than he’d been after Elisha left the yeshiva.

How could I not have seen that he was infatuated with Elisha back then?
Even when he and Elisha agreed to name their sons after each other, she’d suspected nothing.

As the Days of Awe approached, Miriam expected Judah to apologize or offer some explanation, but he only made the general plea that he hoped she would forgive him for anything he’d done to injure her in the last year. She had planned to apologize for reading Aaron’s letter, but instead she merely asked forgiveness for what she had done to hurt him.

Miriam wished she could talk to Rachel, but her little sister was almost as miserable as Judah. Only after Simchat Torah, when Eliezer left with the other merchants and Rachel remained behind with Shemiah, did Miriam learn of her troubles.

The two of them were walking through the vineyard, untying the shoots from the props that had supported them since spring. “It’s not fair,” Rachel wailed. “I’m the one who loves to travel and I’m stuck here in Troyes, while Eliezer’s the one who wants to study at the yeshiva, but he has to journey to all these faraway places to support our family.”

“I thought you were going to travel together,” Miriam said.

“That’s what I thought too.”

Miriam untied the thin piece of straw from the now-leafless vine. “What happened?”

“I didn’t want to tell you while you were so ill, but the reason I was in Arles when Papa’s courier came was that I was recovering from a miscarriage.”

“I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Rachel dropped a piece of straw into her linen bag. Because the straw ties tend to harbor pests, each had to be removed and burnt. “In fact I suspect I’m enceinte already.”

“It must be difficult traveling when you’re pregnant.”

Rachel nodded. “That was only part of the problem. Last year we had to leave Shemiah with Eliezer’s mother. He kept getting diarrhea from all the strange foods, and it was nearly impossible to do any business with a toddler around.” Rachel’s chin began to quiver and she paused to control her emotions. “When I got back to Arles, he wouldn’t come to me. He didn’t recognize his own mother.”

Miriam reached out and patted her sister’s hand. “I know. When my boys came back from Paris, Elisha wouldn’t let Judah leave him alone with me.”

Rachel threw her bag of straw ties on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. “There’s nothing I can do except endure it. I hate being separated from Eliezer, even for a few weeks, and now we’ll be away from each other more than we’re together.”

Miriam tried to think of something sympathetic to say, but Rachel continued, “All I can do is wait until his nephews get older. Then they can travel while he stays home.”

“At least he’ll be here for the fairs and for the Days of Awe,” Miriam said.

“But I’ll have to celebrate Purim and Passover alone.” Rachel picked up her bag and moved to the next row. Every vine needed to be untied before pruning could take place.

Miriam wanted to point out that her sister wouldn’t be alone; she’d be with her family. But Rachel was clearly in no mood for consolation. Miriam suspected that this was also not a good time to complain about Judah, who, while not particularly good company, spent every day in her presence.

 

When Miriam gave birth to a healthy baby girl with her usual minimum of fuss, her reaction was more relief than joy. Elizabeth was a competent midwife, but she wasn’t Aunt Sarah. Miriam had been delivering babies by herself for years; but it was only with the birth of her own child that Sarah’s death finally became real.

Judah nearly ignored his daughter’s birth. He nodded unenthusiastically when Miriam asked if he still wanted to name their daughter Alvina, while she gave secret thanks that they didn’t have to choose a boy’s name
. What if he’d wanted to name a son Aaron?

Not that she would have that problem in the future.

A few days after Alvina’s birth, Elizabeth had solemnly approached her. “Everyone thinks it’s normal for a pregnant woman to be sick to her stomach, but I must warn you that a woman who gets increasingly nauseous with each pregnancy eventually reaches a point when it proves fatal.”

Miriam put little Alvina to her shoulder and patted the baby’s back. “How many pregnancies does it take?”

“I’ve only seen a few cases. But I consulted with the other midwives, and we agreed that a woman with this condition never survives five pregnancies. Most succumb during their fourth.”

“If my sister hadn’t brought back all that ginger for me ...” Miriam didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“You are lucky to be alive today.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “I have several herbal mixtures that can bring on your flowers if they’re late. Just in case.”

Miriam nodded and helped Alvina find her nipple. She knew these herbs as well. Plus there was always a
mokh
. “At least my husband has fulfilled the commandment to procreate.”

“What is that?”

“According to Jewish Law, only a man is obligated to be fruitful and multiply,” Miriam explained. “When he has fathered both a son and a daughter, he has discharged that obligation.”

That was Hillel’s view. Shammai said a man needed two sons, but Miriam wasn’t going to discuss the vagaries of Jewish Law. Judah had fulfilled the mitzvah no matter whose rule one accepted.

Elizabeth looked intrigued. “Only a man?”

“
Oui
, a woman is not commanded to procreate. So we are free to avoid pregnancy.”

Miriam decided not to tell Judah yet. It would only upset him more, and, besides, she didn’t have to worry about it for another two months. Papa taught that, as it was written in the Torah, a woman who gave birth to a daughter was
niddah
for fourteen days and then, even if she was still bleeding, her blood was pure for the next sixty-six days and she was permitted to her husband. Those who preferred to be strict, and Judah was among them, said that she must stay separate from her husband for the entire eighty days.

“Since you’re not going to bear any more children, it’s a good thing the ones you’ve got have survived the pox,” Elizabeth said as she prepared to leave.

“May the Holy One continue to protect them.” Miriam focused her attention on her daughter’s hungry mouth at her breast. After Alvina was weaned, Miriam would never again enjoy this wonderful and intimate sensation.

 

Snow fell nearly every day during the last week of the Cold Fair, and Miriam didn’t look forward to using the
mikvah
. She had immersed fourteen days after Alvina was born, but Judah would expect her to do so again on the eightieth day. Just the thought of plunging into that dark, freezing water made her shiver, but it wouldn’t be fair to Judah to delay; the poor man hadn’t used the bed since Purim.

Maybe she would go to the stews first, luxuriate in a hot bath, and then use the
mikvah
. There were some women who refused to immerse if it was too cold. A warm bath was good enough, they said. Miriam tried to teach them what Jewish Law required, but her efforts were often ignored. It was just as well that so many Jewish men were away during the winter.

Judah never mentioned Aaron during the Cold Fair, rebuffing Giuseppe and Elisha’s offers of sympathy. Shemayah continued to teach Judah’s old class, and while ostensibly Judah and Eliezer were study partners again, Eliezer spent most of his evenings with Rachel, apparently trying to make up for their upcoming six-month separation. When Miriam suggested that Judah study with her, he invariably found some excuse.

So it was odd when Judah asked her to set aside some time for him after
souper
. Eliezer had left, and Miriam hoped that if she and Rachel began studying again it might lift her sister’s spirits. But Judah’s firm demeanor made it clear that whatever he wanted to discuss could not be postponed.

Her anxiety increasing, Miriam managed to nurse little Alvina while Judah sat with the boys as they said their bedtime prayers. When he finally joined her in their bedroom and closed the door, her stomach was twisting with dread.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I have to tell you before you go to the
mikvah
.” His voice was cold and he refused to meet her eyes.

Miriam’s fear almost choked her. “Tell me what?”

Judah took a deep breath, hesitated and slowly let it out. “I can’t live with you any longer. I want a divorce.”

No
—
this isn’t happening
. “What have I done? How have I offended you?” Mon Dieu, if he divorced her, he would take the children away. Boys always went with their father.

She fell to the floor and threw her arms around his knees. “Judah, don’t do this to me—I beg you. Whatever I’ve done to displease you, I’ll stop. I promise.”

Judah tried to step away from her, but she held him fast. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me who has wronged you. You deserve someone better.”

“And if I don’t want someone better?” How would she find another husband when she couldn’t have any more children? And she wanted her own children to raise, not someone else’s.

“Miriam, it’s no use.” There was both sadness and resolve in his voice. “I can no longer be a good husband to you.”

“And if I refuse to accept your divorce?”

“Then we would remain married in name only. It doesn’t matter to me. I have no desire to remarry.”

“I . . . I have to think about it.” She’d talk to Rachel tomorrow; her sister would help her decide what to do.

“Take as long as you like. Just understand that I won’t be using the bed with you.”

Shaking, Miriam got back into bed and averted her eyes while Judah undressed. When he lay down, he turned his back to her as he had done every night since Alvina was born. This time she turned away from him as well. She needed to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Judah was doing this because of Aaron—he had to be. But it didn’t matter why he wanted a divorce; she would never let him take her children away again.

 

The next morning his wife and daughter were still asleep when Judah woke, and observing them lying together so peaceably, he felt a pang of remorse. Miriam came downstairs in time to see him and the boys off to synagogue, and it was as if nothing untoward had happened the night before.

Judah had almost begun to feel that the worst had passed when, upon entering the courtyard after services, Rachel grabbed his arm and led him into her salon.

She latched the door behind them and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “You and I are going to talk.”

Judah took a seat and waited, although he had a good idea what was coming.

“Miriam told me you want a divorce.”

“And since when is this any of your business?”

“My sister’s future is my business.” Her eyes were blazing. “In case you don’t remember, I nursed her back to health from her deathbed last spring while you were waiting for your lover in Paris.”

He stood up and headed for the door. “My reasons are my own. I don’t have to explain them to you or anyone.”

But she blocked his way. “I think you don’t have any good reasons to divorce Miriam, and that’s why you can’t explain them to me or to her. I bet you can’t even explain them to yourself.”

Judah scowled back at her. She wasn’t going to trick him into telling her about Aaron and his vow.

Then her expression softened and she led him back to the table. “Judah, I know that you’re what they call a Ganymede. I know that Aaron was one, and other merchants as well, including Elisha and Giuseppe.”

He sank onto the bench, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Rachel sat down next to him.
He hasn’t tried to deny it
. “As far back as I can remember men have undressed me with their eyes. At first I thought that you just hid your desire better than most, but after years traveling with other merchants, I realize that men who look at me without lust are often attracted to other men instead.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know if you can appreciate how safe I feel with Ganymedes, compared to other men, and that’s why I’ve cultivated their business, and their friendships.” Her voice hardened. “But I’ve never known any of them to divorce their wives for another man. To avoid suspicion, they’re usually exemplary husbands—as you have been until now.”

“I do understand how you feel about men staring at you. I’ve had to live with both men and women lusting after me.”

She was surprised by the empathy she felt for him. “We both know you don’t need a divorce to play the game. So why divorce Miriam?” He didn’t seem so defensive now; maybe he would tell her the truth.