Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (17 page)

So they turned to the second chapter of Tractate Shabbat, where they soon came to a discussion over what action constitutes the mitzvah of Hanukkah. Was it, as Rava argued, placing the lamp where it can be seen to publicize the miracle? Or was it kindling the flame?

“I disagree with Rava,” Rachel said. “If placement were the important thing, then there would be no need to relight the Shabbat lamp for Hanukkah. You would just leave it burning and move it to where it will be seen.”

“The Gemara agrees.” Miriam pointed to the text that ended the debate.

Rachel nodded. “So if putting the lamp by the door was really the mitzvah, we would make a blessing over that.”

“Which we don’t,” Miriam said.

Suddenly Rachel’s eyes opened wide. “Miriam, this is where the Shabbat lamp blessing comes from. The words are exactly the same—except on Shabbat we say ‘
ner shel Shabbat
’ instead of ‘
ner shel Hanukkah
.’ ”

“What are you talking about?”

“Eliezer and I got into a big argument over this, at his mother’s house of all places.” Rachel’s voice rose with excitement. “He said women shouldn’t bless the Shabbat lamp because there’s no such blessing in the Talmud.”

Miriam grinned. “And you made the blessing anyway.”

“Of course I did, just like Grandmama taught us. I meant to ask Papa about it when we got back.” Rachel shrugged. “But now it doesn’t matter. We’ve found the blessing in the Talmud.”

“But it’s not the same blessing.”

“It’s almost the same. Only one word is different. Look further down the page. There’s the blessing again, only this time the Gemara has all the words, not just the final ones.” Rachel pointed to the passage.

Then she continued reading:

“The Sages question how we can have a commandment to kindle the menorah, since Hanukkah is never mentioned in the Torah,” Miriam said.

“I remember this.” Rachel nodded. “Now they give us two different Torah verses to justify it, both of which teach us that rabbinic mitzvot are as important as biblical mitzvot.”

“And that we have to say blessings over their mitzvot too, just like for Torah commandments,” Miriam added.

“Wait, we skipped the part about women.” Rachel began reading again.

“Papa told us about a Jewish woman who served as an instrument of the deliverance,” Miriam said. “In those days, virgin brides had to submit to the local Greek commander first. So when the high priest’s daughter was betrothed, the general demanded that she lie with him. She went to his tent, gave him so much wine that he passed out drunk, and cut his head off. When his army saw that their general was dead, they fled.”

Rachel said nothing. The story of the high priest’s daughter came too close for comfort.
Does Miriam know?

But Miriam continued innocently, “I still remember how Joheved and I stayed up talking. It was just after she and Meir were betrothed, and I asked her what she would do if Count Thibault insisted on lying with her.”

“What did she say?” Rachel tried not to sound too interested.

“Joheved thought the idea was ridiculous, especially since Thibault was as old as Grandmamma Leah. So I asked her what she’d do if we had a young count, if she’d get him drunk and then cut off his head.”

“And?” Rachel asked. She was so close to confiding in Miriam.
After all, she turned to me when Judah wanted a divorce.
But it was easier somehow to confide in strangers like the doctor than in family, and if she told Miriam then she’d have to tell their judgmental older sister.

“Joheved said that if a lord instituted such a policy, we’d have to move away.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re a child, when you don’t understand what’s involved in packing up everything and moving.” Rachel spoke with such vehemence that Miriam looked at her with concern.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

Rachel looked into her sister’s compassionate eyes and sighed. “How did you find out?”

“Didn’t you think I’d be curious about that lovely new horse that the stable hands said belonged to me?” Miriam asked in return. “When they told me that you rode her several times a week, I decided to follow you.”

Rachel covered her face with her hands. “
Mon Dieu
.”

“Rachel, I’m only sorry you couldn’t unburden your heart to me.”

“I haven’t done anything sinful.”

“Of course not,” Miriam said. “According to Tractate Ketubot, a woman captured by the king to lie with him isn’t sinning.”

Rachel’s green eyes flashed. “But I haven’t lain with the count . . . yet. I’ve managed to put him off until after the Cold Fair.” She explained how she’d used the subtleties of courtly love to thwart Eudes so far.

Miriam frowned, but then her brow relaxed as she turned to her sister. “Do you think you’ll enjoy it with him? After all, one of King Solomon’s proverbs says that stolen waters are sweet and bread eaten in secret is tasty.”

Rachel hesitated. This was a question she never thought to hear from her pious sister, a question she’d been afraid to ask herself. Lying with Eudes meant she wouldn’t have to suffer those endless months of longing and frustration while her husband was away.

“Maybe . . . if he’s skillful.” Then Rachel scowled. “But I hate it that I have no choice, that I can’t refuse him.”

“If you had a choice, then it would be adultery and you wouldn’t do it.” Miriam’s logic was impeccable. “At least you’re not a virgin like the high priest’s daughter.”

Rachel shuddered. “Thank Heaven.”

 

They were still studying Tractate Shabbat when Joheved’s family arrived for Hanukkah; yet Rachel had less time to study than before. Thanks to judicious use of black hellebore that Moses haCohen prescribed, Mama had recovered from her fever, but bouts of dizziness continued to plague her. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Along with the yeshiva students, numerous foreign merchant scholars also needed to be hosted during the festival. Each of the eight nights of Hanukkah required another banquet, never mind that women were supposed to refrain from work during the holiday, a reward for the high priest’s daughter’s effort.

It was only when Moses haCohen and Francesca arrived for
souper
one evening that Rachel excused herself to question them in private.

“What gossip have you heard from the court?” she asked anxiously.

Francesca grabbed Rachel’s hands. “Count Eudes has a new love, one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting. So it’s quite possible he’s forgotten about you.”

“That’s just gossip.” Moses frowned. “What I know for certain is that his previous mistress died in childbirth a few weeks ago, and when someone suggested they call in the Jewish midwife, he categorically refused.”

Rachel flinched. “So we don’t know if the count has actually forgotten about me, or if he’s just obeying my wishes.” Had Eudes let his lover die rather than risk Rachel learning of her? And how heartless to take a new mistress while his previous one was still warm in her grave.

“It’s not mere gossip that he’s wooing another lady,” Francesca insisted. “He has not been faithful to you.”

“I don’t think you should hold him to that,” Moses warned her.

“Come on, you three. The sun has set already,” Eliezer called out from the salon. “We must light the Hanukkah lamp before the stars come out.”

The family gathered by the front door, where Grandmamma Leah’s large silver menorah sat next to an ornate brass one that Moses had bought in Bavel while studying medicine. Determined to enjoy the time with her husband and children, Rachel beamed as Eliezer held little Rivka on his shoulders to watch as Papa measured out the olive oil and then poured some into four of the silver menorah’s little bowls, three next to each other in a line and the fourth above them. After Moses did the same, they said the blessings, lit the upper wick, and then the other three.

Papa’s older grandchildren had studied about Hanukkah and waved their hands eagerly as he asked them questions, each appropriate to their age.

For the adolescents—Isaac, Shmuel, and Yom Tov—there were questions whose answers came from Tractate Shabbat.

“Why do we place the menorah near the door?”

“Rava says that this is to publicize the miracle.”

“Can we place it on either side of the doorway?”

“Rav Shmuel says that we place it on the left side.”

“And why is that?”

“Since the mezuzah hangs on the right side, we will then be surrounded by mitzvot.”

To five-year-old Elisha he asked, “How many flames does our menorah have? Count them with me.”

“One, two, three, four,” Miriam’s youngest son counted. Alvina and little Rivka repeated the words after him.

“But what night of Hanukkah is this?”

“The third,” Leah and Shemiah, both in their seventh year, called out together.

“So why the extra one?”

Before one of older boys answered again, Hannah spoke up. Just on the cusp of puberty, she was taller than her brother Shmuel and almost as tall as Isaac. “The menorah’s flame is to publicize the miracle. We are not allowed to use it for reading or to light our house. So we add an extra flame, whose light we may use.”

“We are also forbidden to light from one Hanukkah flame to another,” Shmuel added. “So we can use the extra one for this.”

Salomon turned to Miriam’s middle son, Shimson. “Why is this festival called Hanukkah?”

“Hanukkah is the Hebrew word for dedication,” the eight-year-old replied. “After the Hasmoneans defeated the Greeks, they had to rededicate the Temple in Jerusalem, which had been defiled by the enemy.”

“And what happened when the Hasmoneans started to rededicate the Temple?” Salomon gestured to Leah and Shemiah.

“There was only enough pure oil for one day,” Shemiah burst out, his dark curls bouncing in his excitement. “But a miracle happened and it lasted for eight days.”

Leah’s face crumpled as her cousin usurped her reply, so Salomon lifted her up on his lap and asked her, “But why did they need the oil to last eight days?”

She smiled up at him. “Because it took eight days to make more oil.”

Shmuel was about to speak again, when Salomon interrupted him. “Enough questions. It’s time to eat.” The Rabbis of the Talmud discussed several reasons for the eight-day holiday, but he would ask about those on another night.

Everyone eagerly headed for the dining table. “I have a question for Mama,” Rachel said as the servants began bringing out dishes of food. “Why do we always have goose or duck at Hanukkah? They’re so expensive at this time of year.”

Despite her dizziness, Rivka had managed to rise from her sickbed to share the holiday meal with her family, and she frowned at her daughter’s question. “As you would know if you spent more time in the kitchen, geese and ducks are the fattest of birds, and from them we render the fat to fry with all winter.” Cold weather ensured that the stored fat would last until Passover.

“When I was a poor yeshiva student, we couldn’t afford to eat goose during Hanukkah.” Salomon tried to take the sting out of his wife’s rebuke. “Now that our family is more prosperous, I wish to make up for all the good food we missed.”

Eliezer chuckled. “If it weren’t for goose fat, how would we make all the fried foods we love to eat at this time of year, especially your mother’s excellent
grimseli
?” He picked up one of the fried strips of dough, dipped it into strawberry preserves, and licked his lips in anticipation.

“Since we are celebrating the miracle of abundant oil, it is only fitting to enjoy those foods cooked with them.” Salomon smiled at Rachel, mumbled a short blessing, and helped himself from a dish containing a mound of walnuts fried with honey. “And I thank you for making the dessert I enjoy above all others.”

“Rabbenu Salomon, why did you make a blessing over your dessert?” Moses’s daughter Judita asked. “I thought blessing bread is sufficient for everything we eat at a meal.”

“You are correct. However, we also bless the wine because it brings us special happiness, and so I say a blessing over these fried nuts because they bring me special happiness.” He popped one in his mouth and grinned. “Now that you are betrothed to my Isaac, you must call me Grandpapa.”

Judita blushed. “
Oui
. . . Grandpapa.”

After the menorah had burned all its oil, the family remained at the table, singing Hanukkah songs and teasing each other with riddles. Rachel tucked her sleepy daughter into bed and hummed a few lullabies, recalling her last view of Eliezer and Shemiah, giggling as they played traditional Hanukkah gambling games with nuts. As she came downstairs to rejoin them, she realized that she had gone nearly a whole evening without worrying about Eudes.

 

Rachel’s respite lasted until Raoul paid his usual post-Hanukkah visit to taste the new vintage. Expecting him on Monday after the festival ended, she left synagogue directly when services were done. The vintage had been a fine one and she anticipated that her current good standing with the count should ensure that Raoul tithed a minimum of it.