Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (42 page)

Eliezer shook his head and went back to Rachel’s letter.

“Moses haCohen says that Papa is strong and should soon be better— may the Holy One protect him,” it continued. “Moses has also approached me about a match between Shemiah and his younger daughter, Glorietta. I have no objections, as Shemiah seems to fancy the girl, but the decision will wait until your return. In the meantime, I have allowed our children to travel to Paris with Miriam.

“Joheved is disappointed that Shmuel will stay there until summer to study with the monk Victor after Zipporah returns to Troyes. My sister hoped that Shmuel would give up his Edomite studies when Robert and Étienne founded their new abbey in Cîteaux last spring. I understand how a Talmud student might leave his wife at home, but I cannot fathom what Shmuel finds so interesting in the Edomite’s teachings or why Papa and Meir permit him to delay the mitzvah of procreation to study them. I also don’t understand why Meir allows his younger daughter to be betrothed before the elder, yet Samson ben Joseph, our old
parnas
’s grandson, will be marrying Leah, not Hannah.”

Rachel concluded by urging him pray the Third, Thirteenth, and Ninety-first Psalms against demons, with Papa in mind, and finally ended with prayers for his good health and success in business, and assurances of her eagerness to see him again.

Eliezer reread the two letters, his spirits sinking. For the last three years Rachel’s efforts to find a competent fuller had been fruitless, and each year Eliezer grew more hopeful that she would finally accept the necessity of their spending part of the year together in Troyes and part in Toledo.

But Rachel wouldn’t leave Troyes until Salomon recovered his health, and how likely was that after this recent setback? Yet Eliezer couldn’t imagine living without his wife: he missed her terribly for the six months they spent apart. Was there nothing he could do except wait until Salomon died?

As for Rachel’s complaint about Shmuel’s studies in Paris, Eliezer understood well the attraction of secular knowledge. It had taken four years, but he’d finally mastered Ptolemy and Aristotle sufficiently to understand how their systems of astronomy differed. Now, after so many observations and calculations, he was coming to agree with Abraham bar Hiyya that both ancient scholars might be wrong.

Aristotle, believing that creation must be as perfect as the Creator, declared that the cosmos consisted of a series of perfect spheres with the earth at its center, and that the sun, moon, fixed stars, and planets move at uniform speed around the motionless earth. Unlike Aristotle, Ptolemy painstakingly observed the motion of the heavens and thus determined that they did not follow Aristotle’s model.

Both agreed that fixed stars were firmly attached to their celestial sphere, which lay beyond that of Saturn, the furthermost planet. But Ptolemy postulated his own model for the planets’ movements. Loath to abandon Aristotle’s system of perfect circles and spheres, Ptolemy explained that each planet orbited a point on a small circle, called an epicycle, which in turn traveled in a large circle around the earth. The moon’s motion was more complicated, requiring a three-orb system.

Eliezer had a feeling there must be another, simpler explanation. While he admired Aristotle and Ptolemy’s vast erudition, he lacked the other astronomy students’ absolute belief in the ancient scholars’ pronouncements. He had the Talmud to thank for that skepticism, for in the ninth chapter of Tractate Pesachim there was a Baraita that taught:

Eliezer had so many questions. What if both Rav Acha and the Sages were correct? What if stars and planets moved independently, each revolving in their own sphere? What kind of observations and calculations would he need to prove, or disprove, his idea? Every winter Eliezer arrived in Toledo determined that this year he’d discover the answers.

Yet without continual practice, mathematics and astronomy were soon lost. Each time Eliezer returned, he wasted precious weeks relearning material he’d previously understood before he could begin examining what Abraham had done in his absence. And only after meticulously checking Abraham’s work could Eliezer ascertain what to try next. Then finally, just when he felt on the verge of formulating a new description of how the planets and fixed stars moved, it was time to return to Troyes.

If only he didn’t have to spend so much time away. Pesach now dealt with Samson’s old trading partners so successfully that Eliezer didn’t need to travel to Prague or Kiev for furs anymore. Pesach liked to travel and preferred a merchant’s status to that of a vineyard worker; it would be easy for the youth to bring furs to Toledo and return with spices and dyes supplied by Eliezer. Shemiah was almost fifteen now and would soon be old enough to travel with Pesach. Eliezer had no doubt that his clever son would easily learn everything he knew and eventually take over his role entirely. Then Eliezer could devote his full attention to astronomy.

“Excuse me, Eliezer.” The voice belonged to his host, Dunash. “Is there bad news from home?”

Eliezer realized that his unhappy expression had made Dunash suspect the worst. “Not at all. My father-in-law was ill, but now he’s better. It’s just that my wife’s letters remind me how much I miss her.”

“As long as we’re on the subject of women . . .” Dunash hesitated and cleared his throat. “It damages your reputation that you frequent brothels. People are gossiping.”

Eliezer fought the urge to say that people should concern themselves with their own behavior. “What would they have me do? Live like a monk?”

“Take another wife,” Dunash replied. “Or a concubine.”

“Rabbi Gershom has forbidden a man from having more than one wife.”
And Rachel would never agree
.

“Rabbi Gershom’s laws apply only in Ashkenaz. Men here commonly have several wives.” Dunash smiled at Eliezer’s skeptical expression. “Perhaps not several wives, then, but often a concubine or two.”

“That is more acceptable than going to a brothel?” Eliezer protested. A harlot relieved his needs and it was over. A wife expected attention and emotional attachment, responsibilities he was not eager to undertake. Rachel’s complaints about his journeys were bad enough; he didn’t need another wife in Toledo, whining that he spent too much time in Troyes.

Dunash nodded. “Since your wife is back in France, you wouldn’t have to worry about the two women getting along.”

“Assuming, just assuming, that I wanted to acquire a concubine,” Eliezer said slowly, his mind turning over that option. A concubine wouldn’t require the same level of commitment as a wife, and Rachel wouldn’t be so upset. Not that he intended to ask her permission. What his wife didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Do I buy one at the slave market like any other servant?”

“First see if any of my current maidservants appeal to you,” Dunash suggested. “They are excellent workers and my wife already trusts them in our home.”

Eliezer’s
yetzer hara
immediately provided him with a mental picture of Gazelle. A Nubian beauty with a cheerful disposition, she was assigned to clean Eliezer’s rooms. Having a concubine at home, available whenever he wanted, would certainly be more convenient than hiring harlots. And if Rachel should visit, Gazelle could go back to being a housemaid.

“Now that you mention it, one of your slave girls does interest me.” Eliezer hoped his flushed face wasn’t obvious. The idea of having two women was growing quite attractive.

Dunash chuckled. “Let me guess—Gazelle.”

“How did you know?”

“My wife was not pleased when I bought her last year, and she made it clear that she would not tolerate a concubine under her roof,” he replied. “But Gazelle is such a good worker that my wife is loath to sell her. So she sent Gazelle to serve you, hoping you would find her attractive.”

“I can’t take a woman you acquired for yourself.”

Dunash sighed. “Gazelle was an old man’s passing fancy, and after considering the matter, I prefer peace in my house. A wife in Toledo and concubine in Valencia are plenty for me.”

Eliezer raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He knew the man held some position in Alfonso’s court (favoring neither Christians nor Muslims, Spanish Jews used their neutral status to gain employment as diplomats and courtiers), but Dunash seldom spoke of his official duties.

“How does Valencia fare under El Cid?” Eliezer tried to sound nonchalant. Valencia was a costal city that ought to be a safe port while the Berbers were attacking Granada. “Is he truly the hero that the stories paint him to be?”

“Usually these great warriors are poor administrators, but El Cid rules Valencia competently, attracting both Edomites and Moors to serve in his administration.” Dunash cleared his throat. “Officially, of course, he governs in Alfonso’s name, but El Cid has always been his own man. I have enjoyed negotiating with him.”

“You don’t sound like these negotiations will continue.”

“El Cid is almost sixty. Who knows who will rule after him?” Dunash said. “But enough of politics. Shall I send Gazelle to you tonight?”

“Let me think about it,” Eliezer replied. But his
yetzer hara
knew that, if not tonight, Gazelle would share his bed soon enough. After all, why should he suffer when it was Rachel’s decision to remain in Troyes instead of joining him in Toledo?

 

Unaware of the threat to her own marriage, Rachel looked up in annoyance as the calm in Miriam’s cellar was shattered by the furious marital argument outside between Shemayah and Brunetta. Miriam and Zipporah paused from sorting their medicinal herbs, and Zipporah blanched as she recognized her parents’ voices. Shemayah was shouting his insistence that Brunetta leave their daughter’s house, where she’d been staying since Zipporah’s miscarriage several months earlier.

None of Brunetta’s words reached the cellar, but she obviously refused his demand, for the quarrel continued.

“Mama won’t go back to him, even though I’ve been fine for weeks,” Zipporah said. “She’s finally had enough.”

Shemayah’s anger grew, filling the air with curses, until he was interrupted by Brunetta shrieking, “You can’t curse me, you foul dog. I’m already cursed.”

Epithets flew back and forth until Brunetta taunted her husband, “Divorce me then; write me a
get
. I dare you.”

“And give you the pleasure, you witch—never!” This was followed by a brief silence, which ended with the gate slamming as Brunetta stumbled down the cellar steps into their midst. Tears running down her face, she fell into her daughter’s outstretched arms.

Miriam scowled. “To think that a
talmid chacham
like Shemayah would refuse his wife a divorce so as to increase her suffering.”

“That’s not why he won’t give me a
get
.” Brunetta’s voice was bitter. “He has no intention of paying my
ketubah
. That’s what I get for marrying a poor man.” If a man died or divorced his wife, she received a
ketubah
of two hundred dinars before any creditor, even before his children.

“But, Mama,” Zipporah said. “What need do you have for your
ketubah
? Papa has already provided my dowry, and you still have money your father gave you.”

Rachel faced Brunetta squarely, her hands on her hips. “If you don’t mind forfeiting your
ketubah
, you can initiate the divorce. Then the
beit din
will compel him to write you a
get
.”

“Nobody can make that man do anything, not even a court of seventy judges.”

Miriam smiled with assurance. “Your husband will do it when the
beit din
threatens him with
herem
. If he’s excommunicated, Shemayah will never be able to teach Torah again or even enter a synagogue. No Jew will speak with him or tolerate his presence.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face him in front of the court,” Brunetta replied. “And what will people say?”

“People will say you should have done it long ago,” Zipporah said firmly. Then her voice softened. “Don’t worry, Mama. You’ll always have a home with Shmuel and me. Who else would watch our children when I’m out delivering babies?”

“Of course you’ll be strong enough,” Miriam said. “Look how long you’ve been studying Torah with me; surely that has given you a great deal of strength.”

“And you won’t have to face the
beit din
alone.” Rachel added her support. “We’ll go with you.”

The following Thursday, the
beit din
of Troyes met without its eminent head or his sons-in-law, who were prohibited from judging cases involving relatives. But there was no need for their superior knowledge: the case was clear.

“Why do you seek a divorce from your husband?” a judge asked Brunetta, his expression kindly.

She forced her voice to remain steady and replied with the reason all women used, “I find this man repulsive. I can no longer live with him.”

The other two judges nodded. The temporary head judge stared at Shemayah, who frowned back at him, and declared, “No one should have to share a basket with a snake. This court demands Shemayah to write his wife Brunetta a
get
and deliver it into her hand.”

Rachel exchanged anxious glances with Joheved, who was in town to watch the proceedings. Shemayah had been Meir’s study partner for years, but Joheved still disliked him as much as the day they’d met, when he’d declared his disapproval of women who studied Torah. The cruelty he’d inflicted on Brunetta for not giving him a son, as if the poor woman hadn’t suffered enough watching her baby boys die, only infuriated Joheved further.

But Shemayah smiled triumphantly. “As she has surrendered her
ketubah
claim, I will write it immediately, with this court as witnesses.” He produced a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a vial of ink.