Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (58 page)

But when she stepped into the lying-in chamber, she saw that her prayers had been answered. Zipporah was already on the birthing stool, sweat dripping down her face, grunting with exertion. Brunetta sat on one side and Joheved on the other, taking turns whispering protective Torah verses in her ears. Three sets of tefillin were tied to the bedposts, which Rachel assumed must belong to Papa, Meir, and Shmuel. Or was one of them Joheved’s?

Out of habit she inspected the circle chalked on the floor, but there were no breaks in the protective ring surrounding Zipporah. All four walls, plus the door, were clearly chalked against demons with the magical inscription “Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf, Adam and Eve, barring Lillit.” There was nothing else to do except pray Psalm 120, and, just in case, Rachel also whispered Psalm 126, for a woman whose children die.

Their ministrations were successful, for the church bells had not yet chimed Compline when Zipporah was delivered of a healthy baby girl.

“Mazel tov!” Rachel joined the women shouting congratulations.

Their happy voices carried to the men downstairs, who in normal circumstances might have thought the child was male to merit such joy. Brunetta broke down weeping, and tears filled Joheved’s eyes as she made the blessing
Baruch ata Adonai
. . .
Hatov Vehametiv
, “Who is good and does good.”

Joheved stared defiantly at Miriam and Rachel, as if daring them to correct her for saying the blessing a parent traditionally makes at the birth of a son. But if Zipporah’s sons were under a curse, the Holy One was indeed doing a good thing in giving her a daughter.

Shmuel must have thought so too, because he and Meir hosted a banquet the day of the baby’s naming as extravagant as any given after a brit milah, an especially generous gesture since the Hot Fair opened the following week and Troyes was full of merchants. So little Marona, named for her Meir’s mother, was joyously welcomed into the world.

All agreed that her future was assured. Born on a Friday, she would grow to be pious; under the dominion of Venus she was destined to enjoy wealth and physical pleasures. Not that one needed any knowledge of astrology to predict that the daughter of Shmuel and Zipporah would be pious and wealthy.

 

Rachel, however, was not destined to enjoy Marona’s naming feast. Midway through morning services, Rivka tugged on her sleeve and pointed to Shemiah pacing the synagogue entry hall below. Rachel tried to leave unobtrusively but tripped over a bench in her hurry, so that when she reached the bottom of the stairs, her foot was throbbing, adding physical pain to her considerable emotional turmoil.

Shemiah had returned without Eliezer—again.

“I brought a letter for you from Papa,” Eliezer said. “I left it on your bed so you could read it in private.”

Rachel leaned on her son’s arm as they headed home, Rivka holding her other hand. “Have you read the letter, Shemiah?”

“
Non
, I haven’t. But Papa discussed it with me.”

She could have asked him how business went in Toledo or told him about Zipporah’s baby girl, but her tongue seemed frozen to the roof of her mouth. Rivka and Shemiah were silent as well, until they reached her bedroom door.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” Shemiah said, his somber tone fueling her trepidation.

“So will I,” Rivka added. “I want to know what Papa wrote too.”

Rachel kissed each of them, thankful for their support, then limped inside and closed the door. The folded piece of parchment lay on top of the covers, pale in stark contrast to the dark blanket. She hesitated to touch it, as if it were poisoned, but eventually put her fear aside and picked it up. With nary a word, Eliezer hadn’t come home in almost two years; what could he say now to hurt her more?

Abruptly she unfolded the missive and held it up. “Dearest Rachel,” it began. “There is not a day when I don’t long to see you. I have learned of Troyes’ precarious position as your sovereign recovers from his wounds and believe more strongly than ever that there is no future for our people in Ashkenaz. So I urge you one more time to join me in Toledo, for I have no intention of returning to France.”

Rachel wiped away the tears brimming in her eyes. “You still have the conditional
get
I wrote you years ago. If you cannot bring yourself to live with me here, you should take it to court, obtain a divorce, and be free of me. Between the house and jewelry in Troyes, there are ample funds to pay your
ketubah
. I myself am content to remain married to you, since a wife in France makes no difference to my life in Sepharad. But you are too young to be left in living widowhood.”

Here the letter closed abruptly, with no wishes for her good health or any other casual chitchat. Rachel dropped the letter on the bed, then lay down next to it and wept.

She never wanted to leave this room. How could she endure the shame of being abandoned by her husband? How could she endure the pain of this rejection?

Sometime later there was a soft knocking on the door, followed by Shemiah’s pleading voice. “Please, Mama, let us in.”

Wordlessly she handed Eliezer’s letter to her son, who scanned it and passed it to Rivka. Neither child shed any tears.

“Are you moving to Toledo?” Rivka’s voice was trembling with fear. “I don’t want you to go.”

Rachel pulled her daughter close, not sure who was comforting whom. “I’m not moving anywhere.”

“I don’t care if Papa never comes back,” Rivka said. “Uncle Judah’s been nicer to me than Papa ever was, and I’m glad he’s going to be my father-in-law.”

Rachel sighed at Rivka’s misguided effort to be supportive. There was nothing Rachel wanted more than for Eliezer to return to her, but she would not display her weakness to her children.

“Are you going to get divorced?” Shemiah sounded more angry than frightened at the prospect.

“I don’t know; I just don’t know. I need to think about it.”

thirty-two

For six months Rachel told no one about Eliezer’s letter. She tried to learn more from Shemiah and Pesach, but, surprisingly, neither had spent much time with her husband. Both reported that Eliezer was like a man possessed, spending nearly every waking hour at the observatory.

“Even his own son could not drag him away from his calculations for a decent conversation,” Shemiah complained. “All Papa wanted to talk about was how he was going to prove that the planets moved around the sun.”

“How did he look?” Rachel asked. “Was he well?”

Shemiah shook his head. “He’s lost weight, and he’s as pale as you’d expect for someone who never goes out in the daytime.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Divorce him.” Shemiah was adamant. “He’s taken another wife and made it clear that he’s never coming back to Troyes. And considering how much time he spends looking at the stars, you’d never see him even if you did move to Toledo.”

Rachel was certain that Joheved would agree with Shemiah, especially once her sister knew about Eliezer’s second wife. But maybe Miriam could help her decide what to do; after all, Miriam had rejected a divorce from Judah despite his refusal to use the bed with her. But finding private time to consult her sister was not easy. Rachel was forced to wait until they were collecting the vine props on a windy autumn afternoon.

“Miriam, I need to talk to you about something important.” Rachel looked around to be sure no one was within hearing distance. “Just the two of us.”

Miriam raised an eyebrow and moved to the row behind Rachel.

Rachel didn’t waste time. “Why did you refuse Judah a divorce when he wanted one?”

“That was over ten years ago. Why do you want to know now?”

“Just answer me, please.”

“I don’t regret my decision.” Miriam pulled her mantle closed as the wind blew a swirl of grape leaves around them. “I would have lost my children to Judah, and if he’d moved away, I might never have seen them again.”

“That’s the only reason?” Rachel asked in surprise.

“In nearly every way, Judah was, and is, an exemplary husband. Living with him was not so repulsive that I would have preferred to live alone.” Miriam waited for Rachel’s response, but when none was forthcoming, she continued, “You didn’t answer my question. Why do you want to know?”

Rachel took a deep breath. “Eliezer has offered me a divorce, and I need your advice.” When Miriam gasped, she added, “He wants to live in Toledo and I want to live in Troyes.” She wanted her sister’s reply without mentioning his second wife.

Miriam hesitated, her expression reminding Rachel of their father stroking his beard. “Since you and Eliezer are already living apart, I can think of only one advantage for you to divorce him. And that is if you intend to marry again.”

“Marry again?” Rachel pulled up a vine prop so vigorously that she nearly fell over. “What do you mean?”

“Your children are grown, so he can’t take them away, and you don’t need his income to live comfortably,” Miriam said. “So there is no disadvantage to your getting divorced.”

“Other than the shame and gossip,” Rachel interrupted.

“Since when have you cared about shame and gossip?” Miriam pointed out. “Frankly, the only legal difference between being married to Eliezer and not is the freedom to marry someone else.”

“So you think I should accept his conditional
get
?”

Miriam’s voice softened. “It depends on how you feel. Do you want to be married to him, even if you will never live with him again?”

“I want to be married to him and live with him, but I want to live here.” As soon as she spoke, Rachel knew Miriam would hear a spoiled little girl, pouting because she couldn’t have what she wanted.

Miriam said gently, “But Rachel, that doesn’t seem to be what Eliezer wants.”

Rachel sighed. “Do you think Papa would be disappointed if I got divorced? Nobody else in our family has.”

“He might be, but I’m sure his main concern would be your happiness.”

“So as long as I don’t intend to remarry, there’s no reason for me to divorce?” Rachel asked.
Except that Eliezer has another wife, and he’s only allowed one.

Miriam nodded and Rachel made her decision. “Then I may as well stay married for the time being.”

 

Rachel spent much of the winter in Ramerupt, continuing her studies with Dovid. They had completed the Bible twice, and both felt confident in their ability to understand the other’s language. Rachel was hoping to concentrate on Salomon’s commentary during the upcoming cycle, but Dovid surprised her.

“I’ve been to two of your family’s Passover feasts,” he said. “And while I have vague memories from my childhood, much of the ritual was a mystery to me. According to my understanding of the Torah, Jews were supposed to bring their Passover offering to the Temple in Jerusalem and sacrifice it there. There’s no mention of a home ceremony.”

“That’s correct,” Rachel said slowly. Did she dare explain how the seder is described in the Mishnah?

Papa had strongly cautioned her and Shmuel to never mention Talmud to the
minim
. As long as the Notzrim believed that they and the Jews shared the same holy text, they viewed the Jews benignly, rather like an ignorant younger brother who would eventually become educated. They would be shocked to discover that Jews had postbiblical works that solidified Jewish beliefs and traditions, compiled after the Hanged One’s death and therefore heretical.

“But it’s clear that all Jews celebrate Passover the same way, even with the same words,” Dovid continued. “And from your family’s discussions at the feast, I can tell there’s another book this comes from.”

Rachel merely nodded, unprepared to confirm his conclusion.

“I want to study that book in Hebrew,” Dovid declared.

“Why?”

“So I can be prepared for Passover this year and not sit there like an ignoramus.”

Impressed with Dovid’s reasoning, Rachel began to consider his request in spite of her father’s warnings. Dovid was a Jew, after all, and the Talmud was his patrimony. Besides, with so many recent forced converts, some of whom had not returned to Judaism, the Talmud wouldn’t remain a secret. But it was Dovid’s stated desire to study in Hebrew that gave her an escape. She could teach him Mishnah from the last chapter of Tractate Pesachim, the one that describes the seder. He wouldn’t have to know how much more there was in the Talmud.

“There is another book where the ritual is presented,” she admitted.

“It’s written in Hebrew, and not very long, so I could probably teach it to you before Passover.”

Dovid grinned triumphantly. “I was right; I knew it.”

“We’ll start with you writing down the words I dictate,” she said. “Then you can study them and prepare questions.” She would teach him Mishnah the same way she’d learned it.

“What and when is the afternoon offering time?” Dovid asked exactly the question Rachel expected.

“It is the ninth hour after sunrise, at which time the priests in the Holy Temple sacrificed their animals,” she replied. “If we eat nothing in the afternoon, when it comes time for the Passover meal that evening we’ll be hungry and eat the matzah with a good appetite.”

“I remember your father explaining why the poor recline,” Dovid said proudly. “Reclining at the table is the mark of a free man and Passover celebrates our freedom.”

“Papa teaches that there are two ways of interpreting the part about wine,” Rachel said. “It could mean that those distributing wine to the poor should not give them less than four cups of wine. Others say that it applies to all Israel, that none should drink fewer than four cups of wine during the seder, even if they have to accept charity for the expense.”