Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (23 page)

“But there is a Baraita that teaches: ‘Rabbi Yehuda told us that Queen Helena’s sukkah was higher than twenty
amot
, yet the Sages visited her there and did not object,’” I said. “Therefore such a tall sukkah must be valid.”

Rava shook his head. “That Baraita also says that some sages objected to proof brought by a woman, since women are exempt from the mitzvah of Sukkah.”

“If women are not obligated to dwell in one, then how can they call it Queen Helena’s sukkah?” Abaye protested.

“When the Temple stood, women came to Jerusalem during Sukkot, as part of the mitzvah of assembly for the three festivals,” Rava said, supporting the opinion that women did indeed observe the mitzvah.

“The Mishna clearly states that women, slaves, and minors are exempt from the mitzvah of sukkah,” I protested. Why were Rava and Abaye undermining the Mishna?

“A Mishna in Kiddushin says women are exempt from time-bound positive mitzvot, those to be performed at a certain time or on a specific day,” Abaye pointed out. “Yet women are obligated to observe Shabbat and to fast on Yom Kippur.”

“Yehoshua ben Levi obligated women to all the mitzvot of Passover, Purim, and Hanukah,” Rava added.

“That is because women were involved in the miracles of those holidays,” I retorted. “Sukkot has no miracles.”

“Not any obvious ones,” Abaye said.

Then I thought of a problem. “The Mishna in Kiddushin already exempts women from time-bound positive mitzvot, so why does it need to say here that they are exempt from Sukkot?”

“You might think to compare the seven-day festival of Pesach to the seven-day festival of Sukkot,” Rava replied. “Just as women are obligated there to eat matzah, so too would they be obligated to dwell in the sukkah.”

“You might also say that the Torah’s command, ‘You shall dwell in
sukkot
,’ refers to how you normally dwell at home—that is, a man and his wife together,” Abaye added. “Then you’d say that so too men and women should dwell together in a sukkah.”

I gazed back and forth between Rava and Abaye, who both evidently wanted to include women in the sukkah obligation, even though it contradicted the Mishna. Was this what Rava intended to teach before his masters?

“Going back to our Mishna.” Rava held up his hand. “It ends with an incident that contradicts its own ruling: ‘It happened that Shammai’s daughter-in-law gave birth and he removed the plaster roof to place palm fronds above the bed to make her room a sukkah for the sake of the infant.’”

“Why would the Mishna need to tell us that?” I asked.

“I suggest that the Mishna is missing words and should read that Shammai disagreed and was strict,” Abaye replied.

“So those who are strict, like Shammai, obligate women to the mitzvah of sukkah, while those who are lenient exempt them?” I asked. This was an interesting concept.

Rava nodded. “Some men are also exempt from dwelling in a sukkah, as a leniency. Elders, invalids, bridegrooms, and anyone when it rains,” he said.

“On the other hand, Zeira is so strict that when he married just before Sukkot, he set up his bridal canopy under the sukkah,” Abaye reminded him.

Rava grimaced. “No wonder his wife wanted a divorce.”

I shuddered at the thought of Zeira’s poor bride being deflowered so publicly. Rava might be strict with himself, but clearly this went too far. Father must have followed Shammai in this, for everyone in our family who could get up to the roof ate their meals in the sukkah. As for sleeping in it, most of the men and many of the women did so as well, for it was often the coolest place at night.

 • • • 

The next morning I woke to sounds of our slaves carrying, and sometimes dragging, palm fronds up to the roof to cover Father’s sukkah. Occupying almost the entire roof, it was divided into sections. The biggest was for dining, but there were smaller semiprivate chambers for study during the day and for couples to sleep together at night.

When I was a child, I had loved these final preparations, as our utilitarian roof was transformed into a shady enclosure that was part banquet hall and part giant playroom. But today I would be downstairs in my room, waiting impatiently as Leuton dressed me in new silks, arranged my hair in some elaborate style, and applied my makeup. When at last she anointed me with perfume, Mother would bring in her jewelry case.

Today Rava would betroth me.

Though it was my finest, I would never wear the outfit from Rami’s wedding, for Rava would surely remember it. It was thoughtful of Pazi to choose new material for me. And what sumptuous fabric it was, more suitable for a wedding than a mere betrothal. Instead of the pale pink of my wedding clothes, a maiden’s color, this was vivid rose, glowing and sensual, a hue Pazi deemed appropriate for a woman at peak ripeness and fecundity. The weaver had been a master, shaping warp and woof into a subtle floral pattern. Leuton had fearlessly cut it into pieces, then sewn them to make the garments I would wear today.

Choosing my jewelry consisted of holding up one gold item after another until my sisters-in-law and Mother agreed which were the most flattering. I ended up with long, dangling filigree earrings and a matching necklace, plus several bracelets, armlets, and anklets that would catch the light when I danced.

When it was finally time for me to come downstairs, it sounded like the entire population of Sura was waiting below. As Rava walked toward me, silence spread across the room, like a wave in a pond. Clearly Pazi had chosen his silk as well, for Rava looked splendid in a green tunic and trousers trimmed with the same pink as mine. It was not the bright grass green Rami had worn when we wed but darker and deeper, like leaves on a mature rosebush. I thought it suited Rava’s serious nature perfectly.

He led me to where Father stood, next to table with a large woven basket on top. According to the Mishna, a man could betroth a woman in three ways: with a betrothal document, money, or sexual relations. The Rabbis insisted on using the first two methods together and denounced the third. A man could give an item in lieu of money if it was worth at least a
perutah
, Bavel’s smallest unit of currency.

Evidently Rava intended to betroth me with the basket. I was relieved that he wasn’t going to return Father’s pearl, but surely he could have afforded a basket at least as nice as those Pinchas’s wife, Beloria, made. Still, it was clearly worth more than a
perutah
, and I knew he was poor when I agreed to marry him.

So I held my head high and took the basket as he declared, “Behold, you are betrothed to me as my wife.” This time, with Abaye, Rav Nachman, and Rav Oshaiya present, not to mention Rabbah bar Huna, Rav Hamnuna, and several other local rabbis, no one could doubt that our betrothal was valid. A wave of disappointment and anger washed over me as I looked around and saw that Ukva, Achti, and Chama were not in attendance. What had my son’s guardians been telling him?

 • • • 

The basket was heavier than I expected, so heavy I nearly dropped it. Still, I smiled, nodded my agreement, and had just turned to sit down when Rava continued, “Open it and verify that your betrothal document is the one we agreed on.”

Of course it was, but I put the basket down and pulled off the lid. I gasped with astonishment, for inside were two magnificent mosaic trays—the first inlaid with an image of three such realistic fish I had to touch it to feel the tesserae, and the second with a rooster that looked ready to stand up and crow.

This had to be Salaman’s work, for they were identical to the fish and rooster mosaics he had created for the floor in Sepphoris that also included my portrait. Memories flooded back of how I’d met Salaman on the Fifteenth of Av, at a banquet where eligible maidens danced under the full moon to entice potential bridegrooms. It was his wonderful smile that attracted me, so like Rami’s. At first he merely wanted me to be his model. . . .

I was brought back to the present when Father held up the trays and turned to the witnesses. “All would agree that these are worth at least a
perutah
,” he announced, his voice full of approval. “And are particularly appropriate to the occasion.”

I was too overwhelmed to speak, but I gazed up at Rava so he could see the wonder and appreciation in my eyes.

Those close enough to see the mosaics in detail chuckled appreciatively, for the artist could not have chosen two symbols more representative of fertility and male virility than fish and rooster. Mother nodded toward the kitchen and slaves brought out the wine and bread for Father to bless. The musicians began to play and my betrothal feast began.

Rava and I were seated together, but there was no chance to speak privately with so many people coming up to congratulate us. Sunset would usher in, not the consummation of our marriage, but the holiday of Sukkot, so there was thankfully none of the ribaldry or lewd teasing common at weddings.

Everyone wanted to examine the mosaic trays, and Rava was forced to answer the same questions again and again: “Yes, I got them while visiting the West.” “Yes, I agree, the artisan is highly skilled.” “No, he doesn’t make many trays; his usual commissions are large projects like floors or wall murals.”

I took the opportunity to dance between courses while Rava dealt with his interrogators. My body swayed to the music as my mind gloried in Salaman’s superb craftsmanship and memories of my years in Eretz Israel. I couldn’t imagine how he and Rava, rivals for my affection, had come to such an amicable arrangement that Salaman would have crafted Rava’s betrothal gift. But he ensured that I would never forget him.

 • • • 

Eventually the musicians played their last song. Most women, but not all, excused themselves to get some air—that is, to exchange gossip. I was pleased to see that Mother, Yalta, and Em remained on their cushions near me, their expressions both curious and eager. Once the large room quieted, Father asked Rava to share some words of Torah. Rava squeezed my hand as if to say “wish me luck” and then stood up.

Whatever anxiety Rava may have felt, his deep, resonant voice betrayed no hint of it. Having seen him teach just the month before, I was confident he would impress our guests. He went over the discussion he’d had with Abaye and me, adding debates from other Mishna dealing with time-bound positive mitzvot. Father’s students had returned home for the fall festivals, so many here were not scholars. Thus Rava paused often to be sure everyone was following and was careful to review each subject before moving to a new one.

Just when I thought there was nothing he could do that day to make me adore him more, he shared how Rami bar Chama had taught a Baraita about whether women may perform the mitzvah of leaning their hands on their Temple sacrifices. “The Sages say the sons of Israel do this, while the daughters of Israel do not,” Rava said. “But Rabbi Yose and Rabbi Shimon say the daughters of Israel may lay on their hands if they wish.”

He paused to let them consider this, then continued: “Indeed, the priests would bring an offering into the women’s courtyard so they could lay hands on it, not because there was an obligation for them, but to give the women
nachat ruach
, or spiritual satisfaction.”

I was not alone in enjoying spiritual satisfaction with Rava’s teaching. Abaye’s excitement mirrored that of a gambler silently cheering the racer he’d bet on, now in the lead. Rav Oshaiya watched with the contentment of one savoring a fine cup of wine. Father’s expression was that of a proud brewer relishing an excellent batch of beer from his own dates. Rav Nachman’s face was intriguing to read. With his well-oiled hair and narrow eyes, he appeared like a connoisseur sampling a superb new vintage—nodding in appreciation at first, then greedily downing his cup, and finally shrewdly calculating how he could acquire it for his own table.

 • • • 

That night and for the rest of the week nearly everyone ate and slept in the rooftop sukkah. Rava taught there too, at least until the east wind drove us indoors. Common in the spring and fall, the east wind was hot, dry, and sometimes so strong that nobody would go outside until it subsided. We were all up in the sukkah one morning, men discussing Torah and women chatting while children played nearby, when the wind suddenly gusted so powerfully that several palm branches blew off.

We watched in surprise as the wind tossed them higher and higher, but only when they started to fall did anyone realize the danger. The heavy fronds were crashing down toward the oblivious children. Beloria screamed and jumped up so abruptly that she overturned a table, but even Pazi, closest to the play area, couldn’t get there in time.

I had closed my eyes, rather than watch the disaster unfold, when my skin tingled with the sense of magic. To my amazement and relief, I opened them to see another gust of wind waft the branches up and over the parapet, so they landed harmlessly in the garden.

Every mother ran to hug her children, who of course had no idea what had prompted this sudden display of affection. I had been too distracted by the flying palm fronds to see the spell being cast, and neither Father nor Rav Oshaiya, when I scrutinized them afterward, gave any indication that he had been the one to control the wind. Rava only knew that he hadn’t done it.

 • • • 

At week’s end Rava and I stood at sunset, under the brown and wilted palm fronds, to say our private farewells. In the morning he would leave with Abaye and the others for Pumbedita, and the next time we saw each other would be back here at Hanukah, just before our wedding. Mother and Em had agreed that I needed to stay in Sura until then, for it would take at least two months to learn how to manage a large household and become familiar with Rava’s properties.

He turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “We may see each other again sooner than Tevet. If Abaye is quick to betroth Homa, then you will have to come for their wedding next month.”

He sounded so confident that I had to ask, “How can you be sure you’ll persuade her?”

“Convincing people to do what they want to do is simple,” he replied.

“What arguments are you going to use?”