Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (14 page)

In the end there were nine of them, four pairs and Salomon. Meshullam, the only one who could understand Jacob’s speech, was the obvious partner for his son, and the doctor sat with Samuel. They started in the tenth and final chapter of Tractate Pesachim, with the Mishnah that began:

Except for Jacob, they took turns reading the Gemara out loud. His eyes followed the reader, and when he wanted to ask a question, he spoke slowly to his father, who then repeated it for him. They had reached a debate in the text over when exactly during the seder one is required to recline.

Moses had just recited,
when Jacob stopped him and asked, “Why?”

“A good question.” Salomon nodded his approval. “Meir, I think you can give your nephew the answer.”

“Matzah is to commemorate our freedom, so we recline like free men when we eat it.” Meir tried to hide his resentment. “However,
maror
is a reminder of our slavery, so we don’t recline at that time.”

When Salomon asked Miriam to read the next section, she sat up straight and eagerly took the manuscript. She hadn’t read Talmud in almost six months and didn’t want to make a mistake in front of the others. So she began slowly,

Rachel’s voice rose as she interrupted her sister. “Why should being married exempt a woman from this mitzvah?”

“Because she is subservient to her husband and therefore not free,” Moses replied.

Meir admired the doctor’s equanimity. If the man was surprised or disapproved of women studying Talmud, he hid it well. “The text I saw in Mayence didn’t have the words, ‘in the presence of her husband.’ It said only,

“Now all women are exempt from reclining?” Rachel’s eyes were blazing. “Papa, is this so?”

“I was taught that women are exempt from reclining because they do not usually eat in this manner, not even free women.” Salomon tried to mollify his daughter. “But don’t be so hasty, read the next line.” Which Rachel did.

“And we are all prominent women here,” Miriam declared.

Salomon smiled and directed her to the next paragraph.

Miriam saw that the following line offered no explanation for this, so she asked, “What does Rav Yehoshua mean, Papa?”

Salomon surveyed the group. “What do you think?”

Joheved replied, “The Israelites were redeemed from Egypt because of their righteous women. It says so in Tractate Sotah.”

“Because all Israel, men and women, experienced the miracles that the Holy One performed in Egypt,” Samuel said.

“Women are obligated to eat matzah at the seder, though they are usually exempt from positive time-bound mitzvot,” Rachel said. “Therefore they should also be obligated to drink the four cups of wine. We don’t need to mention a miracle.”

“But Rav Yehoshua does mention it,” Miriam said. “So we want to know why.”

“I think what he means is that women were enslaved just as the men were, and therefore the miracles that redeemed the Israelites freed both men and women.” Meir supported his father.

“Meir is correct,” Salomon said, and pointed out a Baraita on the next page.

“This shows us that the miracle of the Exodus was performed for every Israelite,” he concluded, “which is why we all celebrate Passover together.”

The next few mornings Miriam, Rachel, and Joheved picked coltsfoot and daisies for Samuel’s tisane, and in the afternoon they studied Talmud with their father and the other men. Miriam felt a wisp of regret when she saw Marona playing chess with Mathilde or Francesca, but she stayed with her sisters. Each morning she asked Joheved if Meir had said anything about not going back to Troyes, but her sister shook her head each time.

Passover was nearly over when Meir broached the subject.

“Joheved,” he began hesitantly. “This month I’ve spent with my father has forced me to confront his future and mine.”

“I’ve been thinking about that as well,” she said.

“You have?” Meir stared at her.

“It’s clear that Jacob can never be lord here, while Isaac, may the Holy One protect him, is perfectly healthy. And we may hope to be blessed with more sons.”

“That’s true,” Meir said. “While my father has apparently regained his health, he is still an old man.”

“Which means that it will eventually fall to our family to manage this estate.” Joheved used the words “eventually” and “our family” to prepare Meir for her conclusion.

“Which means that it falls to me, now,” he corrected her.

“You’re not going back to the yeshiva?” She had to ask him even though she knew the answer.

“
Non
.” His voice was firm. “I must take on my obligations here. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave Troyes too.”

“I’m not sorry for me, I’m sorry for you.” She reached out and took his arm to console him. “I’m content to live anywhere you live, if it’s where you want to live.”

He shook off her hand. “You know very well where I want to live. Don’t make this worse with your pity.”

“Then stay in Troyes and let the steward manage the manor,” she begged him. “You can come back and check on things.”

“Absolutely not.” He cut her off when she tried to speak again. “I must fulfill my duty to my parents.”

The next day Meir found himself alone with Samuel while putting away their tefillin after morning prayers.

“Meir,” his father said. “You’ve been a devoted son these last months, but I think you’ve done your job. I’m well enough now that you can return to the yeshiva.”

Meir took a deep breath. “I’m not going back to Troyes, Papa. I’m staying in Ramerupt and learning to run the estate.”

“What!” Samuel’s face darkened with fury. “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me, this is the respect you give me. Marona! Marona, where are you?” He was immediately overcome with a coughing fit.

Marona and Joheved rushed in from the kitchen. Samuel pointed a shaking finger at his astonished son. “Your son, for if what he says is true, he’s no son of mine, has the temerity to tell me that he’s not going back to the yeshiva.” He had barely gotten the words out when he began coughing again.

“Not going back to the yeshiva?” Marona gasped. “After your father and I have worked so hard ... to send you to school ... after all we’ve saved ... and sacrificed ... so we could have one son ... a scholar.” Her words were punctuated by sobs. “How can you be so ungrateful ... and perverse?”

Samuel walked over and put his arm around his weeping wife. “Now look at what you’ve done,” he accused Meir. “I want you to apologize to your mother at once, pack your things, and get ready to return to Troyes. I intend to die with a
talmid chacham
for a son, whether you like it or not.”

“But Samuel.” Marona wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “We can’t make the boy study if he doesn’t want to.”

“I’m his father. If I say he studies Torah, he studies Torah.”

Meir was paralyzed with shock at his parents’ unexpected response, but finally he managed to speak. “I do want to study Torah, more than anything.” He looked at Joheved. “But who’s going to manage this manor if I don’t learn to do it?”

“I’m not in the grave yet, and even if I were, your mother is a competent administrator.” Samuel still sounded angry.

“Papa, be reasonable,” Meir said. “You and Mama won’t live forever. How will I support my family then?”

“Your mother and I will work out something. Your job is to study Torah and become a great scholar.”

Joheved watched with amazement. She had never known how important Meir’s being a scholar was to his parents, and apparently Meir hadn’t known either. Now was the time to present her sister’s solution.

“Miriam says that noble ladies administer their husbands’ estates all the time,” she said. “Could I learn how to do it?”

Marona looked at her with respect. “Of course you could, you’re an intelligent girl.” Marona gave her husband a hopeful smile. “Then Meir could study in Troyes while Joheved and the children lived here with us.”

Samuel and Marona couldn’t miss the stricken look that the young couple exchanged at this suggestion. Samuel’s eyes were twinkling as he said, “Just because Meir studies in Troyes doesn’t mean he has to live there. Look at the doctor. During Passover he stayed with us and still visited his patients in Troyes every day.”

“I suppose it’s not too far to ride,” Meir said slowly. In just a few moments, his world had been turned over and righted again in a different spot.

“But Meir doesn’t need to start riding so much yet.” Marona was already being practical. “Let them both stay in Troyes and Joheved can ride out here a few times a week.”

Meir stood up and faced his father. “I can’t let Joheved shoulder my obligations. I must have some part in running this place if I am to be the lord here.”

“All right, stubborn one.” Samuel thought for a moment. “You can oversee the wheat harvest and the manorial court.”

“And when the lamb buyers come in the spring,” Meir added.

“Very well,” Samuel said. “But when Salomon’s family leaves, you’re going with them.”

Joheved let out her breath in a sigh of satisfaction. Miriam would be so happy to hear that they’d be returning to Troyes together.

J
udah tried to dry his eyes, but his sleeve was soaking wet from the rain.
What is wrong with me?
This was the second time he’d cried in two months. As unpleasant as seders in Paris had been the last few years, Passover at Shmuli’s family’s was worse. Different food, different songs—everything that night conspired to make him cry with homesickness.

But he wasn’t welcome at home anymore. Even his brother had apparently abandoned him. Judah gazed down at the turbulent river and, feeling utterly alone, leaned forward into the wind. Nobody would miss him if he were gone.

“Careful there,” a familiar voice called out as a firm hand took hold of his arm. “The Rhine’s strength and beauty are magnificent, but it’s too slippery here at the edge.”

“I saw you at services this morning,” Reuben continued. “You were looking pretty glum and so I followed you.”

Dazed, Judah allowed Reuben to lead him to Josef’s Grotto, where the older man gently removed Judah’s sodden cloak and hung it near the fire. Then he propelled Judah upstairs and into a room. Putting up no resistance, Judah sat on the bed, silent and trembling, as Reuben stripped him of his tunic, hose, and boots.

“I’ll take these wet clothes downstairs to dry.” Reuben rummaged around in his trunk, pulled out some garments, and tossed them to the stunned young man. “Come down as soon as you’re dressed; I’ll order you some nice hot soup.”

Judah could barely dress himself, he was shaking so hard. Moments before he had been completely vulnerable, naked except for his chemise, on Reuben’s bed. The next thing he knew, Reuben was sounding like his mother, upset at him coming home in wet clothes and worried about him catching cold. Sure enough, when Judah arrived at Reuben’s table, his rescuer was clucking about how Judah’s soup better be hearty enough and not just broth.

When he saw that Judah hadn’t touched his bowl, Reuben leaned over and said softly, “Fasting won’t weaken your
yetzer hara
. It will just make you light-headed and unable to study.” He sadly surveyed the disheveled young man who could have been himself a decade ago. “Believe me, I should know.”

Judah studied Reuben’s concerned expression, then picked up a piece of bread and began eating the soup. It was delicious.

“They say the greater the man, the more powerful his
yetzer hara
. But that’s no consolation if yours is too powerful to control.” Reuben signaled to the serving girl, and she left the tureen on their table.

Judah grabbed Reuben’s arm. “But how can I fight my
yetzer hara
? Tell me what to do!”

Reuben thought about his own youthful days, when he had first met Natan. His
yetzer
had been so powerful then—could anything have controlled it? “Where do you live? I mean where is your home town?”

“Paris. Why do you want to know?”

“I thought it might be someplace far away.” He shook his head slowly. “The best thing for a young man like you is to study at a yeshiva close to home so you can live with your wife. Use your
yetzer hara
to father sons.”