Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (36 page)

Joheved’s mouth dropped open. “His mistress?”

“
Oui
, she’s been living there for years. They even have a son together.”

Joheved didn’t know what to say. No sooner had they finished sitting shiva for Lord Samuel than Marona had presented her with the manor’s keys and account books. Joheved had tried to give them back, but Marona insisted. Meir was lord of the estate now, and that meant his wife was its lady.

Emeline began to weep again. “Death alone will free me.”

“This melancholy isn’t good for you or the baby. You should eat more pepper and roasted meats, and other foods that are warm and dry. No more fresh fruit for you.” Joheved put back a pear from Emeline’s plate. “You’re already too damp and cold.”

Emeline promised that she would try to eat better, and at the end of the day they parted. But Joheved heard nothing from Plancy until the following summer, when their merchant stopped by on his way to the Hot Fair. He reported that Emeline’s child had been stillborn, and that she’d been too distraught to write.

Joheved sighed and forced her attention back to her ledgers. Lamb sales had been very good, and with the war still raging between King Henry and Pope Gregory, she followed Samuel’s example and planted the spring fields in oats again. The first year after he died, several of the butchers and grain merchants tried to take advantage of her. They didn’t realize she’d been negotiating wine deals for years, and she watched with pride as the merchants’ shrewd expressions were replaced with grudging respect. But there were two monetary tasks she did not assume. Twice a year Meir presided over the manorial court, and his brother Meshullam continued to sell their wool.

Joheved checked the steward’s numbers, and, satisfied they were accurate, closed the ledger. Now she only needed to pack the outfits her family would wear tomorrow for the
brit
.

 

Judah put down his goose quill pen and peered into the cow’s inkhorn. It was nearly empty. The pot of ink on the table proved empty as well. Not wanting to disturb Miriam and the new baby, who were napping upstairs, he tiptoed to the cabinet that held his writing supplies. There were several inkpots, none of which contained any ink.

Just what he needed—out of ink with the Hot Fair still two months away. Maybe Eliezer could get one of his merchant friends to bring some back from the Mai Faire de Provins. It was Salomon who suggested that the two of them study together, and, despite their disparate styles, the match was a good one. Judah wanted to understand everything, and Eliezer wanted to know everything.

If it weren’t for Eliezer, Judah would remain perpetually on the same passage, plumbing its depths, while if it weren’t for Judah, Eliezer would rush through a chapter, content with memorizing only its most superficial meaning. One trait they had in common was impatience with anyone less intelligent. Thus the match spared them both a good deal of aggravation, as well as sparing other less clever students their disdain.

Unlike most study partners, they shared little of their private lives. Judah had refused to teach him the Arayot, insisting that Meir was more qualified. Marital relations was the last subject he wanted to discuss with his students.

But fate conspired against him. In honor of his youngest daughter’s nuptials, Salomon had been prevailed upon to teach Tractate Kiddushin. Thus Judah found himself confronted with the verse,

Salomon had written that Rav Hisda, had he married even earlier, could have goaded his
yetzer hara
and still not been tempted to sin. Though Judah was almost certain that Rav Hisda was a superior scholar because sinful thoughts did not interfere with his study of Torah, he made a note that Salomon should explain the first line as well as the second one.

Judah considered his own situation. Fate had delayed his wedding until he was almost twenty, giving his
yetzer hara
years to plague him when his only companions were other yeshiva students. Even now intense study with certain men, thank Heaven not Eliezer, could excite him physically as well as mentally. Would males hold such an attraction for him if he had tasted women earlier?

Last summer, after an animated Talmud discussion with Levi during the Hot Fair, it happened again. He’d tried to hide his condition from Miriam when he got into bed, but as soon as he turned away from her, she questioned him.

“Judah, are you upset with me?”

“
Non
, of course not. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s all right, a midwife has to be a light sleeper.” A long pause and then she said, “Do you find me unappealing then?”

“Certainly not. Why do you ask?”

“Judah, we’ve shared a bed for five years. Do you think I can’t tell when you’re aroused?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you so late. I can wait until Erev Shabbat.”

“Rava says that scholars who study in their own town and live at home should lie with their wives every day,” she said.

It didn’t seem right to use the bed if he’d been aroused by someone else, and certainly not every night. “Ben Azzai teaches that scholars shouldn’t be on their wives like roosters.”

Miriam knew the text, too. “And some say that Ben Azzai was concerned instead that scholars might neglect the mitzvah of procreation. Besides, once a day isn’t much. Roosters mate a lot more often than that.”

“They do?” How was he to know how often roosters did it?

Miriam’s voice dropped seductively. “Yom Tov is two years old. I want to have another baby.”

There was no argument he could make to that.

By the end of the Hot Fair she was pregnant, and by the beginning of the Cold Fair she was so ill that using the bed was impossible. Then his
yetzer hara
made his life truly miserable. Other scholars had never looked so attractive, and even some of his students began to stir him. Thank Heaven for cold water; the time-honored remedy was especially efficacious in the winter, even if it sent him to bed with teeth chattering.

Perhaps he should have hired a common woman; that’s what Eliezer was doing before the wedding. But harlots lay with who knows how many men without washing and didn’t care if they were
niddah
. The thought of touching one of them nearly made him gag.

His reminiscing was interrupted when Miriam came down, carrying the baby.

“Where’s Yom Tov? And where is everyone else?” The day before a boy’s
brit
was the most dangerous of all. Most students hadn’t returned after Passover, but there should have been more men studying here than just Judah.

“Eliezer and the others are at your mother’s, hoping to beg some of what she’s cooking for tonight’s feast,” he said. “Papa just took Yom Tov to the privy.”

She sat down next to him, but far enough away that there was no danger of them touching. “I’m sure you’re pious enough to keep the demons away until they all come back.”

“Do you know anyone going to Provins this week? We’re almost out of ink.”

Miriam rummaged through the cupboards. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty at Papa’s. I didn’t realize you’ve been using so much lately. I’ll refill our ink pots tomorrow after the
brit
.”

“Speaking of the
brit
...” Judah looked outside to make sure no one was approaching. “Do you think Avram will let you do any more of it?”

“I’m hoping he’ll let me do the
priah
.” She held up her thumbs, displaying their pointed nails. “If I can peel a grape with these, without any juice escaping, then I should be ready.”

Priah
was the thin membrane between the foreskin and the baby’s penis. Immediately after the foreskin was removed, the mohel used those sharp thumbnails to slit the
priah
and fold it down over the base of the penis, exposing the crown.

“Learning that skill must be more difficult for apprentices who aren’t vintners,” Judah said.

She looked at him pleadingly. “Judah, what can I do so the men will be more accepting?”

He doubted there was anything she could do. She could wait twenty years and perform a thousand circumcisions, but some men would still grumble. “Forget about the men’s approval. Work on winning over their wives. If the mothers see how conscientious you are with their sons, they will support you. Their husbands will come around eventually.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Miriam said slowly. “But sometimes women are more traditional than men. Look how upset Mama was about me and Joheved learning Talmud.”

“But you’re their midwife. You already have their trust.”

Their conversation ended when the front door opened and Yom Tov ran in, Salomon in his wake.

“Mama, Mama.” Yom Tov lifted up his arms, eager to be picked up.

Seemingly without effort, Miriam shifted the baby to one hip and lifted Yom Tov up on the other. Judah couldn’t help but smile. Such an excellent wife he had—and two fine sons. His
bashert
was worth waiting for, even if his
yetzer hara
had all those extra years to harass him. In five weeks they would be permitted to use the bed again, and though he would probably not want to tell Satan “arrows in your eye” when the Hot Fair opened, Judah felt reasonably confident that the merchants would not seem as attractive as during the Cold Fair.

M
iriam’s hand trembled as she sewed Judah into his wedding chemise. “I’m so nervous. What if Avram makes me do the whole
milah
today?”

“He won’t if he sees your hand shaking like that.”

“Judah.” Her voice was a plea.

“Wouldn’t Avram have warned you if he expected you to do the actual cutting?” he said.

“
Non
. The most expert mohel present performs the circumcision—which means an apprentice usually does it for the first time unexpectedly, because the mohel is ill or incapacitated.”

Judah looked up with sudden comprehension. “Or says he is.”

“
Oui
.” She nodded. “That way no one feels resentful that their son was selected for the apprentice’s first attempt.”

“You haven’t done
priah
yet,” Judah said. “Won’t Avram have you do one step at a time?”

“Maybe he’ll think it would be a privilege to circumcise my own child. It’s not that Avram hasn’t trained me in the rest of it. He asks questions constantly, about every detail.”

“Miriam, if Avram should take sick today, I would be honored if you would circumcise my son on my behalf.”

There was a soft knock and then Salomon appeared in the doorway. “Judah, are you ready? We need to leave for services.”

“
Oui
, Papa.” Judah slipped on his red brocade
bliaut
and tied his hair back. Then he was gone.

Miriam settled back to feed the baby, grateful that nursing him would calm her.

Later that morning, as the time for his
brit milah
approached, her anxiety returned. Avram seemed perfectly well, she told herself. If he were going to leave the cutting to her, he would have said something by now. It was only when he recited the mohel’s blessing for circumcision that she relaxed.

But not for long. No sooner did Avram finish the cut, than he handed her the small flask of wine and said, “You can do
motzitzin
and
priah
today.”

Miriam gulped. She had been prepared for
priah
, but, though she’d been practicing for months, she was not expecting to do
motzitzin
, drawing the blood, until later. Luckily Shimson, for that was the name they’d chosen for him, was occupied sucking the wine-soaked cloth she’d given him; he barely flinched as she grasped his penis in one hand and simultaneously slit the membrane with the other. Folding down her son’s
priah
was actually easier than peeling a ripe grape, thank Heaven. Maybe
motzitzin
would also be easier in reality.

As she’d been taught, she first took a mouthful of Papa’s strongest wine. Now came the tricky part. Even with her mouth filled with wine, she leaned over and sucked the blood from her son’s wound, simultaneously swirling the wine around it. How many times had Avram watched as she took a mouthful of wine, and then admonished her not to swallow even a drop as she sucked up more and again some more. If the
brit
had been outdoors, she would have spit the wine-blood mixture into the ground, but inside the synagogue a pail of dirt was provided for this purpose.

When Avram first described
motzitzin
to her, Miriam had to fight to hide her disgust. Ingesting blood was forbidden by Jewish Law. Yet it was written in Tractate Shabbat,

Now that she’d actually done it, she realized that it was much the same as sucking on one’s finger after accidentally cutting it. With her own son, it was almost a kiss. Certainly she’d kissed his little fingers and toes, and his brother’s, many times. And it would probably be the same with other babies.

 

Later that week, the subject of blood came up again in the Talmud; in the Arayot, which Rachel was studying with her sisters.

She stared down at the text in dismay. “Please Joheved, tell me that Tractate Niddah doesn’t say what I think it says about what is permitted on my wedding night.”

Joheved patted her arm sympathetically. The Mishnah said: