Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (5 page)

Eliezer immediately began quoting it.

Rachel knew the text as well and chose this point to interrupt him. “Then Beruria said:

Eliezer frowned at his father-in-law. “You can’t mean that I should just pray for Geoffrey and his men to repent?”

“But it was your idea that the highwaymen should charge merchants for safe passage through the forest,” Judah said.

Miriam leaned forward eagerly. “Now you must find out how large a bribe Odo will need to leave Geoffrey’s men alone. Once you arrange it, they can become toll takers instead of bandits.”

“And you will have done a great service for all the merchants traveling to Troyes from the south,” Salomon said.

Eliezer paused. He’d been desperate when he made that suggestion. Now that he was home, did he really want the bandits rewarded instead of punished? But Beruria was right, and he sighed in resignation. “I expect Geoffrey can earn more money this way than as a thief.”

Rachel scowled. “What’s the difference? Most toll takers are no better than thieves anyway.”

“Now that we’ve agreed.” Eliezer locked eyes with Rachel. “You see why I must keep my oath.”

Her gazed shifted between Shemiah and baby Rivka, whose lives would be jeopardized if he broke his oath. She nodded slowly. “This must all be in place before the Hot Fair closes. The sooner we get your jewels back, the sooner I can sell them.” She continued planning, speaking to no one in particular. “We’ll sell the alum and arrange for the ransom with some men-at-arms to guard it. Then we’ll take it to Geoffrey.”

“Not you,” Eliezer said. “It’s too dangerous for a woman.”

Rachel smiled sweetly, but there was steel in her eyes. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, not after all the nights I spent worrying about you instead of sleeping.”

Salomon stood up and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Hire some extra men, and Rachel can go with you as far as that inn at the forest’s edge. You shouldn’t need more than a day to pay your ransom and explain the duke’s terms to Geoffrey.”

“And if you haven’t returned to the inn by
souper
.” Rachel shook her knife at him, her eyes smoldering. “I’ll hire an army to bring you back.”

Eliezer nodded and returned her passionate gaze. Through all his travels he missed Rachel and their marriage bed almost painfully, and he knew she’d be sharing it far more willingly if they were in agreement.

Besides, the thought of going back into that forest alone terrified him.

 

Eliezer sold his alum quickly and had less trouble than he’d anticipated making a deal with Duke Odo’s chamberlain. Meanwhile Rachel arranged sufficient credit to pay for twenty-five dinars worth of provisions and men to accompany them. Eliezer protested again when he saw her packing swaddling for little Rivka, but Rachel insisted the baby was coming—their daughter wasn’t weaned yet.

Under other circumstances, their short trip to the travelers’ inn would have been a pleasant diversion. But it seemed that far too soon the moment Rachel had been dreading arrived. While the cocks were still crowing, she watched helplessly from the gate as Eliezer, his guards, and their carts disappeared into the dangerous dark forest. Long afterward, she stood there, staring at the empty road in the growing light.

“Mistress, please . . . you must come inside. Breakfast is almost over,” the serving maid announced, jostling Rachel from her vigil.

“Of course.
Merci
,” she murmured, reluctantly following the girl inside.

With little Rivka sleeping peacefully through her morning nap, Rachel brought out her father’s Talmud commentary to study while she waited. But try as she might, her mind wouldn’t focus on the text.
What is Eliezer doing? Has he met Geoffrey yet? How soon will he be back?
She tried to feel confident that Geoffrey would be grateful for their help, tried to ignore the terrible fear that once he had his supplies, he’d kill Eliezer without a second thought.

She paced the inn’s main room, taking in the well-worn tables and benches, the long counter littered with pitchers and mugs, the twin cabinets filled with more cracked and chipped dishes than whole ones, and the large stone hearth that was mostly coals on this warm summer morning.

Everything looked exactly the same as the last time she’d been here two years ago. And exactly the same as the first time she’d stayed here, four years before that.

She sighed. It was now six years since Eliezer’s father and brother died outside Prague, six years since she and Eliezer brought the two men’s effects back to Arles. Until then she’d never realized there was such a large world outside Troyes. Of course she knew that merchants came to the fairs from many faraway places, and she, like other Jews, prayed daily for the rebuilding of Jerusalem. But to travel so far herself—who would have imagined such a thing?

To distract herself from Eliezer’s fate, Rachel let her thoughts roam back to those innocent days during their second year of marriage. The inn’s salon was warm and, half-dozing, Rachel settled into her memories. Back then she’d been more excited than nervous when they’d left at the Hot Fair’s close, baby Shemiah on her hip, one cart loaded with woolen cloth and the other with casks of Papa’s wine.

It had been difficult saying adieu to Papa; his eyes looked so sad and his face was creased with worry. But she’d fought back tears and hugged him tight. Eliezer was her husband; to be separated from him for months would have been agony.

Riding through the forest on her hired palfrey had been pleasant, and the gentle movement kept little Shemiah content in her lap. Sleeping in the forest was both exciting and scary, and when they reached the Saône River, where their things were loaded onto barges, the water appeared too gentle to be dangerous. Still, she gave a prayer of thanks that Joheved had taught her how to swim.

Her anxiety began when they arrived in Lyon, where the mighty Rhône River joined the Saône. Here the current was much swifter, faster than a man could run. But Eliezer assured her that the river was only treacherous in the spring. She squeezed his hand and kept her fears to herself; after his father’s drowning, Eliezer might be more frightened than she was.

Indeed, after only a few days on the Rhône, the river’s constant pull was rather soothing. The ever-changing scenery fascinated her—vast forests interrupted by vineyards, fields of grain, fruiting orchards, and small villages. Eliezer preferred to study Talmud, and their son’s lengthy naps provided plenty of time for her to join him. Rachel was almost disappointed when, two weeks later, they disembarked in her husband’s hometown.

 

If Eliezer was shocked at his mother’s appearance, he said nothing to Rachel. Of course Flamenca was in mourning, having lost both a son and husband, but Rachel scarcely recognized the plump and rosy-cheeked matron who’d attended their wedding the previous year. Flamenca was a shattered old woman: her hair grey, her face wrinkled, her thin hands lined with veins. The woman who had danced so joyously now walked haltingly.

As soon as Eliezer’s mother saw him, she burst into tears, and he began to cry as well when they embraced. Little Shemiah elicited more weeping, and Rachel gulped in alarm as she considered that Eliezer might now be the head of his family, responsible for supporting all of them. But her anxiety eased when Eliezer’s sisters arrived. Eleanor, the eldest, was obviously the one in charge.

“We have ten days until Rosh Hashanah,” Eleanor declared. “That gives us time to decide what merchandise my husband will take to Sepharad and what you will take to Maghreb.”

Eliezer gasped. “I’m going to Maghreb?”

Her husband Netanel nodded. “And if the proper ships land in Arles this week, we should be prepared to leave as soon as a good wind permits.” He turned to Eliezer and explained, “No ships sail in the winter; it’s too stormy and the sailors can’t see enough stars through the clouds to navigate.”

Standing next to her husband, Rachel tried to stifle her surprise. Not only would they be spending Yom Kippur at sea, but a journey to Maghreb and back would prevent them from returning to Troyes for the Cold Fair. She felt her excitement and anticipation growing. Ships didn’t sail all winter, so they wouldn’t be home until after Passover.

Eleanor eyed her brother sternly. “Netanel has spent several years establishing his business contacts in Sepharad. Papa’s associates were in Tunis, and he had just started to turn that territory over to Asher when . . .” Her chin began to quiver and she could no longer speak.

“I understand.” Rachel stood up tall. “Our family mustn’t lose such valuable connections. Eliezer and I will travel to Tunis and assure your father’s clients that nothing has changed.”

“You’re taking the baby?” Flamenca asked. “But I was expecting you to stay with us.”

“Wherever I need to travel, Rachel and Shemiah come with me,” Eliezer replied. Now his voice was firm.

Rachel sighed with relief. It wasn’t just a matter of preventing their separation. Eliezer had almost no commercial experience, while she had been partners with Miriam’s mother-in-law in a jewelry business for years. Without Rachel’s expertise, Eliezer would be at the mercy of the sophisticated Maghreb merchants.

 

She and Eliezer continued to present a united front to his family until Shabbat. They were sitting at Flamenca’s dining table, where Rachel was enjoying the food, so different from the fare she knew. The olive trees that flourished in the Provence countryside yielded massive quantities of olive oil, and the fried fish included ocean varieties she had never sampled before. Citrus trees also thrived there, and several dishes were infused with the sweet pulp of oranges or the tart bite of lemons. There were delicious vegetable sauces, rich with olive oil and eggplant. And some wonderful desserts. Rachel couldn’t help but wish Papa were there: he loved sweets almost as much as she did.

She was wavering between another piece of lemon cake and an almond pastry when Eleanor announced to Netanel, “Rachel taught us the most beautiful blessing for lighting the Sabbath lamp. It’s just like the one for Hanukkah, except you say ‘
ner shel
Shabbat’ instead of ‘
ner shel
Hanukkah.’ ”

Before Netanel could respond, Eliezer burst out, “What are you talking about? There’s no special ritual in the Talmud for lighting the Shabbat lamp, and it’s against Jewish Law to make up new blessings.”

Rachel could feel her face burning as everyone at the table stared at her. “This isn’t a new blessing,” she countered. “My mother and my grandmother both said it.” How dare Eliezer berate her in public? As if he were the only one who studied Torah. “And how do you know it isn’t in the Talmud?” she shot back. “You haven’t studied every tractate.”

Eliezer’s eyes glittered with anticipation. The gauntlet had been thrown. “I’ve studied enough to know that I’ve never seen it.” He sounded very sure of himself. “Considering the lengthy debates the Sages have about the Havdalah blessings said on Saturday night, I can’t believe they would ignore one for the Shabbat lamp when they discuss the blessings said on Friday night.”

Rachel had been arguing Talmud with Eliezer since he first came to Troyes, and she wasn’t going to back down because they were away from home, where people thought women shouldn’t study the Oral Law. Especially not when he acted so patronizing. She tried to think of what Papa would have said.

“Maybe the blessing was so well known that the Sages didn’t need to mention it. After all, when they talk about women dying in childbirth for neglecting the women’s mitzvot, they include the Shabbat lamp along with
mikvah
and challah, both of which do have blessings.”

Eliezer smiled broadly and rubbed his hands together, his objection ready. “The Sages also list lighting the lamp along with setting
eruv
boundaries and tithing Sabbath food, neither of which require a blessing.” He proceeded to quote the relevant passage from Tractate Shabbat.

Ha
.
Women can also quote Talmud
. Ignoring her in-laws’ looks of astonishment, Rachel leaned across the table and said:

Sure she had bested Eliezer, she grinned. “Mezuzah, tzitzit, and kiddush are all mitzvot that require blessings.”

But her husband would not admit defeat so easily. “Rav Huna is talking about a normal house lamp. If a family keeps it burning, their sons will be able to study Torah late into the night. Besides, nobody in the Talmud calls lighting the Shabbat lamp a mitzvah. Certainly the Holy One never commands us to do such a thing.” He crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly. “Lighting the lamp on Friday night is no different from lighting it on Wednesday or Thursday, except that on Friday it must be done before sunset.”

Now Rachel had him. She didn’t care that his family was staring at her with frank disapproval; she wasn’t ashamed of her scholarship. “But Papa says that it
is
a mitzvah. In his commentary on that passage, he writes: