Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (17 page)

It was also frustrating that Miriam was completely uninterested in her reports. “If I hear one more word about this fellow, I will scream,” she warned Rachel. “We will hear from him when he arrives. That is, if he arrives.”

The family had just sat down to
souper
when an attendant from the bathhouse delivered two letters. One was from Azariel, stating that he and Judah had arrived and were washing away the road’s grime; the other was Uncle Isaac’s, introducing his star pupil.

Upon hearing this news, Miriam lost her appetite so quickly that it was an effort to swallow the food in her mouth. Joheved took hold of her sister’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly, while Rachel, after helping herself to Miriam’s untouched dessert, begged to carry back the reply inviting the two men to
disner
the next day.

“Absolutely not!” Miriam nearly shouted. “Judah mustn’t think I’m so eager to see him that I sent my sister as a spy.”

The bathhouse attendant left with Salomon’s invitation and soon returned with Azariel’s response, suggesting that Salomon and Meir join them at services at the New Synagogue, so they could study together first.

Rachel smiled up at her father. “Papa, may I go to services with you and Meir? I won’t bother you. I’ll just sit and pray with the women, and come right home afterward.”

“We’ll see.” Salomon stroked his beard for a while and then sent the messenger off with another invitation, this one to Isaac haParnas’s family.

Rivka knew her husband hadn’t invited the head of the Jewish community solely out of friendship. “Do you really think we’ll start negotiations tomorrow?”

“It’s possible. The moon will be waxing for a few more days, so the timing is auspicious,” he replied. “In any case, he has contacts in Paris who may know Judah’s family.”

“What does Uncle Isaac say about Judah?” Joheved asked as Salomon scanned the letter from Mayence.

“Congratulations on the impending match—Judah is an excellent student, diligent and pious, and so on.” Salomon shook his head. “If Judah has any shortcomings, his rosh yeshiva isn’t about to tell me about them.”

Miriam barely heard a word the others said. Her throat was too constricted to eat, and she concentrated on tearing her bread into small pieces. Until today Judah ben Natan had been merely a figment of her family’s imagination. Now he was in Troyes, and tomorrow Isaac haParnas was invited to
disner
, just in case.

She sat up straight and surveyed her excited family. They might be planning a betrothal, but she wasn’t—not yet. She didn’t care if everyone in Troyes thought Judah was her
bashert
. She wasn’t going to marry him unless she thought so too.

T
hat next morning Miriam could barely restrain her irritation as her mother and sisters chose what foods to serve. She didn’t care what was on the menu; the finest dishes would taste like matzah.

“We’ll begin with fish, followed by meat pies,” Rivka said confidently. “Anna and I will see what looks best among the peddlers’ offerings on Rue de l’Épicerie.”

“You can stop in at the New Synagogue and see what looks best there, too,” Rachel teased. Rue de l’Épicerie, the street of the grocers, was only one block from where Judah and his brother would be attending services.

Rivka ladled more of the stirabout from its pot in the hearth into serving bowls on the table. “I might just do that,” she said. “If only to make sure that you are behaving yourself.”

Joheved took a small spoonful of stirabout, blew on it, and fed it to Isaac. “Do you think we can have capon as well as chicken?” Capon was Meir’s favorite, but traditionally chicken was served at a festive meal.

“I’ll buy some of each,” Rivka said. Heaven forbid she should present a less than ample table.

Of course there would also be stews and soups, egg pancakes, pickled vegetables, and fruit preserves.

“I’ll have Claire bake an apple flummery. It’s one of Miriam’s favorites.” Rivka sighed as she observed Miriam sitting there as if made of stone.

The menu settled, attention turned to her daughter’s clothes.

“Miriam’s pretty skinny. I bet she’d fit into the blue silk outfit that Johanna gave us. It’s so beautiful.” Rachel’s voice was wistful. She would love to wear Isaac haParnas’s wife’s
bliaut
herself, but she was already too big for it.

Miriam had to say something; she would be wearing whatever they decided. “It’s only a weekday. If I wear something that fancy, every woman at services will be suspicious.” Besides, she didn’t want to wear Joheved’s betrothal clothes.

“Then wear your Shabbat wool,” Joheved said.

Rivka surveyed Miriam from head to toe. “What about that gold silk
bliaut
that you wore at Pesach?”

“Please Mama, that’s too elegant to wear, even on the Sabbath.” Miriam twisted the tablecloth in her hands. Wearing that outfit would be tantamount to accepting Judah’s offer.

“Don’t you want Judah to see you looking your best?” Rachel asked. “Or do you want to test his devotion by meeting him in your old clothes?”

“Enough,” Rivka said. “Miriam can wear whatever she likes to services and then change into the gold silk when she gets home.” At the other end of the table, Salomon’s students were hurrying to finish eating before he began the Grace After Meals.

Miriam closed her eyes, nodded, and joined the others in thanking the Holy One for the food they had just eaten. Let Mama dictate her dress. She would save her strength for fighting the match itself, if necessary.

 

At the inn where Judah and Azariel were staying, the two brothers were having a similar discussion. As far as Judah was concerned, his attractiveness was a burden, and he had no desire to draw attention to it. Then the barber did such an excellent job that Judah almost hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror. Insisting that it would be a crime to disguise such a handsome jaw, the barber had removed the sparse tufts on Judah’s cheeks and trimmed his beard so that it merely outlined his face. Then he’d tied Judah’s hair behind like a horse’s tail, further emphasizing his client’s facial beauty.

Now Azariel wanted him to wear a red tunic.

“I hate wearing red,” Judah grimaced. Alvina had made him wear it since childhood. “I’ll never understand how such a conspicuous color can protect me from the Evil Eye.”

“You could wear your purple silk
bliaut
over this blue chemise.” Azariel rummaged around and produced a red ribbon. “At least tie your hair back with this. For your mother’s sake.”

He also made Judah eat a hearty breakfast. “I don’t want your stomach growling during services, or worse, while you’re being introduced to your
bashert
and her family.”

They arrived at synagogue early and sat in the back. Judah expected that Salomon and his students, having already prayed at home, would show up later, and sure enough the large group shuffled in as he finished saying the morning blessings. He recognized Meir ben Samuel immediately; the young man had put on some weight but was otherwise unchanged.

Displaying more confidence than he felt, Judah strode forward to greet his old colleague. “Shalom aleichem, Meir. It’s good to see you again. You’re looking well.”

“Judah, look how you’ve grown.” Meir’s gaze locked onto Judah’s before reciting the blessing Jews make when seeing someone again after a lengthy absence. “
Baruch ata Adonai
... Who resurrects the dead.”

The yeshiva students crowded around in curiosity, and Meir remembered his manners. He could see Rachel peeking over the balcony and said loudly, “Rabbenu Salomon ben Isaac, I’d like you to meet Judah ben Natan.”

“What are you studying?” Judah asked Meir. “I hope it’s something I’m familiar with.”

“We’re in the sixth chapter of Tractate Yevamot,” Meir said nonchalantly. “I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

Judah gulped hard and sat down. Obviously Meir had told Salomon about their final debate. One of the students, Judah thought his name was Eliezer, began chanting from the chapter’s final Mishnah. They were only pages away from where Ben Azzai reveals that his great passion for Torah prevents him from procreating. The text was burned in Judah’s mind.

First Ben Azzai stated, having arrived at this conclusion because in Genesis the verse “Be fruitful and multiply,” is preceded by, “One who sheds a man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” Then Rav Elazar, accusing Ben Azzai of hypocrisy, replied,

Judah’s gut tightened and, at the same time, his respect for Salomon rose as he recognized how the
talmid chacham
intended to test him.

Eliezer was almost finished reciting the Mishnah.

Salomon continued by quoting the Gemara,

Then he asked, “Who can explain this?”

Judah took a deep breath. Salomon wasn’t looking in his direction, but the question was clearly directed at him. This was the battlefield on which he would win his
bashert
. He sat up straight and answered, “We know that after fathering only these two sons, Moses separated from his wife to remain pure whenever the Holy One wished to speak with him.”

All eyes were upon him but none of the students looked confused, so Judah followed with more Gemara:

And explained this as well. “Because in the beginning, the Creator made exactly one male and one female.” Judah’s anxiety lessened as he took in all the heads nodding in agreement.

But then the room began filling with men from the Old Synagogue who usually stayed to study with Salomon and his students. They scrutinized the young scholar, and Judah spoke louder as he quoted the Gemara’s next question.

Sitting next to Shemayah, Meir could feel his study partner preparing to explain the Talmud’s cryptic answer. He put a hand on Shemayah’s arm. “Let’s leave the stage to Judah.”

Meir gave a sigh of relief as Shemayah relaxed back into his seat and whispered, “Very well. I am curious how he’ll explain this section.”

As Judah expected, his audience stared at him with puzzled expressions, so he continued, “Shammai disagrees with Hillel about deriving from creation because we cannot derive a case where alternatives exist from one where no alternative exists.”

“Stand up,” Meir called out, “so we can all hear you.” Meir intended for everyone to see that Judah needed no book, that he was reciting completely from memory.

His chest tight and his heart pounding, Judah stood and addressed the larger group. “At creation, the Holy One had no choice but to create Eve. How could humanity continue without one male and one female? But that is not the case now; if a man has two sons, there are many women they might marry.”

No questions came, and Salomon’s expression was inscrutable as he waved his hand for Judah to continue.

Judah explained, “Hillel would say that Moses’s situation was unique, that the prophet abstained from procreation because of his special relationship with the Holy One, not because he had fulfilled the mitzvah.”

Judah smiled and added, “But we’re not done with Shammai and Hillel.” He must be doing well; nearly every face was smiling back at him. But not Salomon’s.

Judah paused to let his audience ponder Rav Huna’s question. “Obviously we have two versions of Shammai’s argument. We already know how Hillel proves his view, and here is the proof for Shammai’s alternative statement, which also derives from creation.

The superfluous Hebrew word
et
refers to a twin sister. Thus Eve actually had two boys and two girls, Abel and his sister, plus Cain and his sister.”

Judah could see the men grinning as they whispered to each other. How different it was from Mayence, where his words were often received with resentment. He had forgotten how good it felt to expound Torah in a yeshiva that appreciated him. Now if only Salomon would give some sign of approval.
What is the scholar waiting for?

“But can’t we object again that the situation at creation was unique, that today two males and two females are more than adequate?” an older man questioned Judah.

“Certainly,” Judah replied, honored that the man had questioned him and not Salomon. “Yet we have still another Baraita, this one with a different version of Hillel’s argument.” He proceeded to recite it:

Judah bowed slightly to the man who’d questioned him. “So according to this view, even a single child contributes to the world’s habitation.”