Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (30 page)

Miriam held her tongue. Though villeins were made in the Creator’s image, just like all men, it was apparent that Emeline, and Joheved for that matter, saw them as only slightly higher in creation than the oxen or horses they plowed with.

 

Emeline and Joheved were also interested in news from the outside, and when Judah and Meir came to visit, they questioned the men eagerly. Judah had no curiosity about subjects that took time away from Torah, but Meir was used to bringing such information to Joheved. Once the Cold Fair ended, and both their sons survived the pox, news consisted mainly of how other children were battling the disease. Luckily the epidemic had been mild, although it hadn’t seemed that way in Salomon’s household when Baruch’s little girl died.

This week, Emeline’s last before returning home for Easter, Meir was bursting with news at
disner
. “The Parisian and German wine dealers are here to buy their Passover wine.”

Miriam sighed and asked Judah about Papa’s
kuntres
. Events outside of Troyes didn’t interest her either.

Samuel, however, leaned forward eagerly. “What’s the word from Allemagne?”

“It’s no rumor. The pope’s King Rudolf was mortally wounded last fall,” Meir answered. “So King Henry, unopposed at home, has ordained his own pope, Clement, and gathered an army to march on Rome.”

“As I anticipated.” Samuel turned to Joheved. “That’s why I ordered the spring fields planted in oats, to feed warhorses.”

“If the war between king and pope worsens,” Marona said, “wheat will be even more profitable in the fall.”

“Oh dear.” Emeline sighed. “What do the Parisians say about Archbishop Manasses? Is there any hope of reconciliation between him and Pope Gregory?”

In 1077 the archbishop of Rheims used the pretext that he feared being ambushed by enemies to refuse the papal legate’s summons. In turn the outraged papal legate excommunicated him. For years letters went back and forth from Rheims to Rome concerning how to restore Manasses to his office.

“Evidently the pope imposed too many conditions for the archbishop to accept,” Meir told her, shaking his head.

“What a terrible blow to King Philippe,” Emeline said. “Do you think this was really about insulting the papal legate, or did Pope Gregory mean to remove one of the king’s most faithful vassals and replace him with one more loyal to the Holy See?”

“I don’t know,” Meir answered. “But all is not black for King Philippe. Reliable sources in Paris tell us that Queen Bertha is enceinte again, that the child is due in midsummer.” The reliable source was Judah’s mother, Alvina, who had heard the news from one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

“At least our king doesn’t spend all his nights in John’s bed,” Samuel said.

Miriam and Judah exchanged glances and then excused themselves from the table. Let the others gossip; their Talmud discussion would continue in private.

 

“Papa asked me to help revise his commentary on Tractate Niddah,” Judah said once they were alone in their room. “Well, I, uh, found the part about pregnancy in the third chapter, uh, particularly interesting.”

“How so?” she asked.
Why does he sound so nervous?

Once Miriam’s pregnancy incapacitated her, marital relations between her and Judah ceased. His return to celibacy meant an agonizing struggle with his
yetzer hara
, especially during the intense Cold Fair study sessions when several of the younger merchants seemed far more attractive than they had in the summer. Judah was increasingly drawn to Levi, the vivacious redhead, so much so that it was almost a relief when the fair ended. Judah kept reminding himself that most scholars avoided cohabitation during early pregnancy, especially since the Sages stated that it was detrimental to the woman and to the fetus. But later on, the holy deed was recommended.

Not sure how well his wife was feeling, Judah had not approached her the previous night, despite it being Shabbat. But today Miriam seemed perfectly healthy. Hopefully, after they studied this section of Tractate Niddah, she would suggest they resume performing the holy act, if only for the baby’s sake. Annoyed at his anxiety and cowardice, he brought out the text.

Trying not to be obvious, he began reciting just before the section on marital relations during pregnancy.

Judah, observing his wife’s puzzled expression and blushing, gave her Salomon’s explanation. “Papa says that just as a man faces down during marital relations and a woman faces up, so too in birth do they assume the same positions—a boy emerges facing down and a girl facing up.”

“But even if that were so,” Miriam’s voice made her skepticism clear. “Isn’t there a contradiction between the first Baraita, which states that all babies turn over first, and the second, which says that only females do?”

“In the first one, they mean that the child turns over from head to foot.” Judah thought it odd to be explaining this to a midwife. “That is, during pregnancy the baby’s head is pointing up until just before birth, at which time he inverts so that his head will exit first.”

“That much is true. But even in the short time I’ve been a midwife, it’s apparent that gender has nothing to do with whether a baby is born facing up or facing down. In fact, nearly all children are born facing down.”

Judah did not want to get into an argument with her, not now. “Maybe the Sages mean that males and females only face in different directions in the womb, and that is why females have to turn more to get out, thus causing more pain.”

Miriam couldn’t help but wonder where the Rabbis had gotten such information. “I can tell you that the amount of pain a woman feels in childbirth is completely unrelated to whether it’s a boy or a girl. I’ve seen women delivering boys in terrible agony and women having girls in mild discomfort, as well as vice versa.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Papa about it when your family comes up for Passover,” Judah said, quick to mollify his wife. “In the meantime, why don’t we continue?

“What does Papa say about this text?” Miriam remembered Joheved teaching her about this passage, and that the Sages had not offered any explanation for their opinions.

“He says that in early pregnancy, when the child is in the lower chamber, the pressure of cohabitation feels painful, but he doesn’t know why it should be bad for the mother.”

“I suppose the woman might also feel pain then, if she is being pressed by both the child and her husband.” Yet Miriam couldn’t recall any women complaining about such pain.

“By the middle months, when the child has moved up enough to be unaffected, the mother may still feel the extra pressure,” Judah said. When would his wife realize that this discussion wasn’t hypothetical?

“And during the final months, the baby is finally high enough that neither it nor the mother feels pressure,” Miriam concluded, and then gave a small frown. “But lack of pain is not the same as beneficial. How does Papa explain that?”

“He states that the semen acts to purify the fluid that surrounds the child,” Judah replied. “But don’t ask me how he knows it. He doesn’t say what is beneficial for the woman.”

“I’m sure he learned it from his teachers in Allemagne.” Miriam thought for a moment. “If a woman’s child is strong and vigorous, her labor will likely be shorter and easier. Perhaps that is why it’s beneficial for her.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Judah sat down next to her, hoping she would draw a similar conclusion about their situation.

But she continued with the text. “The next Baraita is nice.

Judah leaned closer to share Salomon’s
kuntres
with her. “Papa points out that the literal meaning is: ‘the seeing of the eye, the hearing of the ear, the speech of the mouth.’ Eyes, ears, and mouth come from the parents, but the ability to see, hear, and speak with them are a gift from the Creator. For though a corpse still has these, he can no longer see, hear, or speak because the Holy One has taken back His contribution.”

Judah remained silent and Miriam realized that her husband intended a subtle message for her. Feeling well for the first time in months, and amused at his shyness on the subject of marital relations, Miriam began to tease him.

“Judah,” she said softly as she took his hand in hers. “I’m in my sixth month now? Aren’t you worried that our child may not be as strong and as well-formed as he should be?”

As she anticipated, his face reddened when he understood the implications of her question. “I was more worried about you,” he gulped in reply. “You were so ill before.”

“I’m not ill now.”

“It’s not as though I haven’t been thinking about it,” he replied. Yet he found himself moving away from her.

Miriam forced herself not to smile as her husband tried to elude her. “Doesn’t Ben Azzai say one should run to perform a mitzvah?” She leaned toward him. “How about now while it’s still the Sabbath?”

“What? In the middle of the day? While it’s still light?”

“Well, if you don’t want to ...”

“
Non
, it’s not that.” What was he doing, trying to avoid relations with her? The very opposite of what he’d planned.

“Do I need to come over there and help you undress?”

“Just let me close the shutters.”

She practically did have to undress him. Judah kept his eyes closed until nearly the last moment, but when she rolled away from him as he prepared to enter, he had to look to see where she’d gone. Miriam was kneeling on her hands and knees, her backside facing him, and it was obvious what she intended him to do. He forced himself to think of the child, his child, who needed his semen, and this calmed him enough to enter her. But once inside, nothing could calm him.

 

A little while later, Miriam listened to Judah’s steady breathing at her ear and wondered how soon she should get up. When they used the bed at night, they just fell asleep afterward and then woke the next morning. Still, it was pleasant, snuggled in her husband’s arms like two spoons. In fact, it was more pleasant than the act that preceded it.

She thought back to Simchat Torah, when lust had burned through her veins and her womb had ached with desire. Had the brief burst of final pleasure been worth the torment preceding it? If that was what Joheved felt, Miriam was willing to forgo it. Let other women suffer Eve’s curse,

A man had enough power over his wife as it was. She was content with kissing before and snuggling after. She affectionately squeezed Judah’s arm, draped over her belly.

The child gave a kick, and Judah pulled his hand away with a gasp. “Mon Dieu! Was that the baby?”

Miriam stifled a giggle. “That was him all right.”

“Him? You think it’s a boy?”

“If repeating the holy act ensures a male child,” Miriam said, “then what we did on Simchat Torah should guarantee one.”

“Oh.” Hoping to feel his child move again, Judah replaced his arm.

He had been thinking about Simchat Torah for months, but, despite his usually excellent memory, he had no recollection of anything after services. Even Sarah’s servants knew more about what happened that night than he did. Shortly after Miriam’s pregnancy became known, he’d heard them gossiping.

The cook had commented lewdly that it was no surprise to her that the young mistress was enceinte, not after the way she and the master were going at it the night of their festival. Nearly all night, the maidservant Jeanne complained, judging by how long their cries, worse than cats in heat, had continued. The cook then muttered that she wouldn’t have thought the master as lustful as that, him being so religious and all, after which Jeanne solemnly declared that strong drink helps the devil overcome even the most pious man.

That night was a mystery, but Judah remembered very well the rest of the week, and the week after. Even now he cringed at how naïve he’d been. For it was obvious that Miriam’s door (the Talmudic euphemism for virginity) had been closed before Simchat Torah and was wide open afterward. Which meant that she was probably bleeding from when he’d opened her, yet they’d used the bed several more times that night.

Had his child been conceived in sin, while Miriam was
niddah
? His wife would think him a fool, but he had to ask.

“About that night on Simchat Torah?”

Miriam froze. “What about it?”

“It’s pretty much a blank for me, but I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He took a deep breath. “Did you bleed very much?”