Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (59 page)

“I didn’t think it would work out, but Meir has been study partners with Shemayah for over ten years,” Joheved said. “I don’t know what he’d do without him.”

“I thought you didn’t like Shemayah.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Joheved sighed. “He was so faithful while I was ill last year, sitting with Meir all day and into the night as well.”

“Have you changed your mind about his daughter?”

Joheved nodded. “Let me tell you what I intend to do about her.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I heard that many children have died of the pox in Prague and cases are starting to appear in Allemagne. So it’s only a matter of time before we have the pox in Troyes.”

Miriam shuddered. “I have heard this.” Though she tried to keep the gruesome images out of her mind, sometimes she couldn’t help but imagine her precious sons covered with sores.

“The air in the country is better than in the city, so I’m inviting Zipporah to stay with us. She can start learning how to manage the estate, which she’ll need to do as Isaac’s wife, and hopefully she’ll be protected from the pox.” Joheved sounded confident. “Isaac and Shmuel were in Ramerupt for the last epidemic and barely got sick at all.”

“I’ll send my boys to you too,” Miriam said.
But will country air really protect against the pox?
She couldn’t shake the fear that, after several mild epidemics, the pox was gathering strength for the coming attack. And then no place would be safe for her sons.

But Joheved wasn’t concerned with the pox. “I’m going to start teaching Zipporah Torah, as well as how to spin wool properly,” she said. “As much as I miss having my baby with me, keeping little Salomon in Troyes with his wet nurse has given me time to teach Hannah and Leah their letters. Zipporah can study along with my daughters; it doesn’t matter that she’s older.”

Joheved paused and frowned. “But I’ll have to ask Isaac to tutor Milo in Hebrew once Zipporah is here. That boy is too handsome and clever to study with her.”

“Milo is learning Hebrew? Whatever for?” Miriam asked.

“He was learning how to keep our estate’s accounts with Hebrew letters, and he said our way is much easier than with Roman numerals,” Joheved replied. “Then he wanted to learn to read Hebrew, to understand Jewish business contracts. It wasn’t difficult to teach him along with the girls; he already knows the Bible in Latin.”

“So having Milo squire for you hasn’t been a problem.”

“Not at all. Emeline was right about how good a student he is. The only problem is that the village girls, and some of the ladies at Count André’s court, can’t seem to leave him alone.”

“You don’t worry that he’ll be a bad influence on Isaac?”

Joheved smiled. “Isaac will be a good influence on Milo.”

The two sisters fell silent. Miriam chastised herself for not asking about little Salomon once her sister mentioned him, something Joheved rarely did. She felt guilty that her baby, only a month older than his cousin, was doing so much better. It was painful for Miriam to watch them together; it must be far more so for Joheved. Elisha was not only walking, he was usually running around, while little Salomon could barely sit up. Elisha was constantly babbling, yet his cousin was silent.

Miriam sighed at another opportunity lost. And now the pox was coming. Maybe Joheved was right. The last two times the pox struck Troyes weren’t so terrible; hopefully it would be like that this year. But country air hadn’t protected Meir’s siblings and neighbors. She remembered his sister’s
tahara
, when Marona told them how every woman in Ramerupt had buried children during a pox epidemic, some losing all of them.

Soon they would be doing
tahara
again. Tears stung Miriam’s eyes as she thought about Aunt Sarah and all she’d taught her. She recalled their many outings in the forest, gathering herbs and learning her family’s history, until her thoughts were interrupted by a dog howling outside, followed by another and then another throughout the neighborhood.

Joheved frowned. “Why do dogs have to whine like that, all together?” Then her eyes opened wide and she jumped up, her spindle and distaff falling to the floor.

Nobody understood why some animals were sensitive to the presence of
mazikim
, but a dog’s disconsolate howl was a sure sign that the Angel of Death was roaming nearby.

Miriam immediately joined her sister at Aunt Sarah’s side. While Joheved listened at their aunt’s chest, Miriam felt for a pulse, and at the same moment that she realized there was none Joheved stood up and slowly shook her head.

They embraced, tears running silently down their cheeks, until Joheved let go, saying, “
Baruch Dayan Emet
. Shall I go dump this water or do you want to?” One of them would have to remain with the corpse.

“You do it. I don’t mind staying here for a while.”

Joheved carefully picked up the bowl of water sitting near the bedside. The Angel of Death, its mission fulfilled, was supposed to dip its poisoned sword in the nearest container of water, but as a precaution they would discard every drop of water in the house. Some said to discard the water lest the deceased’s soul drown in it, while others said the soul bathes in it upon leaving for the next world.

Miriam didn’t know which of these were true, but it didn’t matter. Mama would see to it that all the water in the house was removed. Aunt Sarah’s eyes were already closed, and her limbs were nowhere near the edge of the bed, so the only thing Miriam needed to do was arrange the corpse’s fingers to form the holy name Shaddai. Then she resumed her spinning and began reciting psalms, satisfied that their efforts had made Aunt Sarah’s death so easy that she and Joheved weren’t aware of anything amiss when it happened.

 

No one at morning services was surprised to hear about Sarah’s funeral that afternoon. There were funerals in Troyes every day now, and some of the gravediggers wanted to prepare two graves simultaneously to save time. But a grave left open after sunset would only tempt the Angel of Death to fill it as soon as possible, and thus, no matter how severe a pestilence hit the city, graves were only dug for those who needed them.

Sarah’s status as the rosh yeshiva’s unmarried sister-in-law ensured that most merchant-scholars would attend the funeral and at least one of the seven days of shiva. Judah tried to hide his discomfort when Natan showed up each morning to pray with the mourners; after all, the man was performing a mitzvah.

But did Natan have to keep staring at him and Aaron? And did anyone else, especially someone from Fleur’s family, think Aaron was acting too sympathetic over Judah’s loss? As much as he wanted Aaron’s comfort, Judah forced himself to avoid any overt signs of affection between them.

“I will be going back to the Rhineland once the fair ends,” Natan said to Miriam. “I would consider it an honor to deliver a message to your cousin in Speyer.”

“That’s not necessary,” Judah said immediately.

Miriam looked at her husband in surprise. Why should he object to the offer?

Judah realized he had spoken too quickly. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry to attend to your business in Mayence.”

“I will gladly wait to fulfill such a mitzvah.” Natan bowed and headed toward a group of merchants chatting together softly, one that included Aaron and several men Judah recognized as playing the game.

“Why were you so rude to that man Natan?” Miriam asked him later. “He’s doing us a big favor to take the news and Aunt Sarah’s things to Cousin Eleazar.”

Aunt Sarah had left her house and furnishings to Miriam and Judah, in gratitude for caring for her during her old age, but her jewelry and money would go to her son. To Miriam’s relief, there were no debts. Sarah had invested her
ketubah
money in many business partnerships, providing capital for merchants to buy goods at the Troyes fairs that they later sold for profit far away. The amount of her money on credit with the fair accountants would help assuage Eleazar’s sadness when he learned of his mother’s death.

Despite Judah’s misgivings, Miriam found that Natan was uniformly regarded as reliable in his business dealings. And if he had difficulty resisting a handsome youth, well, there were worse sins in the world. Even Isaac haParnas recommended him.

Thus, the first Thursday after the Cold Fair ended, Judah entrusted Natan with a box containing Sarah’s jewelry and letters of credit. As they shook hands, Judah couldn’t help but notice that Natan’s one piece of tasteful jewelry, the black pearl ring, had been replaced with one containing a garish orange topaz. Natan’s embrace good-bye was both too long and too tight, but Judah thankfully felt no pleasure from it.

 

Between the continued pestilence that sickened so many of the elderly and the first cases of pox among the city’s children, the Jews of Troyes found it difficult to anticipate a joyous Purim. And not just Troyes but all the towns in Champagne were affected. Marona fell ill in mid-January and succumbed before the month was over, forcing Joheved and Meir into mourning at the height of the lambing season.

Judah and Shemayah took Meir’s students to Ramerupt to make a minyan for the first seven days of mourning, while Miriam stayed in Troyes. She felt guilty knowing Joheved was observing shiva without her or their parents, but Salomon had become feverish the week before, followed by Rivka a few days later. Miriam was so busy caring for them that she almost regretted sending Yom Tov to Ramerupt with his cousins; he at least could have kept Shimson occupied.

She woke Saturday morning determined to attend synagogue for the first time that week. But there were scarcely any women to lead services for; apparently most of them were tending other invalids or were ill themselves. Suddenly realizing that Meir had been gone over a week, Miriam hurried to visit little Salomon.

The wet nurse began to weep as soon as Miriam entered her small home. “Thank Heaven you’re here. I’ve been so worried. I went to Lord Meir’s house twice but they told me he was away, to come back next week.”

Miriam’s stomach tightened with fear. “What’s the matter?”

“See for yourself,” she said, leading Miriam to the cradle by the hearth.

Miriam thought her heart would break when she saw her poor little nephew lying there limply, his face and arms covered with the pox’s bright red pustules. “Oh,
non
. Meir hasn’t been to visit because his mother just died,” she explained, fighting back tears. “This will devastate them.”

The woman shook her head and blew her nose on her sleeve. “There’s not much hope for the little fellow. The sores in his mouth are so bad that he won’t nurse, and it’s all I can do to get some broth into him.”

“I can’t ride to Ramerupt today, it’s our Sabbath,” Miriam said, trying not to gag.

Even if she sent an Edomite with a message, Joheved and Meir were forbidden to interrupt shiva for his mother, so the news would only cause them unnecessary pain. A child this sick couldn’t be moved.

“I’ve been paid until the end of the month,” the wet nurse said. “So I don’t mind keeping the poor babe a while longer.”

“They’ll be done mourning tomorrow, and if Meir isn’t here by noon, I’ll send a message to him.”

Miriam wasn’t usually squeamish, but she couldn’t wait to get outside and away from the horrific scene. She trudged onto the street, the vision of little Salomon’s poxy body seared in her mind, and vomited into the mud.

How long before her own little Elisha lay in his cradle, suffering similar sores? How long before all her sons were covered with them? When she got home she hugged Elisha so tightly he complained she was hurting him.

The next morning Meir arrived to find that his youngest son had died during the night, bringing him the dreadful task of transporting the small body back to Ramerupt for another funeral and another seven days of mourning. Miriam held her weeping sister’s hand during the funeral and wept with her, but the next day a message came that Rivka’s fever was spiking, sending Miriam and Judah anxiously hurrying back to Troyes. Purim was less than three weeks away.

 

As the festival grew closer, Miriam understood that Meir and Joheved, still mourning for Marona and baby Salomon, would not come into town for Purim. Papa had little enthusiasm about the holiday; he’d been ill for a month and the vineyard pruning was badly behind schedule. Mama, still weak and mourning her sister, was in no mood to host the feast that usually took place in their courtyard. She clutched her amulet and prayed that none of her remaining grandchildren would fall victim to the pox, even as she knew that the odds were against her.

For Miriam, it was thoughts of the months following Purim that filled her with fear. She was enceinte again, which wasn’t surprising considering how often Judah wanted to use the bed during the Cold Fair, but this time her nausea started almost as soon as she missed her flowers. Each of her pregnancies had sickened her worse than the one preceding it; how could she endure this one until autumn?

Yet that was better than worrying about her children. Each time she touched the new mezuzah at her front door, she agonized over when they would get the pox, how badly they might suffer, and how she was going to care for them if she were ill herself. Little Salomon’s death racked her with guilt, and she began to have nightmares in which one of her or Joheved’s children died.

But it was Judah who dreaded Purim the most. This was the holiday, based on the biblical book of Esther, that celebrated the Persian Jews’ escape from destruction at the hands of the evil Haman—the holiday about which the sage Rava said:

Judah thought of that Simchat Torah night when Yom Tov had been conceived, the one he still couldn’t remember. How could he possibly control his
yetzer hara
during those twenty-four hours when it was a mitzvah to get utterly drunk?