Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (66 page)

There were heavy footsteps on the landing and Meir yelled again, “Shmuel. Go find your mother and bring her up here immediately. I don’t care what she’s doing.”

Miriam could hear her nephew racing down the stairs, then a little later there were more footsteps coming up and finally Joheved panting, “What’s . . . so important . . . that you have . . . to drag me away . . . in the middle of . . . doing the lamb accounts?”

“Isaac just told me that he refuses to marry Zipporah, that he wants to marry the doctor’s daughter. You’re behind this, Joheved. I know it.”

Miriam was safe in her room but she cringed at Meir’s fury.

Joheved wasn’t cringing. Her defiant voice rang out, “I had nothing to do with it. True, I invited Judita to stay with us, but Zipporah has been here as well.”

Meir’s voice was equally firm. “I made an agreement with Shemayah, and I will not break it. His daughter is going to marry my son and that’s final.”

Joheved and Isaac responded almost simultaneously.

“Meir, be reasonable. Isaac and Zipporah will both be miserable if you force him to marry her.”

“If you make me marry her, I’ll just divorce her.”

Miriam could almost see the three of them glaring at each other. Then there was Shmuel speaking, his voice hesitant. “If you want, I’ll marry Zipporah. I don’t mind being like Grandpapa and having only daughters.”

“What did you say?” Miriam couldn’t tell if Meir was outraged or astonished.

Shmuel’s voice was stronger now. “If you promised Shemayah that your son would marry his daughter, then you wouldn’t be breaking your oath if I married her.”

“You’re sure?” Isaac seemed in awe of his younger brother.

“Quite sure.” Shmuel sounded confident now. “And I think you’re making a mistake marrying a doctor’s daughter when you could marry a scholar’s daughter instead.”

“This is the Holy One’s doing, Meir.” Joheved was jubilant. “I told you that if Isaac and Zipporah were
bashert
, there was nothing I could do to prevent their marriage, and if they weren’t, then there was nothing I needed to do.”

Meir knew when he was beaten. “Very well, I’ll speak to Shemayah when he comes up for Passover.”

“
Merci
, Papa,” came Isaac’s grateful voice. “And Shmuel, if there’s ever anything you want from me, just ask and it’s yours.”

But Meir had the last word. “Don’t start celebrating yet, Isaac. Only if Shemayah agrees will I speak to Moses, and if Judita is promised to someone else, you may end up with neither girl.”

Miriam gave a sigh of relief as the family traipsed downstairs without realizing that she’d been listening. She had no doubt that Shemayah would find Shmuel, a far better student than his brother, an acceptable son-in-law, just as Moses haCohen would find Isaac, heir to the estate of Ramerupt-sur-Aube, more than acceptable.

 

The evening before Passover began, Salomon watched with pride as his eight grandchildren hunted for
hametz
. Six grandsons and three granddaughters so far—he had certainly fulfilled the mitzvah to be fruitful and multiply. Of course his wife and daughters had already cleaned up every trace of leaven, so several pieces of stale bread had been hidden around the first floor for the children to find, thus performing the commandment to search out and remove all
hametz
from dwellings before Passover. The servants, having grown used to generations of their lord’s eccentric religious habits, resigned themselves to eating their bread and stirabout in the steward’s house for the next week.

The children had found all but a few crusts when the family was distracted by a commotion in the courtyard. Soon the front door opened and Rachel’s husband stood framed in the entryway.

“Eliezer,” she shrieked, racing into his outstretched arms. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again until June.”

Eliezer held her close. “When you’re married to the most beautiful woman in France, you don’t want to leave her alone for too long,” he said with a wink.

Rachel giggled. “Don’t say things like that, it tempts the Evil Eye.”

“My business in Barcelona concluded more easily than I anticipated,” he replied, stroking Rachel’s swollen belly. “So I realized that I could get here in time for Passover.”

“By the way, Judah.” Eliezer reached into his sleeve and pulled out a letter. “I ran into one of your fellow Parisians in Troyes, and he gave me a message for you.” When Eliezer saw everyone’s looks of alarm, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, it’s good news. In fact, I believe congratulations are in order.”

Yom Tov gave Miriam the bread crusts he’d found and bolted to Judah’s side. “What does it say, Papa?”

Judah stared up at Miriam, his eyes wide with astonishment. “It’s from the Paris community. Their rosh yeshiva wants to retire and they ask me to take the position.”

“Mazel tov, you deserve it.” Meir shook Judah’s hand. “Imagine, my brother-in-law the rosh yeshiva of Paris.”

“Just when I was starting to enjoy having a study partner again after all these years,” Salomon said with mock despair.

But Miriam and Rachel exchanged anxious glances. How would this unexpected honor affect Judah’s decision?

“Excuse me, Eliezer, but did the man say how long I had to make up my mind?” Judah asked.

“I don’t think it occurred to him that you’d need any time to make up your mind,” Eliezer replied. “But he’s staying in Troyes for the festival, so I suppose you have at least eight days to decide.”

Rachel gazed at her husband with loving eyes. “You must be exhausted from your trip. Shall we get ready for bed?”

“Perhaps your son would like to sleep with his cousins tonight?” Joheved asked with a knowing smile.

“I think we should all be going to bed,” Salomon said. “We’ll need a good night’s sleep tonight if we want to stay awake for the entire seder tomorrow.”

“Judah, what are you going to do?” Miriam whispered as they walked upstairs to their room.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I have never wanted to live in Paris, but this is an honor I cannot easily refuse. At least I have a week to think about it.”

“I don’t want to go back to Paris,” Shimson whined. “I don’t have any friends there, and Grandmama is always hugging and kissing me.”

Miriam tousled his hair. “I’m sure you’d make new friends in Paris, and your grandmama was just thankful that you weren’t sick anymore.”

The thought of Shimson nearly dying of the pox made her want to hug and kiss him herself. Not that she wanted to move to Paris either. But everyone would expect her and the children to go with Judah if he accepted the position, despite leaving her community without a midwife. Just when they’d finally begun to accept her as their mohel—and just when Rachel’s decision to remain in Troyes meant that she and her sister could be constant study partners.
But maybe this is the excuse Judah needs for us to live separately.

 

Miriam tried to overcome her anxiety and enjoy what might well be the last seder she’d spend with her parents. The three sisters and their husbands had celebrated Passover together only once before, and she could scarcely call that a celebration, coming as it did immediately after Eliezer learned of his father and brother’s untimely deaths.

Meir had obviously arrived at agreements with both Shemayah and Moses, because with the first cup of wine he toasted the two newly affianced couples. Joheved, of course, beamed with delight, and Miriam couldn’t help but wonder if her older sister had found a way to arrange things to her satisfaction.

When little Elisha chanted the four questions perfectly, it was Miriam’s turn to glow with pleasure. Papa must have been feeling proud of his children as well, because he made a point of asking them questions concerning women’s role in the exodus from Egypt, questions whose answers came from the Talmud.

“Four being an unlucky even number, we would normally never drink four cups of wine at a meal,” he said. “But just as the Holy One protected the Israelites from the Angel of Death on the first Passover in Egypt, so are we protected tonight.”

All three of his daughters nodded. This was explained in the tenth chapter of Tractate Pesachim.

“Rachel, where do we learn that women are obligated in all the mitzvot of Passover, including the four cups of wine, though they are generally exempt from time-bound positive commandments?”

“It’s in the first chapter of Tractate Sotah,” she replied.

“And these women were?” Salomon encouraged her to continue.

“First were the midwives, Shifrah and Puah, who refused Pharaoh’s order to kill the newborn Hebrew boys.” Rachel’s voice was confident. “Then there was Batyah, Pharaoh’s daughter. She was bathing in the river because she had leprosy, but when she touched the baby Moses, she was healed. So she saved his life and later converted to Judaism. The last is Miriam, who brought Moses’s own mother to be his nursemaid.” She gazed around the table and added, “In honor of these four righteous women, we drink four cups of wine tonight.”

Salomon turned to his middle daughter. “What does this text tell us about the reward the midwife Miriam received when she refused to kill the Israelite baby boys she’d delivered?”

Miriam smiled at him before answering. Of course Papa would ask her a question about the midwife named Miriam.

“Our Sages teach that Shifrah was actually another name for Joheved, Moses’s mother, and Puah was another name for Miriam.

Now Salomon addressed Joheved, who was anticipating a question about her biblical namesake. “Near the end of Genesis, it is written that seventy descendants of Jacob came down to Egypt. Yet when we count all the people listed, there are only sixty-nine names. How does Tractate Sotah explain this?”

Joheved quoted the text.

Then she gave her explanation. “Notice that our verse from Exodus says first that Joheved was a ‘daughter of Levi,’ and then that she ‘was born to Levi in Egypt.’ Since there are no superfluous words in the Torah, this apparent duplication is there to teach that, while Joheved’s birth occurred in Egypt, her conception did not.”

“So she was 130 years old when she gave birth to Moses,” Zipporah said as her father’s jaw dropped.

“We certainly have no shortage of righteous women in our generation either,” Meir said, saluting them with his wine cup.

After the seder was officially concluded, they continued discussing Tractate Sotah’s description of Moses’s life in Egypt. Rachel and Eliezer went to bed around the time the conversation branched off onto Tractate Pesachim, but Miriam stayed up as late as Judah.

 

Each night that week, she refused to go bed until he did. He seemed comfortable chatting about their sons or that day’s studies, but she waited in vain for him to bring up the subject of Paris. Finally, on the sixth night of Passover, when she left the salon to put Alvina to bed, he yawned and announced that he would join her.

Miriam settled into bed, Alvina at her breast. Judah blew out the lamp, but she could see him clearly in the moonlight. He came to the point immediately.

“Miriam, you’re the only person I can be honest with. I need you to convince me why I shouldn’t move to Paris and become their rosh yeshiva.”

Her heart leaped with hope, and she decided to be forthright as well. “Why
you
shouldn’t move to Paris or why
we
shouldn’t move to Paris?”

He paused to consider her question. “I already know plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t move to Paris. Convince me why I shouldn’t be their rosh yeshiva and then neither of us will have to worry about moving there.”

“The obvious reasons are that you’re a person who isn’t impressed by status, you’d hate the politics involved, and you prefer studying to teaching. But most importantly . . .” She hesitated. “As rosh yeshiva you’d be continually tempted by students looking up to you, coming to you for advice, expecting you to mentor them.” He said he wanted honesty.

“You’re right.” Judah nodded his head sadly. “Until I met Aaron I thought I was strong enough to control my
yetzer hara
. But now I know how weak I truly am.” He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. “And it terrifies me.”

Miriam reached out and took his hand. “You would be terribly vulnerable as a rosh yeshiva, even in Troyes.”

“Maybe with you there I could be stronger; it wouldn’t be like before when you didn’t know until it was too late.” He stood up and addressed the room. “How can I refuse? It’s an acknowledgement of my learning and an incredible honor. It would make my mother so happy.”

“And it would make you so miserable. You’d have to give up working with Papa on his
kuntres
.” She had to convince him to stay in Troyes, not merely to refrain from moving to Paris.

“
Oui
, I would miss him greatly.” Judah sighed. His wife understood him, and, despite great provocation, she had never condemned him. How could he have been afraid to talk to her?

“Papa would miss you,” Miriam said. “You heard what he said when you first got the letter, about finally having a study partner again.”

“And staying here is the only way I’ll ever have one again.” He sat down and turned to her. “So how can I say no to Paris without offending them?”

“Tell them that Papa is getting old and he needs you to help finish his Torah commentary.”