Apprentice (16 page)

Finally Mother let out a sigh. “At least Ukva performed his marital duty well. Achti was quite satisfied with his efforts in that area.”

Before they could say more on that subject, Rav Nachman shuffled in and sat by Father, followed by his wife Yalta, who sank onto the cushion next to Mother. Both appeared to be in their midthirties, and somehow they reminded me of a pair of sleek, well-fed cats. Immediately a pair of
slaves brought out washing bowls, a second pair set up their tables, and another brought out bread and wine to start their meal. I felt proud that our family knew how to host such prominent guests.

Nachman groaned and, careful not to mess his well-oiled hairstyle, held his head in his hands. “I must have drank too much wine last night.”

To my surprise, Yalta interrupted him. “You didn't drink too much. The wine they served wasn't old enough. That's why your head hurts.” I'd never heard a woman speak to her husband with such authority, but, then, Yalta was a princess.

Mother raised an eyebrow at Father and quickly filled Yalta's wine cup. “We mix our wine with water from our own well, which everyone agrees is exceptionally sweet.”

“And is this lovely girl your younger daughter?” Yalta was at once charming and patronizing. “Or a granddaughter?”

“Hisdadukh is our youngest child,” Mother said. “She was recently betrothed to Rami bar Chama, Ukva's brother.”

With a sly grin, Yalta moved her cushion closer to Mother. Though Yalta lowered her voice, I was able to make out enough words to understand the gist of the gossip she was imparting. “Pushbi…full of herself…bragging…daughters-in-law…family…rich…scholars…priests…exilarch…her control.”

Mother's eyes blazed. “Not if I can help it.”

If Yalta had any more to say, I didn't get to hear it because we were joined by Grandfather and Keshisha, and then, slowly but surely, the rest of my brothers and their wives. Last to arrive were Father's students, who had slept at Ukva's house. I decided to follow Father's advice about not being on constant display, so just when Rami sat down, I excused myself to work on a
kasa d'charasha
that I'd started the day before.

I was surprised to find Rahel already up. She was sitting awkwardly on a bench and telling Imarta and Haruta what types of pottery they should produce next.

She interrupted her instructions and waved at me to come closer. “Once the baby comes, I won't be able to write or install any bowls until I've stopped bleeding and then immersed,” she told me.

“Do you want me to write them?” I asked, wondering if perhaps another
charasheta
would do the installations.

She looked me in the eye. “You said you wanted to learn magic, so I've arranged for you to study with an amulet scribe.”

Attending synagogue, I'd noticed that many women, and nearly all children, wore amulets around their necks or wrists. Curious, I'd asked Newandukh to show me hers, which was a small bronze cylinder hanging on a red silken ribbon. Newandukh admitted not knowing what was written on the papyrus inside, only that its purpose was to protect her from demons. She used to have a different amulet when she was sick, but after she recovered, her mother placed it under the ark that held the synagogue's Torah scrolls for thanksgiving.

When I asked Mother why nobody in our household wore amulets, she assured me that Heaven protected Torah scholars and their families. In fact, wearing one would be tantamount to declaring our lack of faith in the power of Torah study.

“Rahel, who is going to teach me about amulets?” I could hardly contain my enthusiasm. “Will she come here or will I go to her home? How long will I study with her?” Of course the amulet maker would be a woman. A man would never be allowed to teach a betrothed maiden like myself.

“I'm glad you're so eager to begin your studies,” she said. “You'll go to Kimchit's shop to begin with, but once you've mastered the process, I expect you'll be able to inscribe them here. You're too young for installing
kasa d'charasha
, but your age is irrelevant if your amulets prove effective.”

“When will I go there?”

“It depends. Usually after synagogue.”

“Will Kimchit's daughters-in-law be teaching me too?”

“Not likely. Neither of them can read or write.” Rahel must have noticed my surprise, because she added, “You may be a Torah scholar, Dada, but there is still so much you don't know about the world. For instance, it's a rare woman who can even tell an aleph from a bet.”

I blinked in astonishment. “But the Torah commands Israel to teach these words diligently to your children.”

“Most Jews think that means teaching them to your sons, not to your daughters. Your father is unusual in this regard.”

“How did you learn to read and write?”

“I don't have any brothers, so in order to fulfill the commandment, my father taught me and my sister,” she said. “But even in sophisticated Machoza, what he did is uncommon.”

It took me quite some time to realize the enormity of what Rahel said—that nearly every Jewish woman in Bavel was illiterate and thus could only learn things they were told.

To everyone's relief, Rahel was still pregnant on the eve of Pesach. Preparing for the festive meal with all its ritual foods was a major undertaking, with the kitchen slaves up before dawn to make sufficient matzah for the feast. The day before it had taken them hours to cleanse the house of
hametz
. Others took almost as long to chop the nuts, dates, and dried fruits like figs, peaches, and apricots that went into Cook's special
haroset
. Several heads of lettuce had been allowed to go to seed and their bitter leaves harvested. Two large hearths in the courtyard had been burning for hours, producing a hotbed of coals beneath their still-empty grills.

With the sun approaching the horizon on the Fourteenth of Nissan, the men in our family had ritually immersed in the canal, and all the foodstuffs except the most important were ready. Shayla led in the two yearling male kids she'd been fattening for just this purpose. Nachman and Hanan, the most expert among my brothers at kosher slaughter, dispatched the two kids and carefully collected their blood as commanded in the Torah. Then, while the other children and I watched, Father dipped some hyssop sprigs into the blood and outlined the doorway with it. When we turned around, the kitchen slaves had already skinned the kids and started roasting them.

We followed Father into the
traklin
, where the appetizers were waiting. The children, eagerly anticipating the festive meal, settled noisily on their cushions. Already the savory aroma of roasting meat wafted in from the courtyard, making my mouth water. Slaves brought out pitchers and bowls to wash our hands, and Father blessed the first cup of wine. Next they served us the bitter lettuce, dipped in salt water. Then the fun began.

Instead of slaves serving us the matzah, which were piled up on trays before us, Father picked up a piece and tossed it at Tachlifa, who caught it one-handed and tossed it to Keshisha while Grandfather tossed one to me. The next instant the room was filled with laughter as my brothers and their wives not only threw matzah at their children and one another but, once the trays were empty, proceeded to snatch away matzah from whomever they sat next to. This went on until Father signaled the slaves to serve the
haroset
.

Now came my favorite part. Father, in that tone of voice an adult uses to address children, asked the room, “What is different tonight compared to other nights?”

We waited for the littlest to go first. A few of the older children, familiar with the procedure and impatient for their turns, whispered hints to their younger siblings until one of them piped up, “Where's the bread? Why do we only have matzah?”

Another soon asked, “Why do we eat old bitter lettuce instead of young leaves?” followed by, “And why dip them in salt water instead of something tasty?”

The questions came faster: Why don't we get any stews to eat? Why only roasted meat? Why did you put the blood on the doorposts? Why are we wearing shoes when we eat? What are all those staffs for?

Finally I asked my favorite. “Why can't we have
haroset
more than once a year? It tastes so good.”

Father beamed with pride. “So many good questions. Now listen carefully while I tell you a story that answers them.”

He proceeded to recount the history of the Exodus from Egypt, emphasizing how Elohim commanded us to commemorate our freedom from slavery by slaughtering a yearling kid at twilight on this day. “We mark our doorposts with its blood to protect us from evil spirits, as our ancestors marked theirs so the tenth plague would kill only the Egyptian firstborn,” he explained solemnly.

Yenuka interjected, “So we can drink as much wine as we like without worrying about whether we've had an even or odd number of cups.” I knew that drinking pairs left a person vulnerable to demonic attack, but the younger children might not.

Father ignored my brother's irreverent interruption. “We are further commanded to eat the meat roasted, not cooked in water, along with unleavened bread and bitter herbs, the latter dipped in salt water because the Egyptians embittered our ancestors' lives as slaves in Egypt.” He gestured toward the staffs leaning against the wall. “And to remind us of how hurriedly they fled, Elohim commanded us to eat quickly, with sandals on our feet and staffs in our hands.”

“However, for safety's sake we keep our staffs at hand instead,” Grandfather said. It had happened before I was born, but he'd told me about the debacle that ensued when Father allowed my brothers to each have his own staff at the meal.

Mother held up the
haroset
. “We serve
haroset
only on Pesach so you'll look forward to eating it, and then appreciate it all the more.”

“But why do we all throw the matzah at one another?” my eldest niece, Guria, asked. “That isn't in the Torah.”

“But the Torah does say: ‘When your children ask you about this ritual, you shall tell them it is because Elohim passed over the Israelites' dwellings when He smote the Egyptians, but saved ours,'” Father replied. “Thus we do many odd things tonight to encourage children to ask questions.”

The slaves were quick to serve the roasted kid and the rest of the festival meal when Father completed his narrative. “Our Sages teach that because reclining while eating is the sign of a free man, we are all required to recline tonight, at a minimum while eating an olive's worth of matzah.”

As always, this was when Timonus would ask, “Even a slave in the presence of his master and a woman in the presence of her husband?”

And Father would answer, “Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi teaches that both slaves and women are required to recline, at least for the time it takes to eat their matzah.”

This was the signal for our slaves to sit down for a little while to eat, even the laundresses and others who weren't normally involved in serving meals. As Zahra ate her portion, she whispered how grateful Father's slaves were that they weren't making bricks in Egypt instead.

The younger children went to bed when we began singing the psalms that made up Hallel, and nearly all were asleep when the last verse was sung. I was determined to stay awake long enough to hear the men discuss some of the laws of Pesach, even if I wouldn't be able to last until they finished after midnight.

Rahel had her baby two days later, and it was indeed a boy. A week after that, I was awake every time he cried during the night, not because he was particularly noisy, but because I was so excited about starting my amulet education in the morning. I immediately found that my schedule at Kimchit's would be quite erratic. Though we might inscribe Rahel's bowls anytime except on Shabbat, there were strict rules about when amulets could be written.

The first thing I learned was that, because of various astrological and angelic influences, there were just seven propitious dates during the month when amulets could be inscribed at any hour during the day and
eleven additional dates when we were restricted to the morning. Kimchit explained these to me at synagogue, and I took care to memorize their anomalies. For instance, since Third Day was under the influence of the planet Mars, which predisposes the world to war and misfortune, one would never write a healing or protective amulet on that day of the week, no matter what the date.

There were also a few particularly auspicious times: First Day during the seventh hour, Second Day in the fifth hour, Fourth Day in the second hour, Fifth Day in the fourth hour, and Sixth Day during the fifth and tenth hours. These should be reserved for the most favored clients or those willing to pay extra. Kimchit admitted not understanding all the reasons why amulets should be written at certain times and not at others but assured me that other scribes, in Sura at least, worked under the same restrictions. Those who didn't, she warned, were quickly ostracized after their failures were made public.

Thus I became well acquainted with the Jewish calendar, as Kimchit expected me to spend every appropriate hour composing amulets. She chose my first session at the beginning of Iyar for two reasons: Fifth Day was under the influence of Jupiter and thus propitious for beginning a new enterprise, plus the waxing moon encouraged growth and development.

That morning, Kimchit and I, along with her daughters-in-law and Zahra, left synagogue early to ensure plenty of time before the all-important fourth hour. She was a short woman with a slightly humped back, who shuffled as we walked. On the way, she impressed upon me the importance of the scribe.

“Before we begin, you need to understand a critical difference between inscribing bowls and amulets.” Her voice was solemn. “While you certainly wouldn't inscribe Rahel's vessels in a state of impurity, their power comes from her when she chants the incantation and buries them.”