Authors: Maggie Anton
Preferring to avoid the subject of second husbands, I indicated my desire to see Rabbi Akiva's wife's tomb. Yochani pointed out that the cemetery was located on a steep hillside above the city, and thus not an appropriate excursion for a rainy day. She suggested seeing the lake instead and guided me to a sheltered spot with a good view of the water's wide expanse. There was nothing like this in Bavel, and I watched, fascinated, as the rain pelted the lake's wind-whipped gray waves. Yochani's mention of her
ketuba
reminded me that I had not yet received mine, and that I should talk to Ukva about it when I returned.
We joined Father for the evening meal, where he thanked me publicly for the cloak. He also announced that, rain or not, we would leave at dawn for the city of Beit Shearim, in whose burial caves Rav Huna would be entombed. Since there would be no time to return to Tiberias that day,
we would spend the night in Sepphoris. Yochani lost no time in inviting me to stay with her.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the next morning, although there were enough gray clouds above to be worrisome. Instead of camels, we rode donkeys to Beit Shearim, an uphill journey through groves of what Yochani identified as olive trees. I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked back at the lake and saw a tall white-tipped mountain behind it. Yochani greatly enjoyed explaining snow to me, telling me that if I were lucky, some might fall during my stay.
When we reached the city, and waited while Father and the local rabbis discussed burial arrangements, she directed me to a spot where I could admire the view from its heights. No sooner had I climbed the hillock than clouds parted and rewarded me with an enormous rainbow. How different this land was from Suraâwhere we had no mountains, no olive trees, and almost never any rainbows.
Once it was decided that Rav Huna would be interred in Rabbi Hiyya's crypt, the coffin bearers led us downhill to the burial site. Again I could scarcely believe my eyes, for doors cut into the hillside revealed a multitude of caves. Yochani informed me that they contained hundreds of sarcophagi, including that of Rabbi Judah haNasi, who'd compiled the Mishna. Rav Huna would not be alone, for pious Jews from throughout the Diaspora had tombs in this giant necropolis. Strange, but there was no demonic presence like I'd felt in Sura's cemeteries. Perhaps all the holy rabbis buried here kept the
ruchim
away.
When we reached the entrance to Rabbi Hiyya's crypt, the problem arose of who was worthy of bringing Rav Huna's coffin in. Father demurred because of his priestly status, and Rabbah bar Huna, always humble, declared himself unworthy of entering the great rabbi's tomb. After some discussion, Rav Chaga, one of Rabbi Hiyya's students, was judged least likely to disturb his teacher's rest.
Rav Chaga was only in the catacomb a short while before he raced outside, his face a mask of terror. “The fire, the fire,” he whimpered. “I barely escaped with my life.”
His clothes looked singed, and the rabbis gathered to comfort him.
“What happened?” Father had to raise his voice to be heard. “Were you able to bury Rav Huna?”
Rav Chaga was so frightened that he could barely speak. “When I found Rabbi Hiyya's tomb, I saw that his sons Yehuda and Chizkiya were
lying on either side of him, with no room for Rav Huna,” he whispered. “I was trying to decide what to do when Yehuda rose up and told his brother to move, that it was shameful for Rav Huna's burial to wait.”
The collective intake of breath from his audience, including myself, was so alarming that Yehudit began to cry. Though I remembered Abaye's tale of how Rav Tuvi had grabbed the beard of the Magi who'd tried to exhume him, I was no less shocked than the others. By the time I calmed Yehudit, the rabbis were demanding to hear what had happened next.
“So Chizkiya also rose.” Rav Chaga shuddered at the memory. “And when he did, a pillar of fire ignited alongside him.”
“Ha-Elohim!” several of the men gasped in awe.
Rav Chaga was shaking so hard it was difficult to understand what he said next. “I shoved Rav Huna's coffin between me and the flames and ran out as fast as I could.”
I cringed when Father bellowed, “You left Rav Huna's coffin behind, standing up in the fire?”
“This is intolerable,” Rabbah bar Huna declared, bounding toward the catacomb's entrance.
The other rabbis hurried to stop him. “Rav Chaga barely escaped with his life,” Rabbi Assi warned.
“Bar the door so no one else may enter,” Rav Ami said.
In my view, they should have done that long ago if the crypt was so dangerous. As for who would be brave enough to seal its entrance, Yochani and I left that terrifying place in such a hurry that I never found out.
Yochani was a gracious hostess. She lived with several slaves in a walled courtyard on the Street of Leatherworkers, just off one of Sepphoris's main roads. The front dwelling was rented to a leather craftsman whose shop on the lower level opened to the street, while his family's living quarters occupied the second floor. A third apartment, smaller and adjoining Yochani's, was empty, which she ascribed to a lack of suitable tenants. Although it smelled musty from disuse, it would be perfect for Yehudit and me once it was aired out.
The day's events had left us too agitated to sleep, so Yochani and I talked late into the night. I came to the conclusion that she was a lonely woman eager for someone to listen to her stories of life in the old days. But her tales were new to me, and she told them well, so I gladly accepted her offer to stay as long as I liked.
On the way to synagogue the next morning, Father had me walk with him apart from the others.
“I've decided to return to Sura as soon as possible.” He spoke softly to avoid being overheard.
“Won't the rabbis in Tiberias be disappointed if you leave without spending any time in their Beit Midrash?” As I spoke, I realized that my question was fueled by my own disappointment.
“I won't go immediately. I'll teach Torah just long enough that Rabbis Assi and Ami won't feel insulted,” he said. “Besides, I'll need some time to arrange our journey home.”
“It's a shame what happened in Beit Shearim.” Surely his eagerness to depart was motivated by yesterday's fiasco.
“That's not the reason I don't want to stay any longer.” He shook his head sadly. “In truth, the students here are mediocre compared to those in Sura. My time is better spent there.”
“Yochani told me how difficult life has been since her father's time,” I said. “Prices double and triple what they used to be, with each new emperor raising taxes ever higher.”
Father nodded. “Rabbi Assi complained that their best students have either emigrated to Bavel or become merchants in Syria, and Rabbi Ami criticized the people for preferring sermons from itinerant preachers to learning Mishna from the rabbis.”
“What excuse will you give them for returning so soon?”
“I don't need to create an excuse. With Rav Huna's death and my absence, Sura's
beit din
has no leader and our students have no teacher.”
“I would prefer to stay here with Yochani.” I tried to make it sound like both a statement and a question. “She has already invited me, while I don't know anyone in Tiberias.”
“As long as you return for Shabbat,” he said. “I may not know the date yet, but I intend for us to leave on a First Day.”
I agreed, though it would mean bringing all my luggage to Tiberias each week.
It was sometime later when I understood that it also meant I might be leaving Eretz Israel with merely a day's notice.
Living in Sepphoris was so different from Sura that there were times I almost felt happy. At a minimum, there were no regular reminders of Rami or Chama to sadden me. Yochani, far from being a lonely recluse,
had a large circle of friends and a strict schedule of when she socialized with them. She was thrilled to show off her guest from the East with the exotic name and even more exotic clothing. Aware that Father could whisk me back to Bavel at any time, I was eager to experience everything this cosmopolitan Roman city had to offer.
Yochani went out every day, taking me with her, of course. She bathed three mornings a week, each day at a different bathhouse. As leisurely as I'd found our excursion to the Tiberias bathhouse, I learned that she'd considered it rushed. Here bathing meant more than just cleansing your body in preparation for the day's activities. There were friends with whom to share the latest news and gossip, gardens in which to relax, even healers to bleed you and dispense medicines. Those in business met their suppliers and customers, while city leaders discussed politics.
I was amazed at how the bathhouses obtained their water, since there were no rivers or lakes nearby. Rather than coming from wells or canals, as in Bavel, water was piped into the city via long aqueducts. Ornate fountains, whimsically decorated with animal heads from which the water flowed, stood in nearly every square. Wealthy homes had water piped right into their own courtyards, but most people relied on slaves to carry water from the nearest square. Yochani had a cistern under her house that collected rainwater as well.
Another shocking difference from Bavel were the many public privies, some so large that ten or more people could sit at one time. Often located near the bathhouses, these privies were built in such a way that wastewater ran beneath the seats, flushing the excrement away with it. Under the Romans, there were no Magi to object to polluting water in such a profane manner. Nobody here feared being attacked by demons in the privy, and almost no one had even heard of the Shayd shel BeitKisay. But I made it a point to wash my hands after using the privy anyway, since one can never be too cautious when it comes to demons.
As in Tiberias, the main roads were nicely paved with stones and the sidewalks covered. But unlike the winding, haphazard alleys of Sura, the streets here were laid out in a grid, making it simple to find my way around. Not that traversing them was always easy. Shopkeepers displayed their wares outside, between the colonnades, and additional vendors rented booths on the sidewalks. Add to this peddlers selling directly from their carts in the roadway, plus porters and haulers trying to move their
building materials and merchandise from one place to another, and I found that the direct route was not always the fastest.
On the morning when Yochani first took me food shopping, I looked forward to discovering the local victuals. She told me proudly that farmers from all over Galilee sent their best produce to Sepphoris, and since Diocletian's reign, foodstuffs were no longer in short supply. But other than certain fishes and olive oil, most items here were not only readily available in Sura but of lesser quality. I hid my disappointment, telling myself that the selection in winter would naturally be inferior.
After three days of strangers gawking and pointing at my colorful tunic and trousers, I was determined to obtain clothes like other women here wore.
“But your Persian outfit is lovely,” Yochani protested.
I waited for her kitchen slave to set out our midday meal of fish, legumes, cabbage, and dried figs. As always, there was olive oil and fresh bread, over which Yochani said the blessing.
Then I replied, “It's designed for Bavel, where the weather is hot and dry nine months of the year.”
Yochani dipped her bread in the olive oil and said, “What about the other three months?”
“Warm and dry,” I replied with a smile.
“I suppose there's not much point in your wearing it if you have to cover it with a cloak all the time.” Yochani stopped to think. “Indeed, I have the perfect thing for you.”
When we finished eating, she disappeared into her quarters and returned with an armful of red wool. “First you put on the
haluk.
” She handed me an undyed linen tunic that was buried under the wool. “Then the
stola
and
palla
.”
I fingered the
haluk
's material, a heavier weave than the linen our family produced, yet neither rough nor coarse against my skin. The long, red woolen
stola
was pleated, with elbow-length sleeves. Under Yochani's direction, Leuton corrected the length by folding the excess over belts fastened at my waist and under my breasts. I was relieved to find that the neckline could be adjusted to accommodate a nursing mother.
“How do you wear the
palla
?” I asked. It seemed to be merely a length of material, yet women here somehow wrapped it around themselves so it didn't fall off.
“Watch carefully.” Yochani removed hers and slowly pulled it around her waist, over her shoulder from behind, then tucked it under her arm before finally covering her head.
I immediately regretted my decision to trade my simple tunic and trousers for this complicated attire. “But how can a woman carry anything if she needs to use one hand to keep her
palla
from coming off?”
Yochani laughed. “That's what maidservants are for.” Then her expression sobered. “Wearing a
stola
and
palla
announces a woman's superior status to everyone who sees her, since she couldn't wear it unless she had slaves to assist her.”
“Not all women wear the end draped over their heads.”
“Some married women prefer woven hairnets like yours.” She appraised me carefully. “Most young widows, like virgins, leave their hair uncovered.”
“I'm not looking for a husband,” I said firmly. “I'll keep my hair covered.”
Yochani held out the
palla
. “You can start wearing these now.” She grinned at my dubious expression. “Next week you'll be getting dressed without even thinking about it.”
Though midday, it was still chilly enough that I undressed by the hearth. Leuton was trying to decide which side was the front of the
haluk
, when the front door burst open. She quickly yanked the
haluk
over my head and down to cover my torso. When it was finally down far enough that I could see, I looked up to find a young man wearing Yochani's face staring at me in admiration. He averted his gaze the moment our eyes met, and I could feel my face burning.