Apprentice (54 page)

From my experience with spring windstorms in Kafri and Sura, I knew they seldom lasted more than a few days. Thus we were unlikely to run out of provisions. But in those civilized towns, surrounded for parasangs by cultivated fields, sandstorms merely coated everything in dust. Here in the desert, judging by the size of that rolling mountain of sand, we might well be buried in a few days. Only Yehudit, fascinated by all these new items in our tent, was unconcerned with what was happening outside. Now that she could crawl, Nurse and I had to constantly keep her from poking into the wrong basket. Thank Heaven she continued to nurse as usual, forcing me to relax for each feeding.

We had no choice but to empty our bladders and bowels inside, and I was thankful that someone had thought to bring in some covered vessels for the purpose. I made it a point to look away when the men relieved themselves, and Leuton held up a cloth to shield me from view when I needed to.

Sometime during the night, which I was scarcely able to discern with the flying sand darkening the sky, the constant noise outside lulled me to
sleep. Yehudit tugging at my bosom woke me in what I assumed was morning because it was light enough that I could make out her features, but we both went back to sleep after she suckled. I had no idea what the hour was when I woke again, but food was prepared for me.

So that listless, seemingly endless day passed. Between the heat and lack of fresh air, the tent was stifling. Tachlifa and I tried to study Mishna, but it was impossible to concentrate. None of us felt like making conversation, and it was too dark for me to weave, so we just sat there lost in our own thoughts, our sweat soon drenching what little clothing we continued to wear for modesty's sake. Not surprisingly, we'd slept poorly that night, and when darkness fell again, we quickly made for our beds.

I startled awake in the darkness with the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. Yehudit was sleeping soundly at my side, so that wasn't it. It took me a few moments to realize that the world was deathly quiet.

“Tachlifa,” I called out, softly at first but then louder. “Wake up, Tachlifa. I think the storm is over.” Either that or we were buried so deeply that I couldn't hear it.

“I'll wake Samuel and the slaves,” my brother responded. “We can try to see what it's like outside.”

Soon we were all awake and dressed.

“Here!” Samuel shouted to us. “Stand up and try to jiggle the sides of the tent. Maybe we can shake the sand off.”

We did as directed and were rewarded with a fuzzy image of the nearly full moon shining through the translucent canvas. We began jostling the walls with a new vigor, until most of the tent's exterior seemed clean. Samuel's and Tachlifa's personal slaves looked at one another, shrugged, and headed for the entrance to open the tent flaps.

Caution was more powerful than curiosity, so I stayed at the back with Yehudit in case sand came pouring in.

When no sand engulfed us, Samuel stuck his head out and exhaled with relief. “The storm's over. We're safe.” Moments later he stepped out into the night.

“Go see to the camels,” Tachlifa told the slaves huddled at the doorway. Then he turned to me. “Stay here until we know that the danger is past.”

Without being told, Leuton and Nurse began brushing the sand away from the entry, making a narrow path. That task done, they immediately emptied our makeshift chamber pots outside.

“What do you see?” I asked Nurse when she came in.

“Sand everywhere, but not more than a cubit or two high.”

Now I could hear other men's voices and people stumbling around in the dark. I peeked out and saw containers being carried away from the tents in the moonlight. The moon was low on the horizon; it would be dawn soon.

“Pack everything,” I urged our slaves. “It looks like the caravan is preparing to leave, so we must be ready when Tachlifa and Samuel want to take down the tent.”

We were on the move before the sun rose and continued traveling well into the night. The silence was almost palpable after the sandstorm's constant roar. It was a mystery to me how the caravan guides knew where to go now that the trade route was buried, but they did, for we reached an oasis on Sixth Day in the late afternoon. There was plenty of time to set up our tents and prepare for Shabbat.

After the sandstorm's terror, I could no longer doze while riding as I had before. I kept looking behind to reassure myself that there was nothing threatening on the horizon, but the sky remained a cloudless blue above the flat, unmoving sand. Only when I could see hills beginning to rise in the West, signifying that we would be leaving the desert behind, did I relax my vigilance.

The scrubland of Syria was more brown than green this time, but the cooler air was a relief instead of bone chilling. The merchants were so excited to go swimming upon reaching the Barada River, whose terminus was the Damascus oasis, that many of them stripped off their clothes with such abandon that they either didn't know or didn't care that a woman was among them. This brought back sweet memories of my sisters-in-law and I watching the men in our household crushing dates in their loincloths, and I felt a stab of homesickness.

Jews considered Eretz Israel their home and Bavel a place of exile, but it felt the opposite for me. I was exiled from my son, and it was Abba bar Joseph's fault.

As we followed the river toward Damascus, I began to worry about my reception in Sepphoris. Would Yochani truly welcome me or had her open-ended invitation been offered out of politeness? What if she already had other guests? What if she were sick or, worse, had died? Had I leapt from the soup pot into the hearth?

Tachlifa and Samuel separated when we reached Damascus. Samuel
and the camels carrying the merchandise remained with the main caravan to continue to the port city of Tyre. Tachlifa and I headed southwest, accompanied by our slaves. I dared not share my anxieties with my brother, since he believed that I had a definite invitation rather than one made under the assumption that I was unlikely to accept it.

Our camels traveled faster now without their heavy loads, and in less than a week the city gates of Sepphoris stood open before us. My throat was tight with trepidation as we made our way to the leatherworkers' street where Yochani lived. It was late in the afternoon, and the city's roads were crowded with donkeys pulling the empty carts of farmers who had sold their produce and were now heading home to their villages. Judging from the curious stares we received, camels were not the usual mode of transportation here, especially when ridden by women.

By the time Tachlifa and I dismounted and tied them to a post outside Yochani's gate, quite a few of her neighbors were standing outside watching. The leatherworker's wife came to her door and, to my great relief, recognized me.

“You're Yochani's friend from Bavel,” she called out, a broad smile on her face. “The one who makes amulets from our excess leather.”

“Is she home yet?” I tried to sound as if I were expected. “We might be a little early.”

“She went to the theater for the final show before the Three Weeks of Mourning, but she should be home soon.” The woman headed back inside. “I'll open the gates for you.”

Tachlifa led the camels in and began to unload my belongings. The small apartment I'd used before was unoccupied, but I wouldn't tempt fate and let him put my things inside.

Suddenly Yochani rushed in, almost out of breath. “The neighbors said that camels had gone into my courtyard.”

I held my breath as she looked up and saw me, watching for even the slightest hint of annoyance or displeasure. But there was only surprise and then, thank Heaven, a wide smile split her wrinkled cheeks.

“Hisdadukh, how wonderful to see you and Yehudit again,” she gushed. “What brings you back to Sepphoris?”

Before I could say anything, Tachlifa replied, “Dada is running away from home.”

Sure that I was red as a beet, I glared at my brother.

Yochani took in the scene and said, “There is surely a story behind
your visit, one that's probably best told inside.” She opened her door and ushered us in, a mother hen herding her chicks. “You must be hungry and thirsty. What can I get you?”

“Dada might need something,” Tachlifa said. “But I'll wait until the evening meal.”

I finally found my voice. “Is it too late for the bathhouse? We've traveled straight here from Nehardea.”

“No, some of them stay open quite late in the summer.” Yochani motioned to her slaves. “They will take you to the nearest one, and then you can tell me everything as we dine.” She shook her head in amazement. “You must be brave, or in a big hurry, to cross the desert in the summer.”

“I'd like to pray at the afternoon service,” my brother said. “How do I get to a synagogue?”

“We have eighteen synagogues in Sepphoris,” Yochani said proudly. “After you bathe, my slave can direct you to the Babylonian congregation. You'll feel comfortable there.”

I didn't want to get into an argument with Tachlifa in front of Yochani's slaves, but I was furious at how casually he'd told her that I'd run away from home. It was true, of course, but why did that have to be the first thing to come out of his mouth?

As I relaxed in the bathhouse, my irritation at my brother washed away along with the desert's grime. After all, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Tachlifa, whom I hoped was appreciating his bath as much as I was mine. I decided to forgo a massage and accompany him to the Babylonian synagogue. During my previous visit, I'd always gone with Yochani to wherever she worshipped, and I was curious about a congregation of my compatriots.

After our escape from that horrific sandstorm I certainly needed to pray. As Yochani's tenant had reminded us, in a few days it would be the Seventeenth of Tammuz, the beginning of the Three Weeks of Mourning for the two times our enemies had destroyed the Holy Temple. On Tisha B'Av Jews in Bavel would cry over how we'd been exiled from Eretz Israel, our true homeland. This would be my second opportunity to outwardly grieve for losing the Temple, while I inwardly mourned losing Rami and Chama.

This year I'd also be grieving over the way Abba bar Joseph had exiled me from my home and family.

The Babylonian synagogue's exterior looked no different from others in Sepphoris. It was built in the Roman style, with stone columns and wide
paved walkways surrounding it. However, its floor was laid with colorful mosaic tiles forming geometric and floral patterns in the Persian style rather than the Bible scenes that other synagogues preferred. I was pleased to see that there was approximately the same number of women and men.

There was no Torah reading that day, so the service was short, but even so, it was clear that the manner of prayer was indeed the same as in Bavel. I sighed with relief to know that, however strange it might be to live in Sepphoris, I could feel comfortable here, praying in a community that spoke Aramaic the same way I did. Tachlifa and I were the recipients of sidelong glances from many of the congregants, and I guessed that they didn't have new arrivals very often.

My conclusions were verified when we were surrounded by people after the service ended. Friendly and curious, they assailed us with questions: who we were, where in Bavel we came from, what we were doing in Sepphoris and how long we were staying. There was noticeable disappointment when Tachlifa, whose tefillin marked him a rabbi, declared that he was only visiting for the day. But this was followed by much interest when he added that I was his widowed sister, not his wife, and that I would be staying in Sepphoris for some time.

Yochani was more patient than I would have been, and waited until we had nearly finished the evening meal before asking Tachlifa what he'd meant by my running away from home.

My brother demurred that it was my tale to tell, and, ashamed of my panicky behavior, I told it as succinctly as I could.

Thankfully, the first thing Yochani said was, “Of course you may stay with me as long as necessary.” Her face lit up as she continued, “I can't wait to show you everything Eretz Israel has to offer.”

“I insist on paying rent for my apartment,” I said.

“And have people say that I took money from a guest?” Yochani shook her head vehemently. “Never.”

I sighed in acquiescence. I would have to find some less obvious way to show my appreciation for her hospitality.

She leaned forward and addressed Tachlifa. “I've heard your sister's story, now tell me what you think of this Abba bar Joseph? Is he really as conniving as she paints him?”

“I only studied with Abba for a short while before I married and went
into business,” he said. “But if anyone could argue successfully that a dead
sheretz
was pure, it would be him.”

Yochani's dark eyes widened. “His reasoning is that sharp?”

“You see how dangerous it was for me to stay and listen to him?” I said. Since the Torah specifically labels as impure the corpses of small reptiles, called
sheretz
, a rabbi who could prove them pure was considered qualified to be a judge on our highest court, the Sanhedrin.

“Actually that sounds like a good reason to marry him,” she replied. “After he divorces his first wife, of course.”

Tachlifa came to my defense. “Dada needs to consider Abba's proposal on its merits, without any pressure or duress from him. That's why I agreed to bring her here.”

Yochani nodded. “Indeed, coercion and continued pestering not only make people give in to something wrong”—she looked me in the eye—“but they can also make people reject something right out of obstinacy.”

“I'm still nursing Yehudit and can't remarry until she's weaned, which makes this discussion moot.” I hadn't come all the way to Sepphoris to hear why I should marry Abba.

Yochani gave up and addressed Tachlifa. “So how long are you going to be staying with us?”