Judah's Wife: A Novel of the Maccabees Page 6

  I shifted my attention back to the road. “Within Jerusalem, was selling cheese his only business?”

  Leah smoothed her tunic. “I don’t know what he did when he was out of the house. He never told us anything about his business or his friends. He rarely spoke to us at all, except to command us or to complain about something we did or did not do.”

  I glanced at her, expecting to see tears or a plea for pity in her expression, but she stared impassively at the landscape.

  “Interesting,” I said. “My father knew something of Yoel the cheesemaker’s activities. Many nights your father would go to the inn to drink with the king’s officials. Father says he seemed to be quite friendly with them.”

  Leah shrugged. “He considers himself a Hellene when it is in his interest to agree with the authorities. He says it is better for his business if he is friendly with the people in charge. But I wouldn’t know anything about his trips to the inn.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t. A woman has no business being in a place like that. Bad enough that men drink until they become fools, but harlots linger outside—”

  I fell silent, suspecting that my conversation had ventured into an area one should not discuss with a modest woman. So what did husbands and wives talk about? We had no children, so we could not talk about new teeth or scraped knees. We had no home, so I could not compliment her cooking or sewing. We had shared one night together, but I definitely did not want to talk about that, and we had taken part in a wedding.

  Would she come to regret marrying a man who did not know how to talk to women?

  We rode in silence for a long while, then I leaned toward her until our shoulders touched. “I want you to know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road, “that you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  She did not answer, but from her quick intake of breath I assumed my words had achieved the desired effect. Later, when I finally summoned the courage to directly meet her gaze, her small smile hinted that my admission had pleased her.

  That thought gave me great pleasure.

  We traveled most of the day, but as the sun began to dip toward the west we finally glimpsed the mud brick walls around the village of Modein. The small, sleepy town, patriarchal home of the house of Hasmon, did not have much to recommend it. Situated on bare, rocky ground, the land offered little but abundant limestone, a rock that proved useful in building terraces that kept the soil from being washed away by the occasional rains.

  When we arrived, Ehud, my father’s brother, gave us a warm welcome, embracing Father and each of his nephews. After complimenting our wives, he pointed through the darkness at land on which we could plant our crops, raise livestock, and build our homes.

  “Until you build your houses,” he said, smiling, “you must stay with us. We will erect tents for your families. Tomorrow we will plot out the land, your women will work with our women, and you will share in all we have. Welcome to Modein.”

  I stood at the side of our wagon and glanced at Leah, curious about how she would adjust to a land and family she had never met. But she slipped out of the wagon and walked directly to Rachel, my uncle’s wife, and asked how she could be of service.

  “Would you look at that.” I turned to find Simon standing beside me, his attention focused on my new bride. “Made herself right at home, didn’t she?”

  I grinned. “I believe she did.”

  “Good.” Simon placed his hands on his hips and jerked his head toward the light load in our wagon. “When you’ve unloaded that bit, come to my wagon, will you? Morit has packed more than three people should ever need.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I lifted the first basket out of our wagon, but before walking toward the area where Uncle Ehud’s sons were erecting tents, I looked for Leah. I spotted her standing between Rachel and my mother, stirring a pot over the cook fire as the older women talked. Though she had to be exhausted, a gentle smile lit her face as she listened.

  Perhaps Father was right. Marriage might be a fine thing, even for me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Leah

  The women who traveled with me to Modein seemed to fall into a well-rehearsed routine the moment we climbed out of the wagons, but I did not know what to do or what was expected of me. I jumped out of the wagon and looked to Judah for instruction, yet he and his brothers were occupied with greeting their uncle. So I did what my father would have ordered me to do—I walked over to the uncle’s wife and introduced myself, then offered to serve her in any way I could.

  Rachel, Ehud’s wife, embraced me in a warm welcome, then explained that she was preparing dinner. She had butchered a lamb and was boiling the meat for a stew. Had I brought any root vegetables from the city?

  I had brought nothing but a small chest of clothing, but soon my sisters-in-law came over and offered to help. So I joined them in searching the wagons for fresh herbs, vegetables, anything we had brought that might enrich the stew.

  At first I felt as though I was trespassing when I looked through the other couples’ belongings, but apparently Mattathias’s sons shared everything—the goods in the wagon, the livestock, even their bad jokes. I wasn’t sure my sisters-in-law would prove as generous—women, in my experience, were generally more possessive of personal belongings—but the men still behaved as if they were boys living in the household of their parents.

  Yet the women worked with a cheerfulness I had never witnessed. The happy mayhem was encouraged by Rosana, my mother-in-law, and my sisters-in-law reveled in it. They tried to include me—Morit tossed me a pomegranate, but I was so flustered I dropped it. Like a child who is given a toy and doesn’t know how to play with it, I fumbled their smiles, their remarks, and their jokes.

  “Give her time,” I heard Rosana tell the others. “She is newly married and newly moved to a new place. The poor thing has to be overwhelmed.”

  Embarrassed by her pity, I settled on a bench and rested my chin in my hand, studying the women of my new family.

  Rosana, Judah’s mother, moved with the restless energy of a small bird. Her dark hair, veined with silver, had been pulled back and tied with leather strips to keep it out of her way. Her hands seemed in constant movement as she cooked and arranged and pounded the food we would soon eat. She carried herself with a confidence befitting the mother of five sons and commanded her daughters-in-law with genial authority.

  Neta, Johanan’s wife, could draw admiration from a dairy cow, so attractive were her features and figure. She exuded grace and confidence, and a close look at her face assured me that she was older, probably in her late twenties. She did not talk much, but when she did, her words were slow and melodious, almost as if she had rehearsed her speech.

  Morit, married to Simon, the second son, had a wealth of brown hair that flowed like a river down her back and created a definite shadow on her upper lip. I blinked the first time I saw her, and wondered why she had not availed herself of mixed potash water and yellow flowers to bleach that mustache. Yet however odd her beauty choices, Morit possessed a merry laugh, which frequently rippled through the house.

  Eleazar had married Ona, a girl only a year or two older than me. She looked familiar, and I thought I remembered her selling linen in the marketplace. Though we had never spoken, I felt certain we would get along because our backgrounds were similar.

  Ever since descending from the wagon, I had dreaded one particular moment, and it finally arrived. Morit sashayed over to me and with a teasing smile asked, “So . . . how do you like your new husband?”

  Every woman in the kitchen went silent and leaned forward, waiting to hear what I would say.

  “I like Judah very much,” I finally said, choosing discretion over details. “I look forward to our life together.”

  Morit giggled. “Listen to her,” she called to the others. “She is tactful, this one.”

  Rosana shook her head. “Maybe she does not yet trust you.”

  “It is all right, you can sa
y anything you like,” Neta said, stepping closer to me. “We do not tell the men what we talk about when we are together.”

  “Sometimes a woman has to talk to another woman,” Ona added. “So this is a circle of secrets.”

  “And sometimes a bit of trouble.” Rosana cast a reproachful look around the circle of sisters, then settled her kind brown gaze on me. “Welcome to the family, Leah. If you are having trouble, you can come to us. What is said in the kitchen usually remains in the kitchen, unless one of us wants to feel the sting of her kinswoman’s tongue.”

  I looked up, a little overwhelmed by the outpouring of attention. “Thank you,” I said. “I . . . am glad to be here.”

  “Good. Now.” Rosana looked around the kitchen. “We need wine for the table. Leah, can you fetch a bottle from the cupboard? Thank you. Hurry, ladies, the men will be here soon, and they will be hungry.”

  My heart hummed in contentment as I rose to fulfill my job in the family.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Judah

  Within a week, we had fenced areas for the goats, sheep, horses, and cattle we would buy now that we were no longer city dwellers. Within a month, my brothers and I had built the basic structures for our homes. My uncle had been making mud bricks ever since learning of Father’s desire to return to Modein, so he had supplies ready for us.

  Leah surprised all of us with her industriousness. I had expected her to be a good worker—after all, had she not worked every day in the marketplace?—but what I found most surprising was her willing attitude. She never complained, not even when the other women took advantage of her youth and good nature. Each night she crawled into bed beside me and smiled when I took her into my arms.

  I had heard enough complaints about tired wives from Simon, Eleazar, and Johanan to know that such willingness was not the way of most women. I yearned to ask Leah if she was happy and if I pleased her, but I could not bring myself to speak of such things in her presence, or even discuss such things with my brothers.

  Time, I assured myself, would bind us together. We would grow to understand each other so completely that we would not need to talk.

  As I adjusted to life with a woman, the village of Modein adjusted to our family. With less than one hundred inhabitants, the people naturally looked to my father for leadership. Because he was a Levite, they asked him to be the Torah teacher at the village synagogue. Father agreed, and I was happy he had found a way to continue serving Adonai. Simon had worried that Father would be bored in such a small settlement, but as we built our homes and tended our flocks, the worry lines in Father’s forehead eased. For hours he would sit outside, his eyes on the southeastern horizon, his prayers directed toward heaven . . . and Jerusalem.

  We bought livestock with the money we had earned selling furnishings from our homes in Jerusalem, and in those first few months my brothers and I prepared fields for plowing. Uncle Ehud also taught us how to handle herds of livestock. Most families in Jerusalem kept a goat and a few chickens, but in Modein we planned to maintain larger herds. The sound of lowing cattle and the bleating of the sheep filled me with pleasure and sent me off to bed with a feeling of accomplishment.

  In the afternoons, when I worked the fields alone, I often collected wildflowers for Leah, sneaked back to the house, and left them on her pillow when she had gone to the well.

  With my brothers I cleared the soil, hauled blocks of sun-dried bricks, and built walls in the sweltering sun. I felt an unexpected surge of pride when I stepped back, looked at the finished structure, and realized that we had built our homes with our own hands. My one-room house stood between Johanan’s and Simon’s, and for the first time I felt a unique kinship with my married brothers.

  At the end of each day, as the sun set and the air turned cool, we splashed water over our aching arms and backs and headed home. On the short walk, I often laughed aloud, for no reason other than contentment. I would soon enter my house and eat a dinner prepared by my wife. Then, in the silence of the evening, I would sit and play with the strands of her hair while she thanked me for the flowers and told me what she had done during the day. And when all our words and thoughts had been shared, I would take her to bed, where, like a rose, she unfurled beneath my loving hands and we two became one.

  After eight months, we brothers had settled into specific jobs in order to relieve Father and Mother from the burden of supervising the family. Johanan became the overseer of fields where his training as a scribe proved useful when he wrote up trade agreements between our family and people from other villages. His wife, Neta, was supposed to help with the harvests, but I thought the sun more likely to melt than that vain woman to help in the fields.

  Simon tended the orchards, where Uncle Ehud graciously allowed us to share in the harvest of pomegranates and figs. His sons preferred to work with cattle, so he was glad to see Simon step into the role of overseer. Simon’s wife, Morit, agreed to sell baked fruit pies to assist the family.

  Even in the city Eleazar had displayed a gift for calming horses, so he became the caretaker of all the carriage animals: horses, mules, and donkeys. We did not have many animals, and our only horse was a mangy, stubborn specimen, but Eleazar insisted that the quality of our animals could only increase. His wife, Ona, had long been a weaver, so she would continue to sell her work.

  Since I had no gifts particularly suited for the farm, Father suggested that I care for the goats because Leah knew how to make cheese. She went pale at the suggestion but did not protest. Only later, when we were alone, did she confess that she had never made cheese; she had only watched her mother make it.

  “Then do not worry,” I assured her. “I will take such good care of the beasts that they will give you milk that practically turns itself into the stuff.”

  My remark made her laugh, and after a couple of attempts, Leah was able to produce the best cheeses in Modein. They were also the only cheeses in Modein.

  Jonathan, my youngest brother, tended the sheep. He would live with our parents until he decided to marry, then like the rest of us he would build a home for his bride and bring her to live with him. One afternoon, after I caught him intently watching a fair and distant cousin, I suspected that Father wouldn’t have to send Jonathan very far to find a wife.

  By the time summer arrived, life had settled into a pleasant and peaceful rhythm . . . but I have since learned that such respites do not last.

  As pleasant as life was in Modein, stories of unbelievable blasphemies in Jerusalem continued to reach us when travelers stopped at the well for water or hospitality. One man told us that even the priests of Jehovah were exercising in the gymnasium, casting off their holy robes to wrestle naked and contend for the applause of the eager crowd. My father shook his head in disgust when he heard the news and replied that those priests were engaged in activities “fit only for hired clowns—hired pagan clowns, as no self-respecting son of Israel would do such things.”

  The Hellenes had also celebrated idolatrous festivals in the holy city, including the drunken feasts of Bacchus. In Tyre, a coastal city in northern Judea, the Hellenes held athletic games in honor of the Greek god Heracles. With great dismay we noted that heathen rituals and ceremonies had not only infiltrated Jerusalem but also were spreading throughout the land of Judea.

  We were preparing to plant the late crops when an old man and his grandson stopped at our well for refreshment. Obeying the commandment of hospitality, Father invited them into his house to rest.

  “May Adonai bless you for your kindness,” the older man said, clasping Father’s hands while his eyes overflowed.

  Mother set food before the guests, and Leah kept their cups full as the grandfather told a story that lifted the hair at the back of my neck. “I’m sure I will be the first of many to come your way,” the old man said. “We fled with our lives when soldiers entered our neighborhood. Those who did not run were either killed or captured.”

  “Seleucids?” Father asked, a spasm knitting his br
ows.

  The old man nodded. “Under the command of a general called Apollonius. I don’t know what spurred the king’s ire this time, but over twenty thousand soldiers entered the holy city and went on a killing spree. They captured hundreds of our people and ran the sword through anyone who resisted. They took everyone they encountered—women, children, and men. The older people—those who didn’t flee the city—were murdered in cold blood.”

  Tears streamed down his face as he continued in a tattered voice. “I fled with my grandson, and when we reached the plains, we looked up to see Jerusalem aflame. While we rested, another man who escaped told us the city walls had been pulled down. Oh, Jerusalem! Has any city in the world seen so much bloodshed?”

  When our guest had collected himself, he told us that Antiochus had sent Apollonius, the newly appointed governor of Palestine, to collect taxes and wipe out every distinguishing Jewish custom—by stringent measures, if necessary. The king’s laws now forbade circumcision, observance of the Sabbath, and reverence for the Torah. Apollonius issued orders directing his soldiers to collect and burn copies of the Law as well as Torah scrolls. Furthermore, the Temple would no longer be a place to worship HaShem, but it would be dedicated to Jupiter Olympus. The king’s soldiers would also enforce these edicts in Samaritan lands, at their temple in Gerizim and in the northern capital of Shechem.

  A heavy sadness filled the room as Father lifted his voice in a heartrending wail. He tore his robe, and together the two old men wept over Israel while my brothers and I silently looked at each other. What did this mean for us? We left Jerusalem because Father feared the city would fall, and now it had. Mattathias had been proven right, but it brought Father no joy to know his greatest fear had been confirmed.

  The old man and his grandson stayed with us until they had sufficiently rested, then we sent them on their way with a prayer and a blessing. A few days later, other travelers came through town with even more terrible news. “The king has issued a new decree,” the oldest man told Father. “All Jews are to conform to Seleucid laws, customs, and religion. Not content to forbid worship of Jehovah, the king is now commanding us to sacrifice to Greek gods and goddesses. Not content to forbid us to obey our dietary laws, he is forcing us to eat unclean foods. Anyone who refuses to observe the king’s laws will be put to death.”