is just as well they do not.” Em’s voice was grim. “Rebellious and evil children are the result when a man cohabits with a woman he hates or forces, one he fights with or has decided to divorce, or when he is thinking of another.”
“I don’t understand how he can continue to lie with a woman he dislikes so much,” Babata said, blushing. “I mean, a woman who dislikes her husband can just lay there and try to think of something else. But a man must feel some passion if he is to harden properly.”
True, none of us were virgins, and thus we knew very well what Babata meant, but only Em remained unaffected. Homa turned beet red, and I could feel my face flaming. The last thing I wanted to think about was how Rava managed to use the bed with Choran.
Thankfully, Em changed the subject, though it was one no more pleasant to contemplate. “Most men don’t make the same mistake Rava did, and thus they can divorce a wife they dislike. Women have no such option, which is why I never remarried. I couldn’t find a suitor I liked well enough to risk having to stay with him no matter how our marriage turned out.”
Homa brushed the crumbs off her tunic. “I must get back to my students before they finish their assignment.” She headed to the garden, where the girls were writing on wax tablets.
I followed Em to her workshop and watched carefully as she ground a portion of asafetida in vinegar. The herb stank horribly when removed from its tightly sealed jar, but grinding it with vinegar lessened the stench considerably. Amazingly, its unpleasant odor disappeared entirely when cooked, and it imparted a garlic-like flavor instead.
But Em didn’t employ asafetida merely as a spice. Prepared a special way, it was a remedy for intestinal diseases and colic in children. Another formula, often used by female slaves, kept a woman from pregnancy or caused her to miscarry. The difference was subtle but important. Too weak and a promiscuous slave would avoid belly aches instead of pregnancy, too strong and a colicky baby would die.
• • •
By the following Shabbat, Rava’s mood had improved, probably because, like everyone in Pumbedita, he was thankful rain had fallen the night before. I was also thankful that he acquiesced without complaint when I asked him to direct me to the docks.
“Getting to the docks is easy. All you have to do is go downhill and you’ll arrive there eventually,” he said as the doorkeeper shut the gate behind us. “Finding your way back is the difficulty.”
“Well, then, what do you suggest?” I asked.
“I think you should learn the shortest and easiest routes between the docks and Em’s house.”
I saw what he meant. “Of course the shortest and easiest routes are not the same.”
He didn’t quite smile, but he looked pleased that I’d understood him. “We’ll begin with the shorter routes and save the easier ones for later, when you’ve tired.”
The first one was so steep that despite my sturdy sandals I began slipping on the wet road. I tried to slow myself, but just as my feet were about to fly out from under me, Rava’s steadying hand was under my elbow.
My heart pounding, from nearly falling as well as from his touch, I let him lead me to level ground. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful,” I said between gasps. “Perhaps we should save the short route for after the streets have dried.”
He waved aside my apology but did not let go of my arm. “It was my fault. I should have realized how slippery this street would be.”
“Can you show me the way we got to Em’s the day I first arrived?” Considering the number of loaded carts I’d seen, it had to be one of the gentler slopes.
We soon arrived at a wide roadway crowded with empty carts parked for Shabbat. Now that our path was less steep, I expected Rava to release my arm. But he continued to guide me while he plunged into his recent court cases.
“I’d appreciate your thoughts on this one,” he
“I don’t understand how he can continue to lie with a woman he dislikes so much,” Babata said, blushing. “I mean, a woman who dislikes her husband can just lay there and try to think of something else. But a man must feel some passion if he is to harden properly.”
True, none of us were virgins, and thus we knew very well what Babata meant, but only Em remained unaffected. Homa turned beet red, and I could feel my face flaming. The last thing I wanted to think about was how Rava managed to use the bed with Choran.
Thankfully, Em changed the subject, though it was one no more pleasant to contemplate. “Most men don’t make the same mistake Rava did, and thus they can divorce a wife they dislike. Women have no such option, which is why I never remarried. I couldn’t find a suitor I liked well enough to risk having to stay with him no matter how our marriage turned out.”
Homa brushed the crumbs off her tunic. “I must get back to my students before they finish their assignment.” She headed to the garden, where the girls were writing on wax tablets.
I followed Em to her workshop and watched carefully as she ground a portion of asafetida in vinegar. The herb stank horribly when removed from its tightly sealed jar, but grinding it with vinegar lessened the stench considerably. Amazingly, its unpleasant odor disappeared entirely when cooked, and it imparted a garlic-like flavor instead.
But Em didn’t employ asafetida merely as a spice. Prepared a special way, it was a remedy for intestinal diseases and colic in children. Another formula, often used by female slaves, kept a woman from pregnancy or caused her to miscarry. The difference was subtle but important. Too weak and a promiscuous slave would avoid belly aches instead of pregnancy, too strong and a colicky baby would die.
• • •
By the following Shabbat, Rava’s mood had improved, probably because, like everyone in Pumbedita, he was thankful rain had fallen the night before. I was also thankful that he acquiesced without complaint when I asked him to direct me to the docks.
“Getting to the docks is easy. All you have to do is go downhill and you’ll arrive there eventually,” he said as the doorkeeper shut the gate behind us. “Finding your way back is the difficulty.”
“Well, then, what do you suggest?” I asked.
“I think you should learn the shortest and easiest routes between the docks and Em’s house.”
I saw what he meant. “Of course the shortest and easiest routes are not the same.”
He didn’t quite smile, but he looked pleased that I’d understood him. “We’ll begin with the shorter routes and save the easier ones for later, when you’ve tired.”
The first one was so steep that despite my sturdy sandals I began slipping on the wet road. I tried to slow myself, but just as my feet were about to fly out from under me, Rava’s steadying hand was under my elbow.
My heart pounding, from nearly falling as well as from his touch, I let him lead me to level ground. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful,” I said between gasps. “Perhaps we should save the short route for after the streets have dried.”
He waved aside my apology but did not let go of my arm. “It was my fault. I should have realized how slippery this street would be.”
“Can you show me the way we got to Em’s the day I first arrived?” Considering the number of loaded carts I’d seen, it had to be one of the gentler slopes.
We soon arrived at a wide roadway crowded with empty carts parked for Shabbat. Now that our path was less steep, I expected Rava to release my arm. But he continued to guide me while he plunged into his recent court cases.
“I’d appreciate your thoughts on this one,” he
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