licked the honey and repeated, “How much sweeter to my palate are thy sayings than honey to my mouth.”
“Good. Miriam will help us with the next part. You’re supposed to eat three cakes kneaded in honey by a virgin, and also some eggs and fruit.”
“What’s a virgin?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it means a young woman or girl. Anyway, my mother baked these cakes, and she’s a good cook. Miriam will dip them in honey and feed them to you. Are you ready?”
“Yup.”
Miriam picked up the cakes, dipped them in the jar of honey, and stuffed them, one after another, into Josef’s mouth. Meanwhile, Mosche peeled three hard-cooked eggs and presented them to Josef, along with an apple and some blackberries.
“You eat while I say more verses.”
“Can Miriam have some too?”
Mosche nodded and began reciting. “And he said unto me, Son of man, feed thy belly, and fill thy bowels with this roll that I am giving unto thee. And I ate it; and it was in my mouth like honey in sweetness. Open thou my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law. Oh how do I love thy law! all the day it is my meditation. A lamp unto my feet is thy word, and a light unto my path. The opening of thy words giveth light, it giveth understanding unto the simple.”
After Mosche finished his recitation, he joined the others in eating the berries that remained. When they were done, he said, “Now change back into your own shirt. For the last part of the ceremony, we go down to the river.”
“I’m not allowed to get in the water,” said Josef.
“Don’t worry. We’ll just go to the edge and look.”
The children left the hut and walked down gentle slopes on a narrow pathway through fields and vineyards. They arrived at a promontory overlooking the wide river. A few small fishing boats were anchored against the steady current. Mosche explained to Josef that Torah is like water. “It feeds us, and refreshes us, and gives us life. Do you have any questions?”
Josef shook his head.
“Okay. Then I will say one more verse and the ceremony will be over. ‘When Israel was yet young, then I loved him, and out of Egypt did I call my son.’ That’s the end. Now you’re ready to be a scholar.”
Josef beamed. The children stayed at the river bank, dangling their legs off the rock and watching fishermen cast their nets from stationary boats. Occasionally a large transport barge floated past, carried along by powerful currents. They said little to one another, but Josef could feel a strong bond growing between himself and Mosche. Here was a boy who loved what he loved and thought as he thought. He had never yet had such a friend. It made him feel he belonged, like he had a purpose and a goal other than just hauling water day after day. He hoped some day he could be a real scholar and know as many verses from Scripture as Mosche.
After a time, the children made their way back through the fields, entered the city gate, and passed into the Jewish quarter. Mosche and Miriam left the main road and went home, while Josef continued along Jews’ Alley until he reached Market Street. He turned toward his house, feeling happy and confident. He would be a scholar! He would read many books and learn about everything under the sun! His world seemed much larger than it had before.
Walking along Market Street, he heard a familiar whistle. All at once, three boys jumped out and stood in his path. Josef stopped, looked up at them, and took a deep breath. When they started taunting him, he ignored them. He kept walking forward, not hearing a word they said, and barely noticed their pokes and jabs.
•
One morning it took longer than usual for Mosche and Josef to make their deliveries. They had already completed the daily lesson and were talking about other things. Suddenly Josef became serious and turned to his friend. “Do you know what a bastard is?”
“Yes. I think it’s a person whose mother and father are not married.”
“But what if a person has no father?”
“Everybody has a father. It’s impossible to be born without one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a woman has to lie with a man before she can have a baby. Whoever it is she lies with, he’s the father.”
“So, if my mother is not married, that means I’m a bastard.”
Mosche was silent for a minute. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The boys walked on without speaking, until Mosche said, “Listen. Our great rabbi Scholomo says that a man who teaches is like a father, and his students are called children. That makes me your father.”
“You can’t be my father. You’re just a kid, like me.”
“Not your real father, of course, but your teacher-father. Rabbi Scholomo says a teacher gives birth to a student and makes him a new man, almost like a new baby coming into the world. It’s in Scripture, too. When the Lord commands a person to teach Torah diligently to his children, the rabbi says it means his students.”
“Okay. What if I agree for you to be my teacher-father? What then?”
“Don’t you see? You’ll have two families, one with a mother and one with a father.”
Josef wanted to think about this for awhile.
“Who is Rabbi Scholomo, anyway?”
“Rabbi Scholomo ben Itzhak. He lived in Worms and studied here for a long time. Everybody knows about him. He is such a wise man that people came here from all over the world to ask him questions, even Christians.”
“Where does he live now?”
“He started his own school in Troyes. It’s called a Jeschiba, where lots of scholars get together and talk about important things. But he comes back to visit his friends in Worms, and we still call him ‘our rabbi’.”
“Have you met him?”
“Not yet. He lived here before I was born, and last time he came, I was sick. I’ll meet him some day. Does the butcher shop near you have flies?”
“What?”
“Have you noticed any flies in the butcher shop near your house?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because Rabbi Scholomo lived in a house outside the Jewish quarter, near a butcher shop. People say the butcher shop never had flies. It could have been your house.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“His parents lived in Worms before he was born. The old people in my neighborhood remember a story about his mother when she was expecting a baby. A runaway horse pulling a carriage behind it was galloping toward her, and she was afraid she would be killed, and the baby too. So she pushed against a wall behind her and it sank back and protected her. You can still see the sunken place in a wall near the synagogue.”
“What
