A Bride for One Night: Talmud Tales

A Bride for One Night

57 A Bride for One Night When Rav would visit the city of Darshish, he would announce: “Who will be mine for a day?” And when Rav Nachman would visit the city of Shachnetziv, he would announce: “Who will be mine for a day?” —B. Yoma 18b When Rav would visit Darshish, once or twice a year, the whole synagogue would get caught up in a frenzy of excitement, and Rav would lock himself up for hours in the study house to settle matters of law that had been left unresolved. On Shabbat he would come to pray in the synagogue at the top of the hill, which looked out on the whole town and its houses, yards, orchards, and gardens. Through the screen marking off the women’s section, I could see him standing before the ark to lead the congregation in prayer. His body was erect, his form splendid in a robe of fine stitching, his bright forehead unblemished by sun—and all the men clustered around him as if he were a prince. On laundry days among the women, I heard rumors that they were looking for someone to serve as Rav’s wife for the duration of his visit to our town. And so when the synagogue beadle sought me out in my backyard four weeks prior to Rav’s visit, I knew what he had come to say. He found me with my sleeves rolled up and my hands buried in a basket of laundry, delighting in the pleasant odor of clean clothes and the warm sun that would dry them well. I was not a young woman anymore ; eight years had passed since I had been widowed. At first I let the beadle stammer in embarrassment about the role they needed me to play and hint at the assistance I would receive from the community and the amount of ketubah money I would be paid if the 58 A Bride for One Night rabbi should elect to divorce me after the fact. I requested some time to think over the matter, and I sent the man on his way. While lying in bed that night, I resolved that I would accede—because of the money and because of what people always say: “Two is better than one.” And because it had been years since I had known the feel of a man’s caress and the smell of his breath, and I yearned for those days again. The next day, when the beadle returned, I nonetheless gave him a hard time before agreeing to his terms, lest I seem overly eager. He conveyed a few strictures that I had to be sure to keep so that I would be ritually pure in advance of the rabbi’s visit. His concern that I might begin to bleed as a result of excitement and anticipation seemed rather excessive, if not downright amusing. Nonetheless, I carefully calculated the days of my menstrual cycle as if I were a young bride. They would open the ritual bath especially for me in the darkness of night so that no one would see me. The days raced by. On the eve of the rabbi’s arrival, word spread that he had permitted the remarriage of two “chained widows,” women who had lost their husbands in a recent flood. A wave of grateful approval washed over the community, and even I was enchanted by the news. As the rabbi stood at the head of the synagogue giving his talk, his wandering gaze rested on me for a moment. Along with the rest of the community , I felt drawn to his visage. From my place among the women, I felt as if my mourning clothes and kerchief were blushing. A forgotten feeling awoke inside me. I wanted to get closer to him. During the reception that followed his talk, Rav was surrounded by a crowd that sought his blessing and kissed the palms of his great hands. The leaders of the community allowed him a brief respite from the crowds, and on the terrace of the synagogue, amid a great sea of people, I stood there before him. I heard him turn to the surrounding men and ask, “Who will be my wife for today?” Perhaps I didn’t exactly hear him say that, but I read his intentions in the curl of his lip. And I knew that I was not the only one who heard the question: Virgins hid their...