Lamp
75 Lamp A story is told about the son of Rabbi Akiva who got married What did he do? When he brought his bride home, He stayed up all night reading the Torah portion. He said to his wife: Hold a lamp and illuminate my page. She held a lamp and stood before him. She illuminated his page until morning came. In the morning, Rabbi Akiva approached his son. He said to him: “Found or find?”1 He said to him: “Found.” —Yalkut Shimoni, Proverbs 18, first printing, Salonika, 287 A warm clay lamp rests in my palm, the heat of the oil passing from one side of my hand to the other with a quick flick of the wrist. In the evening the oil was congealed, with a small warm puddle of liquid gathered just around the flame. Now the entire lamp is warm—the flax wick is floating, and the flame appears as if suspended in midair. The room is cold, and the man standing across from me has his head buried in a small book of notes, its pages loosely tied together. He reads while half-asleep. Occasionally, he breaks into a chant, then he plunges back into silence like a whale diving back into the ocean. It is the second watch of the night. This man is my new husband. But this is not how I imagined my wedding night; this is not what the women told me to expect when they stood over me to remove the hair from my body with oils and lime. Why did they bother? What is the use of my soft skin, my plucked eyebrows, my colorful nightgown? Outside beggars and cats devour the remains of the wedding feast. If only everyone knew how I would end up spending my wedding night. As an oil lamp, not a bride. 76 Lamp And my mother, what would she say? At the beginning of the evening I was so happy. My wedding dress clung tight against my waist, a crown sat atop my head, and a circle of candles illuminated the courtyard like stars fallen down to earth. Under the wedding canopy, under the dome of the sky, I was enveloped in the happiness of everyone around me and in the outpouring of honor extended to the family I was joining. I did not feel homesick. I was excited as if I had found a valuable object that someone had lost by the roadside. Familiar expressions of blessing fell upon my ears, and during the wedding benedictions I mustered the courage to steal a glance at my bridegroom. I had not seen his face since our engagement, and I found him alluring. Then there was dancing. When he danced with the other men, he captured my heart with his awkward gait and his shining eyes. The groomsmen accompanied us until we reached our room, where we would be alone together for the first time. For a while we could still hear them singing the familiar wedding song: “With neither eye makeup nor blush nor braids in her hair, she radiates grace.”2 I thought that my husband had chosen to remain silent until we could no longer hear the voices of the merrymakers outside, and so I also did not speak. After the voices had faded away into the distance, I sat on the bed in my wedding dress. I was secretly grateful that he was not too close to me, and I was pleased that he did not seize upon me suddenly. But then I grew flustered, unsure what to do. Beside the wall, between the shadows , I took off my dress, folded it carefully, and rested it beside the bed. I climbed into bed and covered myself with a sheet.3 I knew what was expected of me. I lay on my back and waited for a sign. He took off his clothes slowly and folded them in a neat pile by the bed. The light of the candles illuminated the two of us between the shadows. I unfastened the barrette in my hair and peeked out from between the sheets. The smell of jasmine filled the room. Then he spoke. “Hold a lamp and illuminate my page.” So long as I was lying there, my nakedness was covered. My body disappeared in the bed, and only my face was visible. If I stood up, I would bare my flesh; my husband would see me from all angles. He waited...
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