©Robert M

©Robert M. (Bob) Leahy Approximate Word Count: 2,345

2110 E. Crosby Road

Carrollton, TX 75006

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From The Book of Women

Part One

Ruth Hegel smiled at her granddaughter, Miriam. She studied the child in the darkening light of the dining room. The girl was so like her when she was twelve. The same large eyes and short stature, making her appear younger than she was. But the hints of womanhood were there. It would only be a matter of time before the adolescent’s straight trunk held the curves of a mature woman.

"I still don’t see why the women aren’t named," Miriam said, shaking her black curls. The girl’s dark eyes studied her grandmother’s face. "When I asked Rabbi Goldfarb," she sighed, "he said the ancient rabbis named all the women. ‘So why aren’t they mentioned in the torah along with all the men’s names?’ He acted like he didn’t even hear my question. So I asked him, ‘At least tell me the name of someone—who was Noah’s wife?’"

"Did he give you an answer to that one?"

"He called her Naamah¹ and said it meant that she beat drums on her way to worship idols. Why would she beat a drum? Why would she worship idols?"

"You have so many questions, my little one," Nana said.

"But no one answers them?"

"You are so impatient to know these things?" Nana asked.

Miriam nodded.

"Then you shall know," Nana replied. "What I tell you is women’s lore. Rabbi Goldfarb will not have heard it. And you must never talk of this with little girls. I tell you now because you are ready, because you mother is dead, and I may not live to see you reach the rightful age to learn this lore."

"What are you talking about, Nana?" Miriam asked. "You’re not making any sense."

"I just wish your mother were here," Nana said. She rose from the table and crossed to the dark hutch opposite the windows. She knelt down and pulled out the bottom drawer. She set tatted doilies and cross-stitched dishtowels to one side, reaching for the very back of the large drawer.

"When I’m gone, I want you to remember where this book is," Nana said, returning to the table. She showed Miriam a very old, leather-bound book, about as big as the Monthly Digest but three times as thick.

"But what is it?"

"It’s called, The Book of Women," Nana replied. She caressed the cover. "It answers all your questions about the women."

"You mean, like who’s Noah’s wife really was?" Miriam asked.

"Yes."

Miriam came around the table to stand by her grandmother’s side. "There’s nothing written on the cover?"

"It doesn’t matter. I know its name. And, now, so do you."

"But it should be on the cover," Miriam said.

"Someday, you’ll understand," Nana replied.

"So, what are their names?" Miriam asked, pulling a chair close to better see the book.

"There are as many women as there are men," Nana said. "Let’s just pick one for now. You’ll have plenty of time to meet the others later."

"But who should I look at first, Nana?"

"You asked about Noah’s wife. She was first, so let’s start with her."

"Okay," Miriam replied. "What does the book say about her."

"Oh, child," Nana laughed. "It doesn’t say anything about her. She tells her own story, and she has a name—"

"What is it?" the child interrupted.

Another laugh. "Her name is Magda."

"But Rabbi Goldfarb said it was Naamah?"

"That’s the made up name of the rabbis," Nana Ruth said, opening the book and turning the delicate, yellowed pages. "Magda tells the story of the ark and the flood, of her three sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth, of her daughters-in-law—"

"And who are they?"

"We’ll get there, dear. All in good time. Now, sit and listen. Nana Ruth started part way through Magda’s story.

…Back in the days before the flood, when the boys were grown, Noah and I stayed apart from most of the others. And our boys did, too. We had to to keep what little we had. We used to hire help. But the men would work a day and steal sheep that night and never be seen again. The women would wash clothes and bake bread. Then they would take some of both when they left. It’s a wonder we ever found suitable mates for our children. But The God did provide.

"That’s not the way the story goes, Nana," Miriam said, shaking her finger at the older woman. "The earth became corrupt before God; the earth was filled with lawlessness. When God saw how corrupt the earth was, for all flesh had corrupted its ways on earth, God said to Noah—"²

"Yes, child," Nana said, waving her had. "I know that story, too. It’s Moses’ story. And Moses didn’t much like women. Never married. Hardly spoke of them at all in his telling of our history. That’s why The Book of Women exists.

"But it doesn’t sound like the same story," Miriam complained.

"But it is. Or mostly is. And it isn’t."

Miriam stared at her grandmother for a moment. Then she started to laugh. "That’s silly, Nana."

The older woman laughed, too. "It’s the same story. It’s just told by a different person—a woman, this time."

"But she sounds so…so…ordinary," Miriam said.

"She’s a woman. She’s practical; that’s all. I admit that Moses had a better flair for the dramatic, at times. But he doesn’t always tell the whole truth about what was going on."

"Nana," Miriam gasped.

"It’s true," Nana replied. "And you can tell Rabbi Goldfarb I said so. He knows Moses left a lot out. But he probably won’t admit it to you." Nana sighed. "One thing you have to remember," she said, reaching out and grabbing Miriam’s arms. "Men stick together. So women have to do the same." After a moment, she went on with Magda’s story.

Miriam…

The young girl touched her grandmother’s arm at the sound of her name. Nana Ruth smiled in return and continued reading.

… was found just wandering among the sheep one day. She was dressed like the pack women that trail the caravans, but she didn’t have any memory of who she was or where she’d been. Even so, or maybe because she had no memories, she was the sweetest girl I ever met. So gentle. And she knew tricks to seasoning meats that made them melt on your tongue. She loved to cook, something I had long wearied of, and spent hours combing the hills for plants to use. She didn’t always know the name of the plants she gathered, but she knew how to mix them.

All the boys loved her cooking, but Ham put on the most weight after she joined our family. I don’t know when he decided to take her as his wife. Miriam said she knew the moment she saw him he would be the one. But it was Shem who allowed them to become one in the eyes of The God. As the oldest son, if he had wanted her, she would have been his.

Zareh and Rebeka were rescued from an abusive master as part of a trade Noah worked out when he thinned out the goats—too many nannies unable to bear young and give milk. Noah said their master was whipping the girls like camels because they strained under the weight of the giant water jars they carried, spilling some of the precious liquid. Noah gave the man an old ass and rigging to carry the water.

They were sisters. Zareh was older by three years. Rebeka was just becoming a woman. Shem treated both of them like sisters. Japheth fell under Zareh’s spell. I like to think I attracted Noah that way once. But it was so long ago, I don’t remember.

Shem would eventually claim Rebeka as his wife. But that happened after The God spoke to Noah and me. What we heard The God say we never completely agreed on, except that we were to build a huge ark. Noah said The God wanted two of every animal, male and female, clean and unclean. But I still say The God wanted seven pairs of clean and two pairs of unclean animals, of those that walk or crawl or fly. We argued about the number of stories in the boat, the placement of any windows.

It seems odd, now. But I don’t ever remember us questioning The God about building the ark. We accepted The God’s word that the rains would come and the world would be cleansed. The boys took longer to come to believe. But eventually they did. If they hadn’t, Noah could have never built the ark.

Only Miriam, of my daughters-in-law voiced any opinion among the girls. She took my hands and held them, looked into my eyes and asked me to repeat what The God said. And I did. She said, "So be it." And that was all there was.

Ark building is chaos. Especially when you have Noah out there in charge of measuring, never stepping the same pace twice. And boys at an age when they knew more than their father. Three of them fighting among themselves about how to do everything from lashing spars to laying pitch, always disagreeing with poor Noah.

Miriam was in charge of the animals. How she kept the rams from butting heads, the snakes from eating the birds and mice, I just don’t know. Zareh, Rebeka and I had to do all the daily chores, tending the garden, making bread, cooking meals, sewing clothes, and milking goats. All the men had time to do was build.

Zareh became our negotiator as we traded off our flocks for wood and rope and straw. We knew we only needed seven pairs. Noah tried to get rid of all but two.

Hardly anyone knew of the ark until the lower sections were completely pitched. Noah had decided to build it down in a steep wash just beyond the second rise behind our hut. Only our sheep saw much of the construction.

As the upper deck and roof went on the ark, people would come by and stare. They would look at the sky, kick the dust with their feet and wonder how mad we had all become. Some were afraid to trade for our animals. But we gave fair deals—Zareh made sure no one was cheated—and that brought us what we needed.

Rebeka suggested packing hard bread in watertight skins for our food. We would have milk to drink, but little else to eat while we were inside the ark. She was always the most practical of the three girls.

We only had eleven goats left by the time we loaded the ark up. Two females and a male were stolen just before the rains started. I think we had the right number of all the rest. Only two camels, I can assure you. And, if The God had allowed, none would have suited me.

I don’t remember the size of the ark. It was big. It had to be. It was cramped when we all got inside. And it stank from day one. But we got used to it. I remember Noah stepping it off one last time a day or two before we loaded up. He marched off six hundred and one paces and scratched that number on the side by the door. I know it was wider than it was tall, but he didn’t have a good way of measuring across at its widest point. The top story and roof rose out of the wash.

Most of the time on the ark was spent herding the larger animals into and out of the pens. Miriam was in charge of the overall schedule, but all of us took turns opening and closing pens and coaxing animals into the somewhat larger open area where they could stretch their legs. By the end of rains, when less than half the straw was gone, there was more room for moving around. And there was the constant clean up. That little window on the top deck was a long hike with full baskets of dung. But we managed.

By the third week of the rains, I think all of us would have gone mad if The God hadn’t sent us Rebeka. She played a small flute in the evenings after Noah told stories of his ancestors. No one asked about mine. It was the third or forth time Noah recited down from Enos to Cainan through to his father, Lamech, that I worked up the courage to ask him his mother’s mother’s name. He couldn’t tell me.

"Why just the men, Noah?"

He couldn’t answer me.

"You can’t have a son or daughter without a wife. She’s important, too."

"Oh, woman," he says. "You don’t understand."

"Do you even know my name?" I asked him.

"Of course I do," he said. But he didn’t say it. And that’s when I decided I had to have my own story. And as I have told it here, it has been told to my three son’s wives. And they will add their stories to mine. And we women will know how we came to be."

Nana closed the book. The tick-tick of the antique mantle clock in the living room could be heard in the silence that followed.

"Does Miriam tell her story next?" the young girl asked a moment later.

"Yes, child," Nana Ruth answered. "But there’s more to Magda’s tale."

"Can I hear it now?"

"No, dear one. Not now. There’s much to learn. You’ll have plenty of time."

"But, Nana," Miriam started to whine.

"None of that. I said not now. Maybe I shouldn’t have even started with this book."

"I’m sorry, Nana," the child said. "Tomorrow?"

"We’ll see." The old woman rose stiffly from her chair and returned the book to the back of the drawer. "We’ll see."

End of Part One

Notes:

The name Naamah found on page 1 is taken from The Five Books of Miriam: A Woman’s Commentary on the Torah, by Ellen Frankel (New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1996, p.12). In addition to the meaning used here, the name may also mean "pleasing deeds."
The version of the Noah narrative begun by Mariam (p. 4) is taken from The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis (Traditional Hebrew Text and new JPS translation) with commentary provided by Nahum M. Sarna (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 5749 {1989}, pp. 50-51).

Revised text placed on
The Leprechaun News WebPages
4 March 1999