Marrying as an Eleven Year Old Makes Me into My Wife’s Slave and Results in Beatings at the Hands of My Mother-in-Law. A Spirit of Flesh and Blood
MY FATHER WASN’T PRESENT for the first evening of my wedding festivities. He had told me that he wanted to correct some of the articles in the contract, and that I should wait for his arrival. Thus I did not want attend the first night of festivities, despite all the effort that people had put into it. Nevertheless, the celebrations went on.
We waited the next day; still my father didn’t come. Soon they were threatening to have soldiers bring me to the wedding canopy. My response was to say that that wouldn’t help, because a marriage is only legitimate when both halves of the couple are voluntary participants. [100]
With evening upon us, my father finally arrived, to the joy of all involved. The articles he had had in mind were corrected, and the wedding took place.
I had once read in a Hebrew book about how one half of a married couple could gain power over the other half for life. The book said the husband should step on his wife’s foot at the wedding; if both parties attempt to employ this strategy, the first to do the stepping will get the power. When my bride and I had to stand next to each other during the wedding, I immediately remembered the tactic, and said to myself: You must not squander this chance to achieve lifelong power over your wife. I was ready to step on her foot, but something—whether fear, or shame, or love—held me back. While I was being indecisive, I felt my bride’s slipper crush down on my foot with such force that I would have screamed out loud if my sense of pride hadn’t stopped me. I saw this [101] as a bad sign, and thought: Providence has decreed that you will be your wife’s slave. You will never break free of her chains. Given my cowardice and the boldness of my bride, the reader can see how this prophecy had to come true.1
But not only did I stand under my bride’s slipper: Much worse than that, I was also under my mother-in-law’s thumb. She fulfilled none of her other promises. Her house, which she had pledged as a dowry, had been mortgaged many times over and was burdened with debts. I received barely six months of the six years of food she had promised me and had to fight bitterly even for that. Taking advantage of my youth and my dejected state , she went so far, in addition, as to beat me. I paid her back with interest, though. Hardly a meal went by during which we did not throw bowls, plates, spoons, etc. at each other’s heads. [102]
On one occasion, I happened to be very hungry upon returning home from the academy.2 My mother-in-law and wife were busy with household chores, so I went on my own into the supply room and looked over the milk pots. Finding one that had congealed milk and some cream on top, I had at it. My mother-in-law came in and flew into a rage. She screamed: “Not the milk with cream!” The more cream, the better, I thought to myself, and without letting the racket disturb me in the least, I kept eating. My mother-in-law tried as hard as she could to rip the pot from my hands, hammered at me with her fists, and let me feel the full extent of her fury. I angrily pushed her away, grabbed the milk pot, and dumped it over her head. What a sight that was! My mother-in-law covered in congealed milk, which dripped off her on all sides. Nearly exploding with anger, she picked up a piece of wood and would have beaten me to death with it had I not gotten out of there in a hurry. [103]
Such scenes occurred frequently. My wife, naturally, had to remain neutral. But whoever got the upper hand, the episodes were hardly a matter of indifference for her. Oh, if only one of you could show more restraint, she often lamented.
Tired of the constant warfare, I hit upon a cunning strategy that was, for a while, quite effective. I got up around midnight, found a large clay pot, crept with it to the foot of my mother-in-law’s bed, and began to speak into it: “Rissia, Rissia, why have you been treating my beloved son so horribly? If you don’t change soon, your end will come quickly, and you will be damned for all eternity.” After that, I crept forward and pinched her as hard as I could. Then, in the quiet, I stole back to where I slept. [104]
She woke up dismayed the following morning. She told my wife that my mother had come to her in a dream and had both threatened her and pinched her on my behalf, pointing to the blue marks on her arms as proof. When I came back from synagogue, my wife was in tears and my mother-in-law wasn’t home. I asked what had happened but couldn’t get her to answer. My mother-in-law returned with eyes red from crying and a chastened bearing. I later learned she had gone to the Jewish cemetery where my mother was buried to ask for forgiveness. Afterward, she had the grave measured, and she had a candle of the same length made, with the intention of burning it in the synagogue. She also fasted for a whole day and behaved nicely toward me.
I knew, of course, what the reason for all this change was, but I acted as though I hadn’t noticed anything, while silently enjoying the success of my [105] strategy. In this way, I managed to have some peace and quiet for a time, which, unfortunately, didn’t last long. Soon everything was forgotten, and the smallest provocation set the whole dance into motion again. In the end, I had to move out and take up residence in other homes as a private tutor. I returned only for the high holidays. [106]
1 The custom, or superstition, that whichever spouse steps on the other’s foot first will have, as Maimon will shortly say, the upper hand is well attested in several cultures and apparently does not have a Jewish origin. See Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisrael (Jerusalem, 2007), p. 14n4.
2 Namely, the Study-Hall (Beit Midrash).