Magdalen Rising by Elizabeth Cunningham Page B

animals in tow: sheep, goats, birds in cages. Now and then, over the human roar, I hear an animal scream. When the hot wind blows across the outer courtyard from the inner one, it carries the scent of blood and offal.
    Where am I in all this? I do not seem to have a visible presence in this world. I see from atop one of the columns. Now my vision, which has been sweeping the courtyard, narrows. Bellow me in a shaded portico something is about to happen. Two men with astonishing beards almost to their chests, the hair on their head covered with round caps, sit on chairs facing one another. A crowd gathers, and the men begin to speak, not only to each other but to their audience.
    At first I am too fascinated by the rhythm and tone of their voices to pay any attention to content. I know nothing of formal discourse or public speech. In contrast to what I’m used to—my mothers’ free-for-all fights with everyone talking at once—what I hear now sounds ponderous, an argument, yes, but in slow motion, with more weight given to
each point. It is some time before it dawns on me: the men are speaking Aramaic. Then I give all my attention to understanding. But even as I catch more and more words, much of the meaning escapes me completely. Here, listen for yourself. And please excuse my crude—in every sense of the word—translation.
    â€œIf three women were sleeping together and blood was found beneath the middle one, all are considered unclean.” The man with more grey in his beard and a slightly rounder belly is holding forth, his forefinger dancing in the air, keeping time with his speech, as if it’s a second tongue. “But if blood were found under the one sleeping next to the wall, the two on the inner side are considered unclean, and the outer one is clean. If blood be found under the outer one farthest from the wall, the two on the outer side are deemed unclean but the one next to the wall is clean.” He furls away his forefinger and folds his arms.
    In case you are wondering, this is not an obscure math word problem you’re hearing (if you have three women and one blood stain, how many are menstruating?) It’s a Mishnah, an oral teaching on the Law of Moses. These disputations on the fine points of the Torah have since been written down. If you don’t believe me that debates like this actually took place, go read The Mishnayoth.
    â€œAs always, Rabbi Meir, your sound wisdom resounds in this holy place and the very stones rejoice to hear you, but—” The second speaker, a leaner man with a sparser beard, perhaps because he tugs at it so impatiently while waiting his turn to speak, brings his forefinger into play. “This proposed ruling of yours can only apply if,” he pauses dramatically, almost caressing the air that will receive his words, “and only if the three women came into bed by way of the foot of the bed. For if blood be found under the outer one, and all had passed into the bed across it, then all of them, I say all—dispute me who will—all are unclean.”
    From the audience there is a murmur of ascent and acclaim for this speaker’s cleverness, his attention to the all-important detail. But his opponent is neither daunted nor done with what he has to say.
    â€œI congratulate you, Rabbi Judah, from whose mouth wisdom burbles like pure water from a deep spring, on the fine point you have made. But are we not both overlooking the matter of test rags? Consider: if one of them made examination and found herself clean, she alone is clean but the other two are considered unclean. If two examined themselves and found they were clean, then they are clean but the third one is not.”
    â€œNow wait just a minute, Rabbi Meir,” the other one interrupts,
leaning closer to his opponent. The tips of their beards brush each other and threaten to tangle. “You are blatantly contradicting what we just agreed. Didn’t we just