in his small room in Reb Godel Chasid's house, surrounded by the faithful, who attended his every word. There was even one young cabalist who wrote down whatever Reb Itche Mates said.--The women devoted themselves to Rechele.
Ever since Itche Mates had, as a groom-to-be, been called to the pulpit to read out of the Torah scroll the Sabbath before the wedding, Rechele had shown no further signs of rebellion. She listened submissively to the older women's instructions. She was already versed in the laws dealing with a wife's cleanliness and had read through all the women's books concerning purity and modesty. On her pale cheeks two red spots had settled and would not vanish. Chinkele the Pious daily for hours on end instructed Rechele in morality, stroked her head, and kissed her with cold lips, as though Rechele were her own daughter. The previous evening, Rechele had been taken to the bathhouse for the first time. As they always did at a virgin's first visit, the bandsmen followed her, playing a merry dance tune. A number of women accompanied Rechele, forming a circle around her that she might not be contaminated by encountering a dog or a pig on the way. Vulgar street boys shouted lewd words and obscenities after her. In the bathhouse Yite the Attendant took charge of Rechele, undressed her, and felt her loins and breasts to determine whether she might be barren. With great care, Yite cut the nails of Rechele's hands and feet, so that there might be no barrier to the water at Rechele's immersion, combed her long hair with a wooden comb, and scrutinized all the unseen places of Rechele's body for an abscess or horny skin. Women with shaven heads or badly shorn hair, veteran bathers, sauntered comfortably about, perfectly at home; stark naked, with breasts hanging like lumps of dough, with mighty hips, and loose bellies from continually carrying and giving birth. Waddling about, they familiarly splashed their feet in the puddles of water on the stone floor and diligently tended to the abashed Rechele: they gave her advice on how to arouse her husband's desire and taught her what luck-charms to use to conceive male children. The very young women, with their small sheep's heads, played in the bathhouse like silly children, touching Rechele's unshorn hair in amazement, chasing one another about, and being generally frivolous. In a corner of the bathhouse the healer tapped veins, set leeches, and fastened sucking cups. The floor was as bloody as a slaughter house. An elderly woman spoke grossly to Rechele and confided things to the girl's ears that sent the blood rushing to her head, and she almost sank to the earth with humiliation.
It was the day of the wedding. Rechele sat on a chair, her feet resting on a footstool, and read a book. She was fasting that day, and in the afternoon would recite the Yom Kippur confession, since all one's sins were forgiven on one's wedding day, as they were on Yom Kippur. Her thin lips were white; her eyes gazed into the distance. Her face was livid and drawn as after a long illness. In the house two cooks busily baked white bread and honey cake, cut out cookie dough, dipped feather brushes in oil and egg yolks, poured honey, and crushed almonds in a pestle. Fish and meat had been fetched from a neighboring town. The great pots steamed, and the women kept removing the scum with wooden ladles and trying the broth, to make sure it was tasty. They had baked a long white bread and braided its two narrow tapering ends; holding this loaf they would dance to meet the bride and groom after the ceremony; it was decorated with various good luck tokens: ladders, birds, wheels. Seamstresses sat on the bed putting the last touches to the white satin bridal dress and underclothes. The needles flashed between their much-pricked fingers. Their glances were lowered to their work but their genteel mouths smiled incessantly and grimaced at the constant gossip of the eldest of them, a widow. Everywhere were long
Ever since Itche Mates had, as a groom-to-be, been called to the pulpit to read out of the Torah scroll the Sabbath before the wedding, Rechele had shown no further signs of rebellion. She listened submissively to the older women's instructions. She was already versed in the laws dealing with a wife's cleanliness and had read through all the women's books concerning purity and modesty. On her pale cheeks two red spots had settled and would not vanish. Chinkele the Pious daily for hours on end instructed Rechele in morality, stroked her head, and kissed her with cold lips, as though Rechele were her own daughter. The previous evening, Rechele had been taken to the bathhouse for the first time. As they always did at a virgin's first visit, the bandsmen followed her, playing a merry dance tune. A number of women accompanied Rechele, forming a circle around her that she might not be contaminated by encountering a dog or a pig on the way. Vulgar street boys shouted lewd words and obscenities after her. In the bathhouse Yite the Attendant took charge of Rechele, undressed her, and felt her loins and breasts to determine whether she might be barren. With great care, Yite cut the nails of Rechele's hands and feet, so that there might be no barrier to the water at Rechele's immersion, combed her long hair with a wooden comb, and scrutinized all the unseen places of Rechele's body for an abscess or horny skin. Women with shaven heads or badly shorn hair, veteran bathers, sauntered comfortably about, perfectly at home; stark naked, with breasts hanging like lumps of dough, with mighty hips, and loose bellies from continually carrying and giving birth. Waddling about, they familiarly splashed their feet in the puddles of water on the stone floor and diligently tended to the abashed Rechele: they gave her advice on how to arouse her husband's desire and taught her what luck-charms to use to conceive male children. The very young women, with their small sheep's heads, played in the bathhouse like silly children, touching Rechele's unshorn hair in amazement, chasing one another about, and being generally frivolous. In a corner of the bathhouse the healer tapped veins, set leeches, and fastened sucking cups. The floor was as bloody as a slaughter house. An elderly woman spoke grossly to Rechele and confided things to the girl's ears that sent the blood rushing to her head, and she almost sank to the earth with humiliation.
It was the day of the wedding. Rechele sat on a chair, her feet resting on a footstool, and read a book. She was fasting that day, and in the afternoon would recite the Yom Kippur confession, since all one's sins were forgiven on one's wedding day, as they were on Yom Kippur. Her thin lips were white; her eyes gazed into the distance. Her face was livid and drawn as after a long illness. In the house two cooks busily baked white bread and honey cake, cut out cookie dough, dipped feather brushes in oil and egg yolks, poured honey, and crushed almonds in a pestle. Fish and meat had been fetched from a neighboring town. The great pots steamed, and the women kept removing the scum with wooden ladles and trying the broth, to make sure it was tasty. They had baked a long white bread and braided its two narrow tapering ends; holding this loaf they would dance to meet the bride and groom after the ceremony; it was decorated with various good luck tokens: ladders, birds, wheels. Seamstresses sat on the bed putting the last touches to the white satin bridal dress and underclothes. The needles flashed between their much-pricked fingers. Their glances were lowered to their work but their genteel mouths smiled incessantly and grimaced at the constant gossip of the eldest of them, a widow. Everywhere were long
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