21st Century Bogatyr: The Courtship & Marriage of Bathseba

by Zvi Baranoff

Previously, he had only been to this cafe occasionally in the afternoon and only with Der Profesor. At those times, the cafe was always sparsely occupied, a quiet place for them to drink tea and talk.

Dovid entered the cafe and found it that evening to be quite crowded. Klezmorim were playing upbeat music. Waiters were bustling about and shouting orders to the kitchen staff. The tables were full of customers, laughing and talking loudly to each other.

Dovid maneuvered his way towards the back room, through the tightly placed tables filled with customers. While looking for a place to sit, he was simultaneously second guessing his decision to go downtown on his own on a Saturday night.

Though intelligent and wise beyond his years, Dovid was, after all, still a somewhat awkward twelve year old. A bar mitzvah and adulthood was still a few months away.

He actually almost turned to leave when he saw her sitting along the back wall, surrounded by friends in animated conversation.

There, in the cafe, was the young woman that he saw from a distance that afternoon. And then again within the mushroom vision. This was the beauty that he thought of as Bathsheba.

He approached and then stopped. He stood there, staring, with his mouth slightly agape. How could he tell her, without sounding ridiculous or worse yet, creepy, that this meeting was a matter of bashert, destiny, fate?

The cultural barriers must have seemed enormous to him. The woman of his vision was surrounded by her peers. They were kibbutznik youth, with all the swagger and bravado that entails, from the way they dressed to the way they spoke.

Additionally, they were all past the bar mitzvah point, the age of emancipation. As a twelve year old, he was seen by the world to be to be a child. The thirteen and fourteen year olds that he faced were adults.

Dovid bit his lip and focused his mind on making a good impression. The more he thought about that, the more of an impossibility that seemed.

His clothes were ill-fitting hand me downs. Their clothing was all well fitting and stylish. His hair was disheveled and his payos hung at odd angles, flopping about with every move of his head. They all had sharp haircuts and no side curls. His tzitzis fluttered with each step, while their fringes were unseen and possibly not even worn. Needless to say, he looked and felt provincial.

The kibbutzniks were all wearing what they call their "town clothes". In order to maintain minimum standards of the social norms, kibbutzniks generally adapt their dress when they leave the kibbutz. However, by striving for minimum standards, their acquiescence to social norms come off almost as flagrant disregard.

The young men were all clean-shaven. Their heads wore yarmulkes of little consequence and with an attitude of disregard. The women wore skirts that barely came to their knees and the sleeves of their tops ended somewhat around their elbows. The conformity felt artificial, which it certainly was. All told, they presented an image of modernity.

He reminded himself that he had flown in airplanes and that he knew more about liquid fuels and explosives than anyone on Planet Birobidzhan. Somehow, those things didn't make a difference concerning a first impression. He looked and felt like a country bumpkin. To top it off, he was just standing there, staring.

"It looks like you have an admirer," one of the fellows said to her with a bit of a snicker. Dovid felt as if the entire room had turned in his direction but he was only concerned about one person. She looked in his general direction and smiled.

"He's kinda cute, in a way," she responded to her friend's gibe while continuing to smile abstractly although seemingly taking little notice of Dovid.

Dovid threw caution to the wind and took another couple of steps closer to the table. "The cafe is crowded tonight and I am here by myself. Would it be alright if I join you and sit here?"

The young woman looked him up and down. "Please," she said, indicating the seat next to her. "My name is Rifka Leeba, but everyone calls me Bat."

Without missing a beat, Dovid said "Ich bin Dovid und du bist mayn Bat-Sheba."

Dovid ordered a glass of tea. He drank it shtetl style, with a sugar cube between his teeth. The kibbutzniks were all drinking fancy concoctions with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and such.

The kibbutzniks looked at him sideways and then went on with their frivolities, mostly ignoring the boy. Dovid quietly drank his tea. Rifka Leeba, however, drew the youngster into conversation and somehow the two of them found common ground.

When her chaverim decided to head out, Rifka Leeba stayed behind. She and Dovid sat in the cafe, conversing until closing time. Then, they walked together through what remained of the night and together watched the sun rise, before they each returned to their homes.

Over the next few weeks, coincidence, serendipity and plan brought the two young people together often. They shared secrets. They spoke of their dreams and aspirations.

Rifka Leeba took Dovid to the bend in the creek where they swam naked. Dovid took Rifka Leeba to the woods above the creek where he first caught sight of her. This was where they first made love.

The young woman was just a bit more than a year older than Dovid. At some point, that sort of age difference would be irrelevant. In just a few months, the boy would reach the age of emancipation. But, for the time being, he teetered on the edge of adulthood and was in awe of the older woman that had accepted him as an equal.

It may have been presumptuous of him to ask for her hand before he was old enough to stand under the chuppah but she readily said yes, even knowing that meant waiting until after his bar mitzvah.

Dovid brought his Bat-Sheba to the shtetl to meet his family. The shtetl where Dovid's family lived was not as primitive as Rifka Leeba imagined from his description of his early childhood. Many of the streets were paved. There were stores and parks.

The family home was small, but well maintained. Rifka Leeba was a bit nervous as they walked towards the house. She fidgeted with her clothing, trying not to look too much like an outsider. She didn't know what sort of a reception she would receive from Dovid's family, particularly his momma.

The family home felt a bit empty. Dovid's momma was there alone when they arrived. Her husband was away, perhaps working. All of the older siblings had moved out and were already raising families of their own. Dovid had mostly been living in his apartment at the airport library and was only home on occasion.

Dovid's mother served tea, with sugar cubes and biscuits. Rifka Leeba attempted to drink the strongly brewed tea through a sugar cube held between her teeth before giving up and drinking her tea unsweetened.

A tension hung over the room. It came to a head when Dovid's mother turned to him and said, with no preamble or forewarning, "Go outside and play. I need to speak with this woman."

Dovid opened his mouth, the beginning of a protest forming on his lips. He looked from his mother to his fiancee and back at his mother. Then, he stood up and walked out the door.

Dovid's mother, for all appearances, was culturally conservative and reserved. The family home was in a conservative neighborhood and projected an essence of tradition.

Rifka Leeba held many broad presumptions about shtetl life and nothing that she had seen or heard so far would have much altered her presumptions. Rifka Leeba's presumptions left her ill prepared for the conversation that was about to unfold.

The older woman grilled Rifka Leeba about sexuality. The questions were explicit and exacting, without mincing words or relying on euphemisms. Nothing conceivable was left out. Dovid's mother relentlessly asked intimate details about desires, fetishes, positioning, past experiences, menstrual cycles, orgasms, masturbation, family history and more.

Rifka Leeba was shocked and shaken to her core. She broke down crying. Dovid's mother showed no sympathy or compassion for the young woman. With no wavering or uncertainty, the older woman made it clear that she thought that Rifka Leeba was an unfit match for her son and that the marriage was a terrible idea.

Rifka Leeba was shocked by the questioning and disturbed by the unwavering opposition to their youthful aspirations that was expressed. Most certainly, she was mentally unprepared for what occurred next.

Dovid's mother elicited two commitments from Rifka Leeba. She insisted that the wedding would not occur until six months after Dovid's bar mitzvah and she insisted that Rifka Leeba would refrain from bearing children before Dovid turned sixteen.

Then, the older woman gave Dovid's fiancee a packet of herbal tea and explicit directions on how to use the concoction to regulate menstruation and prevent pregnancy.

Rifka Leeba was wiping away her tears when Dovid reentered the house. Neither of the women spoke to the lad about what had been discussed between them. The walk from the shtetl to First Landing was awkwardly quiet.

Turning thirteen brought major changes to Dovid as he transitioned from boy to man. The contract that his mother had signed with Der Profesor expired and was up to potential renegotiation. Dovid became fully emancipated. He became fully responsible for his own finances and personal decisions.

Dovid spent the week at the family home in the shtetl. Dovid's birthday fell on a Tuesday that year. The day passed with little fanfare.

That evening, Dovid's mother insisted that her husband take the young man to the neighborhood brothel. She hoped that the kurvahs would help cure him of the nonsense of his ill-conceived love for Rifka Leeba and their engagement.

The following Thursday morning, Dovid attended the minyan at the small shul near the family home. He donned tefillin and received an aliyah when the Torah was read. His mother and his fiancee sat side by side, upstairs in the women's section of the shul. A party for friends and family was held that evening.

Six months later, the young couple stood under the chuppah, surrounded by family and friends.

This is not a Jewish story. It is, however, a story about Jews. One does not need to be Jewish to read this tale any more than one needs to be a Hobbit or an Elf to read Lord of the Rings.

This story is a work of fiction. The setting for this tale is in the distant future, on the far away Planet Birobidzhan. This planet was settled by Jewish exiles from Planet Earth.

The population of Planet Birobidzhan has been cut off from the Home Planet for a long time. They have developed their own unique culture, traditions and linguistics.

The language spoken on Planet Birobidzhan is primarily Yiddish. I have sprinkled a significant number of Yiddish words and phrases throughout the telling of the tale. I also refer to various Jewish religious and cultural touchstones.

To make this story more accessible, I have included a glossary of words and phrases in Yiddish and Hebrew that are used as well as some explanations of religious terms and holidays.

I hope that readers find this to be useful.

The link to the Glossary is here:

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-useful-guide-glossary-to-planet.html?m=1

פּלאַנעט ביראָבידזשאַן

Do you want to read more about Planet Birobidzhan? Here are all the posted installments so far, in the order that they were posted. Just click your way through the story!

1 On A Planet Safe for Yidden

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/on-planet-safe-for-yidden.html

2 Yenne Velt: A History of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/yenne-velt-history-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

3 Another Globe, Perhaps?

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/another-globe-perhaps.html

4 Bereshis: The Transport & Transformation of the Founders

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/bereshis-transport-transformation-of.html

5 The Town of First Landing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-town-of-first-landing.html

6 A Personal History of an Early Settler on Planet Birobidzhan

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/a-personal-history-of-early-settler-on.html