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Keshisha couldn’t pronounce Hisdadukh properly when I was born. I wanted to ask why there was less food, but Devora’s action was a clear dismissal and I slunk away knowing little more than before. I was so frustrated that I grabbed a fly swatter from the kitchen and headed for the garbage pit in the courtyard. In addition to making baskets, Beloria also wove reeds into sturdy devices for killing flies and other noxious insects that served the Corpse Demoness, Nasus.
    Fearsome Nasus was responsible for death, decay, and impurity in corpses, excrement, and people—especially women. They said that Nasus took the form of a giant fly, which was why flies were the most reviled among her minions. Killing them decreased the amount of evil in the world, and provided me with an outlet for my aggravation.
    As usual, there was a cloud of flies hovering over the pit’s cover. Not as many as around the privies, but swatting flies was sure to disturb whoever might be using them. I took careful aim, and, thwack, I brought down three in one blow. I kept at it until I managed to kill six at the same time, and by then I was feeling a little better.
    One place I knew I wouldn’t learn anything was during lessons with our tutor. Keshisha had moved up to study with Father two years ago, leaving Achti and I behind with our nieces and nephews. The curriculum was the same as when I started: reading and writing in both Hebrew and Aramaic, with the Torah as our text, plus some occasional arithmetic. All subjects I had memorized by last year.
    Achti didn’t mind helping the little ones with their learning, but I was so bored that I tried to escape whenever I could. Usually I fled to the roof, but if Grandfather was in the
traklin
, the large room where adults took their meals and Father taught from the Mishna, the compendium of Jewish Oral Law, then I was assured a place either on Grandfather’s lap or on the cushion next to him.
    The
traklin
floor was littered with feather-stuffed cushions, so many that every diner, even guests, could have their own. During his classes,Father’s status as teacher meant he sat on three cushions, while his students only got one. Normally Grandfather’s position as father-in-law granted him three cushions at meals, but here in class he acquiesced to Father’s authority and sat on two.
    These days Father was teaching from Tractate Bava Batra, the volume of Mishna that dealt with injuries, damages, and other such complicated legal subjects. Because of all the new students, he began with an explanation of his teaching methods.
    â€œDespite the circumstances, I am pleased to see so many new faces before me. I expect that all of you have studied, and hopefully memorized, the Mishna, even if you’re not quite sure what it all means,” he said with a smile. “That is our task here, to recite and repeat, and then to discuss and analyze until everyone, including me, understands its meaning.”
    He paused to let this sink in. “For some of you, what I say next will be new, but do not let it dismay you,” he said gently. “In truth, the Mishna does not contain the entirety of Oral Law, which was given to Moses on Mount Sinai along with the written Torah. In addition to those teachings compiled in Mishna, our Sages in Eretz Israel taught many other things. These additional sayings are called Baraita, and though they are outside the Mishna, they are equally authoritative.”
    One of my nephews called out, “How many Baraita are there?”
    Father chuckled. “I don’t know, for no scholar has learned them all. But I do know that there are many more Baraita than there are Mishna,” he replied. “Those that I and my sons know, we will impart when the subject arises, and I expect you to learn them.”
    He gazed around the room, locking eyes with Rami, Abaye, Rabbah, Zeira, and Abba in turn. “I implore those of you who have studied with