226 r Libby Garshowitz
hero is now faint with fear (ll. 67–72). Sahar, however, through Jacob ben
Elazar’s voice, may be dissembling, for in the language of prayer he cites a
phrase that is a cry to God for rescue, which does come, a subtle reminder,
perhaps, to his reader of God’s individual providence.^59 He is released,
without the reader’s being told how, alluding perhaps to God’s mysterious
ways and the Jews’ future redemption.
While Sahar contemplates his misery, a fragrant apple enclosing words
of love (ll. 82, 84) is tossed his way by the beauteous, chaste Kima, the
confined resident of the palace.^60 Neither she nor her companions know
whether they are more enchanted by Sahar’s radiance (zohar panav, l. 82)
or his song! Now it is Kima’s turn to sing words of love: “Welcome to
you, welcome [to you], [love-]struck at first sight (shalom le-kha, shalom
harug ̔eynayim” (l. 87). She continues, voicing her desire: “Lovesick from
pain and by her love for you slain, she has taken twofold of your desire. If
only I could be night and day with my antelope, laughing, hugging, and
fondling my breasts!” (ll. 87–89). The chase has begun, and so has the
sensual language! Both Kima and Sahar test each other throughout this
mahberet, sending messages on curtains (parokhet), reminiscent perhaps
of the Ark’s curtain, or through proxies, Kima’s alluring intermediaries,
who somehow incrementally increase in number.^61 They send out feel-
ers to each other, whether through these messengers or through (imagi-
nary) kisses, Kima kissing her own hand (va-tenashqehu ̔al yadah kemo
mishpat yedidim ne’emanim), as if it were Sahar’s, “as is customary among
faithful friends.” She does not kiss his mouth, presumably because he is
not physically near her. In turn, Sahar kisses her “from afar” (ll. 90–92)
like a courtly, anguished suitor. According to Shulamit Elizur,^62 this type
of kissing was customary among servants and masters, not lovers, as a
token of respect. However, since Sahar’s lovesickness reduces him to the
status of a “slave” to love, it is natural that Kima would obey the dictates
of the servant-mistress relationship as well as observe the rules of courtly
lovers who, unwillingly, must keep a physical distance from each other.
Satirically and jocularly, the lack of Sahar’s corporeal presence also pre-
vents a closer relationship. The alluring Kima’s eyes, however, dance and
play as if they were hugging (ll. 295–96). Kima’s coquettishness fulfills
the requirements of courtly love, in which she reiterates that love among
distinguished, cultured persons (’asilim or nedivim) is a meeting of hearts
and minds, not flesh. That is the fate of friends who are separated lawfully
(ke-mishpat yedidim ha-nifradim ke-hoq, l. 92). Kima chastises Sahar: