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Our rabbis taught the rule of Chanukah: On the first day one candle is lit, and after that they are gradually increased—because we ascend in holiness, but do not subtract (Shabbos 21b)
When Yehuda woke up Shabbos morning, only Stephen was still in bed. He davened Shacharis and went down to fetch breakfast. There seemed to be great excitement in the Hall: a group of Slytherins were dressed identically in green and silver football player outfits, and holding big broomsticks. Squinting across the room, he saw a similarly-dressed set of Gryffindors in red and gold, only some were girls. As he ventured down the Ravenclaw table, he overheard snatches of conversation.
"They've got Harry Potter as their Seeker—you know they say his father was Gryffindor Seeker too—"
"But he's a first-year!" Cho objected. "I wanted to try out in first year, and you wouldn't let me."
"Yeah, well, you're not Harry Potter, are you?" Davies shrugged, taking another bite.
He retrieved fruit and grape juice and headed back up to finish davening, and was in the middle of Mussaf when he heard the door open. By the light footfalls, he knew it was Michael, and by the creak of the mattress and patient breathing he understood that Michael was going to wait for him to finish.
He flicked his eyes to the page, trying to concentrate, trying to daven just as he would if he were not being watched, no faster and no slower, but there was no use. He bent forward for Modim, reading down the English side in an attempt to stay focused. We will give thanks to You and recount Your praise, evening, morning and noon, for our lives which are committed into Your hand, for our souls which are entrusted to You, for Your miracles which are with us daily, and for Your continual wonders and beneficences…He wondered what a beneficence was as he took three steps back and bowed—left, right, forward—and turned.
"Morning."
"Morning!" Michael was pulling on his coat. "Are you coming to the game?"
"That they play with broomsticks?" He pressed a kiss to the siddur's cover, considering this. "Where is it?"
"On the pitch." Michael looked at him dubiously. "You don't know anything about Quidditch, do you?"
He shrugged. "Let me finish here, and I'll come, all right?" He said Aleinu and Pitum Ketores and Ein Kelokeinu while Michael tapped his foot and waited.
They went downstairs, joining the trickle of students walking down the doorstep into the sunshine. He checked that his pockets were empty before stepping out onto the grass. There were still snowdrifts, though a path had been shoveled through down the hill, past the training ground. You weren't supposed to play football on Shabbos—Quidditch was like football, wasn't it?—but you could watch, couldn't you? He'd have to ask.
They stepped up through the rows toward the blue-and-bronze flags that fluttered overhead. A fluttering banner flashed the words Potter for President! behind them. Yehuda sat down on the bleachers beside Michael.
"Mount your brooms, please." Madam Hooch's voice echoed across the stadium, and the whistle blew and fifteen brooms, glittering green and red uniforms, rose off the ground, high into the air. Madam Hooch flung open a box, and several balls shot up toward the players, who began swooping in and out in earnest chase. The voice of a young announcer rang out. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"
Yehuda blushed, looking at his feet.
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall yelled.
"Sorry, Professor," said whoever was doing the announcements—Jordan, presumably, not sounding sorry in the least. "Aaaaand she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there, he's going to—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood."
Yehuda's eyes darted back and forth in confusion, unable to follow the rapid flight of so many balls. The uniforms sped by in such a blur he could barely make out the names printed on the back—FLINT, BELL—and there was a WEASLEY—
"And the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—ouch, that must hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by Slytherin. Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger sent his way by Fred-or-George Weasley, sorry, can't tell which—nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway. Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—dodges a speeding Bludger—goal posts ahead—come on now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"
"Yes!" Michael yelled. He punched the air. In the next set of bleachers, the Slytherin house let out a unanimous groan. Squinting, Yehuda made out POTTER, doing a series of extravagant loop-the-loops far above the game. He wondered if that was part of the rules. There was Weasley aga—no, it was a different one, whacking a big flying cannonball away from Potter toward the Slytherin captain.
"Slytherin in possession!" Jordan announced, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"
Beside him, Michael gasped. "Get it, Potter!" he breathed. PUCEY dropped the red ball, while HIGGS nosedived toward the ground, Potter alongside him, so fast Yehuda was sure they would crash. The other players had stopped buzzing around to hover in midair, watching them. He saw Flint streak toward them, straight toward Potter, and Potter had to yank his broom to the side, almost falling off.
"FOUL!" Michael and Stephen were on their feet, shouting, fists raised. A roar of rage echoed from the red-and-gold Gryffindors stands. Madam Hooch flew forward and Yehuda saw her yelling at Flint. The commentator was breathing hard. "So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"
"Jordan!"
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"
"JORDAN! I'm warning you—"
"All right, all right!" Jordan said. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so penalty to Gryffindor. Spinner puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."
Yehuda sat back, his eyes glazing as he watched the red robes chase the green toward the great hoops at either end of the field. He watched the sun uneasily, thinking of his siddur back in the dormitory, and mincha. What if it got late? Were you allowed to leave the game in the middle? Potter darted across his field of vision, his broom twitching spasmodically. Yehuda squinted. Was he leaving? He looked like he was flying away from the game.
"Michael?" Yehuda nudged him. "Is that—supposed to be happening?"
"Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle, passes Spinnet, passes Bell, hit in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—"
"What's going on?" Stephen asked. Yehuda held his yarmulke on as he tilted his head back to stare. Michael was pointing, Hilliard was yelling, people were looking at each other in confusion. Potter had fallen off his broom and was swinging by one hand. The two WEASLEYs circled underneath him, but every time they approached, the broom jumped, bearing Potter even further from the game. Potter made a wild grab for the broom with his other hand and missed, dangling like a leaf in autumn two hundred feet above the pitch.
"What's he doing?" Yehuda whispered. In the terrified silence, his voice came out too loud.
"I don't know," Michael whispered back. His face was white.
But just as people were starting to stand up, crying out and pointing at Potter, just as the teachers' box across the stands began to dissolve into alarm and disorder, Potter clambered back onto his suddenly docile broom. Yehuda's knuckles were white on the guardrail. Potter sped toward the ground looking immensely relieved, as Yehuda would have done after such an experience, but then two feet from the ground, he clapped a hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick, fell off his broom, tumbled to the grass, spat into his hand, and waved something gold above his head, yelling his head off.
Michael roared with nervous laughter. "He's got the Snitch! Only Harry Potter could pull something like that!"
"Potter catches the Snitch—or maybe swallows it, but who cares?" Jordan bellowed above the confused murmurs in the stands. "One hundred fifty points to the Gryffindor Seeker and Gryffindor wins—one hundred and seventy points to sixty!"
"Sixty?" Michael said blankly to Stephen. "They only scored one goal."
"Is the game over?" Yehuda asked.
Michael looked distracted. "What? Oh—yes, when they catch the Snitch you get a hundred fifty points and the game's over, but that was bloody odd, Potter's broom, wouldn't you say? Almost like he was being jinxed. But who'd want to jinx the Boy Who Lived?"
The who? he almost asked, but decided he'd asked enough questions for the day. If the Boy Who Lived was another name for Harry Potter, it was bound to be in a book or two, just like the boy himself.
A beneficence was a noun derivative of beneficent, he discovered, the quality or state of being beneficent. He put the dictionary back on the shelf, almost kissed his fingers out of force of habit, and went to class.
It snowed again in the middle of Charms. Yehuda, waiting for Michael to finish getting their lock to seal itself so he could practice his own Alohomora, was suddenly distracted by Morag dropping her wand, running to the window, and yelling, "It's snowing!"
In an instant, the class had scrambled to the windows to press eleven-year-old faces to the glass as Flitwick chuckled behind them. Yehuda watched the snow swirl down the castle. Winter—he wondered when Chanukah was. Rosh Chodesh had been three weeks ago, parshas…Chayei Sara? No, Toldos. He moved down the calender rows in his head. Yes, chaf-hey Kislev. Where was he going to get a menorah?
"Back to your seats, please," Flitwick said patiently. They had locks to charm.
The next morning, Yehuda came down to the kitchen to watch the house-elves put up his bean soup in a separate pot, away from the meat and chicken. He took a deep breath. "Buckley—"
"Yes, master Goldstein."
"Do you have a…" He fell silent. A candleholder? The old story sprang to his mind, of prisoners digging out the insides of potatoes to light threaded wicks in machine grease, and he imagined himself lining hollowed potato halves on the nightstand and explaining that it was to remember a war and a jar of olive oil that lasted eight days, and he fought the insane urge to laugh. The house-elf stood patiently, waiting.
"I need a—candelabra," he said finally. He tried to sketch it with his fingers in the air. "A special kind. It has to have eight candles in a straight line, with none of them higher than the others…"
Buckley's eyes flickered with recognition. "A menorah," he said.
Yehuda blinked.
"We is having one here for a long time," the house-elf said, "but Buckley does not know where it is now—"
"The old things is being under the vegetable cutting table!" Remmy called.
Yehuda watched, wide-eyed, as the house-elf buried his arm in the cabinet to the shoulder. Mold-speckled pots, a long-handled bread knife, and something that looked suspiciously like a negel vasser cup clattered against the stone. A candlestick bounced to the floor and Buckley pulled out a small metal object—rusted, stained with colorful wax spots, but a menorah! Yehuda's heart leapt. He left the kitchen and headed back upstairs, armed with the menorah and a handful of candles magically shrunk to fit.
He ought to light it in the common room, for pirsumei nisa, but he was too embarrassed—and anyway they were goyim, so it didn't count, did it? He reached for his notebook and jotted down the fourth question of the week: Does pirsumei nisa include goyim? He wrote goyim in Hebrew letters in case Terry decided to go through his things—it was the sort of thing he would do.
In the meantime, he stood the battered tin thing on the windowsill. It was a bit dented, and he had to knock it against the stone a few times before it would stay upright. He wedged the candle in place, all the way on the right, and tucked the shamash all the way to the left before realizing that he'd need to pull it out to light.
But there was time.
The sun rose, class began and ended, meals were served and Terry studiously avoided. He kept a careful eye on the clock as the sun set in pink and purple glory beyond the common room windows. At tzeis, he casually excused himself and went upstairs, where his menorah awaited. He propped his siddur open and checked the time once more.
"Incendio," he said, swishing the wand in-and-out like the shape of a flame. Nothing happened. "Incendio!" He wasn't that good yet. Resignedly, he struck a match and lit the shamash. "Baruch Atah Hashem Elokeinu, melech haolam, asher kideshanu b'mitzvosav v'tzivanu lehadlik ner shel Chanukah."
Nobody answered amen, but that was all right.
"Baruch Atah Hashem Elokeinu, melech haolam, she'asa nissim la'avoseinu—" He looked down at the English translation, and suppressed a smile— "bayamim haheim, bazman hazeh."
He made Shehechiyanu and lit the candle and replaced the shamash, and gazed at the flames, glowing golden against the glass. He waited for waves of homesickness to wash over him, but none did. The candles were just as beautiful here, or maybe he was just used to it already. He turned the page and sang under his breath.
"Maoz tzur yeshuasi, lecha na'eh leshabe-e-eyach…tikon beis tefilasi, v'sham todah nizabe-e-eyach…"
He heard footsteps on the dormitory stairs and dropped his voice, mouthing the next stanza. Ub'yado hagedolah hotzi es hasegulah…
"—lost Gryffindor a hundred fifty points—oh! Happy Hanukkah, Goldstein!"
"Hanukkah?" said Terry with interest. "But Christmas isn't for three weeks!"
He jerked at the sound of the word, not knowing what to say to that. It certainly wasn't his fault the—thing with the sparkly pine trees—didn't line up with Chanukah. "Thanks," he said finally to Stephen, ignoring Terry.
When he touched his wand to his plate at dinner, he was flabbergasted to see potato latkes and jelly doughnuts wink back at him. They weren't as good as Mummy's, but they were delicious. Yom Kippur they'd never heard of, arba minim was—from another planet, and even his Shabbos morning kiddush still attracted attention, but Chanukah, at home just a day off and maybe going to Bubby for dinner, that everyone seemed to know about.
The next indicator came at Transfiguration class, at attendance. After calling Stephen Cornfoot and Kevin Entwhistle, Professor McGonagall looked up. "Happy Hanukkah, Mr. Goldstein," she said, with a faint almost-smile. "Su Li. Morag MacDougal. Padma Patil. Lisa Turpin." He wondered how she knew.
A school owl arrived at breakfast the next day, bearing chocolate coins and two letters: one from Rabbi Zeller, one from his parents. He read them as he walked, bumping into walls and people on his way back upstairs.
Dear Yehuda, they wrote. His mother and father missed him, hoped he was keeping up with his Gemara and Kitzur. His father had circled a couple of wrong answers on his worksheet and made notes on the side; he'd look at those later. Adina had won the spelling bee, Eliyohu had a new tooth, they all professed to miss him, nothing new there. He opened Rabbi Zeller's letter, popping a chocolate coin into his mouth.
A freilichen Chanukah, Yehuda! I hope you're doing well.
I came across this d'var Torah, and I thought of you: Where do we find Chanukah mentioned in the Torah? By the Mishkan, which was officially finished on Chanukah but not dedicated until later. When Hashem tells Bnai Yisrael to build it, the pasuk says "Build me a Mishkan and I will dwell b'socham—inside them."
Inside them? What does this mean? That there's a little Mishkan inside every Jew. Even if there's no Bais Hamikdash because of the Yevanim, we take our inside-Mishkan everywhere we go. It's that Mishkan you make a chanukas habayis for. We're always serving Hashem, even if there's no shul around.
Please find my answers to your last letter's questions on the attached page. Remember to look up the sources!
He had reached the Ravenclaw common room as he read, and now he raised the knocker and let it down, still smiling.
"What creature carries its home with it wherever it goes?" the door asked.
"Me," Yehuda answered. His heart was full.
On the last night of Chanukah, he lit all eight candles and sang Maoz Tzur, and pored over his Gemara sheets.
If you were banging with a hammer that sparked and set things on fire, you could be chayav, or if your camel had flax that went into someone's store and caught fire and burned down the building, you had to pay. But if the storeowner had left his candle outside, it was his problem, unless it was a Chanukah candle.
He wondered if his father had set it up on purpose so that he would learn the Chanukah daf on Chanukah.
After a half-hour, he went downstairs with his essay and inkwell and sat at a table in the common room with Michael and Megan, comparing the uses of dragon's blood. Chatter rose behind themas a prefect circulated, talking quietly to the groups scattered around the room. Megan laughed as she told them dragon blood made good oven cleaner. Yehuda reciprocated by showing her that one of the footnotes said it was a cure for veruca, though neither of them knew what that was.
"Anyway Dumbledore discovered all of them," Michael said with finality, just as the prefect reached their table.
"Goldstein, Corner, Jones—any of you going home?" Penelope held out a clipboard. "Sign if you're staying—"
"We can go home?" Yehuda gasped. The quill fell from his hand. Ink sprayed across the parchment, but he stared at Penelope in numb delight. "We get to go home?"
"Of course." She looked puzzled. "If none of you are planning on staying, I'll just—"
"No, we're all going home, thanks," Michael said. "Christmas holiday," he explained quietly to Yehuda, who winced at the word. "There's no lessons for a week, and a train back to London."
"And it leaves on—er—the twenty-fifth?" He grinned, already counting down the days. He'd see his family—Danziger—the rabbi, too! He could go to shul, he could be home for Shabbos—
The twenty-third, they told him. He wondered if there was an erev X-mas they needed to prepare for. In that week's letter to Rabbi Zeller, he drew a dashed line under his signature and added a note, not long enough to be a letter of its own. Dear Tatty and Mummy—we have winter holiday on 23 December, could you pick me up from King's Cross? A freilichen Chanukah. Love, Yehuda.
Glossary
Chanukah. Hanukkah.
Shabbos. Saturday, the Sabbath.
Daven. Pray.
Shacharis. Morning services.
Mussaf. Additional prayers for holidays.
Modim, literally "[We] thank." The eighteenth blessing of the Amidah.
Aleinu, Pitum Ketores, Ein Kelokeinu. Prayers at the conclusion of services.
Siddur. Prayer book.
Mincha. Afternoon services.
Almost kissed his fingers. A popular Jewish practice after touching a holy book.
Rosh Chodesh. The first of the Jewish month.
Parshas. Weekly Torah portion.
Chaf-hey Kislev. 25 Kislev, the first day of Chanukah.
Menorah. Candelabra.
Negel vasser. Ritual hand-washing.
Pirsumei nisa, literally "advertising the miracle." Displaying the menorah in a public place.
Goyim, literally "nations." Non-Jews.
Shamash. Candle used to light the others.
Tzeis. Nightfall.
Baruch Atah Hashem Elokeinu, melech haolam, asher kideshanu b'mitzvosav v'tzivanu lehadlik ner shel Chanukah. Blessed are you, Lord our God, ruler of the world, who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us to light Chanukah candles.
Baruch Atah Hashem Elokeinu, melech haolam, she'asa nissim la'avoseinu bayamim haheim, bazman hazeh. Blessed are you, Lord our God, ruler of the world, who did miracles for our fathers, in those days, in this time.
Shehechiyanu. Blessing on a novel experience, such as the first night of a holiday.
Maoz tzur yeshuasi, lecha na'eh leshabe'ach. Tikon beis tefilasi, v'sham todah nizabe'ach. My stronghold and rock of salvation, it is pleasant to praise you. Establish my house of prayer, and there I will sacrifice in thanks. Chanukah song.
Ub'yado hagedolah hotzi es hasegulah. And with his great hand he brought out the treasured nation.
Latkes. Flapjacks.
Arba minim. Four species.
Kiddush. Blessing over wine.
Bubby. Grandma.
Gemara. The Talmud.
Kitzur, literally "shortened." Condensed religious text of Jewish law.
A freilichen Chanukah. Happy Hanukkah.
D'var Torah. Torah thought or interpretation.
Mishkan. The temporary portable Temple. (See Exodus 25 and onward.)
Bnai Yisrael. Jews.
Bais Hamikdash. The Holy Temple.
Yevanim. Syro-Greek Seleucid invaders of Israel, c. 2nd century BC.
Chayav. Legally responsible.
Daf. Page in the Talmud.
We're back, witches.