JKR owns HP
Disclaimer: Halachic statements in this chapter have not been evaluated by any rabbinical authority and are not intended as actual halachic guidelines. The story is intended for entertainment purposes only. For any practical concerns, CYLOR.
Listen to advice, and accept instruction, so that you may later be wise. Though many thoughts are in the heart of man, the plan of God will be upheld... (Proverbs 19:20-21)
Rabbi Zeller's office had been crowded before, but never before had he held an audience with a young wizard, his parents, and the deputy headmistress of a school for witchcraft.
"This is going to sound very strange," Yehuda's father began.
"Trust me," the rabbi said. "I've heard it all."
Yehuda felt very small. He was perched alone in a chair made for someone twice his age, his legs dangling a foot off the floor. There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, as though he was somehow in trouble.
His father took a deep breath. "Yehuda is a wizard."
The rabbi blinked, but his face remained composed. He was quiet for a moment. "Go on."
"We noticed it when he was four or five," his mother broke in. "He'd wave his hand over a vase of old flowers, and they'd be fresh again. And then there was a panicky phone call from the school saying something about Moshe Meyerson and fire. We thought there was something strange about it, but we…explained it away."
Rabbi Zeller turned to one person in the room that he did not know from adolescence or earlier. "And I assume this is where you come in, Ms. …?"
"McGonagall."
"She turned up the week before Pesach, saying that Yehuda's a wizard and she's the headmistress of a school for witches," his father said. "They say they have a place for every boy who can do things like this, and they want Yehuda to come."
Now the rabbi reacted, sitting up straight with narrowed eyes. He closed the book in front of him and kissed it. "Tell me about this school, Ms. McGonagall."
"It's a secondary school for magical children—witches and wizards," McGonagall explained. She sat erect in her chair with frightful dignity, as though she spent her every Sunday consulting with rabbis. "Most of our students come from magical families, but a few like Anth—like Mr. Goldstein are simply born this way and only join the wizarding society when they enter Hogwarts. We teach Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and other magical arts."
"We can't just send him to a random non-Jewish school!" his mother protested. "I'll admit he can do these—strange things, but this is kishuf we're talking about, and in any case it's a non-Jewish school! I don't even know why we're here asking this. There's simply no way to justify it."
"Your son set another boy's hair on fire because he felt scared," McGonagall shot back. "I don't know how old he was then, but the power doesn't grow weaker with age, you know. He'll be a menace to society by the time he's fifteen!"
Yehuda shivered.
"Fascinating," the rabbi murmured. "This is one of the best sh'eylos I've ever gotten." He lapsed into silence and hummed to himself for a few minutes, stroking his beard. Yehuda squirmed. Into the awkward silence, his father coughed. Even McGonagall looked jittery.
The rabbi seemed to come to a decision. He moved stacks of leather-bound books on his desk until he found a Chumash. He turned a few pages and handed it to Yehuda. "Yehuda, read pesukim tes to yud-gimel for me, please."
"Ki atah ba el ha'aretz asher Hashem Elokecha nosen lach, lo silmad la'asos ketoavos hagoyim haheim," Yehuda read, hesitantly. "Lo yimatze becha maavir b'no u'bito ba'eish, koseim kesamim, meonen u'menachesh u'mechashef—" his voice wavered, but he steadied himself and kept reading."—v'chover chaver, v'shoel ov v'yidoni, v'doresh el hameisim. Ki toavas Hashem kol oseh eileh, u'veglal hatoevos ha'eileh Hashem Elokecha morish osam mipanecha."
His father joined in, finishing quietly. "Tamim tihyeh im Hashem Elokecha."
"That's the source for prohibiting magic. You also have the pasuk in Shemos that explicitly orders the death penalty—Mishne Torah says stoning, specifically." He inclined his head toward the headmistress. "You might be familiar with the verse. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."
She only sat straighter, staring at the rabbi with a look of deep distrust. Yes, wizardry was certainly familiar with that verse.
Yehuda's mother shifted uncomfortably. Rabbi Zeller leaned over the boy and pointed to the small print underneath the verses themselves. "Here, Yehuda—read what the Ramban says on this pasuk. Start from V'ata dah."
Yehuda ran his finger along the tiny letters until he found it. "V'atah, dah v'haven b'inyanei hakeshafim: ki haBorei Yisbarach, ka'asher bara hakol yesh m'ayin..." He squinted, stumbling over the difficult words. It was a long and complicated Ramban, the kind he did not learn in school, and his face burned with each mispronunciation. When he finished at last, he closed the Chumash and pressed a gentle kiss to the leather cover before passing it back to the rabbi.
"If you don't mind translating," McGonagall said dryly. "Not all of us understand Hebrew."
"Well, the pasuk says that Jews can't practice sorcery like the non-Jews do, and we should be—whole? Pure?" The boy turned to the rabbi. "How do you say tamim?"
"'Whole' is fine," Rabbi Zeller said. "There's no perfect translation. Go on."
"We should be whole with God. And the Ramban—I think he's Nachmanides, in English—says the main problem with using sorcery is that you're changing the world as Hashem created it. So if a kind of magic follows the laws of nature, it doesn't count under this pasuk, and you're not chayav misa. Right?" He looked at his father, who patted his back approvingly.
The rabbi cleared his throat. "Generally, one is chayav misa for practicing magic, but the Gemara in Shabbos says that one can learn it for the sake of learning and understanding, not in order to practice." And one could study it in order to be able to judge and execute accused sorcerers, he thought, but did not say. "Reb Meir, have you learned Sanhedrin?"
"What, Rabbi Yehoshua and the cucumbers? I remember it vaguely."
"Yes, exactly. That mishna makes a distinction between an actual sorcerer and a very good illusion—only the actual sorcery would be liable for the death penalty. So, Ms. McGonagall, is the magic you teach a true manipulation of the fabric of the universe? Does it actually override the rules of nature? Or does it give the mere illusion of change?"
"She turned into a cat," Yehuda mumbled.
McGonagall's lips twitched in something almost resembling a smile. "I assure you, it was no illusion."
"There is room to be lenient," the rabbi said quietly. "The Moreh Nevuchim goes into great depth, analyzing the different types of magic and which ones are forbidden, but I'd have to know many technical details about the school's curriculum to know where each subject would fit in. But even aside from the issues inherent in sending such a young child to a non-Jewish boarding school, there's no reason to place him in a situation where he violates a lo sa'aseh every day."
Yehuda swung his legs back and forth. They were talking about him as though he wasn't even there. "But aren't I going to do a lo sa'aseh anyway, even if I'm not in that school? I did magic stuff by accident before."
"Such as nearly murdering another boy," McGonagall said acidly. "If I may interrupt this conversation. As I said earlier, magic uncontrolled only grows more and more dangerous with time. Next year's list of students contains a boy who accidentally sicced a boa constricter on his cousin, and I know of a girl who—" She stopped, her mouth forming a thin line. "I know of a girl who killed her own mother in an outburst she couldn't control."
Yehuda gasped. His father looked sick.
"Well," the rabbi said, after a long silence, "that certainly puts a new perspective on things." He rested his head in his hands, not moving. Around his desk, four guests watched him. The tick of the clock became deafening. Yehuda's mother put a protective hand on his back, but he felt it trembling.
Even his parents were afraid.
When the rabbi finally spoke, his voice was very, very steady. "The question is whether he will definitely become a danger to others, and whether that danger will be pikuach nefesh—life-threatening," he translated, glancing at McGonagall.
"Certainly you can't violate a mitzvah for a maybe!" his father said, outraged.
"Let me ask you, Reb Meir," the rabbi said. "Is it muttar to be vaccinated for a life-threatening disease on Shabbos? It depends, right? You aren't actually being cured of a life-threatening disease; you're merely preventing a potentially fatal situation from ever developing at all. It's just a maybe. A number of sources do in fact rule that you may not."
"That would mean he can't go to the school," Yehuda's mother observed.
The rabbi held up one finger. "Correct, but wait one moment. That applies under normal circumstances. But when there is an actual epidemic, and the chances of contracting something life-threatening are much greater, you are not only permitted but required to be vaccinated as soon as possible—even if that means violating Shabbos."
"But that's just Shabbos," his father protested. "Where does it say that he's required to learn magic?"
The rabbi barely paused. "Well, you have the Shach." He stood up and scanned the shelves, pulled out one book and opened it. "Right. He quotes the Maharshal here. If someone is ill as a result of magic, he permits the use of a non-Jewish sorcerer—the need for healing overrides tamim tihyeh. According to the esteemed headmistress, if Yehuda does not learn to control magic, he can potentially put himself or others in great makom sakanah. In which case he must learn to control it, and control it well."
The ruling fell like a bomb in the middle of the study.
"No," his father said, shaking his head. He jumped to his feet. "No, there's no way, I refuse to allow this—"
"I'm afraid you must," the rabbi said quietly. He beckoned to Yehuda. "If the adults would be excused for a moment, I'd like to speak with Yehuda alone. You can wait in the sitting room; my daughter will bring you a tea."
The door closed behind them. Yehuda was frozen in his seat, his heart pounding. He tried not to think about his parents alone with McGonagall, or what the rabbi's seven-year-old thought of her strange guests as she served them tea.
"Come here, Yehuda," the rabbi said.
He stood up shakily, walking to the other side of the desk. "Do I really have to do this?" he whispered. Tears stung his eyes, and he lowered his head so the rabbi wouldn't see him crying like a baby.
"Shh, Yehuda, it will be fine. You're a smart boy. Let me show you something." He opened one of the books on his desk. "This is the daf I was talking about with your father, comparing illusions and real magic. But look what it says right after that." He ran his finger down the lines and stopped. "Read this."
"Ein od milvado," Yehuda read shakily. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "There is no one else but Him. Rabbi Chanina said: 'Even through sorcery.' A woman once tried to take dirt from under Rabbi Chanina's feet for the purpose of sorcery. He said to her, 'If you succeed in your attempts, go and try, but there is no one else but Him'—Rabbi Zeller, I don't understand."
"You don't?" The rabbi raised an eyebrow. "He acknowledged that her magic had power. But who makes that power work?"
The boy's eyes widened.
"Exactly. There may be magic, and we might be forbidden to use it, because of tamim tihyeh im Hashem Elokecha. But Hashem created the laws of nature, and He created ways to override them. He is the one in charge, and He's commanded other things too—like protecting our lives and health. And your job, right now, is to learn to be a good wizard and control your magical powers well. You can be tamim with Hashem by v'nishmartem me'od es nafshoseichem."
For the first time in what felt like years, Yehuda smiled. He let out a long breath. The sun was breaking through the clouds.
"Now, let's go see how your parents are doing."
In the sitting room, McGonagall stood in a corner, looking utterly incongruous and gingerly drinking tea. His parents hadn't touched theirs, and were engrossed in a lively argument. "What are we supposed to tell everyone?" his mother was protesting. "Our family, all the people we know—how do we pull him out of school without sounding like meshugenes?"
The rabbi's eyes twinkled. "I don't know much about magic," he said. "But I suspect Ms. McGonagall can help you out."
Note: In this story, Yehuda/Anthony Goldstein, his parents, and their rabbi are Ashkenazi Jews of Lithuanian yeshiva affiliation. Hebrew is transliterated accordingly.