JKR owns HP
With thanks to adamlp65 for help developing Terry's and Cedric's characters in this chapter.
To "Rosony": He's eleven years old!
To Dina: Gavriel is not a member of Chabad.
Disclaimers: Drink responsibly. I am bad at writing drunk people, please offer your assistance. For the kosher status of strawberries, CYLOR. Opinions expressed are those of the characters. Do not resolve interpersonal conflicts through public humiliation; self-control is a virtue. Jews did not kill Jesus, you're thinking of Pontius Pilate. Non-ritual ksav Ashuris text requires respect, but not burial.
Updated Disclaimer: I know, nobody would forget about [spoiler holiday]. But plot.
Acquire a friend, and judge every man favorably (Avos 1:6)
A man stood outside the Leaky Cauldron as the sun came up, holding an envelope and praying for an owl. He couldn't see the pub, but he knew it was there, sandwiched invisibly between the bookstore and the record shop. Time was running out.
At first, his strategy had been to simply ask each passerby, "Excuse me, may I borrow an owl?" But after ten minutes he did not have, he realized the futility of asking random strangers to lend nocturnal birds. The fourth candidate, a smart-looking businessman, looked at him askance. "An owl?Go to the pet shop."
He sighed. A man with a cloak fastened around his neck looked promising: the magic people—the wizards—always looked rather odd, from what he remembered. "Pardon me, may I borrow an owl?"
"Haven't got one!" the man said, before disappearing between the record shop and bookstore, where he knew the Leaky Cauldron would be if he could see it. Not "Go to the pet shop," he'd said, but "I don't have one." A wizard, then. Emboldened, he approached a grandmotherly woman. "Excuse me, ma'am. Do you have an owl I could borrow?"
"An owl?" the woman said with mild interest. "Why do you need an owl?"
Could he answer? "I've got to send an urgent letter to my son."
"Where?"
She was unperturbed that he was going to send a letter by owl. She was safe. "Hogwarts," he said, hoping he'd gotten the name right.
"Ah, Muggle-born." Understanding dawned. "I don't have an owl on me, but I'll duck into the pub and see if anyone's got one for you, all right?"
He waited, looking at his watch and smiling in spite of himself. It would be Shacharis soon, and he had to get home in time to relieve Esti of babysitting duty and send the children off, but first this. The grandmother emerged with another woman beside her, a birdcage dangling between them, and two minutes later, the owl had launched, talons biting into his forearm and wings flapping in his face like it knew he didn't belong there. He shielded his eyes to watch it go, winging its way north with an envelope flapping in the wind.
The envelope contained a hastily-developed photograph, and five words scrawled in the lopsided letters of a jubilant man who has been awake all night:
Mazel tov! It's a boy!
Two hours later, Yehuda Goldstein dropped his spoon into his breakfast, staring at the letter with delight.
"What've you got there?" he heard Kevin say. Conversation buzzed around him as though underwater. "Whose baby is that?"
It's a boy! His mother had a boy! He had a new baby brother! He tore his eyes from the tiny swaddled face, dizzy with excitement, almost laughing aloud. "I've got a new brother!" He brandished the photograph proudly. The baby was small and squashed, with blotchy skin and wisps of dark hair and one hand curled into a fist.
"He looks a little funny, mate," Michael said doubtfully. "Are babies supposed to look like that?"
"What's his name?" Morag asked.
"He doesn't have a name yet," Yehuda said. "He was just born! We don't give them names until the…eight days," he finished, unsure how to explain a bris.
At Charms, he took notes on the history of fire-related charms yet again, then set to composing a letter home on a scrap of parchment: Dear Tatty and Mummy, Mazel tov! The baby is cute. How big was he? Who does he look like? What are you going to name him? I hope Eliyohu is not trying to kill him. Love, Yehuda. There. Done. Oh, no, he couldn't send it on parchment. Even if the owl would bring it to Rabbi Zeller and Rabbi Zeller would bring it to his parents, it had to be on paper—
"Anthony, whatever you're doing cannot possibly be as interesting as the fire-conjuring incantation," Flitwick said. "Would you kindly demonstrate for us?"
That wasn't nice; everyone knew he still couldn't do it. Incendio was a hard one. He walked to the front of the room slowly, lost in thought.
After that Shabbos meal so many weeks ago, he had gone straight to the rabbi to tell him about the fire he had conjured. I've been having trouble with the fire-making spell at school, he'd said, but when Meyerson got me angry it just came without my telling it to. I thought I could come home, but I guess it's still pikuach nefesh, isn't it? And the look on the rabbi's face had told him he was right. He had not been able to conjure fire since.
Now, in front of Flitwick and the class, he pointed his wand at the window. Incendio, he thought. He felt empty. Everyone was looking at him. Why couldn't he do it again? He thought of Meyerson: America couldn't stand you either?
"Anthony?"
He heard Flitwick as though from far away. He was trying to find the fire that had ripped down his arm, to force it through the wand, thrust outward in exploding flames, and he stared at the classroom wall and imagined that it was Meyerson's face, Meyerson's eyes sweeping him scornfully, and of course, they give you X-mas vacation, and the wand jerked in his hand.
"Incendio!" he shouted. The wand burst into flames.
"Aguamenti," Flitwick said, anticlimactically. Yehuda lowered his wand hand shakily and went back to his seat in a daze.
It probably wasn't good that he had conjured fire thinking of Meyerson. Meyerson, after all, had only told the truth: he was strange, he did go to a school full of goyim where they gave winter holiday.
Breathe. His brother. He had a baby brother. He waited and waited, sat through diagramming the motions of Switching Spell, laying awake in the quiet dormitory with blankets pulled up to his chin and eyes wide open in the dark, chanted nezek-tzaar-ripui-sheves-boshes under his breath until he had the five damages memorized, studied the properties of bezoars and ground unicorn horn with the other first-years, his knees jiggling under the table wondering how it was even possible to be waitingand waiting for so many days, running back and forth to the common room window to crank it open, stick his head into the snow, and scan the empty gray sky for an owl, and finally, finally, on the seventh afternoon after the letter, the next one came.
He was swaying quietly in the corner when the tapping at the window started.
"Will someone let that owl in?" he heard an annoyed third year complain, "I'm trying to read."
He took three steps back as the owl swooped in and made a beeline (owl-line?) for him, dropping an envelope into his lap. He tore it open eagerly to find a letter, his corrected halacha worksheets, a family photograph, and a crayoned drawing featuring purple and orange humanoid scribbles. He read the letter first.
Dear Yehuda,
Mazel tov, mazel tov! Little Yosef has his bris! He was named after Elter Zeide Yossel, Bubby's father, and we hope he grows up to be a big tzaddik like his zeide. Uncle Noach and Tante Freidy were kvatter and Zeidy was sandak. Rabbi Zeller had kriyas shem (he sends his regards). Baby Yosef screamed his head off throughout the whole thing. We missed you very much. Here is a picture we took at the seudah, and a picture Brochie drew for you.
Keep shteiging,
Tatty and Mummy
He turned his attention to the photograph, where twelve people beamed at him from the shul's simcha hall. He traced his fingers over the faces with a smile.
Michael leaned over his shoulder. "Is that your family, or all your cousins?"
Yehuda laughed. "Just my family—this is my father over here, this next to him is Sholom, he's thirteen. Then that's Esti holding Eliyohu, she's fifteen and he's just two, and my Bubby and Zeidy—my father's parents—are behind her. This, sitting down, is my mother and the new baby. Next to her is Adina, she's nine, the little girl is Brochie, she's five, and this is my Savta—my mother's mother—and Saba Reuven, that's her husband. That's all of us. It's not so many, really, we're only six kids. Well, seven now."
Michael's eyes were huge. "Seven? That's nutters. Nobody's family has that many kids."
"Ron Weasley in Gryffindor's has got seven," Padma volunteered, and immediately looked so surprised to hear her own voice that she clamped her mouth shut.
"Merlin's beard," Michael said weakly.
"I've got four," said Terry.
"Shove off, Boot," chorused Michael, Yehuda, and Kevin simultaneously, and even Terry laughed. Yehuda wondered what they would say if they knew some kids in his class had more than ten. Yosef, he thought. Esti, Sholom, Yehuda, Adina, Brochie, Eliyohu, Yosef. Yosef Goldstein. He wondered what legal name they had given him to go with it. Looking carefully at his mother's face, he went upstairs to prop the picture up on his nightstand.
"Yehuda." Someone was shaking him. "Yehuda, wake up."
"Go 'way," he muttered.
"Yehuda, we're going to be late to class!"
He rubbed his eyes. The figure of Kevin swam into clarity over him. He groped for his watch: it was ten minutes to midnight. Class. Right. The homework, a list of planets and stars they had identified last class, was folded neatly on the nightstand.
Astronomy was the strangest class: ten little Ravenclaws yawning, buttoning shirts, as they trooped through a dark and silent common room, down to stairs, to reach yet another staircase that led above the front doors to the astronomy tower. A sudden blast of cold air almost knocked him off his feet as they filed outside. He took a telescope and, teeth chattering with cold, stepped onto the footstool placed there for the first-years' benefit. Next to him, Michael gave a huge yawn. Padma wrapped her robe tightly around her, shivering.
Professor Sinistra had no sympathy, collecting parchments briskly and directing them to turn the telescopes east-southeast. Yehuda squinted, fine-tuning the focus until he could make out the orange splotchy ball that was Mars. He had just looked up that Rashi, back when the homework had been assigned, and it was funny to see the same planet in both Astronomy and parsha.
"Use your parchment to sketch out any features you notice," Professor Sinistra said. "If you're having a hard time making out the details,come up and get a red glass for the end of your telescope. Mars is considered a harbinger of death in many cultures. If anyone read ahead, you'll know more—"
"Mars," Morag said, "like the Roman god."
"Correct, five points to Ravenclaw. Can anyone give another example?"
He smiled, jerking his eye away from the telescope. "Ma'adim!"
"Mr. Goldstein?"
"It's in the…the Bible. Exodus…" He tried to remember the perek. "Exodus ten. There's a p—a verse that says, 'see there is evil before your faces,' and Rash—one of the comment…ers says that 'evil' refers to Mars, and he says in astrology that it's a star of blood."
"Excellent, take five points," Professor Sinistra said approvingly. "Anyone else?"
Padma muttered something under her breath that sounded like "Mangala."
"Nobody?" Professor Sinistra said. "Well, you'll learn more on that in Divination…hopefully. Now, look into your telescope, about halfway between the two caps. Does everyone see the dark patch? That would be the Hourglass Sea. If you haven't found it, ask the person next to you for help."
For the next class, they were going to have to map Venus. Terry tapped him on the shoulder as they were leaving. "You know the Bible by heart?"
He shrugged, uncomfortable. "I remember that—section. I just learned it a few weeks ago."
"That's brilliant," said Terry. "I wish I could do that." And Yehuda thought that maybe Terry wouldn't be such a bad fellow to have around, all things considered.
"We should study it together!"
(Well, maybe only some things considered.)
He wrote to the rabbi to tell him about it, but somehow he thought his parents would be less pleased to hear that he thought he could be friends with a Christian boy. (Maybe.)
So into that letter went his Mishnayos and his Chumashand Rashi, but not the five points they had earned Ravenclaw in Astronomy, and his blandly cheerful letter sanitized of all magic so they could read it aloud to Sholom and Esti and the relatives was dutifully trekked back out to the Owlery to borrow a school owl yet again.
Thankfully, Terry seemed to forget his idea that they learn parsha together. He was a lot easier to like that way.
In middle of a confused dream in which something vaguely thematic and reader-intriguing happened, he woke up. He opened his eyes blearily. It was dark in the dormitory, except for the candle by Terry's bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"It's still early," Terry whispered. He was buttoning his coat. "Go back to sleep."
Yehuda squinted at him through the fog of sleep. "Where are you going?"
"Church. Go back to sleep."
Yehuda needed no convincing. He pulled the quilt up to his chin and sank back into the dark. Terry blew out the candle, and he heard the dormitory door click shut.
Only in the morning, when Stephen said "Where's Terry?" as they put on their ties, did he look around and feel the space where Terry should have been. "He left in the middle of the night," Yehuda said. "He said he was going to church." Nobody seemed to think this was odd at all. If Goldstein could pray three times a day, the silence seemed to say, Boot was entitled to run off to church whenever he wanted. Yehuda went downstairs to the kitchen to make an unexpected kashrus inspection and throw sticks into the fire.
He tucked his Rabbi Zeller paper back under his arm and walked into the Great Hall, joining the last few stragglers. He walked down the Ravenclaw table, to where Kevin and Mandy were earnestly debating whether the Irish Republican Army qualified as terrorists while Padma looked on silently. Michael was ladling porridge into his bowl. Yehuda sat down across from him, his shoulder a careful two inches from Mandy's. He tapped his plate to fill it with salmon and eggswhen the doors to the Great Hall opened, and they paraded in like the conquering army: Cedric, Terry, a sixth-year Gryffindor girl wearing her hair in spikes and a shirt made out of a thick black fishing net, several others he didn't recognize. Terry and one or two Ravenclaws drifted left, while Cedric went to the Hufflepuff table.
"Good morning," Terry said. He slid into the empty seat beside Yehuda and looked around, settling on the bread. Yehuda, pushed over toward Mandy, pulled his shoulders in and tried to make himself narrow on the bench.
"Good morning," Michael said. "Your forehead's dirty."
"I know," Terry said haughtily. "It's from church. It's a sign that we belong to Jesus."
Yehuda flinched. "Oh."
"It's from in the Bible—the New Testament," Terry explained, with a sidelong look at Yehuda. "Jesus goes into the desert for 40 days and 40 nights, so Lent is remembering that time that he had in the desert."
"And at the end of it's Easter," Michael piped up.
"Well, yes, but that's at the end." Terry looked around, stretching his hand in the general direction of the platters and jugs further down.
"And on Fridays you can't eat meat," Michael said. "Would you like a drink?"
Yehuda reached carefully around Mandy to push the hot chocolate in their direction, but the point was moot. "I can't," Terry said solemnly. "I'm fasting."
"Good luck, then," Yehuda said fervently. This he could understand. He hadn't fasted many times before, but starting next year Pesach he would have to do all of them, and the ones he'd tried for practice had been awful. It reminded him to start a new list of questions, in time for Taanis Esther: Dear Rabbi Zeller, I know I don't have to fast, because I'm not bar mitzvah, but do I have to hear the megillah? There was so much to ask: How do I give shalach manos? Can I give it to a goy? How do I hear Parshas Zachor? His hand flew across the page, and he looked up just in time to see Terry taking a long sip from a glass of water.
"Wait!" he said. "You're fasting."
"Fasting means giving up something you really like," Terry explained. "Nobody gives up water for Lent."
That, Yehuda thought with disgust, was cheating. If you were fasting you were fasting. "That's not how we do it."
Terry looked interested. "How do you do it?"
"Fasting means you don't eat." He wondered how Terry had gotten through eleven or twelve years on the planet without knowing what words meant. "Not things you like and not things you don't like, not food and not water. Skipping your hot chocolate—how's that fasting?"
Terry sniffed.
Yehuda shrugged, returning to his Rabbi Zeller letter. If Terry wanted to say that was fasting, let him believe it. Esti and Sholom, who had moaned and groaned their way through their first fasts because they got headaches, would have been absolutely horrified.
He paused, his pen hovering over the plain Muggle paper. Maybe, it occurred to him suddenly, Terry did remember suggesting they learn together, but knew Yehuda wouldn't like it?
The letter came back when it was almost Purim.
Yes, Rabbi Zeller wrote, he should hear the megillah, preferably the day reading rather than night if you followed the Shaarei Teshuva in siman 687. It was not necessary for him to fast Taanis Esther, though he was certainly permitted to try. He should hear Parshas Zachor and you could learn out from Parshas Mishpatim (if you looked in Bava Kama) that you have to give shalach manos only to a Jew. He folded the letter with clammy hands and tucked it away.
Padma, her sister, and the Slytherin girl emerged from Flitwick's office, chattering excitedly. He nodded politely and hurried up to the office before he could lose his nerve.
"I need to go away again," he blurted.
"'Tis the season," Flitwick sang under his breath. "Everyone's got a holiday coming up…let me guess, you're celebrating the victory of good over evil by dancing in the streets and chasing each other with colored powder?"
He blinked. "No. It's Purim."
"Very good, very good, and what do you need?"
"I…uh, I have to hear the meg—I have to go to a synagogue at night on March 18 and in the morning of March 19. And I have to go away for the weekend on the 14."
Flitwick tapped his chin. "Hm. Anthony, you know we try to make every accommodation for you, but I'm afraid I can't allow an overnight visit at this time. You can miss class on March 18 if you must, but I'm only going to allow you to leave the grounds on the 19."
The words hit him like a punch in the gut. He was lowering his head. He was saying thank you, professor. He was in the stone corridor on the other side of the door, with no memory of saying goodbye—no Parshas Zachor, what was he going to do, another letter would never reach Rabbi Zeller in time—he could always read it to himself, he thought wildly, you could be yotzei like that, couldn't you, but he wasn't bar mitzvah—
He was slumped against the wall, the letter still folded in his hands. They had all known this was going to happen, eventually. Professor McGonagall had told Totty and Mummy they would let him do his Yiddishkeit things, but really, how could you trust goyim to know what something like that meant? There was a reason Totty had cried when he said goodbye in the train station.
He slid to the floor, resting his head on his knees. The stone was hard against his back. This was what happened to everyone who went to a goyish school. Every story thought they would be different, and this was how it started.
Taanis Esther was lonely. In real life, not-in-Hogwarts, Sholom and Esti always complained about fasting all the way home from megillah, so he knew you had to wait all day and lein before eating, and it was a long, long day. He hadn't gotten to hear Parshas Zachor, he'd forgotten to eat a bigger supper on Tuesday night, and McGonagall took a point from Ravenclaw after catching him daydreaming. Double Transfiguration and fasting—it just wasn't fair.
But it wasn't their fault, he told himself resolutely. They weren't Jewish. They didn't know. It was his fault, for being different.
After Potions, he went to take a nap. His head was in a fog, and he hadn't heard a word of class. He'd have to get the notes from Terry later. Somehow he dragged himself to the dormitory, up the last few steps, and curled up in bed, fully clothed.
"Yehuda, are you coming to dinner?"
How long had it been? He rubbed his eyes and saw Kevin at the door, dusk glinting through the window. "No, I'm fasting."
"All right." The door closed. He drifted off again.
Michael came in after dinner and woke him up. His mind still fuzzy, Yehuda glanced out the window to be sure it was dark enough. Megillas Esther wasn't in Navi, because it wasn't a haftarah, but it was in the Tanach somewhere, because his father always just flipped to the back of a Chumash instead of using a real megillah with pictures.
"Vayehi b'yemei Achashveiro-o-osh…hu-u-u Achashveiro-o-osh, hamolech meHodu v'ad Kush, she-e-e-eva v'esrim u'meah medina…" He trailed off. He couldn't remember the tune, so he just read it aloud. When he got to perek gimmel, he slowed suddenly, looking around frantically between words for something to use as a grogger, but there was nothing. He was up to the part where Esther goes to Achashverosh when Terry walked in.
"Vayoshet hamelech l'Esther es sharvit hazahav asher b'yado—"
"Yehuda, do you want me to show you what we did today?"
Were you allowed to talk during megillah? Nobody ever did. He smiled and pointed at the Chumash.
"Oh, sorry," Terry said, but he made no move to go anywhere. He simply stood there, holding his cauldron. Was he going to stay and listen? He didn't understand Hebrew anyway, so what was the point? Yehuda shrugged and kept going. "Vatikrav Esther vatiga b'rosh hasharvit. Vayomer la hamelech…"
By the time he got to "doreish tov l'amo v'dover shalom l'chol zaro," his throat was dry. He rasped out the ending brachos, made a heartfelt shehakol and drank some water from the pitcher next to his bed. The fast was over.
"Ah freilichen Purim," he muttered, going into the bathroom to wash for bread.
Terry cleared his throat. "Are you done?"
"Yeah," he said, swallowing a half-stale bite.
Terry pulled his mortar out of the nightstand and dumped the cauldron on his bed. A small pile of ingredients spilled out: snake fangs, wolfsbane, dead bugs he had read about with wings like a helicopter attached to the tops of their shiny blue heads. "You don't have any notes from Potions today, so I know you weren't listening. You're lucky Snape didn't take points. But come over here so I can show you what you missed."
Kevin came in as they were counting out billywig stings, and Stephen and Michael came in minutes later. Michael held the cauldron steady as Yehuda attempted to stir clockwise, holding his wand by the tips of two fingers so he could reach inside. "Clockwise!" Stephen cautioned. "He is going clockwise, you're just facing backward," Terry retorted, and with all of them kneeling around Terry's bed, elbows propped on the bedspread and laughing, he could almost believe it was Purim after all. It didn't have to be his family he was laughing with, did it?
In the morning, he ran down to the kitchen and explained what he needed to the solemn, wide-eyed house-elves. Upstairs, he carefully packaged the bread, grapes, and a flask of soup and tied them together with ribbon. "Part of the holiday is giving each other food," he explained over his shoulder to Terry. "Everyone has to give food to their friends. Usually it's candy, but I don't have any of that here."
"You can give it to me!" Michael offered.
He shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably. "I, uh, I have to go soon," he mumbled. He quickly left the dormitory. He would have rather left with his head up, after one last long look around the room, but when you had to leave, you had to leave. Shalach manos, matanos l'evyonim, what else?
He went to Flitwick's office. Snape was there, an old brown shoe was on the table, and Flitwick was as bright as ever, despite having kept Yehuda from hearing Parshas Zachor—it's not his fault, Yehuda told himself tiredly. "Hello," he said. Snape nodded at him curtly.
And again they took their places around Flitwick's desk, Yehuda hooking one finger through the shoelaces, bracing himself for the jerk. Again they were hurtling through wind and blur, and again Yehuda landed on his knees in the dirt. "Ah!"
Snape didn't walk him to the door this time. Yehuda looked over his shoulder, but he was just standing there, watching from down the lane, so Yehuda walked at first, then, unable to contain himself, broke into a run. He knocked on the door, hearing a Miami Boys Choir tape at full blast inside. He knocked louder. Finally he rang the bell.
The rebbetzin opened it—of course she wasn't really a rebbetzin, but it was sort of the same thing, and why did he always have to think so much about everything. "Yehuda! How nice to see you. We've been wondering when you'd be back!"
He kept a tight grip on his soup and grapes as he followed her into the dining room. There was confetti scattered in every corner, beer bottles on the floor, and whiskey bottles all over the table. Many, many whiskey bottles. Mrs. Bronstein followed his eyes. "Don't mind that. Gavriel and the other mashgichim brought over samples from the factories. We had quite a crowd last night."
"Crowd?"
"A Purim party, for the Moray kids. Today should be calmer." With a flourish, she handed him a plastic-wrapped package of candy and crisps. He could see jelly worms through the cellophane. He hadn't had jelly worms in months.
"Ah freilichen Purim!" Rabbi Bronstein's voice rang out. He wore a yellow and purple jester's hat and was carrying a garbage bag full of beer bottles across the dining room.
"Uh, this is for you," Yehuda said. He held out his package.
"Shkoyach!" the rabbi said. He put the garbage bag down. "Thank you for coming. Nechama, what's our Purim schedule for this tzaddik?"
"We should get a minyan for the megillah, Aaron was the designated driver, he said he'd come by." Mrs. Bronstein kicked open a metal folding chair, lining them in rows in front of the dining room table. "Did you tell the Wallins to come for megillah? I think we might have scared them off last night—"
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Rabbi Bronstein said. "What's the count now?"
It was nine, if you didn't count the girls. Eitan and Gavriel from Sukkos were there, then there was a knock and three boys from the college called Aaron, Jonathan, and Ben came in, there was a girl named Jessica who wore trousers, a scruffy-bearded teenage boy in a suit and jacket named Levi Yitzchak, and a confused-looking father and son in jeans. Mrs. Bronstein handed him the same purple illustrated megillah he used at home, somebody turned off the blasting "B'siyata Dishmaya" in the corner and gave him a metal grogger. The rabbi was unrolling the megillah on the dining room table. Yehuda leaned forward, admiring the beautiful spiky letters, shining jet-black on the parchment.
"It's just a megillah," Gavriel said with amusement, watching him.
"I was just looking at the writing," Yehuda said shyly. "I want to be a sofer. I practice."
"Practice? You better be careful; you know you're not supposed to write just anything you want in ksav Ashuris. It's got kedusha, you know."
"Really?" He thought of the alef-beis practice sheets in his nightstand drawer, his family's names inked in careful black ksav. "Where does it say? I mean—I believe you, I just want to look it up and see."
"Yeah, check in the Aruch Hashulchan," Gavriel said indifferently. He looked at Yehuda and seemed to reconsider. "Actually, I think Zalman has one. I'll show you after—"
Zalman cleared his throat and banged on the dining room table. "Rabbosai!"
Silence fell.
"Vayehi b'yemei Achashveiro-o-osh…hu-u-u Achashveiro-o-osh, hamolech meHodu v'ad Kush, she-e-e-eva v'esrim u'meah medina…"
Yehuda followed along in the illustrated megillah, swinging his legs back and forth. Hearing the tune made it all real. It was the oddest place he had ever heard the megillah, not sitting beside his father in shul and hearing the roar of noisemakers and stomping. When they got to perek gimmel, the first mention of Haman's name, Yehuda gave an enthusiastic whirr of the grogger and stamped his feet, but he was the only one, besides for Mrs. Bronstein who gave a polite ladylike toe-tap on the floor.
"Ki-i-i Mordechai haYehudi-i-i mishneh lamelech Achashveirosh, vegadol laYehudim veratzui lechol echav, doreish tov l'amo-o-o vedover shalom lechol zaro-o-o!" Zalman made the ending brachos, took a quick drink, and immediately launched into a loud Shoshanas Yaakov.
Shoshanas Yaakov! He knew there was something he'd forgotten last night. He sang along, swinging his legs, Gavriel swaying in his seat and tapping on the cover of his megillah. "Shekol kovecha lo yeivoshu velo yikolmu lanetzach…lanetzach, kol hachosim bach!" Levi Yitzchak sprang from his seat and grabbed Zalman's hand, and Zalman grabbed Ben's and Ben held out his hand to Yehuda, and they all joined hands in a line to dance around the table in the bare dining room. "Vegam Charvona, zachur latov!" They finished, laughing and out of breath, and then everyone turned their folding chairs to face the table.
No pitiful vegetables and eggs, Yehuda noted with satisfaction, this was a proper seudah. The very first thing everyone did was go into the kitchen and wash, and there were real rolls, still warm from the oven, garlic and onion bread, a basket of different-colored small challos in the center of the table.
Eitan knew the father in jeans; he worked in packaging at one of the distilleries where Eitan was mashgiach. Eitan showed him a picture of his new baby and they passed it around. He could tell from looking that Eitan's baby was much older than Baby Yosef, but Yehuda didn't dare mention that he had a new baby too. What if someone knew his family, and then everyone found out that he wasn't really in America? The college boys and girl talked about their teachers. Eitan said a dvar Torah over salmon wrapped in puff pastry. It was a regular frum dvar Torah, except that Eitan said taf instead of saf all the time even though he wasn't Sephardi. When he was done, Yehuda got up to bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen. At the edge of the doorframe, he stopped.
"Grapes, bread, and soup, Zalman!" Mrs. Bronstein said agitatedly. "Does he even have kosher food there? What little boy gives bread and grapes for shalach manos?"
He wasn't little, and where was he supposed to get wafer rolls and a miniature wine bottle and cellophane in the middle of Scotland, anyway? "Where should I put these?"
"Oh—Yehuda!" Mrs. Bronstein jumped back. "I'll take those, thank you. You can sit."
The men started to drink after the brisket. Zalman started with a whole cup, Eitan just took a shot before passing the bottle to the college kids—"I'll take a nap later," he said. Yehuda wasn't allowed to drink, because he was too young. Even Sholom, at home, wasn't allowed. When his father got drunk, he would say the same dvar Torah over and over, and tell his mother she was beautiful, which always made Yehuda feel awkward. The college boys, though, were soon dissolved in laughter that was wild and a little frightening, like it had lost its leash somehow.
"Zalman, I want you to give me a bracha," Gavriel said, very seriously. "You have so much mesiras nefesh to live here, even if you're a Lubavitcher. I wish I had such a big zechus. Can you give me a bracha, Zalman?"
"Oy, be careful, tzaddik!" Zalman cried. Ben the college boy called had gotten up to wash his hands, but took two steps and bounced off the bookcase. Aaron and Jessica laughed uproariously. Ben shook his head like a dog coming out of the bath and teetered toward the kitchen.
Yehuda wanted to eat everything. He skipped the chicken cutlets, because they were coated in an odd green sauce his mother didn't make, but he took some of everything else: tiny grains of rice speckled with mushrooms, Caesar salad, mashed potatoes with a crust, fried peppers mixed with onions. Mrs. Bronstein served kreplach in soup, which Yehuda, Gavriel, and Levi Yitzchak ate, but no one else touched.
"The food is delicious," Eitan said.
"The food is like a restaurant," Ben announced, and the other college kids all started to laugh again. Yehuda didn't know what was so funny; maybe it was a joke you only understood if you weren't frum. They all laughed so easily, as though someone had let go of the string mooring them to earth. Aaron was laughing so hard his face turned red. Purim away from home was very odd, he decided. Now, what was he going to bring back to Hogwarts for later?
Mrs. Bronstein brought out plates of dessert—apples, melon, grapes, strawberries, and chocolate, muffins, biscuits, walnuts. Zalman applauded and drummed on the table, and the college boys joined in.
"Shkoyach!" Zalman cried. "I don't know how you do it, it mamash looks like a fruit salad. You should be in charge of all the fruit in the world." Mrs. Bronstein smiled tolerantly at her drunk husband as she set the platters down. Yehuda leaned forward to see what was on them.
"Zalman, give me a bracha!" Gavriel pestered.
Yehuda's fingers hovered over the platter, deciding. He could take muffins back to the dormitory, but fruit might spoil. He went for the grapes, spreading a napkin over the muffins for later.
"You should be a tzaddik and a groisse talmid chacham!" Zalman said. He banged a fist on the table. "Rabbosai, are you all listening? You should all be tzaddikim! Or tzidkaniyos!"
Yehuda looked up. Gavriel was crying, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I'm going to be a talmid chacham even if I'm not in yeshivah. I'm going to be a tzaddik. Zalman, I want to be a tzaddik. Zalman, you can be a tzaddik even if you're not in yeshivah, can't you?"
Yehuda froze. Zalman locked eyes across the table with him. "Yeah," he said, but he wasn't talking to Gavriel. "You can be a tzaddik even if you're not in yeshivah."
That night, as Stephen and Kevin argued over whether Alohomorawent right-to-left or left-to-right, Yehuda sat cross-legged on his bed and smugly sorted the remains of the day. Chocolate wafers, walnut muffins, bon bons,jelly worms, saltwater taffy, and crisps had never tasted so sweet.
He was davening mincha in the common room when it finally happened.
Well, it happened, but it shouldn't have, but had their positions been reversed he felt sure Terry would have done the same. Not that that made any difference. He was wrong, but nobody else seemed to think that way, and he felt horribly guilty when he thought about it.
"Easter?" he heard Hilliard ask. "Easter, anyone?"
"Oh, Goldstein'll want to go." Terry's voice was unmistakable. "Put him down on the list."
Yehuda tensed, but kept his head pointed at the siddur. The Hebrew swam in front of him.
"Goldstein?" Hilliard said blithely. He heard a quill scratching. "All right."
His concentration gone now, he hurtled through V'leYerushalayim and Modim and Shalom Rav, took three steps back, and whirled around to see Terry in an armchair calmly reading a book. "Why do you think you can put me on the list for Easter anything without asking me? Who do you think you are?"
Terry got to his feet. His voice was the voice of a patient adult. "But you needed to. Easter—"
Heads were turning in their direction, conversations stopping. He had spoken too loudly, but he was too angry to care, pent-up fury of seven months avalanching down on the Christian face in front of him. "I don't need any of it! Why do you think I need it? I keep telling you I don't want to have anything to do with your Christian stuff! And you're always trying to force it on me! What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?"
Terry looked stricken, his face white. He bolted for the common room door. It shut behind him with a clunk and there was silence, eyes and upturned faces all around the room staring at Yehuda—Mandy, Marcus, Penelope, Morag.
He flushed, heat rising up the back of his neck. The siddur was still clutched in his hand.
Marcus approached him slowly, arms outstretched in the manner of soothing a cornered animal. "He signed you up for Easter holiday, that's all," he said in an undertone. "I suppose you missed the announcement. It's only a week, but most people aren't going because exams come right afterward. I guess Terry figured you would want to." He looked Yehuda up and down. "I thought the story was that Jews killed Jesus. You celebrate that he rose from the dead?"
"I didn't kill anyone," Yehuda said, confused. "What's a rose from the dead?"
"Never mind. You can go after Robert to take your name off the list if you want, but if you don't mind going home, I'd just give it a rest."
He didn't mind going home—it would be lovely to see everyone again—it was just that Terry had decided he wanted something to do with Easter, Terry shlepping him into those Christian things again. You believe in the Old Testament, don't you? He opened his siddur again to say Aleinu, but it stung. There was no mispronounced, over-cheerful "ay-men" after his bracha that Friday night. Terry left the dormitory as soon as he came in.
"Don't worry about it, mate," Michael said. "It's about time you gave it to him."
And Ravenclaw House seemed to agree. Kevin, Stephen, Morag, Su, and Mandy were giving Terry dirty looks in the hallway, and at lunch Terry ate by himself at the end of the table. But everyone was very polite to Yehuda, opening doors for him and giving a wide radius of respectful silence around his mincha andmaking sure he had his special food, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. Terry avoided him completely.
Alohomora, as it turned out, was a backward-S hand motion with the intent to open the door. Yehuda discovered this as he paged through The Standard Book of Spells, making up work yet again. He always seemed to be making up work. Now, he practiced, getting up to lock the dormitory door and Alohomora-ing it, over and over, backward-S after backward-S until his arm ached and Michael banged on the wall outside yelling "Goldstein, open the door!"
"Sorry!" He opened it. "I was practicing the Unlocking Charm and it wasn't working."
"You have to have the right intent," Michael said. "That's probably where you went wrong. Flitwick said to ignore the intent in the bookbecause it won't work for first years—except Granger, probably. Where are my notes? I'll find it for you."
In the olden days, they had used spells that smashed the door to splinters or blasted a hole where the lock had been. Those got the door open, but they didn't unlock it, specifically. "Think bolt slide back," Michael had written. "Not just open door."
Michael's handwriting wasn't as neat as Terry's, Yehuda noticed, but Terry hadn't offered, of course. Even a few days later, when he went outside and dug a hole in the ground on the lake shore to bury his ksav Ashuris inside, Terry did not follow him outside asking a thousand questions and babbling about Christians burying their crosses in the dirt to celebrate Halloween or some other such nonsense. In fact, Terry didn't even notice him going. It was nice, in a way: he wasn't self-conscious, he didn't need to wonder if the goy was analyzing everything he did as something exotic and Jewish, he wasn't stared at, he…missed Terry?
What had he done?
He sat at the lunch table, next to Michael and a careful three inches from Mandy, and put ordinary Muggle pen to ordinary Muggle paper. Dear Rabbi Zeller—
He looked at Terry, sitting at the end of the table, unsure how to phrase it. Is it a chillul Hashem if I yelled at another boy in front of everyone…but that made it sound like Terry was completely innocent. Is it a chillul Hashem if I got so angry at what another boy did that I embarrassed him…still. He scratched it out and tried again. Is it a chillul Hashem if I was just trying to get him to stop doing his X-tianity things so I yelled at him and embarrassed him—
He stopped and shook his head. This was silly. He didn't need the rabbi for this. Terry was angry, he had embarrassed him in front of the whole Ravenclaw, it was a big chillul Hashem, and he had to apologize. He slid off the bench, Michael's eyebrows raised in confusion, walked down the floor, the chatter of the Great Hall throbbing in his ears, and stopped at the far end.
Terry looked up. He saw Yehuda. His head snapped back down.
Yehuda sat down. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve.
"Shove off," Terry muttered. His eyebrows knit together angrily. "I was just trying to help you."
Yehuda seized up with terrible, irrational fear that he could not name. "I don't want you to help me. Ever."
"Don't you think I've worked that out by now?" Terry scoffed. "You made it quite clear. Shove off, Anthony. Go study Talmud or something."
March wore on and became April. Michael still shared his table at Potions and Herbology, but their dormitory became full of terrible silences. Sometimes when he came up the stairs he could hear Kevin and Stephen talking, but they always shut right up when he walked in. Yehuda took to waking early, while it was still dark out and the other boys were just lumps under their sheets. He would read for a while in the common room, then daven as soon as he could see light from the window, and make his escape downstairs before any of the other first-years emerged.
One Sunday he woke up to Stephen brushing his teeth in the bathroom, Michael buttoning his shirt, Kevin reading—and Terry's bed empty, sheets folded neatly. He wasn't at breakfast and he didn't come to class. The same group that had gone to church on the dirty forehead day came into lunch late, but Terry didn't volunteer any explanation. He sat by himself at the end of the table again.
The next morning, he made his way down to the kitchen to make a surprise inspection and make the fire into bishul Yisrael. It was so quiet he felt like he hadn't spoken aloud in years. The halls were just starting to wake—there were perhaps three or four students awake. He came down the first-floor corridor, mentally reviewing his Charms essay. It was still his weakest subject, although Flitwick had told him that unicorn hair wands were supposed to be better-suited to Charms work—he still couldn't master Incendio, and it was making him nervous about everything else. He could do it, he told himself. He just had to think he could.
He passed by the library just as Robert emerged, holding a pile of books and looking tired. He was staring into space, but jerked to attention when he saw Yehuda. "Good morning," he said, falling into step beside him. He was so tall he had to almost trip over his feet trying to match Yehuda's pace.
"Good morning," Yehuda said, trying not to sound confused.
"Where are you headed so early?"
"The kitchen…" He trailed off, hoping the prefect would understand, and he wouldn't have to explain.
"Oh, that's right. I've been meaning to ask you if it's worked out, what with all your holidays and your special food—Yehuda?"
Yehuda stared in horror.
Pesach! Oh, no, Pesach! How could he have forgotten? He blurted something to Robert and ran the other way. A thousand questions for the rabbi stampeded through his mind as he scrambled up the stairs, burst through the dormitory door, yanked open his drawer and fumbled for the precious calendar. Not bothering to sit, he ran his finger frantically down the page, searching for Rosh Chodesh Nisan,counting one week—two weeks…He reached tes-vav Nisan, and moaned aloud.
"All right, Yehuda?" Kevin asked, pushing aside his curtain.
Yehuda didn't answer. He stared at the calendar aghast, feeling kicked in the stomach, frozen.
I was just trying to help you…
Easter vacation began on Erev Pesach.
Glossary
Shacharis. Morning prayers.
Bris. Circumcision ceremony.
Pikuach nefesh. Endangerment of life.
X-mas. An expression used by some Jews to avoid the word "Christmas."
Goyim. Non-Jews.
Nezek, tzaar, ripui, sheves, boshes. Damage, pain, medical bills, loss of wages, shame. The five types of restitution in the Jewish criminal code.
Halacha. Jewish law.
Elter Zeide. Great-grandfather.
Tzaddik. Righteous man.
Zeide, Zeidy. Grandpa.
Tante. Aunt.
Kvatter. Honored with bringing a baby to his circumcision.
Sandak. Honored with holding a baby during his circumcision.
Kriyas shem. Reading of the name.
Seudah. Festive meal.
Shteiging. Hitting the books.
Shul. Synagogue.
Simcha hall. Social hall.
Rashi. Medieval commentary on the Torah and centerpiece of Jewish study.
Parsha. Weekly Torah portion.
Ma'adim, literally "turning red." Mars.
Perek. Chapter.
Mangala. Mars.
Mishnayos. The Mishna.
Chumash. The Five Books of Moses.
Kashrus. Jewish dietary laws.
Taanis Esther. A commemorative fast on the day before Purim.
Bar mitzvah, literally "son of the commandments." Age thirteen, at which Jewish boys become adults responsible to keep the law.
Megillah. The Book of Esther.
Shalach manos, corruption of mishloach manos, literally "sending portions." Gifts of food or drink sent on Purim.
Goy. Non-Jew.
Parshas Zachor. An obligatory reading on the Saturday before Purim.
Be yotzei. Fulfill one's obligation.
Yiddishkeit. Judaism.
Goyish. Non-Jewish.
Megillah, literally "scroll." The book of Esther.
Lein. Chant.
Parshas Zachor. Chapter of remembrance, a mandatory reading the week before Purim.
Navi. Prophets.
Haftarah. Weekly selection from the Prophets.
Tanach. The Hebrew Bible.
Vayehi b'yemei Achashveirosh, hu Achashveirosh hamolech meHodu v'ad Kush, sheva v'esrim u'meah medina. It was in the days of Achashveirosh, he is Achashveirosh who ruled from India to Ethiopia, over 127 provinces (Esther 1:1).
Perek gimmel. Chapter three.
Grogger. Noisemaker.
Vayoshet hamelech l'Esther es sharvit hazahav asher b'yado, vatikrav Esther vatiga b'rosh hasharvit. Vayomer la hamelech. And the king extended to Esther the golden scepter in his hand, and Esther approached and touched the end of the scepter, and the king said to her…
Doreish tov l'amo v'dover shalom l'chol zaro. Who sought good for his nation and spoke peace to all his children.
Brachos. Blessings.
Shehakol, literally "that everything." Blessing over drinks.
Ah freilichen Purim. Happy Purim.
Matanos l'evyonim. Gifts to the poor.
Rebbetzin. Wife of a rabbi.
Mashgichim. Kashrus supervisors.
Shkoyach, corruption of yeyasher kochacha, literally "May [God] straighten your strength." Idiomatically, "good job."
Minyan. Quorum of 10 men.
B'siyata Dishmaya. With the help of heaven. 1991 Avraham Fried song.
Sofer. Ritual scribe.
Ksav Ashuris, literally "Assyrian script."
Kedusha. Holiness.
Alef-beis. Hebrew alphabet (note the similarity to the word alphabet).
Ksav. Text.
Rabbosai. Gentleman.
Shul. Synagogue.
Ki Mordechai haYehudi mishneh lamelech Achashveirosh, vegadol laYehudim veratzui lechol echav, doreish tov l'amo vedover shalom lechol zaro. For Mordechai the Jew was viceroy to King Achashveirosh, a great man of the Jews and beloved by all his brothers, seeking good for his nation and speaking peace to all his descendants.
Shoshanas Yaakov, literally "The Rose of Jacob." A song after reading the megillah.
Seudah. Festive meal.
Challos. Braided bread.
Kreplach. Dumplings.
Talmid chacham. Torah scholar.
Yeshivah. Jewish school.
Davening. Praying.
Mincha. Afternoon prayer.
V'leYerushalayim, Modim, and Shalom Rav, literally "To Jerusalem," "Give Thanks," and "Abundant Peace." The three final blessings of the Amidah.
(Amidah. The central prayer.)
Siddur. Prayer book.
Bracha. Blessing.
Chillul Hashem. Desecration of God's name, typically through a Jew's bad behavior.
Pesach. Passover.
Rosh Chodesh Nisan. First day of the month of Nisan.
Tes-vav Nisan. The 15th of Nisan.
Erev Pesach. Passover eve.
Probably more stuff I missed. Figure it out from context or Google.
Note: I'm alive, I promise.