JKR owns HP
To Michael Ho: Thank you!
To ThatMizrahiBitch: Duly noted.
FYI: This chapter was written in December 2014, right around the time that Chapter 3 was posted.
Disclaimers: Do not speculate about the potential romantic lives of children; it's gross and creepy. Eight-year-olds should not handle breakable dishware without supervision.
A talebearer reveals secrets, but the trustworthy soul conceals a matter (Proverbs 11:13)
It was lonely to be a rabbi, he thought as he closed the door to his study at last, to see all your community's tears and struggles, and never breathe a word to anyone.
He ran his hands down the bookshelf and lovingly selected a volume of the Shulchan Aruch, clearing space among the stacks of sefarim on his desk to lay it flat. The pages were crinkled and well-worn, and they were also twice the height of every other book in the study—a gift from his father-in-law during his engagement. There was something nice about learning from an oversized book. Expansive. It gave him room to explore.
He had not had a moment like this all day. He'd met with Avromi Jacobs—Abe, he was calling himself—at the boy's parents insistence, though he'd gently warned them that all the well-meaning rabbanim in the world could do nothing against Avromi's will. They were expecting a miracle—no, not a miracle, they expected to find that their son was nothing but a bad dream. Then came the Hillmans, begging him to use his pull, whatever that was, to get Pinchos back into Yesodey. He sighed, creasing the page. Nothing was black-and-white. If he were a school, he too would be reluctant to accept Pinchos Hillman. Why would you take a child who would need tutors, counseling, infinite patience? But then again, if he were the parent, he too would be desperate to have his son enrolled in a school, any school. The last had been the newlywed Fishers: she spent too much money for a kollel wife, he didn't make her feel appreciated, and come on, Rabbi Zeller, where in Shulchan Aruch does it say that you have to buy your wife a birthday present?
The rabbi thought of his own wife, and his gaze drifted to the wedding portrait hung on the opposite wall, she an earnest nineteen-year-old bride, he a serious twenty-something. On the mantelpiece were scattered several snapshots of their summer vacation in Israel as newlyweds, a family photograph at the wedding of Baila Rochel's brother. His head bent tearfully under Rav Moskowitz's hand, asking for a bracha, and another of the two of them, serving as kvatter for his youngest sister in his own shul. His fiftieth birthday, a dinner at his in-laws' home, smiling wanly beside Baila Rochel. Then, finally, one last picture of Baila Rochel on the couch, beaming at her pregnant belly, and beyond that were only pictures of a father and daughter.
Everything was covered with a thin film of dust, he noticed. He would have to ask for recommendations for a new housekeeper, before Shoshana inevitably decided to take care of it. She was only eight; there was no reason she should have to. He penned a reminder on his notepad and turned back to the Shulchan Aruch, and the words absorbed him.
He was not aware of the minutes passing, but a while later there was a soft knock at the door. He closed the sefer preemptively, his hand inside to hold the place, and called, "Come in, Shana'le."
"Abba?" Shoshana sidled through the doorway. "The Levitts brought dinner."
He looked up, smiled at her. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
He had a long night ahead of him—the Morgenstern chassan would be coming in tonight, and then later there would be a shul board meeting to discuss hiring the new chazzan for the upcoming Yamim Noraim. But his thoughts drifted back to the boy: Yehuda Goldstein, somewhere in Scotland, writing letters in cramped inky little-boy letters on parchment, delivered by owls tapping at his bedroom window. Either he was somewhere so isolated there was no post, or the school opted on principle to use owls. Perhaps both. But the sh'aylos were fascinating. The boy was quite intelligent, to be in such a foreign environment and yet so neatly distill his halachic questions to their essential parts. And his questions on Tosafos, with nary a rebbi or class to guide him!
"Abba? Are you coming? It's going to get cold!"
He closed the sefer, skimming one last line, and kissed it before standing up. He heard the clinking of dishes in the kitchen; Shoshana was setting the table. They really needed a new housekeeper. "What's on the menu?" he called, striding in.
And then it all happened so quickly: Shoshana held two teacups by their handles, turned to reply to her father, and one of the cups flew out of her hand and smashed against the tiles and splinters of china exploded outward, and Shoshana gasped and her hand flung out—and the teacup was instantly whole, as though it had never been broken at all.
The rabbi closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the countertop.
Shoshana sank to the floor, white-knuckled fingers curling around the cup before she stood up to look at him with wide-eyed trepidation.
"I'm sorry, Abba," she whispered. "I did it again."
"Don't worry, Shana'le." He pulled her to him and hugged her, hating the lie. "We'll work it out."
His heart ached and it took physical effort to keep quiet, to say nothing of their neighbor and his special abilities, to say nothing of boarding schools and magical outbursts, and pikuach nefesh. It was lonely to be a rabbi—to hold so many people's secrets behind the walls of your study, and bow under the weight of your calling.
TO BE CONTINUED
Glossary
Shulchan Aruch. Code of Jewish law.
Sefarim. Holy books.
Rabbanim. Rabbis.
Kollel. Institute for full-time Torah study. "Kollel wife" is financially akin to "student."
Shulchan Aruch. Code of Jewish law.
Bracha. Blessing.
Kvatter. Honored with bringing a baby to his circumcision, often a childless couple.
Shul. Synagogue.
Shoshana, literally "rose."
Sefer. Holy book.
Abba. Daddy.
Chassan. Engaged or newly-married man.
Chazzan. Cantor.
Yamim Noraim, literally "days of awe." High Holy Days.
Sh'aylos. Questions.
Tosafos. Talmud commentary.
Rebbi. Teacher.
Sefer. Book.
Pikuach nefesh. Life endangerment.
That's a wrap, folks. Suggestions for events, epigraphs, and titles of Book 2 may be submitted by PM or email.
Acknowledgments: My sister Achos Laazov, who introduced me to this website, served as a sounding board, and beta-read every chapter; various other relatives and friends, who contributed their expertise on cantorial technique, ancient Aramaic, parenting, middle school curricula, Jewish law, and a variety of other fields; and you guys, for putting up with my inconsistency and motivating me to keep writing. Thank you all! See you in Book 2!