Vienna
July, 1937
Tzipporah Stein smiled as she leaned out of the third-story window, watching the bustling street below her. Across from her father’s office on the ground floor was the bakery, crowded with last-minute evening shoppers selecting their braided challahs and rugalah. The glittering displays of the jeweler’s windows on either side were so blinding in the setting sun that Tzipporah had trouble seeing the stalls and shops farther down the main street. The air rang with a blend of German and Yiddish, the sound of horse-drawn carriages on the cobblestones, and the impatient honks of a few automobiles. For a late Friday afternoon, Vienna’s Jewish quarter was just the right level of busy.
Ducking back into her bedroom, Tzipporah examined herself critically in the mirror. Her long coils of dark hair were held back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and her plain black dress and kidskin boots gave her the properly somber air of Shabbat. As a final touch Tzipporah fastened a silver chain around her neck, admiring the glinting Star of David pendant which she had inherited from her mother. Then she picked up her prayer book, tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and hurried downstairs.
“Tateh, we’re going to be late,” she called as she sped through the kitchen, which Maria, the cook, had already filled with the scents of supper. She could hardly wait for a taste of the veal schnitzel and apfelstrudel “ they were her favorite dishes “ but she would have to wait until after the evening service.
“Ach, Tzipporah, what’s the hurry? We’re always the first ones there,” grumbled Dr. Stein good-naturedly as he hobbled into the front hall, leaning on his cane. Tzipporah winced to see him moving so stiffly; no doubt the humidity of the day was making his bad leg worse. Even though she hadn’t been alive when her father had fought in the Great War, Tzipporah could clearly imagine him agile and lively. She wished she could have seen him that way just once.
“I can have Maria call a cab if you want, Tateh,” said Tzipporah, helping her father into his coat and handing him his prayer book. “You look tired.”
Dr. Stein ruffled his daughter’s hair fondly. “Don’t you worry about me, I can make it to the synagogue. But would you be a good girl and get the mail from the post office after the service?”
“Of course, Tateh.”
Walking down the street with her father, Tzipporah sighed with contentment. She loved the way the sunset stained the shop windows crimson and gold, like the spring flowers that grew along the banks of the Danube canal. At that moment, she couldn’t dream of living anywhere else in the world. Vienna is perfect, she thought. I’m sure Tateh’s worries about the Nazis will come to nothing.
Tzipporah felt her forehead wrinkle into a frown as she thought of the Nazis. For weeks now Dr. Stein had been discussing politics with anyone who visited his office, be they a patient, a friend, or even a street vendor. Tzipporah had even heard him speaking gravely with the Rabbi after last week’s service. Ever since Hitler had come into power in the south, everything had seemed a bit tenser, as if everyone was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the shove that would send them tumbling into the sea. Tzipporah could sense this in her father’s conversation, and the grave looks on the faces of her neighbors, but she did not dwell upon them. The threat of a man hundreds of miles away was no threat at all to an eleven-year-old dealing with her own, steadily worsening, problems.
Odd things had been happening to Tzipporah all her life. When she had turned seven, just a few months after her mother died, she had run away from home and lost her way among the narrow streets. Somehow she had found herself at her own doorstep, even though moments before she had been in the park across town. Not long after that her father had taken her to the zoo in the Schonbrunn gardens, where a mischievous boy had stolen her doll and thrown it into the tiger cage. Tzipporah had never been able to figure out how the doll had appeared again, whole and unharmed, in her arms. She had had to be satisfied with the explanation her father had given her “ that it was “a miracle from God”.
For a while Tzipporah hadn’t had any more troubling experiences. Then, on her eleventh birthday last April, she had awoken to find herself on the roof, with memories of a vivid dream involving flying over the city. Ever since then she had found herself on the roof about once a month. She was getting used to climbing in through the window of her bedroom; what she couldn’t get used to was the idea that this was supposed to be a miracle. There had to be something else going on, and Tzipporah was determined to find out what, although she was still working on how to do it.
Tzipporah and her father reached the steps of the synagogue and melded into the knot of other Jews come to celebrate the week’s end with prayer and company. Spotting her friend Channa, Tzipporah bid her father goodbye and wound her way through the darkly-clad mob.
“There you are, Tzipporah, I’ve been looking all over the place! Have you read this morning’s headlines? That madman Hitler’s stirring up all kinds of trouble…” Channa babbled on a bit longer about politics, Tzipporah nodding absently at the right moments. I really don’t see what the big deal is, she sighed to herself. It’s not as if any of it is affecting us. I wish everybody would talk about more pleasant things.
“…and they say there’ll be war by next year. But wait a moment,” Channa broke off from her one-sided political discussion. “What have you done with your hair? It looks marvelous!”
“Danke, it wasn’t hard at all. I could show you if you want.” Finally, a topic I can talk about, thought Tzipporah.
“Oh, it wouldn’t look any good with my hair.” Channa combed a hand through her wheat-gold locks and sighed. “My mameleh says it’s a pretty color, but it just won’t hold a curl. You’re so lucky you’ve got curls,” Channa sighed enviously.
“Hmph.” Personally Tzipporah thought Channa couldn’t have handled her wild mane, but she didn’t say it.
Suddenly the crowd began to push up the steps towards the sanctuary, pulling Tzipporah and Channa along with it. Bidding her friend goodbye, Tzipporah darted past mothers herding their children and fathers finishing up their conversations, searching for Dr. Stein’s customary brown suit and red kerchief. Finally she found him almost at the door of the synagogue, getting in a last word with Rabbi Herzl. Catching sight of his daughter, Dr. Stein stopped talking and beckoned her over.
“Rabbi, you remember my meydeleh, don’t you?” he said proudly, throwing an arm over Tzipporah’s shoulders.
“She looks just like her mother at that age,” nodded the Rabbi, his friendly brown eyes smiling down at Tzipporah before he turned back to her father. “I’d better get inside. We’ll finish our discussion later, Eliezer.” With a swish of his tallit, the Rabbi had vanished into the nearly full sanctuary.
Tzipporah helped her father into a seat at the back and opened her prayer book to the correct page. For as long as she could remember she had come to this synagogue every morning and night without fail, and for longer on holidays. She had vague memories of her mother sitting beside her, her sweet voice blending with those of the congregation. Her father’s own deep resonance was as familiar to her as the sound of the boats on the canal or the people in the street. Every bit of this synagogue, from the worn wood of the benches to the white candles at the alter, was a part of her. I’m never leaving this place, she swore to herself as Rabbi Herzl motioned for his congregation to stand. Tzipporah closed her eyes, feeling the magic of the moment, then joined the voices all around her in reciting the Shema prayer.
That evening, walking home from synagogue, Tzipporah saw her father safely into the house and then dashed back across the street to the post office. Herr Weiss was just about to lock the door for the night when she wrenched it open and, panting, asked for her father’s mail. Tzipporah ignored the old man’s grumbling as he reentered the building and stomped behind the desk to retrieve a pile of envelopes. She barely had time to bid him “a gute nakht” before he had stalked away down the street, the bald patch on his head gleaming by the light of the streetlamps.
Tzipporah was about to cross the street when an envelope at the bottom of the pile caught her eye. It was made of strange, thick parchment, and its wax seal was imprinted with a crest depicting a lion, a gryphon, a badger, and a serpent, all surrounding a large letter “H”. Curious, Tzipporah pulled it out and flipped it over.
It can’t be…
The letter was addressed to her:
Miss T. Stein
The Second Largest Bedroom
171 Linke Wienzeile Street
Vienna, Austria
Fingers trembling with an irrational sense of expectation, Tzipporah slit open the envelope and unfolded the parchment inside. It read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ARMANDO DIPPET
(Order of Merlin, Second Class, International Confed. of Wizards, Wizengamot elder)
Dear Ms. Stein,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Due to the delicate state of European affairs at the present time, the International Confederation of Wizards has created a temporary program for those students who live in more vulnerable areas of the continent. This program will allow young witches and wizards from across Europe to attend Hogwarts rather than their local schools. This is suggested for your own safety and comfort, but if you so choose you may attend the Kishefmakher Academy instead, this school being located in your home country.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore,
Deputy Headmaster
It looked like Tzipporah had found out why she kept ending up on the roof.