Tzipporah stood statue-still, reading her letter over and over again by the tangerine light of the streetlamps. A witch, I’m a witch…How can that be? It wasn’t possible “ but then, it also made sense. It’s why weird things happen to me, why I’ve been ending up on the roof. She shook her head, dazed.
And there’s a school that wants to teach me magic. That part was the most unbelievable of all. A school for witches. A school for people like me. It’s…it’s…
Impossible. Tzipporah looked down at the letter clutched in her shaking hands. Isn’t witchcraft supposed to be evil? I can’t do magic and obey Jewish law at the same time, can I?
And how can I leave Tateh? He needs me, and he’ll miss me. I’ll miss him.
There was nothing for it. She would have to write back and tell them no.
But I want to go, said a small, honest voice in the back of Tzipporah’s mind. I want to learn about what I can do, about these people “ my people “ these witches and wizards. It would be worth it, for that.
“Meydeleh, get inside, you’ll catch cold standing out there!” called someone from across the street. Tzipporah jumped at her father’s voice, then stuffed the letter back into its envelope and ran to her door.
“What were you doing out there for so long?” Dr. Stein asked, taking the pile of mail from his daughter’s hands; she quickly dropped her own letter down the front of her jacket, out of sight. She couldn’t tell her father about it just yet.
“I wasn’t doing anything, Tateh,” she said, already halfway up the stairs. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“But you haven’t had supper!” cried Maria the cook, striding out of the kitchen carrying a plate heaped with sizzling schnitzel, potatoes, and carrots. “You’ll not go to bed without eating, not while I’m around.”
Dr. Stein caught his daughter’s eye and said quietly, “Let her go, Maria. If she’s hungry she can have something later.” Then he followed the scolding cook into the dining room, casting a last inquisitive glance at Tzipporah’s hastily retreating back.
Tzipporah burst into her room and immediately headed to the open window. A cool breeze blew back her loose curls, bringing with it the pungent smells of canal water and city streets. To Tzipporah, they were the smells of her entire life. I can’t leave this, she thought miserably. But oh, wouldn’t it be an adventure?
Deftly she slid out the window and grabbed hold of the roof’s slight overhang, testing her balance before pulling herself up and onto the shingles. Above her the moon was a glowing, snowy white, the exact color of Shabbat candles. Tzipporah felt a surge of remorse at the sight. I should be singing the blessing over the candles right now, and instead I’m here, thinking of my own problems. And I’m worrying Tateh.
Something caught Tzipporah’s eye, breaking into her regrets. It was a shape even darker than the indigo sky, and seemed to be undulating oddly. Not until it flew over a streetlamp did Tzipporah recognize it as an owl.
The tawny bird glided silently toward the roof, folding its wings at the last moment and landing gracefully beside Tzipporah’s right arm. It gave the smallest of hoots, peered at the letter in Tzipporah’s hands, and held out its leg expectantly. Tzipporah stared at it. What does it want?
She looked back at the letter. We await your owl by no later than July 31. A sudden idea occurred to her, and she dove back into her bedroom, grabbing her best fountain pen from beside her bed. The owl flapped after her and came to rest on the windowsill, watching and waiting.
Dear Professor Dumbledore, Tzipporah scribbled.
I’m very sorry, but I can’t come to your school, even though I would really like to. You see, I don’t think my father knows I’m a witch because he has never told me about it, and I certainly can’t tell him. Also, I don’t want to leave him alone here. He needs me to help him.
Tzipporah paused, pen poised over the half-finished letter. She decided that she didn’t want to tell the professor that magic was against her religion. She wasn’t sure it really was, anyway, and she had plenty of reasons not to go without that one. Mind made up, she resumed her writing.
It was a very considerate offer. Hogwarts sounds like a wonderful place, and I’m sorry I can’t come.
Sincerely, Tzipporah Avigail Stein
Satisfied, though not particularly happy, Tzipporah blew on the ink to dry it, folded up her letter, and put it in an envelope. Then she sealed it with blue wax and imprinted it with her Star of David pendant. The owl, sensing that its time had come, fluttered to her desk and perched on the lamp, leg extended. Hesitantly Tzipporah tied the envelope to the owl’s leg with a bit of twine. The moment she finished the owl gave a trilling hoot and disappeared out the window and into the night.
At least it’s done with, thought Tzipporah. No more temptations. I have to be a good Jew, a good daughter. But she couldn’t help thinking as she got into bed that going to Hogwarts would have been a dream come true.
The next few days passed quickly. Later, Tzipporah was never able to recall what she did, but she did remember the gnawing doubts and itching questions that tormented her. Dr. Stein looked on nervously but did not interfere; he thought he might know what was going on, but he wasn’t going to say anything until Tzipporah came to him.
Four days after she sent her letter by owl, Tzipporah decided to visit her mother’s gravestone in the synagogue cemetery after the morning service. Maybe her spirit will visit me and tell me if I did the right thing, she thought, but she didn’t expect much. Dr. Stein had to remain in his office to treat a boy’s broken arm, so Tzipporah made her way to the synagogue alone, gathering a bouquet of summer lilies from the banks of the canal as she walked.
When the service ended Tzipporah slipped out the door ahead of the crowd and skirted around to the back of the old stone building, hidden in its morning shadows. The cemetery gate was rusted and creaked wheezily when Tzipporah pushed it open. As she wove between the tombstones, heading for the shady corner where her mother lay, she noted how many of the congregation had died in the Great War. Tateh was lucky to escape with a bad leg, she reflected. I could have lost both my parents so easily. It was a scary, sobering thought.
Avigail Stein’s tombstone was square and made of polished gray marble, which bore her name, the dates of her birth and death, and the inscription Beloved Wife and Mother in Hebrew. Tzipporah kneeled in the grass and placed the lilies before it.
“Mameleh, I miss you,” Tzipporah whispered. “Did I do the right thing? Please, send a sign.” The wind stirred the grass and the leaves on the willow tree above her, but nothing more happened. Tzipporah bowed her head and began to pray, muttering the Mourner’s Kaddish under her breath.
Tzipporah didn’t know how long she kneeled there praying and thinking, but a sound behind her broke her concentration. She opened her eyes and turned slowly, expecting to see some other person come to sit vigil with the dead. But the figure making its way through the cemetery toward her had the bushy gray beard and friendly brown eyes of Rabbi Herzl.
“And what are you doing here so late, mazek?” the Rabbi asked Tzipporah, who did not move from the damp ground.
“Visiting my mother,” she answered. Rabbi Herzl was a nice old man, but she really wasn’t in the mood for a sermon.
Rabbi Herzl looked at Tzipporah. “Are you all right, child? I am here to listen to the woes of the congregation, after all.” To Tzipporah’s extreme surprise, he folded his legs and sat down across from her in the grass.
Tzipporah hesitated. Can I tell him about the letter, about what I am? Will he believe me? Will he condemn me and drive me out of the synagogue? She shivered at the last possibility.
Rabbi Herzl seemed to sense her trepidation. “It seems like just a day ago your mother came to me and told me, grinning from ear to ear, that she was a witch.”
Tzipporah felt her heart skip a beat. Rabbi Herzl didn’t look at her; he was braiding three blades of grass as he talked, and seemed completely unaware of her shock. Open mouthed, Tzipporah listened as the Rabbi continued.
“She was your age, I remember. And she said she’d gotten a letter from a magic school, Pigpimples or some such name, and asked me if being a witch was a sin. She said her parents wouldn’t let her go if it went against the Torah. Well I just looked at her and said ‘As long as you keep up your faith and your prayers, and follow God’s commandments, there’s nothing wrong with magic. You just go to that school.’ And she did. Now you didn’t happen to get a letter too, did you?”
Tzipporah found her voice at last.
“I did, Rabbi. And I wish I’d known I could go to Hogwarts before I sent that letter that said I couldn’t. Now it’s too late!”
Rabbi Herzl shook his head, smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t say that. God makes a way, if he wishes it to be so. Don’t cry now, mazek.”
“But I still can’t go, Rabbi,” Tzipporah said sadly. “Who would look after Tateh? He needs so much care, with his leg and all. I just couldn’t leave him.”
“Don’t you worry about your father. I’ll make sure he’s not forgotten. And you’ve got servants in that house of yours, don’t you? He’ll make do.”
“Will you keep an eye on him too, Rabbi?” Tzipporah asked.
“Of course, mazek. I keep an eye on everything in this city.”
Rabbi Herzl went back to braiding grass while Tzipporah dried her eyes on her sleeve. Then she stood up, and the Rabbi followed her lead.
“Thank you, Rabbi. I think…I think I know what I’m going to do. I’ll see you at the evening service.”
Rabbi Herzl patted Tzipporah on the head and smiled. “Gutn tog, mazek.”
“Gutn tog, Rabbi.”
As Tzipporah faded into the evening shadows, Rabbi Herzl stood watching from the steps of the synagogue.
“Just like her mother,” he murmured, before turning and reentering the sanctuary.
Back in her bedroom that night Tzipporah lay on her bed, pondering. If only that owl would come back. Then I could send another letter, and tell Professor Dumbledore I changed my mind. But Tzipporah was sure that the chances of the owl returning after she’d already refused his offer were slim to none.
Tzipporah was just dozing off to sleep when something tapped loudly against her windowpane. Springing out from under her quilt, she saw, with a thrill of surprise, the tawny owl waiting for her and hooting shrilly. Tzipporah swung open the window to let the owl in and tore open the new letter bound to its foot. It read:
Dear Miss Stein,
I apologize most earnestly for assuming that you would know of your witch’s status. Upon further investigation I discovered that your magical parent, in this case your mother, died when you were very young, and so you grew up in a Muggle, that is to say, nonmagical, household. Once again, I am exceedingly sorry for sending a letter which I am sure caused you great distress and confusion. I beg you to reconsider your rejection of your admission to Hogwarts School until after I have met with you. As is the custom with students of nonmagic families I will come to visit and explain to you and your father all that you may have to inquire about Hogwarts School. If you then decide that you would like to attend, I will make all the necessary arrangements.
I do hope you and your father are quite well, and I hope to see you at whatever time is most convenient.
Sincerely,
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
By the time she finished reading Tzipporah was grinning from ear to ear with jubilation. I’m going, I’m going to Hogwarts!
Hastily Tzipporah scrawled a note to the professor, thanking him profusely and inviting him to dinner that Friday, in two days time. Shabbat dinner was always the best of the week, and she wanted to show Professor Dumbledore just how grateful she was. Tzipporah flew downstairs to tell Maria to put another place setting at Friday’s table as the tawny owl disappeared into the darkness, carrying all her hopes with it.