The Charity of Truth - חסד של אמת - Chesed Shel Emes
Chesed Shel Emes: Compassionate concern and utmost kindness for the dead on behalf of the living. The charity of truth.
When Sirius was younger, he and his little brother Regulus would play on the beaches during family vacations, chasing each other around the sand and dodging the rise and fall of the tide. Regulus would never go in the water, running from sea foam and waves like his life depended on it.
Sirius can remember once, and only once, when Regulus wasn’t fast enough and the water reached him, the waves breaking against his chest. It was the week before Sirius’ Bar Mitzvah, and they were in Marseille visiting family. Regulus had shrieked, calling out for Sirius. When Sirius got to him he was fine, but he was crouching on a stretch of dry sand, his eyes wide, body wet with salt water.
“Feel it, Sirius,” Regulus had panted, the ‘S’s coming out funny because of the gaps where Regulus lost some of his baby teeth. He took Sirius’ hand and placed it on his chest so Sirius could feel it. The heavy pounding from his heart because of the water—because of his fear.
“Don’t go in the water again, Reggie,” Sirius scolded, brows furrowing as he felt the unnatural rhythm of his brother’s heart. He never liked it when Regulus was scared.
“I won’t,” Regulus shook his head resolutely, “I promise, I won’t.”
Regulus promised Sirius he wouldn’t, and Sirius had believed him. Even after everything that happened, even close to a decade later, Sirius believed him. He had no reason not to believe him—Regulus never liked the water anyway.
"I won’t,” Regulus had promised about the water, swearing he wouldn’t go back in.
But then he did, and now he’s gone, and Sirius is still here, forced to make sense of it.
“You’re basically a grown-up now, Sirius,” Regulus had giggled from across the bed, the night before Sirius’ Bar Mitzvah, a flashlight shining under his chin, lighting his features up. They were huddled under a blanket on the bed in their cousin’s house, whispering to each other so that their parents wouldn’t catch them.
“Hardly,” Sirius scoffed, “I’m only thirteen.”
“You’re more of a grown-up than me,” Regulus argued, raising a brow, even then, “That means something, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, Reggie, I guess when you put it that way, you’re right.”
Regulus smiled triumphantly, the flashlight still casting a warm glow on his face.
“I can’t imagine being a grown-up,” Regulus said suddenly, shaking his head, “I don’t think I ever will be.”
“You’re only seven, Regulus,” Sirius told him, wisely. “Almost eight. You’ll be a grown-up someday, it’s just hard to imagine. You’ll have your Bar Mitzvah when you’re thirteen, like me, and then you’ll basically be a grown-up too. That’s not too far away, is it? Can’t you imagine that?”
Regulus blinked as he considered Sirius’ words. He started counting on his fingers, clearly trying to figure out how long it would be until he was thirteen.
“Five years,” Regulus cried out, his eyes wide as Sirius shushed him, worried their parents would hear. “That’s too much time!
Regulus was wrong, though. Five years wasn’t nearly enough time. Regulus did make it to thirteen, but he barely got another five after that. When Sirius’ baby brother died he was just shy of eighteen, only months younger than Sirius was the last time he spoke to him.
Sirius can clearly remember Regulus’ Bar Mitzvah.
Regulus had studied for months in preparation for his reading. When he stood in front of their temple, their family, and friends, the Hebrew flowed from his mouth like water, his dedication evident. It’s not typical, really, to witness a non-native-speaking teenager recite their Torah portion with ease like that. But, Regulus was never typical, and his eagerness to please their parents was always his greatest motivation.
It’s not just how impressive Regulus was on his Bar Mitzvah that has stuck with Sirius, it’s the content of what he read that day. Torah portions for Bar Mitzvahs are assigned based on birthdays—you don’t get to choose, so you either get lucky or you don’t.
It’s funny, honestly, how fate works. Regulus’ portion was Parsha Vayetze, which quite literally translates to “And he left”. Sirius feels like it was foreshadowing, somehow, for both of them. Like, if his parents had just looked ahead to see what their sons were assigned to read as men when they were born, they would have known what was to come and worked to stop it. Sirius and Regulus both left in the end, after all, just in different ways.
Sirius’ portion was Parsha Noach or the great flood— The story of Noah’s Ark. Many people consider that Parsha to be a good one for a Bar Mitzvah—it's well-known and interesting. Considering Sirius’ family situation, it was almost amusing that his Torah portion told of a flood killing thousands, Noah only saving himself and those he and God deemed worthy.
What was less funny though, and painstakingly ironic, was that Sirius was predestined by birth to be tied to the story of the Great Flood when his little brother was so afraid of water. It was a reasonable fear, really. Water is an instrument of God used as both a blessing and a punishment. Sirius has played both roles in Regulus' life: the blesser and punisher.
Their own great flood came not too long after that, in the form of a final argument between Sirius and his parents that pushed him to leave and not look back. In that moment, when he was kicking and screaming, the great flood was his anger and hatred, his desperation to get as far away from his family as possible.
The water that swept away life as the world knew it in Noah’s time had flowed into the present, taking shape as Regulus’ tears. Those tears fell like a torrential downpour as he watched Sirius leave him behind.
There was Sirius, playing God just like Noah did, but he didn’t bless Regulus with survival. No, Sirius didn’t invite him onto his ark and save him. Sirius left Regulus behind. His little brother was abandoned, left to sit idly as the floodwaters rose around him, his greatest fear killing him in record time.
Almost five years later, when Sirius receives a call from an unknown number, he almost doesn't answer. When he first left home that was his mother’s tactic to speak to him. If Sirius didn’t know it was her, he answered the call. He learned his lesson eventually, and then his voicemail box filled up, so he changed his number. It’s that reminder, that she doesn’t know how to reach him, that leads Sirius to answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“Sirius? Is that you?”
Sirius knows that voice, but he can't place it. “This is Sirius, who’s this?”
“It’s Evan,” The voice tells him, “Evan Rosier. Do you remember when we were kids? I was friends with Regulus. Our families used to spend Rosh Hashanah together.”
Ah, Rosier, Sirius thinks, as he pictures a blonde boy running around in a yarmulke at a dinner party, shofar in his hand.
“I remember you,” Sirius assures him, curious why one of Reggie’s friends would call him, after all this time. “What do you want?”
“You don’t know then?” Evan asks, his voice pitying.
Something in Sirius' stomach twists preemptively, and dread fills him. Maybe his parents are dead. That wouldn’t be the end of the world, honestly. He might even get to talk to Regulus again if that’s the case.
“Know what?”
“Sirius, I’m so sorry,” Rosier sighs, “Regulus—he died.”
Sirius had never even considered drowning, not until he learned that his little brother drowned to death.
And then, once he knows that, he’s drowning too, grief filling his throat and lungs instead of air. He tries to swallow it down, desperate for oxygen, but he can’t—grief is the only option in this scenario. He’ll let it take him if it means he can see Regulus again. If he can push his little brother’s curls off his forehead one more time. If he can just hear him say “Sirius” all wonky and lispy again while he grins a gap-toothed smile. If he can just get something, even for a second, he’ll let it take him. He won’t complain, won’t even struggle. He’ll go willingly for his baby brother.
He screams at a God he doesn't believe in anymore: Take me to him. Bring him back to me.
Sirius’ lungs burn from the lack of air, his vision goes blurry, and worst of all, his heart feels like it's been ripped from his chest, but still, he’s here in this life and Regulus is nowhere to be found.
His little brother drowned. His little brother was always afraid of the water. His little brother is dead.
When Sirius stumbles to his parents' home, the one he left so long ago, flanked by Remus and James, he doesn’t even flinch when his mother opens the door.
His eyes linger on the Mezuzah resting on the frame of the entryway, meant for the protection of the home and those who live in it.
He remembers himself and Regulus picking it out together at the Judaica store in their temple and presenting it to their father, who complimented it and hung it up proudly. Sirius doesn’t have a Mezuzah now. He hasn’t since he left.
He's done his best to forget about everything— the Jewish traditions and rituals. It was too close to home for him and caused too much grief and suffering. Now that Reggie is dead, it’s all he can think of. He doesn’t know how to grieve without it.
He rips his eyes away from it, no good it did to protect anyone here. It didn’t protect Regulus. It never protected himself.
Sirius and his mother just stare at each other, two ghosts haunting again.
“What are you doing here, Sirius?” His mother snaps, her voice as sharp as always.
“My brother is dead,” Sirius growls, “Did you not expect me to find out when the funeral is? I haven't missed it, have I?”
The Jewish people bury their dead as soon as possible, and Regulus passed away a few days ago according to Evan, so there’s a chance he really did miss it. Every time Sirius remembers that his baby brother was dead for days, and he didn’t know, just carried on with his life, he vomits or tries not to.
“There’s no funeral,” Walburga shakes her head angrily, beginning to shut the door.
“Wait!” Sirius yelps, shoving his boot in between the doorframe and the door. “What do you mean there’s no funeral? Why isn’t there a funeral?”
“There’s no body, Sirius,” She hisses, “There’s nothing to be done for him. Shiva cannot be carried out, there can be no Mourner’s Kaddish in his name. We are not to grieve publically. We must wait until all hope is lost, or his body is recovered.”
Death is not necessarily feared in Judaism. It’s viewed as a part of the inevitable, a part of one's life cycle. It’s ritualistic, even for those mourning. There are steps to take, things that must be done to grant peace to both the dead and the living.
If there's no body—if there's no body that means those steps can't be taken. It leaves the mourners in a permanent state of anuit— suspended between the time of death and the period between burial, a burial that will never come without a body. Sirius will be a mourner for the rest of his life, gaining permanent status as an onein, unable to move on from Regulus’ death.
In truth, it’s not all that literal, really, but in some ways it is. The Judaism that his parents raised him and Regulus with, it was rigid and suffocating. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother continues that way, as an onein, until she dies just to demonstrate her dedication to that rigidity. Sirius isn’t observant anymore, but he’s still Jewish, and he just lost his brother. He wants to mourn him in the way that he thinks Regulus would have mourned him. He wants to mourn him how he knows how to.
But how is that possible, without the body? Without a clear outline of how to move forward and mourn? Sirius doesn’t have a Rabbi to consult, no elder he trusts knows the rituals and traditions well enough to guide him. Even if he did have either of those things, even if he really wanted those things, he wouldn’t be able to move on from Regulus’ death, just on a human level. He’s a human, and his brother just died. How can he ever move on from that?
“No body?” Sirius whispers, gaping at his mother with wide eyes. “How is that possible? Ima, How—How did that happen?”
“Don’t you dare call me that, after all these years, after everything,” His mother says, recoiling at Sirius’ words. “You broke him, you know that? Your leaving broke him, not me or your father. I hope that’s what you intended for, Sirius.” She slams the door then, leaving Sirius standing there, staring at the wood of it, unmoving.
“Sirius,” James whispers, putting a gentle arm around him. “Let’s go.”
So Sirus goes.
“You can still do it, love,” Remus tells him, later that night when they’re lying in bed together. Sirius is curled up in a ball in their bed, facing away from him, unable to stop the tears from flowing. “You can still do it all—mourn him how you know how to. It doesn't matter if some parts of it are missing. Your grief is all yours and so is how you handle it. We’ll help you.”
When Sirius finally falls asleep, he dreams of Regulus as he remembers him.
He’s standing there, dark curls and bright eyes, waiting for Sirius in a building that doesn’t quite look right, like all things in dreams, but he can tell it’s a synagogue.
“I waited for you to come back, Sirius,” Regulus says sadly once he's close enough, “But you never did.”
“I’m sorry, Reggie,” Sirius gasps, walking towards his little brother quickly. “I wanted to, I really did, I just—” Sirius stops in place, watching as Regulus’ face flickers, and he’s three years old, eight years old, thirteen years old. He’s all the ways Sirius remembers him. Then, suddenly, water starts rushing out of the Torah ark behind him, like a tidal wave, heading straight for Regulus.
“Regulus,” Sirius shouts, panic overtaking him, “You need to move—the water, it’s going to get you.”
The tidal wave crashes, but when it hits the floor it’s not violent. It falls and rises gently, gradually flooding the floor they stand on. When it reaches Regulus’ waist, his face changes, and suddenly he’s a version of himself that Sirius doesn’t remember. One he can’t remember, because he wasn’t around for it. Regulus can’t be more than seventeen years old, but to Sirius, who last saw him at thirteen, he looks so much older.
“I’m not going to be stuck, Sirius,” Regulus tells him, the water up to his neck now, “Not unless you are.”
The water continues to rise until both Sirius and Regulus are under it, but only Sirius is gasping for air, struggling against it.
He jerks awake in a cold sweat, still gasping. He gathers his bearings, looking around the bedroom. Remus is lying beside him, sleeping peacefully. The curtains sway in the cold night air from the open window, starlight covering the room.
I’m not going to be stuck, Sirius. Not unless you are.
Regulus’ voice echoes through his mind. Sirius doesn’t go back to sleep after that.
When the sun rises the next morning, Sirius rises with it.
He works quietly, careful not to wake anyone. He places sheets over the mirrors throughout the house, puts his leather jacket away, and lights a candle for his brother.
Sirius says the Mourner’s Kaddish, and he thinks of his little brother.
He thinks of grey eyes and dark curls and mirror images of himself. He thinks of Regulus, and he remembers. He’s always going to remember and for now, he’s going to forgive himself. Neither of them are going to be stuck, not if he has any part in it.
"May his memory be for a blessing," Sirius whispers to himself, staring at the flame of Regulus' candle.