Uri Full of Light

by Holly Sortland

  Physicians administrated medications to stop the damage, but MRI scans and EEG tests showed no brain activity. On the third day after stroke, the doctors briefly took Chana off the ventilator. It became evident that she was not be able to breathe on her own.

  Uri operated through numbness; the young woman attached to a ventilator was unrecognizable to him. The Chana he knew was immune to such a condition. Her personality filled a room, her charisma made her impossible to dislike. The motionless woman tied to a breathing machine couldn’t be his wife. Chana wouldn’t allow it. She would fight with every atom of her being to stay in their world, with Uri and their daughter. He thought of the woman he witnessed days before, gleefully adoring jellyfish in the sandy waters below her pregnant belly. That woman could never die. He didn’t understand this Chana. Deep in the pit of his soul he was sickened with shame; he was angry at his dying wife.

  Soon after learning that his once vibrant wife was in a state of vegetation, Uri was informed that she was a possible match for an Israeli resident in need of a liver. Knowing that Chana was a registered organ donor in the United States, Uri asked Devorah to check Chana’s wallet. He couldn’t summon the strength to look through her personal items. He was unsurprised when Devorah presented him with a donor card from the Israeli National Transplant Center. He imagined it was one of the first tasks Chana did after arriving in Israel—going out of her way in a strange new city to ensure she was properly registered as a donor.

  Because Pikuach Nefesh—saving a life—is considered a highly regarded moral obligation in the Talmud, Uri knew that Chana would want her liver donated. Even in her death, she would perform a mitzvah.

  The Geller's made arrangements for her to be buried at the Trumpeldor Cemetery in Tel-Aviv, knowing how much Chana adored the coastal city.

  In accordance with Jewish burial, Chana's body was never left alone until the time of burial. Immediately after her liver was taken, volunteers from the hospital provided Shemira, and prayed and recited Tehillim over Chana's body. She was ritually washed by Devorah and Avigail, her body was wrapped in a white linen shawl.

  Nauseated with grief, Uri remembered little of the funeral. Not wanting to let go of Mickey, he remembered Devorah taking the baby from his arms so that he could pick up a shovel to scoop the first pile of dirt on Chana's casket. Immediately Micky fussed. She was no longer content after her Imma died. After scooping the dirt, Uri immediately took Mickey back from Devorah. When he held his daughter, he felt he was holding a part of his wife. He guarded the tiny child preciously, and the baby’s tiny fingers became caught in the tear in Uri’s shirt.

  The tear came from the ritual cutting of the clothes, the Kriah. It was what Jacob did when he thought he lost Joseph, and what King David did upon hearing of the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. Instead of cutting his shirt on the right side, the traditional spot chosen for the death of a spouse, Uri angrily cut the left side of his shirt, above his heart, the spot usually reserved for the death of a parent. Devorah arranged for the rest of the family to wear black ribbons as they prepared to sit Shiva, the seven days of mourning a loved one.

  In shock and angry at himself, Uri dreaded the thought of sitting Shiva for seven days in his home. In Chana’s home. In the home that they prepared for Mickey. He would eventually remember the experience as a blur. He rarely let go of Mickey. He insisted on feeding her, on changing her diapers. As required, Uri did not shave or bathe or even change his clothes throughout the seven days. He dreaded using the bathroom; the sight of Chana’s shampoo and brushes, and even her toothbrush, was too much to bear. Uri spoke little during the seven days, and when the three daily prayer services were held in the house, he shut them out. He was furious at HaShem. Why did Uri deserve such pain? What did Mickey do to grow up without a mother? What did Chana do to die so young?

  Uri realized that his anxiety about losing Chana was more of a premonition. The world was too cruel to allow a love like Chana’s and his to continue. Uri blamed himself for Chana’s death. If she hadn’t fallen in love with him, if she hadn’t fallen in love with HaShem, she would have never been in Israel. If Uri hadn’t chosen to stay in the military, if he hadn’t killed Omar Basara, Basara’s son wouldn’t have blown himself up in the middle of Joppa.

  As the mourners continued to stream though the house during Shiva, Uri rationalized that it was his faith that killed Chana. If she had never met Uri, she would be alive, probably studying and traveling. Not deep in a grave, without her daughter. Without him.

  When the last mourner left on the seventh day; when the last blessing, May the Almighty comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, was said; and when the food was put away, Uri handed Mickey to his mother. He walked to the bathroom, took off his kippah and clothes, and sobbed in the shower—the same shower that Chana used every day, watching her belly grow for the last nine months. When he got out of the shower, he dried himself off, put on fresh clothes, and cut another tear in the left side of his clean shirt. He took his kippah, the very object that first made Chana notice him years before, and tucked in far back in a drawer. It was his intention to never wear a kippah again.

  He returned to the living room, picked up Mickey, sat on the terrace and cried. His tears dripped over his newborn daughter, only a week after Chana’s tears fell on the baby girl. He heard footsteps behind him. Avi placed his hands on his son’s shoulders as he continued to sob. After a few minutes, Avi returned inside and closed the balcony door.

  “That poor child,” Avi said to Devorah. “She has felt more tears from her parents than most people feel in a lifetime.”

  Devorah looked out through the balcony glass. As the sun was setting, her son’s silhouette shined brightly. She excused herself from the room and went to the nursery. After holding herself together all week, keeping herself composed, making the arrangements for the funeral and the Shiva, and politely greeting and thanking guests, she collapsed into the rocker. The rocker Chana would never sit in singing lullabies to Mickey. For the first time since Chana died, Devorah allowed herself to cry. It seemed the world ignored the grief of a mother-in-law. I was too rigid, she thought to herself, wishing she had made herself more emotionally available to Chana, the woman who gifted her with a granddaughter.

  She walked out to the balcony, offering to take Micky from a still sobbing Uri. Reluctantly, he handed the child over. Devorah watched as Uri pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  “Uri,” she said, looking into his eyes that were filled with despair. “I loved her too.”

  47

  Three days later, still wearing the same torn t-shirt and still unshaven, Uri received a phone call. He had been avoiding most calls but when he saw a military prefix, he answered.

  It was Akbar, his spotter and comrade from his unit.

  "Hey Geller," he said after Uri picked up. "Look man, I am really sorry about your wife. We're all thinking about you, my brother."

  Uri politely thanked him and sensed that this was more than just a sympathy call.

  "I know you're on bereavement, but we've gotten some tips on the supplier of Basara's kid. We are going in tonight. I was trying to decide if I should tell you or not, but if it were my wife, I would want to know."

  Uri paused for a moment, trying to figure out what Akbar was implying. "Are you saying that I should take part in this operation?" he asked.

  "I don't know man, I guess that would be up to the commander. But I thought you should know. If you want more details, you're going to have to contact the guy in charge."

  "Are you on spotter duty tonight?" Uri asked.

  "Always, you know it."

  "So, you want me to be your sniper?" Uri pressed him for more details, wanting him to get to the point.

  "Again, I don't call the shots, but like I said, if it was my wife, I would want to be there."

  Uri thanked Akbar and ended the call. Holding Mickey, he walked by the empty nursery and the empty rocker where Chana planned to spend month
s nursing and singing to their growing daughter. He silently cursed HaShem. He laid Mickey in her crib, picked up his phone, and dialed his commander.

  SIX HOURS LATER, URI found himself back in his unit. They were on the West Bank embedded in a neighborhood outside of Hebron. It was an impoverished community; litter and plastic bags lined the fences throughout the area.

  The mission this evening was to surround a building suspected of housing the operation that created the suicide bomb for Omar Basara’s son. Intelligence tips led officials to believe that those who lived in the house had dug an elaborate system of underground tunnels between other houses in the community. The goal of the operation was to infiltrate, remove innocent civilians, arrest those suspected of being involved in the operation, and verify whether such a tunnel system existed. If it did, the buildings and tunnels would be demolished.

  Uri’s commander reluctantly agreed to his participation in the operation but, under the advice of Dr. Cahn, Uri would not be on sniper duty. Instead, he would be doing general recognizance throughout the night and into the morning hours to see when people were entering or leaving the house.

  Uri and another lieutenant by the name of Katz were responsible for monitoring the backend of the house. As they watched the property for hours, Uri found the mission to be a relief. Not only because he could help take out those responsible for Chana’s death, but also to be away from his home and the constant reminder that a very pregnant Chana would never again walk through the front door.

  Hours passed with no activity in or outside the house. Uri smoked a pack of cigarettes. Finally, as dawn broke around 5:30am, Uri and Katz noticed what looked like flashlights towards the back of the house. After reporting the news to the commander, they were ordered to move towards the back of the house, with Uri covering the north end and Katz covering the south.

  They slowly and quietly belly crawled down the hill towards the house in rocky terrain. Once he was about ten yards away from a back entrance of the building, Uri noticed something that appeared to be movement behind a large boulder that was just feet away from the house. At first, he suspected it was some sort of an animal, but as the sun began to rise and he crawled closer, he could see what appeared to be a small human shadow.

  As quietly as he could, Uri rose to his feet, kept his hand on his weapon and walked to see who or what was behind the boulder. Ready to use his weapon at any moment, Uri quickly walked and turned in front of the builder and was shocked by what he saw.

  Perched on a little, dirty bucket behind the boulder was a little girl. She had black hair and doe-like eyes. She couldn’t have been older than seven years old. She played with what appeared to be two small, colorful rag dolls. The child looked at the tall, Israeli shoulder with a gun standing before her and shook in terror.

  Not wanting to frighten her, Uri held his fingers to his lips softly whispered, “Kuni hadi’a, kun hadi’a,” be quiet in Arabic. The little girl remained frozen. Uri forced himself to smile and continued to whisper to her. “Lan O’othiki,” he whispered over and over again. I will not hurt you.

  Believing that he calmed the girl enough so that she would not scream, he quietly radioed his commander about the situation, and was told to keep her restrained to avoid her alerting anyone in the house of their presence.

  Repeating the phrase “Lan O’othiki, Lan O’othiki,” Uri removed two zip ties from his gear and took hold of the girl’s wrists and tied them together. Tears streamed down her face. He then did the same with her little ankles, which were covered in dry mud down to her bare feet. Once she was restrained, he gently laid the girl on the ground.

  “Kuni hadi’a,” he continued to whisper to her as he walked away, praying that she would not scream. He did not have it in him to gag the small child.

  As he continued toward the house, a familiar sense fell over him. It was the same feeling he had years ago when he tried not to look back at Chana who was calling his name in the hallway of their high school. Look back, Uri, Look behind you. He tried to ignore the voice and stay focused on his mission, but it grew louder. Uri look back!

  Uri obeyed the voice, stopped walking, and looked back at the little girl. She laid on the hard, cold ground, her face wet with tears. Her little dolls were just inches from her restrained, petite hands. Suddenly Uri thought of the picture of Chana and Amira, still on the nightstand next to their bed. The little girl reminded him of Amira, especially in her eyes. What had he done? Chana would be so ashamed of him. Yet there was still a mission to be completed. Uri wanted the people responsible for Chana’s death brought to justice.

  He looked at the frightened, cold child and knew what he had to do. He took his knife from his pocket and walked towards the little girl. He smiled at her, and as gently as he could, he cut the zip ties from her small wrists and ankles. Uri nodded toward the house, and whispered, “Adhhab, go!”

  Silently, she ran from him. Uri looked down at the ground; the two colorful rag dolls remained in the dirt.

  Uri crawled back up the hill, ignoring the calls from his radio. The weight of his gear felt heavier than ever before. As he reached the peak, he began to wail. He cried for his dead wife, his beautiful b’shert. He cried for his newborn daughter, who would never know her Imma. He cried for Amira, whom Chana loved so much, and he cried for the little girl he just traumatized. Finally, he wept for Israel and the unnecessary bloodshed.

  Uri put his face to the ground, moaning and sobbing like a small boy. From the distance he heard footsteps. Soon, Katz and another soldier lifted him from the ground. Tears, dirt, and saliva were caked to his face. For the first time in his life, Uri Geller didn’t care if he lived or died.

  48

  Six weeks later, Uri and Mickey arrived in the Black Hills of South Dakota. After their plane landed at the small regional airport, Uri quickly spotted Kathleen and Leah Hagen waiting to meet them.

  There were many tears. Kathleen and Faith greeted Uri with a giant hug, both mourning Chana’s absence. But then they saw Mickey sleeping in her car seat, and their grief overlapped with joy. Now almost eight pounds, Mickey’s face was filling out revealing dimples in her cheeks and chin. Her hair grew thicker from the time she was born, unusual for most babies. Awakened by all the crying and cooing, Mickey opened her blue eyes and grimaced at the two strange women above her.

  Kathleen immediately started sweet talking the infant, and Uri realized how similar her voice was to Chana’s. As if recognizing the sound of a voice she’d heard in her mother’s womb, Mickey’s eyes focused steadily on her grandmother. Eventually, after much concentration, her lips curled into a small smile.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile,” Uri said, grinning to himself. For a moment, he felt guilt. Guilt for enjoying a moment of happiness without Chana. He imagined Chana standing there with them, rejoicing in the excitement of Mickey’s first smile.

  It was hard driving into the small city. The landmarks brought Uri back to a time to when he and Chana experienced the bliss of young love. He made a promise to himself to avoid the area of the high school. The memories he shared with Chana in the school’s walls and in the parking lot were too much for him to bear.

  As they arrived at the Hagen home, Uri was pleasantly surprised to find Mike Hagen standing in the doorway. It was the first time Uri saw him without an oxygen tube affixed to his face, and it was the first time he saw him not struggling to breathe. Tears built up in Uri’s eyes as Michael Hagen stood before him, the picture of health. How he wished Chana could see him like this. The little girl haunted by her father’s terminal illness would have exulted in the new life that was in her father.

  Mike offered Uri a big hug, both men not bothering to hold back their tears. Uri took Mickey out of her car seat and handed her to Mike.

  “Here she is, your namesake,” he said proudly.

  The expression of Mike Hagen’s face was indescribable; a mixture of grief and joy, mourning and jubilation. Disturbed by being taken from the c
omfort of her car seat, Mickey was awake and alert; her blue eyes staring deeply into the eyes of her grandfather.

  “Hello, Mickey. I guess you and I have some things in common,” he spoke softly to his granddaughter. “You look an awful lot like your Mommy,” he said, trying his best to hold back his tears as he bonded with his grandchild.

  “She does look like Hannah,” Kathleen said. “Hannah had a full head of hair, just like that when she was born.”

  “Really?” Uri replied. “Chana was amazed by Mickey’s hair. She couldn’t keep her hands off it.” The image of Chana breastfeeding their daughter was etched in his mind. The pain of missing his wife clashed with his memory of joy.

  As they settled into the living room, Kathleen offered Uri refreshments. “I have kosher snacks,” she told him.

  “Thanks Kathleen, but that really wasn’t necessary,” Uri replied. As he spoke, Kathleen noticed that he wasn’t wearing a kippah. Though it troubled her, she felt uncomfortable asking him about it.

  They sat in the living room; this time it was Leah’s turn to hold her niece. “She’s grown so much. Over three pounds in six weeks. You’re doing a great job, Uri,” she said.

  Uri offered a small smile but said nothing. The reality of sitting in the home where Chana grew up, seeing her pictures on the walls, her childhood artwork framed —hit him hard. A quiet sadness filled the room, and Uri remembered the items he brought for Chana’s family.

  He opened a duffle bag and handed a carefully wrapped box to Kathleen. She unwrapped it slowly. Inside was a small memory box that contained locks of Chana’s hair, along with her two favorite barrettes.

  “I thought you might like the barrettes, Leah,” Uri said.

  Leah wiped tears from her face. “Why don’t I hang on to these until Mickey gets older. I bet she would love to have them someday.”