by Nora Sarel
“Good thing you reminded me,” Gadi said, “Come, Liam, help me,” and both turned to the tired old nun. “I wanted to ask you another thing. I have a good friend in Israel, her mother was also here. She was born at the nearby hospital and at the time was very sick. She was born about a month after me. Can you help her find her mother?”
Liam translated what he had said but Dona Anna quickly replied, “Meu filho, if this girl you are telling me about would want to meet her mother, she would come here as you did. She probably still isn’t ready, it’s hard. Tell her Dona Anna said it was better to march into the future rather than stumble behind in the past.”
“But she asked me to look for her birth mother.”
“I can’t remember,” Dona Anna said. She closed her weary eyes and kept speaking while her eyes were shut. “Tell her to be happy in the Holy Land, and embrace the privilege she has been given. One mustn’t look back like Lot’s wife, but look at what the merciful Lord had given them, thank him and keep believing there is good to come.”
When they left the shelter, the girls’ gaze curiously followed them. They tried speaking to them but the four were overburdened and would not heed to them. Gadi felt Ido’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you came with me,” he said.
When he would arrive at Recife he would write Dona Anna a letter. However, he would never get a reply. Dona Anna passed away only three weeks after they had met.
CHAPTER 13
At dinner Ido asked Gadi if he could read the diary.
Thursday, April 1st, 1982
It’s April Fools’ day and we keep pinching ourselves to make sure we’re not dreaming.
In the morning we met Ori and Nili and walked with them around the park by the hotel. Both Gadi and Dana were quiet babies, they didn’t cry or whine and when it was time for them to eat we walked back to the hotel lobby and fed them their bottles. All the receptionists came to see them. They looked like twins, he was wearing blue and white and she wore pink. We were having a casual parent conversation, each couple bragging about their own child. Dafne told that Gadi smiled a lot and could hold his head up. Nili replied that the babies were different because Gadi was 5-weeks-older than Dana (which is a lot at this age) and because he was a boy and she was a girl. Dafne replied that on the contrary, girls develop faster than boys, so Nili responded that Gadi weighed more and was stronger. “How much does he eat?” Nili asked, “about 7 ounces.” “Dana eats only 4, 5 ounces, tops.”
This motherly talk was music to my ears.
Although Nili was an experienced mother, Dafne seemed just as skilled. She was knowledgeable and confident, and frankly, I was pretty amazed. She was born with maternal instincts. Throughout the day I constantly kept taking pictures of Gadi; on his own, with Dana, with Dafne, and then with the Yovel family again. I couldn’t help it. In the afternoon I took the film to be developed, and when I came back we called my parents again. It was already late in Israel but we had to share our joy and tell everyone what an amazing and special child Gadi is.
Friday April 2nd, 1982
Dona Arlete called this morning to check up on us and said she would drop by with Sebastião. Then Dafne told me she was surprised, Nessia hadn’t called us, she wondered whether Dona Arlete gave her the money. Dafne suspected some of the information Nessia gave us wasn’t exactly true, for example, Gadi doesn’t roll over on both sides, as Nessia had mentioned. He only rolled from his stomach to his back, and besides, he did it only once and it seemed unintentional. “Besides,” Dafne wondered aloud, “how can a baby, who isn’t two months old yet, roll over on both sides?” and added with a motherly expertise that babies usually roll over at the age of three-four months.
Dafne also doubted the information about Francisco. How could he have died so suddenly and at such a young age without any prior symptoms? Wasn’t it strange that his wife had all of a sudden changed her mind? I told her it didn’t really matter whether Nessia’s story was pure truth or not. What matters to us, is that we leave here with our son as soon as possible.
We treated ourselves to breakfast in bed again. We sat and ate while Gadi lay next to us in his stroller. He looked at us, and we at him. Dafne said she had been imagining this ideal image for a long time. The weather outside was cloudy and it drizzled, but it was pleasant. We decided not to take the baby outside. Are we slightly hysterical parents?
In the afternoon Ori, Nili and Dana came over. They were depressed. Ori explained they were really homesick, they missed their son, who missed them too, he needed his parents to take care of him. Nili told us they had already called their agency and explained they had to go back home urgently. The agency promised they would bring the necessary papers to the hotel that very evening, and maybe would even update their travel agent with regard to their departure date from Brazil.
Nili and Ori don’t insist on their lawyer being trustworthy, in fact, they aren’t even interested in meeting him. Their agency takes care of it. They are willing to pay a little extra to get the papers faster so they can leave this week. In their opinion nothing is legal about the adoption in Brazil, even what seemed legal wasn’t so. “What’s legal?” Nili asked, “If the country prohibits adoption, then no adoption is legal.” We, on the other hand, hope to meet a top-notch lawyer who will allow us to leave Brazil with our heads held high, not like thieves in the night.
Nili seemed sad today, something burdened her and it wasn’t homesickness. When she inexplicably burst into tears Ori said she was experiencing something similar to baby blues. We all smiled, even Nili. “It’s not funny, it can happen,” Dafne explained, “I read that the extreme emotional changes we are going through, and so quickly, are what can cause a sort of depression. These changes aren’t necessarily physical, they’re mostly mental. It’s a known fact that adoptive parents can experience such a crisis. The adoptive mother, sometimes, even lactates. It might seem absurd, but it can happen.” When Dafne finished speaking a silence fell and it seemed we ran out of things to talk about. I decided to order pizzas from a nearby pizzeria to uplift the atmosphere and soothe our appetite. Dafne tried cheering Ori and Nili up by making jokes and skits of how we and the children would be in twenty years.
That is how we passed the time, playing with the babies every now and then, changing their diapers and feeding them. It was so much fun being together. Nili and Ori stayed with us until the evening which was when we remembered it was Friday. We lit candles for Shabbat and blessed each other with a Shabbat Shalom. We made sure to thank God for rewarding us with such wonderful babies. We felt close, like one big family.
Sunday April 4th, 1982
We thought Dr. Oppenheimer would come on Saturday, but he didn’t call nor come. He finally arrived unannounced this afternoon. People in Brazil don’t work today either, but Dr. Oppenheimer didn’t mind. Nili and Ori had other guests from the agency who brought their much-awaited papers and approvals. They promised to bring their flight tickets on Monday, once the travel agencies open after the weekend. It seems Nili and Ori’s agency was taking good care of them. Nili’s mood was better today. I was happy my Dafne didn’t experience any post-adoption depression, which I had feared. After giving birth, people say the mother looks radiant, so did Dafne – and it was amazing.
Today was also a cloudy grayish day, which is way we decided to stay in. At five-thirty Dr. Oppenheimer came with a nurse, ready for the examinations.
We decided Nili and Ori would go first. They went with the doctor and nurse up to their room, where Dr. Oppenheimer could perform the exam and give them their lab results. We stayed a few more minutes in the hotel lobby and then went upstairs so that he could look at our Gadi, too. We heard a knock on our door about an hour later. We offered them some coffee, but they refused and would only have water. When Dr. Oppenheimer saw Gadi he said with satisfaction, “what a beautiful boy.”
Then the nurse took out a baby weight-scale,
a measuring tape and a bell and placed them on the table. She then covered the weight-scale with a thin diaper cloth, undressed the baby gently, examined and weighed him and finally wrote down in her notebook, “10 lb and 5 oz.” The nurse’s every move was gentle and careful, although when taking Gadi off the scales she held him with one hand and with the other put the scales on the floor. Then she placed him on the round table (she did that using both of her hands, thank goodness) and asked me to stretch his legs and hold them tightly so she can measure his length. I told Dafne in Hebrew, that we were lucky the table was large enough for Gadi, and Dafne said she will later use it as a changing table. The nurse spoke to me in Portuguese and, to my surprise, I understood her without needing translation. The nurse went on to write, “height – 1.7 feet.” She measured his head circumference, but then Gadi peed on her and got her clothes wet. We all jumped to block the flow, but only Dr. Oppenheimer was resourceful enough to throw a shirt on Gadi’s ‘pee pee.’
“Never mind,” he said, “we’re used to it.” Dafne quickly picked Gadi up, pressed him to her and kissed him excitedly, as if he had just done something sublime. She told him, in Hebrew of course, “never mind son, even if you mess up, we’re here with you.” Then she cleaned the infant and put on his diaper so that we could continue the examination. Gadi didn’t cry, on the contrary, he curiously looked around him and smiled.
The nurse then took out the bell and pushed us away from the table. She stood on Gadi’s right and loudly shook the bell’s tongues. Gadi quickly turned his head to her. Then, she stood on his left, rang the bell and once again he turned. “Proper hearing,” she wrote down. We were relieved. It was as if Gadi was taking his finals or GMAT. It was so strange to see how much we wanted him to successfully pass these tests. Weren’t we overreacting? What will happen when he grows up, I thought, would I be this stressed when he takes his exams at school? I guess that’s what every parent feels.
Now it was Dr. Oppenheimer’s turn. He lifted up the kid, laid him down on our double bed, and sat beside him. “The test results are great,” he said and handed us the printed lab report. “The boy is very developed.” The doctor took out his stethoscope and listened to his tiny heartbeat, and then to his round belly. He opened the diaper, looked closely, felt his testicles and asked with a smile “when’s the bris?” “In Israel!” we replied together. He closed the diaper again and started stretching the baby’s arms and legs. Then, Dr. Oppenheimer used a little flashlight to check Gadi’s sight. Finally, he gave Gadi back to his mother, who took him with open longing arms, and said, “the boy is in great condition. The lab results were wonderful, too. He doesn’t appear to have any medical condition. However, even though we completed all the test, this is not a guarantee. Unforeseeable issues can always come up. I hope that this won’t be the case.”
“Mazal Tov,” he congratulated us in Hebrew and got off the bed. “I would like to recommend a Jewish lawyer, here, from our community, who lives in Curitiba, he can help you with the legal documents, so you can take the boy back to Israel.” We were happy to accept his recommendation, and took Sergio the lawyer’s number, so we could call him tomorrow. “He also speaks Hebrew,” Dr. Oppenheimer added, and we thought it was terrific.
Ido took a short break.
The night was very dark and silent, and although the reading light above his bed was on, illuminating the diary’s letters, Ido felt strange. The silence, combined with Dafne and Dani’s exhausting journey, overwhelmed him. He looked at his sleeping friends. He so wanted to speak with Omri about what Dani had written, share the experience. However, he, as everyone, was in deep dream sleep. “Wake up,” Ido whispered into his ear, but Omri turned to the other side. “Wake up, please,” he whispered again not to disturb the others. Omri didn’t even respond. It was in fact Gadi who had opened his large eyes and asked, “who are you talking to?”
“Myself,” Ido replied and kept reading.
Monday, April 5th, 1982
The first thing I did when I woke up, was call the number Dr. Oppenheimer had left. However, there was no answer. A quick look at the clock explained why. I couldn’t wait patiently for the offices to open at 9 or 10 AM. Dafne was still asleep and rays of light, that had snuck into the room, danced on her body. Yes, she was already thirty-four, but still had a young attractive figure. I really wanted to tell her that and kiss her. I wanted to be romantic and say something like, Dafne, my love, my companion, the worst is behind us, from now on we will have good times – but I didn’t dare wake her up. Gadi lay on his back, every now and then lifting his legs or arms and cooing. When I looked into the crib, which was almost too small for him, he smiled at me and I kissed him. This kid has won me over.
At 10 I called Sergio’s office again, but still no answer. I suggested that we look for another lawyer or use Dona Arlete’s legal aid. Dafne refused both options and, being herself a lawyer, decided to consult with her office in Israel. She hoped someone might be able to find a Brazilian lawyer who can take care of the adoption properly, since she herself would not break the law.
At 11 I tried calling once again, and this time, after one ring I heard a man’s voice.
“Pronto.”
“This is Dani Kaneti from Israel,” I mumbled in Portuguese and before I could complete my sentence a big ‘Shalom’ interrupted the conversation with a ‘Welcome,’ “come, speak Hebrew, bom? Because I do everything to help. I come over now, bom? What hotel?” Sergio spoke so fast he could barely breath.
The moment I said the name of the hotel the call was disconnected. Dafne, who was preoccupied with Gadi, asked with wonder, “what was that?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, just as confused.
Less than thirty minutes later, a young man of thirty-five entered our room with a big smile, exposing a row of pearly whites. He held an elegant leather bag, and in a very unexpected and unlike Brazilian way, he began to work. He sat on a chair at the corner of the room, and took out of his briefcase, which he had placed on his lap, a pile of papers, placing them on the bag he had just loudly clicked shut. “I’m lawyer Sergio Kowchevski” he said in Hebrew. “And I’m lawyer Dafne Kaneti,” said Dafne, who stood at the other end of the room with Gadi in her arms. “And I’m Dani,” I added, “not a lawyer but an economist, if titles matter so much to you.” “Bom,” said lawyer Kowchevski. “And little boy, what his name?” he asked in Hebrew.
“Gadi,” I replied.
“Gadi is name beautiful,” he continued, while we smiled at one another hearing his broken Hebrew. “We probably sound like that when we speak Portuguese,” I said to Dafne. However, she couldn’t answer, because ‘Mr. lawyer’ spoke again, “our work is big and I want help you so boy so cute will be Israeli, bom?”
He took an elegant fountain pen out of his blazer and began jotting down something, he lifted his eyes and explained, “now we ask social to write letter, then we go to judge, bom?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“First, you give me papers mom of boy sign, and papers from agencia – agency, bom?”
“We don’t have papers from the baby’s mom, nor do we have papers from the adoption agency, but you can call Dona Arlete and ask her anything you need or want to know.”
“Bom.” Sergio said and stretched out his hand to take the receiver while I dialed the number.
“Don’t be nervous, everything OK. I have a lot experience and I help you, bom?” Sergio said. Then he began talking with Dona Arlete in fluent Portuguese. Frankly, he annoyed me, ending all his sentences with that ‘bom’, but I got used to it eventually. The papers he asked for made me feel like an idiot. How is it that I hadn’t asked Nessia for waivers, or forgot to ask Dona Arlete for the adoption papers when I had already paid her the entire sum? I was angry at Dafne, too. As an experienced lawyer, working in such a large firm, she too, had forgotten the whole procedure. I was actually terrified that Dona Arlete
might deny even knowing us. What do we do? I thought and became so anxious that I couldn’t follow or comprehend a single word from Sergio’s conversation with Dona Arlete. I only noticed that he slightly raised his voice and argued with her. When we spoke to him earlier, he seemed so calm and sympathetic, now he suddenly turned into someone else. Maybe Dona Arlete really was denying she knew us? Dafne was walking around the room with Gadi in her arms, protecting him as if she feared someone would come and take him away from her. I’m sure she’s having the same thoughts as I am, but she wouldn’t say anything.
When Sergio finished talking with Dona Arlete he turned to us and said, “Bom, OK, not good angry. Need a lot work.”
“How much will it cost us?” I asked.
“No cost money. My gift to Israel. I love Israel, I want live Israel, but now still cannot, bom? I have wife and three girls, but no lawyer paper in Israel. In year, or two.”
“What?” I jumped. “We’ll get the adoption papers in a year or two?”
“No,” Sergio laughed, “I work very fast and paper for boy very fast. I no have papers for lawyer in Israel, understand? Maybe you want to go out hotel? I invite you come my home eat dinner. My wife she speaks Hebrew very good, and English great. 7 o’clock I come take you to my house, with cute baby, bom?”
He managed to ease the tension. Although I wasn’t interested in going on social events, I saw Dafne nodding in consent, so I agreed.
Sergio will soon come to pick us up. Gadi had already eaten his dinner and is now laying on his belly, looking around him curiously. Dafne is still getting ready and I’m writing.
Wednesday, April 7th, 1982, Passover eve
We called my parents, Dafne’s father and sister, to wish them happy holidays. We also called Mika who updated us on things back home. They are celebrating Passover there when we also celebrate freedom, here. The people of Israel are celebrating because they were slaves in Egypt and we’re celebrating because we were prisoners of Brazilian bureaucracy. Never mind, Sergio invited us to celebrate the ‘Seder’ (Passover feast) in Curitiba, at the Hebraica club – the Jewish community center. Dr. Oppenheimer will be there, as well as Sergio’s family, who we have already met. We will go there with the Yovel family soon and add another experience to our journey. I’m trying to make the best out this situation we’re in. We can feel the Passover atmosphere in the streets, The Brazilian people call it ‘Páscoa’ or ‘Semana Santa’, meaning, the holy week.