"No," responded Uri. "She's not anything."
Rabbi Friedman remained quiet, allowing Uri to steer the conversation.
"I mean, she's not religious,” Uri continued. “She said she's been baptized, but she's not a practicing Christian.” Uri let the room fill with silence for a moment.
"Rabbi, where in the Torah does it specifically condemn pre-marital sexual relations? Because I can't find it anywhere written in the Tanakh where it says it is forbidden, other than the case of adultery or incest." He stopped speaking, surprised by the brazenness of his question.
"Whoa, Uri," he said carefully. "Let's back up for a moment. Have you been intimate with this girl, Hannah?"
"We've kissed. And held hands, but nothing more," Uri replied unashamed.
"Is she pressuring you to do more? I know peer pressure is difficult at this age, especially at a secular school."
"What? No!" Uri’s voice rose an octave. “She’s not like that. If anything, it's me who wants to do more."
The rabbi sighed, feeling sympathy for the handsome young man sitting before him.
"Uri," he began. "You know I'm not an Orthodox Rabbi. We conservatives tend to be a bit more lenient on these issues. But what you've done with this girl goes against the rabbinical rules of your Orthodox tradition." The rabbi drew a breath and studied the boy from across the room.
He continued, "Uri, you know what kiddushin is, right?"
"Of course," answered Uri. "It's the state of betrothal immediately before marriage."
"Correct," the rabbi nodded. "And you know where this word comes from?"
"Yes, it comes from the word holiness."
"Impressive," the rabbi smiled approvingly. "So you know that sex outside of marriage is considered unholy, because it does not take place in the context of kiddushin. And I don't have to tell you about the other risks of sex before marriage, including ruining the possibility of you having a marriage legally recognized by the state of Israel.
“If word got out that you had relations with a non-Jewish girl, it could greatly hurt your chances of finding a proper match for a wife."
"A proper match?" Uri felt insulted. "Rabbi, I feel it in my soul. Hannah is my proper match, I know it," he responded defiantly.
“I am only telling you what you'd be told by your rabbis back home.” Rabbi Friedman sighed. Reasoning with a young man in love was like keeping flies from honey.
"Uri, this is your first relationship with a young woman, and according to the rabbinical laws you've already started it out the wrong way. The mix of hormones and physical attraction often clouds our thinking of what HaShem wants for us. That's why sexual relations should only be within a marriage."
Uri sat restless in his chair. Placing his head in his hands, he anxiously tapped his left foot.
"Uri," the rabbi spoke in a more comforting tone, "I don't deny that Hannah is special and that you have feelings for her. I'm not even denying that you love her. Only HaShem knows what's in a man's heart. But sometimes, love isn't enough to make a relationship work. It's heart-breaking, I know."
"I don't think you do," Uri replied, holding back a glare.
"No?" said Rabbi Friedman. "You don't think a rabbi can suffer from a broken heart? HaShem is close to the brokenhearted and helps those crushed in spirit."
"Tehillim 34," said Uri.
“I have had my share of heartbreak, Uri. It’s not easy, I know.”
Uri continued to sit in silence—his arms crossed over his chest to show his disagreement with the rabbinical laws.
"Reciting Tehillim will give you comfort," the rabbi said. “You are not the only Jewish young man to find himself in this predicament, I assure you.”
“Hannah’s not a predicament, Rabbi. She’s not a problem. I believe HaShem brought her to me. She’s my future.”
Feeling defeated, Rabbi Friedman sighed again. He stood up from his chair, offering his hand to Uri. "Come, Uri, let's go and recite the Shema."
The rabbi led the way into the inner synagogue, where they prayed together.
"I will pray for you, Uri. And I will pray for Hannah as well,” the rabbi said as Uri prepared to leave.
Uri shook the rabbi's hand. He thanked him in Hebrew.
"Shalom, Uri," said Rabbi Friedman.
"Shalom, Rabbi."
Uri had just made his way to the door when the rabbi spoke unexpectedly.
"Uri, there is one way you may be able to make things work with Hannah, but it would be a challenge."
"What is it?" Uri asked, hungry for optimism.
"If Hannah were to undergo an Orthodox conversion, on her own volition, you could introduce her to your family as an Orthodox woman. It would take time and deep commitment on Hannah's part—and it would have to be done because of HaShem's will, not yours. It is Hannah's decision to make. If she has a Jewish soul, the decision should not be difficult."
Uri stood silently for a moment, letting what the rabbi said sink in.
"I understand, Rabbi. Shalom."
As Uri left the synagogue, he touched the mezuzah, praying to HaShem that Hannah was placed in his path for a purpose—that what he felt for her wasn't due to hormones or the naivetés of youth. He prayed that HaShem would guide Hannah and him along the way.
He picked up his pace on the cold, December evening. A plan was hatching in his head, and he desperately needed to talk with Hannah.
15
Uri Geller received his second note from Hannah Hagen on the first day of Chanukah, December 5, 1996.
Anxious to formally propose the idea of conversion to Hannah, he was disappointed to receive a note in his locker from her that morning.
It read:
DEAR LIGHT AND HAPPINESS,
Unfortunately, I have debate prep during lunch that I cannot miss. I will see you in chemistry class.
Love,
Hannah
BY THE TIME CHEMISTRY class began, Hannah arrived a few minutes after the bell, appearing a bit flustered.
She took her seat next to Uri. "Sorry, we have a big regional tournament this weekend. Justin is giving me a hard time for slacking off."
"Hannah," Uri whispered. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
"Can we talk after school?"
Uri thought for a moment. "I guess I could call my mom and tell her I need to study," he answered, feeling a tinge of guilt for lying to his mother.
"Ok, you want to meet up with me at my car?" Hannah suggested.
Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Murphy, who, surprisingly, appeared to have plucked the hair from her moles.
"Hannah and Uri, is there a reason you haven't collected your test tubes yet?"
"I'll get them right now," replied Hannah.
She walked past Greg Moorehouse, who had recently returned to school after his lengthy suspension. His eyes burnt through her as she crossed his path. Poor Jenny Morris regained him as a partner. Hannah offered her a look of genuine empathy.
After the bell rang, Uri visited the office and asked to make a phone call. He called his mother, who agreed to him staying after school. To abate his guilt for lying to his mother, Uri promised himself that he would study for ten minutes before she picked him up.
He met Hannah at her disorganized, messy locker. Having grown up in a world with strictness and order, her found her habit of disarray endearing. They walked to the parking lot to Hannah's car—an ugly, brown Plymouth Reliant.
"My Dad paid $300 for this classy ride," she said with a smile. "But be careful, there are holes in the floorboard. When I drive in the rain my feet get wet."
"Seriously?" Uri asked in disbelief, leaning closer to the window for a look at the floor.
"Yup."
Settled in the car, Hannah reached over and took Uri's hand. She wanted to kiss him, but it had been so long since their last kiss in the library, a sense of unease returned to her.
"Hannah," Uri began. "What do you think of the Jewish faith?"
She
looked at him inquisitively.
"Well, I think it's a little strict,” she answered honestly. “You know, how we're breaking a rule right now, by being alone together. But I also think it's beautiful.” She leaned back in her worn, tattered driver’s seat. “I've been reading the Songs of Songs. I didn't realize the Bible could be so erotic," she smiled at him mischievously.
Uri stared at her for a moment. Her lip gloss had worn off during the day, exposing the beauty of her natural, full lips. His mind flashed back to their time together in Art Alley. He wanted to melt into her as he did that night, but he fought against the temptation. He thought of his conversation with Rabbi Friedman and kept to the task at hand.
Squeezing her hand, he looked her in the eyes. “Hannah, in Judaism, sex between a man and his wife is a form of deep intimacy. It’s not considered dirty. HaShem expects us to share that intimacy with one another. When it’s done in marriage, it’s considered a mitzvah. A Jewish man is obligated to please his wife."
Hannah’s eyes grew wide before breaking from Uri’s. She stared at her cracked windshield, thinking. Uri marveled at the beauty of her profile.
"In some ways I envy how you grew up,” Hannah said, continuing her stare at the window. “You grew up in such a close-knit community. My family has always felt. . .alone. And sometimes I think if I were raised like you, I wouldn't have done such stupid things in the past."
"You mean with Will?" Uri asked.
Hannah was quiet for a moment before answering.
"Yeah," she said, “I think I need to tell you about Will."
Uri listened as she told the story about how she and Will worked at the same restaurant during the summer that she was fifteen. She’d always considered herself an "ugly duckling" growing up and was often teased because she wore her hair short. But in her sophomore year, people began to comment on how she blossomed and grew into her looks.
Will was the first boy to tell her she was pretty. “Things moved quickly after that,” she explained to Uri.
"What do you mean, quickly?" Uri asked.
Hannah sighed and turned on the engine. The cold December air creeped into the car.
"I'm afraid you will think less of me if I tell you," she said.
"Hannah," Uri answered. Leaning even closer to her, he gently turned her face to his. "It’s not for me to judge you. If you made a mistake and ask for HaShem's forgiveness, he will grant it."
"I have asked for forgiveness," she replied with tears building up in her eyes again.
"Forgiveness for what?" Uri pressed her.
"I lost my virginity to Will two weeks before my 16th birthday. It was terrible, and painful, and poor Faith was waiting outside in her car for me. It was nothing like I’d imagined my first time would be, but Will was so good at pressuring me."
Uri sat quietly, thinking that Daniel was right about what he’d said about Will.
Hannah let go of Uri's hand and gripped the steering wheel. The parking lot began to grow empty as students and teachers left for the day.
Uri cleared his throat before asking her the question that he was afraid to ask. "Hannah, did you and Will. . .um, were you intimate a lot?"
"Ha," Hannah replied, looking at Uri through her teary eyes. "Yes, we did it a lot. Faith and I had a falling out. She started hanging out with some stoners, and I didn't feel like I had anyone but Will. I let it go on too long. If you hadn't come along, I might be—"
"What?" Uri interrupted her. "You might still be with him?"
"I don't know. That night he came to my house. . .he wanted to get back together. He was crying and begging; he was such a mess. Then he kissed me and tried to take off my clothes. The old me would have just let him do it. . .but then I thought of you."
She stopped talking for a moment to wipe her eyes and nose on her coat sleeve.
"I thought about how good you are and how you stood up to Greg Moorehouse, and how you have morals that mean something. And so, I told him to stop, but he wouldn't."
Anger and sadness brewed in the pit of Uri’s gut.
"Hannah," he asked, "did he. . ."
"No," Hannah cut him off before he could finish the question. "I scratched him on his face, and I ran away."
She fidgeted with the gear stick in her car before making eye contact with Uri. “He called me a whore,” she said, more tears streamed down her face. “And honestly, sometimes when I was with him, I felt like one.”
Uri sat quietly, digesting the ugliness of her relationship with Will.
"Do you think less of me?" Hannah asked.
Uri turned away from her and looked at the side passenger window covered in condensation. He took his index finger and wrote the same Hebrew letters he wrote in Art Alley a few weeks before.
He turned back to her. "No Hannah, I don't think less of you at all. I can understand why you did what you did. And if you asked for forgiveness, I know HaShem has forgiven you."
She moved towards him and laid her head on his shoulder, letting him gently caress her hair.
"Hannah?" he asked her. "Would you consider converting to Judaism?"
"Would I get to wear some cool wigs?"
He sat up and looked her closely in the eyes.
"Hannah I am serious. I think we were meant to meet. I think that it is HaShem's will that we be together. What I said in the alley. . .about marrying you, I meant it."
Hannah sat forward in her seat, surprised by the firmness of Uri’s voice.
"Uri, you're going back to Philly in a few months. I'll be graduating and going to college, and soon you'll be in Israel. We are both so young. How could we ever make that work?"
"Hannah, if you study the Torah if you have faith in HaShem, he will guide you. He will guide us."
Hannah sat silently, overwhelmed by all that Uri said.
"Come to my house for Chanukah tomorrow night," Uri said eagerly.
"How are you going to get your parents to go along with that?"
"Leave that up to me, Hannah. You're not the only one who can hatch a good plan."
He kissed the top of her hand. "I have to go. I love you Hannah. Don't forget that." He opened the car door and made his way back into the school.
Hannah looked at the Hebrew words he had etched into the foggy window. They were starting to dissipate, but she could still make out what they said. Overwhelmed, she began to sob. She thought about her dying father, her awful relationship with Will, the secret she was keeping from Uri, and his proposal that she convert.
Eventually, she pulled herself together and wiped her eyes and the mascara off her cheeks. Before she put her car into drive, she said a prayer.
"HaShem," she said using the word Uri taught her. "Guide me where I am supposed to go."
16
Hannah Hagen recognized the kindness of Dr. Avi Geller on the second day of Chanukah in 1996.
When Hannah returned home for the evening, her eyes still puffy from her cry on her drive home, she was surprised to see her mother’s car missing from the driveway. She entered the house and called for her father, but aside from Tully excitedly greeting her at the door, there was silence.
She let the dog outside and walked to the phone to call her mother’s work, and that’s when she saw the note.
HANNAH,
Dad is in the hospital. Leah is on her way. Please come as soon as you can. Feed Tully.
Mom
HANNAH’S PULSE RACED as she felt panic setting in. If her sister was on her way home from college, the situation was serious. Her father seemed more tired the past few days, but he chalked it up to the cold weather and dry air, making it more difficult to breathe.
Hannah and her mother had flu vaccinations, as they did every year. Since she was a child, she was obsessively told by her parents to keep her hands clean so that she could stay healthy and not pass anything dangerous on to her father. She washed her hands compulsively at home. She hadn’t caught a cold this year, though the week prior her throat felt a little sore. Imme
diately, Hannah wondered if her father caught something from her.
After taking care of Tully, she returned to her old, cold car and sped to the hospital. The lot was full when Hannah arrived, and she had to circle it several times before she found a parking space. Careful not to trip on the ice, she ran to the entrance as fast as she could. She was irritated to see that no one was sitting at the front reception desk.
Hannah looked along the desk, hoping to find a bell to ring to alert someone of her presence. Finally, a volunteer arrived, moving at a pace that frustrated Hannah even more.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked as she sat in a chair behind a computer.
“My father has been admitted. I need to know what room he is in. His name is Mike Hagen. . .probably under Michael Hagen.”
“One moment please.” The woman shook the computer mouse and typed in what seemed like dozens of passwords to get to a patients' screen.
“Michael Hagen,” she said. “He was brought in this afternoon by ambulance. He is in room 913 in the Intensive Care Unit.”
“Intensive Care Unit?” Hannah repeated, her voice shaking.
“Yes, you’ll take the elevator to the 9th floor, turn left, and ask to be buzzed in.”
Not bothering to thank the woman, Hannah ran to the elevator. When she arrived on the ninth floor, she walked out of the elevator feeling lost. She couldn’t remember which direction the woman told her to turn, and her eyes couldn’t focus on the many signs and arrows. That’s when she turned and saw a large man in white coat wearing a familiar crocheted kippah talking with a woman.
As she walked closer, she confirmed that it was Mr. Geller, Uri’s father, standing in front of her. Frantic and sweaty, she interrupted his conversation.
“Mr. Geller. . .I mean Dr. Geller? I am sorry to interrupt but I need your help.”
Dr. Avi Geller paused for a moment, looking at Hannah as if he were trying to recognize her.
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