"What? I am offended, Chana Geller!" He sang even louder, forgetting the words as he chuckled.
Soon Chana erupted into laughter so hard she could barely breathe. It was that rare, wonderful, deep cackle that one couldn't control. The laugh that causes tears to flow from the corner of one's eyes.
After a moment of calm, Uri began singing again, this time more quietly.
Chana climbed on top of him, kissing him in an attempt to silence him.
"Why, what are you doing?" Uri asked her innocently.
"If this is the sacrifice I must make for you to quit singing, I'll do it!"
"Sacrifice?" He pretended to be offended. He gently flipped her over so that he was on top of her. "What happened to our own personal heaven?"
Chana looked into his brown eyes and ran her fingers through his hair.
"You are my heaven, Uri full of light."
"That's more like it," he said, smiling.
They made love and slept. Chana didn't retch again for the entire day. It was a perfect Shabbat.
AS THE SUN SET EARLIER in the evening, marking the end of Shabbat, Chana and Uri lit the Havdalah candle, said the blessings over wine and spices, and sang "Shavua Tov," a prayer for blessings for a good week ahead.
"Uri," Chana said as she began to put the wine and spices away. "I know we haven't told anyone about our pregnancy, but I had a chance to talk to my dad yesterday and I told him. Just in case something happens, and he doesn't pull through, I wanted him to have some happy news. I wanted him to know that he will have a grandchild."
"I'm glad you told him, Chana. It was the right thing to do." Uri reassured her.
A few moments later, Chana's cell phone rang. It was Leah, reporting that while the surgery took a little longer than anticipated, everything was looking positive for the time being. It was almost noon in Denver; Leah sounded exhausted, having been up all night.
"Mom is sleeping in the family waiting room," she told Chana. "You know she doesn't handle these things well. And we're not out of the danger zone," Leah continued. "He'll be closely monitored for infection and signs that his body is rejecting the organs."
"I'm so glad that you're there with them, Leah." Chana's sincere gratitude moved her older sister.
"I hear congratulations are in order," Leah responded.
"Yes, I'm due in June. The first day of summer, actually. . . Leah, do you think I should come home?"
"Honestly, Hannah, I think with you being pregnant it would stress mom out more. Plus, we must be careful about any exposure to germs you could get from flying across the world. I think your best option is to stay in Israel and take care of you and your baby.” Leah let out a long yawn.
“Once Dad is stabilized and the baby is born you can come home and we'll have a great celebration," Leah said, sounding genuinely optimistic.
"Okay, but can you send me daily updates? I have a computer at home now so I can check my email all the time. And please tell Daddy and Mom how much I love them."
"I will. Take care of yourself and your little bean."
"I am," said Chana. “Get some rest. You sound exhausted."
When Chana ended her call, she looked at Uri with the most hope in her eyes that he had ever seen. "He made it through! Baruch HaShem!"
"Baruch HaShem!" Uri repeated.
They held each other for a moment before Chana returned to bed. As she pulled up her covers, she thought about how good things were going in her life. She flashbacked to memories of her father, healthy and tall, scooping her up when she was a little girl. One day, she thought to herself as she fell asleep, he’ll be scooping up his granddaughter.
34
A week later, Chana walked into the doors of Augustana Victoria Hospital.
The hospital was now providing life-saving medicine to sick Palestinians from the West Bank and Gaza. Under heavy security due to the instability in East Jerusalem, Uri insisted on driving Chana to the hospital himself, or, if he was on a mission, he would call in a favor to a fellow soldier to make sure she arrived safely.
Chana interned at the hospital only two days a week, and she was immediately struck by how out of touch she was with the Palestinian people. She had shaped her perspective by what she read in the Israeli newspapers, and, on her first walks through the Old City, she saw a brief glimpse into the life of Palestinian vendors.
At the hospital, she met children sick with cancer, teenagers who needed dialysis, toddlers who were born with defects who needed physical therapy, and older patients who needed cardiac repairs.
Chana's job was to shadow and assist a social worker, who was in charge of ensuring that family members and patients received counseling, assistance for travel arrangements, and instructions about how to give basic treatments at home. Chana quickly learned that "home" was a loose term, as many of the patients lived in crowded refugee camps.
While Chana didn't speak Arabic, most of the patients spoke Hebrew and several could speak a little English.
Chana was sickened to see toddlers tied to chemo drips and young teens dependent on dialysis machines. She learned that many of the young patients suffered from Type I Diabetes. Because of a lack of medical supplies in the West Bank and Gaza, they were unable to access insulin, sending many of them into kidney failure.
Unsurprisingly, Chana was empathetic to transplant patients. Per her request, she was placed in the pediatric transplant ward, which was filled with patients from nine months old to seventeen years.
While her father recovered from his heart and lung transplant with minimal complications, Chana found her work hopeful and rewarding. She quickly found her favorite patient—a six-year-old brown-haired girl named Amira. Amira was an upbeat child with a sparkling disposition. With three front teeth missing, her smile was irresistible.
Chana was amazed by the child's cheerfulness, even though she was born with Polycystic Kidney Disease and had spent most of her life in the hospital, already receiving one kidney transplant when she was three years old. Three years later, Amira's new kidney began to fail, forcing her to undergo dialysis several days a week.
Chana quickly bonded with Amira's mother, a woman in her late 20's named Noor. Noor was obviously pregnant—six months—to be exact, and Chana couldn't help but confide that she was also nearly three months along.
Noor also had a four-year-old daughter, who her mother cared for in a small refugee camp just outside of Bethlehem. Noor and her parents grew up in the camp, a place where quality medical care was highly lacking.
Chana learned that Amira's kidneys were so swollen that they were pressing against her lungs, requiring her to need extra oxygen. She was on a list for another transplant, but her prospects were low, given that other children who hadn't received transplants were given higher priority.
Chana worked with the social worker to help Noor with additional documentation, allowing her to cross in and out of the West Bank with more ease.
In the meantime, Chana brought Amira little trinkets, coloring books and colorful pillows to brighten her day. Knowing that Amira may not be long for the world, Chana worked to ensure that the kindhearted girl with a sweet soul was happy.
WHILE CHANA WORKED to help Amira and her family, Uri and the Ya'mas unit were briefed by Israeli intelligence in the aftermath of the killing of Omar Basara and the arrest of nearly 20 members in the Hamas terrorist cell.
Intense interrogations and search and seizure of property led the Ya'mas team to believe that the cell was planning at least ten to fifteen more suicide attacks within Israel in the coming months. Particularly disturbing was the fact that the cell was recruiting girls as young as thirteen to act as suicide bombers.
Meanwhile, Uri couldn't get the image of the kid in the Nike shirt out of his head.
"Do we have intel on the kid? Is he in custody?" Uri asked one of his commanders.
His commanders spent some time flipping through a file before stopping at a page with a picture of the boy. Uri immediately recogni
zed the handsome face and the scar under his lip.
"Twelve-year-old Hassam Basara, Basara's oldest son. Mother is out of the picture so the boy lives with his grandmother. Intelligence officers' interviews of the boy quickly led to the conclusion that he is intellectually challenged. The boy seemed clueless to his father's work and status. After a couple of days of questioning, he was released back into the custody of his grandmother."
"Which grandmother, paternal or maternal?" asked Uri.
"Maternal. Basara's mother died three years ago of cancer," the commander explained.
Something about the boy didn't sit well with Uri. If he lived with his maternal grandmother, how was he tipped off to his father's relocation to the safe house? Did Basara or his underlings tip the boy off? Uri asked the same questions to his commander.
"Listen, Geller," he began. "We're not privy to all of the intelligence reports, but my sense is that they were able to get little information from the kid due to his mental handicap."
Uri nodded and looked at the picture again, etching the boy's image into his mind. The boy looked to be in fine appearance and didn't show any physical signs of a mental handicap. He kept that thought to himself as the commander moved on and talked about plans for an upcoming operation. But an uneasiness grew within him as he thought about twelve-year-old Hassam, the boy whose father he killed.
35
The following Shabbat, Uri and Chana were invited to spend the evening with Uri's brother Gavriel and his wife Noa.
Chana reluctantly accepted the invitation to please Uri, but she dreaded spending time with Noa. A born and raised Israeli, Chana felt that she could never live up to Noa's standards. She felt Noa judged her for being a convert and deemed her too Americanized. Furthermore, Chana was far enough along in her pregnancy that she was vastly limiting her wine intake, even on Shabbat, and she worried that this would draw suspicion around the dinner table.
Uri and Chana arrived at Gavriel and Noa's home about an hour before sunset. The four made small talk which included asking Chana about her father. Gavriel, the surgeon, seemed especially optimistic after Chana gave more details about her father's recovery.
Gavriel reminded Chana a lot of Avi. He was tall and jovial, and slightly overweight. If he and Uri were to walk down the street side by side, no one would recognize them as brothers, though once they were together their similar mannerisms were undeniable.
Noa was reserved, both in personality and dress. She was an accountant, and her attire reflected her seriousness about life. Whenever Chana saw her, she wore the same dark headscarf, matching a similar dark skirt.
When it came time to light the candles, Noa and Chana covered their eyes and recited the Shabbat candle lighting blessing. They uncovered their eyes as the group wished each other "Gut Shabbos."
After the blessing of the wine and the bread, Noa began a conversation about the fear in Israel over suicide attacks. Since the group had last seen each other, two more bombers attacked the city, killing four people.
"Gavriel insisted that I stop taking the bus," Noa explained. "Now I am paying much more in gas and up the nose in parking fees."
"Better to have you pay extra fees than me having to remove shrapnel from you in my operating room," Gavriel replied.
"How about you, Chana? Are you using the bus?"
Chana swallowed the bread in her mouth and took a tiny sip of wine for theatrics. Even though she told her family about her pregnancy and confided in Noor, most Jewish women withheld news of their pregnancy until they were about five months along.
"Well, we have another car now, so I drive most days to University, and when I work at the hospital Uri insists on driving me."
"Hospital?" Noa sounded surprised. “I didn’t know you worked at a hospital. Which one?
“Well I’m not really working, it’s more like an internship,” Chana explained. “And it's at Augusta Victoria.”
Noa nearly dropped her challah.
“Augusta Victoria? The hospital that treats Palestinians?”
Chana immediately felt the tension grow around the table.
“Yes,” Chana replied calmly. “I’m working in the children’s transplant ward.”
An awkward silence filled the living room before Noa spoke. “How does that make you feel, aiding potential terrorists?” Noa voice was soft but her accusation to Hannah was clear.
Before Chana could respond, Gavriel scolded Noa. “Noa, that’s enough. We don’t need an argument on Shabbat.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing,” Noa said, looking more displeased after her husband spoke. “I merely want to know how Chana feels about helping the people who blow themselves up while taking dozens of Jews with them.” She looked at Chana with fury in her gray, sullen eyes.
This time Uri spoke up. “Noa, please. Chana is working with sick children.”
“Sick children that could very likely grow up to be terrorists,” Noa responded, steadfast in her anger. “I don’t understand how one can have sympathy for enemies of Israel.”
Uri opened his mouth to speak again, but Chana interrupted him.
“I can speak for myself,” she firmly told him. “I made it to National’s in debate, remember, Uri?”
“Noa, right now I am working with a six-year-old girl who is on dialysis three times a week. Her kidneys are so filled with fluid that she can’t breathe. She’s already had one kidney transplant and desperately needs another. And she probably won’t get it. This six-year-old child is not a future terrorist.”
“No, but her brother may be a bomber, or her uncle, or her father for all we know.” Noa angrily began to scoop up soup in the bowls on the table.
“She doesn’t have a brother,” Chana shot back.
“It doesn’t matter!” Noa was loudly raising her voice now. “These people don’t care. They will strap a bomb to a ten-year-old girl if it means killing more Jews.”
Gavriel tried to calm Noa down, but to no avail.
Chana felt her blood pressure rising. “Noa, you seem to forget that I am also a Jew. I care for the safety of Israel just as much as you.”
Noa let out a sarcastic laugh. “A ger from America can hardly know the pain of the Jewish people. My father lost most of his family in the Shoah. How dare you come into this family acting like you know the pain of our people? You’re an American girl who fell in love with the first handsome boy you saw. And because Uri is the baby of the family, no one had the nerve to stop your marriage from happening!”
“That’s enough!” Uri exploded in a rage and stood up from his chair. He leaned over the table and looked fiercely into Noa’s eyes.
"You are to never talk to my wife like that again. You are lucky that I don’t call Abba and Imma and tell them of your despicable behavior!”
Noa sat frozen, looking straight ahead, refusing to look Uri in the eyes.
“Let’s go, Chana,” Uri said, careful to not take his eyes off Noa. “Brother, I will pray to HaShem that your wife will know the compassion of her ancestors.”
Chana stood up next to Uri and took his hand. Before they made their way to the door, Chana looked at Noa and said in perfect Hebrew, “Moses's wife, Tzipora was a convert, Ruth was a convert. The Torah instructs Jews to treat the convert especially nice because it reminds us that we were once strangers in a strange land."
Gavriel stood and followed Chana and Uri to the door, handing them their coats. “I am sorry,” he said sheepishly. “She gets her anger from her mother.” He patted Uri on the back. Noa remained at the table with her head down. Uri nodded at his brother, wished him Shabbat Shalom. Uri and Chana left, both touching the mezuzah affixed to the door frame and then touching their lips on their way out.
CHANA SHIVERED AS THEY walked home in the cold Jerusalem air. Uri took off his coat and offered it to her. “Still such a romantic,” Chana said, not turning down his offer.
They walked in silence for a while. The streets were quiet, and the houses were dim. “Do you agree with
her?” Chana asked suddenly, startling Uri from his thoughts.
“Agree with who—Noa? Of course not! How could you even think that?”
“Not about the ger stuff,” Chana explained. “But do you think I am aiding our enemies?”
Uri stopped walking. He had goosebumps on his arms, and Chana felt guilty for taking his coat. He looked her in the eyes. “Chana, what do you think?”
“I think I’m doing a mitzvah. And I think maybe—by helping Palestinian families—I might break down barriers. If they remember a Jewish woman was kind to them, it will be harder for them to lump all Jews and Israelis together.”
“I agree with you, one hundred percent,” Uri kissed her forehead.
“It’s cold, let’s keep walking,” Chana said.
As they walked, she continued with her thoughts.
“Uri, I know that you can’t tell me what you do in your operations, but I know you are fighting the Palestinians. How can you not have resentment towards them?”
“No, Chana, I work to stop terrorists. I know some good Palestinians. I serve with some good Palestinians."
He stopped walking again and looked her in the eyes.
“I am so sorry Noa treated you the way she did. She is full of anger. She’s always been that way. And I promise no one else in the family feels the same way.”
They were a few blocks away from home now, and Chana handed Uri his coat back. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I know HaShem knows my heart,” she said, helping Uri with his coat.
Later in the night, after they’d made love, Uri gently rubbed Chana’s growing stomach, which was beginning to form a little bump.
“I think I felt something!” Uri said excitedly.
“Nope, probably just gas,” Chana replied. "The OB says most women don’t feel movement until eighteen to twenty weeks. We’re not quite there yet.”
Uri frowned. “Well I think this one is going to be a high achiever like her mother.”
Uri Full of Light Page 17
