“Light the Candles For Me”: A Message of Hope in the Darkness

The Jewish Home | DECEMBER 15, 2022

“Light the Candles For Me”

A Message of Hope in the Darkness

By Ortal Malka, as tOld tO raBBi arOn White

On the second night of Chanukah in 2010, Israel was engulfed by the wrong type of fire. Following a dry fall season, an unextinguished coal started a wildfire in the Carmel Forest, in what would be one of the worst civilian disasters in Israel’s history. As the flames spread, residents of nearby towns and neighborhoods of Haifa fled, and the prison service called extra wardens to help evacuate a local jail. A bus of wardens got caught in the flames, and 37 of the 40 passengers on the bus were killed, including Rav Uriel Malka.

Ortal, Rav Uriel’s wife, sat down with Rabbi Aron White to talk about Rav Uriel’s remarkable life of Torah. From teaching students in Denver to providing chizuk to prisoners in Beersheva, Uriel lived a life full of giving to others, and his family continues to bring his light to the world.

Igrew up in a town called Yehud in the center of Israel, and after graduating high school, I went to the city of Yavneh to do my Sherut Leumi. On Shabbatot, I was hosted by a wonderful family called the Malkas, who were full of Moroccan simchat hachaim and warmth, who hosted many Sherut Leumi girls. I was told they had a wonderful son who was learning in yeshiva in Karnei Shomron and was now serving in the army. After a few months, we met at the Shabbat table, and we quickly developed a strong relationship. He was exactly the type of person I was looking for to be my life partner – a ben Torah, full of life and giving to Am Yisrael. We started dating, and things progressed very quickly, and we got engaged.

Uriel was still in the army at this point, and during our engagement, he was offered to join an officers course to be promoted to being an officer (Katzin). I told Uriel that I really didn’t want this; I didn’t want us to be starting our married life with him being away for long periods of time at his course and in his new demanding role. We spoke about this with his Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Shmuel Haber, who advised Uriel that despite his wish to serve Am Yisrael in this army role, it was more important for him to focus on building his home and family at this point.

We got married, and Uriel learned as an Avreich in Karnei Shomron Yeshiva. Baruch Hashem, our family started to grow, and after a few years, we started to discuss what we wanted our next step to be. As we were not yet rooted in full-time jobs, we decided it was a good opportunity to go on Shlichut, to bring Torah and a connection to Israel to Jews around the world. We approached a training course called Sraus/Amiel run by Ohr Torah Stone but were initially turned away because Uriel didn’t have good enough English. However, he was such a charismatic and captivating person that they were won over by him, and we joined the course.

In the summer of 2006, we were preparing to go on Shlichut to Denver, Colorado, when the Second Lebanon War broke out. As we were already registered as Shlichim of the Jewish Agency, Uriel was not called up to his unit, but he insisted on joining the battle and volunteered to serve. He experienced a lot in that war. There was a time he was with his company in a building that they had cleared of Hezbollah fighters, and suddenly they came under fire from the IDF in a case of mistaken identity. He managed to hold up a tallit, which made the IDF realize that they were firing at their own, and baruch Hashem, disaster was averted.

Despite being fresh from weeks on the battlefield, we flew almost straight away to Denver to begin our Shlichut. We worked for the Jewish Agency, as well as teaching in the local school Denver Academy of Torah. We did fit the stereotype that some have of Shlichim – we turned up with a lot of passion and excitement, but our English wasn’t great. I remember one time when Uriel and I were really confused that someone said they were going to bring snakes to an Oneg we were running, until we learned what snacks are! We would sit down before Shabbat with a dictionary to help Uriel

prepare his shiurim, but in the end, we were able to improve our English, and Uriel taught numerous classes and shiurim each week.

We were also able to bring a real Israeli spirit with us. Uriel was approached and asked to run an Israeli Sephardi minyan for Yamim Noraim, which was a tremendous success – in fact, even once we returned to Israel after Shlichut, Uriel would return to Denver to lead this minyan each year. We also started Israeli Shabbatons, where I worked with the local Israelis in the community to make an Israeli-style meal with Moroccan recipes and more – it was a great success! By the end of our Shlichut, we felt we had made an impact on the community, and we returned to Israel to live in Karnei Shomron.

Uriel began teaching in a local school, but he also wanted to do more. He signed up for a course to become a prison chaplain/rabbi, and then began working at a prison in Beer Sheva. He had always wanted a career in the army, which had been cut short when we got married, but now he was able to pursue a career through the police working in the prison system. He would provide tremendous chizuk to prisoners, sitting with them, davening with them, and more. His energy was just unstoppable – he would often leave the house at 5 a.m. to travel down to Beer Sheva and return home at 10 p.m. He was a natural leader and gave a tremendous amount to the prisoners he worked with.

On the fateful day on Chanukah of 2010, Uriel was due to come home to light second night candles with us. He was on another course to become promoted, so he had missed the first night at home. At about 2:30 in the afternoon I got a call from him, saying that there was a fire near Haifa and that the wardens on his course were being called in as reinforcements to help evacuate a local jail. I was upset that he was likely going to be home late but didn’t think much of it. I was a few months pregnant at the time, so after the call, I went to take a nap before candle lighting.

At about 4 p.m., Uriel’s sister called me and asked when I last spoke to him. She told me to switch on the news. I opened my computer and saw that the wildfire was raging, and there were images of a burned-out bus. I tried calling Uriel but couldn’t get through. My mind

The Malkas' six children - Talia, Shira, Tamar, Shiloh Avraham, Emunah and Oriah Ortal with her six children

started going into overdrive – my two thoughts were that either something terrible had happened or that he was busy evacuating people so his phone wasn’t available.

I called my parents and asked them to come over and also had to try and keep things normal – two of my kids had Chanukah parties that night that I still sent them to. I had to keep things going pregnancy. The nurses were given the background, that I was being brought in because I had fainted at my husband’s funeral. One of the nurses asked me, “Do you want to have this baby?” I looked at her and said, “Of course! This is what I have left from Uriel!”

I was now alone with five children, pregnant with a sixth, and I decided that in order to deal with the tragedy I had to

“I came to see that as Uriel’s parting speech, his tzavaa to me, that I need to carry on bringing his light to the world.”

until we knew what had happened. At 12 o’clock, we got a knock on the door, and the local police chief told us that Uriel was missing. My mother took that in a positive way, hopeful that they would find him once the chaos subsided. For me, the reality was beginning to set in – I told my mother that he was officially “missing” only because they hadn’t identified his body yet.

The shockwaves of his death reached far and wide – prisoners in Beersheva were crying when they heard, and I still remember the phone calls of shock and disbelief I received from our friends back in Denver.

At his funeral, I almost fainted and had to be taken to the hospital. As I was at an early stage of a pregnancy, when I got to the hospital, they wanted to do a full checkup – this was actually the first ultrasound that I had for this hold tightly to what was, to the home we had made, and to what we still had. Baruch Hashem, I had wonderful children, and our home was one that was full of laughter and music, and I didn’t want to lose that, too.

I stayed with my children in our home in Karnei Shomron, and we began to move forward with our lives. The last conversation I had had with Uriel was when he told me he was going to be late for Chanukah lighting. I had said to him that we would wait for him, but he had told me not to wait – “Tadlik bishvili, Light the candles for me.” I came to see that as Uriel’s parting speech, his tzavaa to me, that I need to carry on bringing his light to the world: to light up our home, to light up the world, to light up every day as his messenger. This is something that still gives me strength to this day.

We also received a tremendous amount of support from friends and family, including those we had met in Denver on Shlichut. There is one person from Denver who has called Uriel’s parents every Erev Shabbat for the last twelve years to check in and wish them a Shabbat Shalom.

Six months after Uriel’s death, our daughter was born. We named her Oriah, in memory of her father.

It was a tremendous effort, but baruch Hashem, our family was able to continue on. The children each grew up and were able to experience joy in their lives.

After eight years, I started dating again – I had spent those eight years totally committed to helping my children, and as they were now starting to grow, find their own feet and leave the house, I felt it was time for me to focus on myself. I started dating, and then, as it so happens, during a break from dating, I was introduced to Pini. We got engaged and married and moved on to a new chapter, with our new blended family. Pini has five children from his first marriage, so together we are two parents with eleven children! His first spouse also passed away, and so we both are able to understand each other – to understand the pain, to make space to still be able to mourn but also to work together to build something new.

Our experiences have also taught us similar lessons. Life is filled with brachot, and it is not worth it to waste time on silliness – there is so much good and light to bring into the world, and even after the darkness, we try to add more light every day.