Excerpt
DAUGHTERS OF EARTH
CHAPTER ONE -- DASSAH
Tuesday, 18 June 2002. Jerusalem, Israel
Dassah Shaul and Leah Abravanel were fortunate to live on the north side of Gilo, a neighborhood of Jerusalem. The apartment buildings, schools, and synagogues on the south side had been bombarded by sniper gun fire and mortar attacks from the nearby Palestinian town of Beit Jala for nearly two years. South-side residents filled their rear facing windows with sandbags, and they huddled in rooms at the opposite ends of their apartments whenever the shootings or bombings resumed. A concrete wall, hastily built by the Israel Defense Forces, the IDF, provided some protection.
The attacks finally stopped this past May with the IDF’s thirty-six day long military assault on the West Bank. Leah and Dassah worried about Leah’s father Moshe when he was deployed for the operation. The mission was a success for the girls because Moshe came home unscathed and there was no news of any more attacks on Gilo. News, that is, the girls heard from neighbors or classmates because their parents didn’t allow them to watch the evening newscasts or read newspapers. Dassah would rather watch Disney videos and doodle on the newspapers with Leah anyway.
The girls took the Egged line No. 32A red bus every morning to school, and today, Tuesday the 18th, was no different. Yet, this was better than all other days because it was the last day of the school year. Dassah wore her normal summer attire of t-shirt and shorts with sandals while Leah was in an ankle-length flower dress. Dassah’s father Olek dropped them off at the bus stop, kissed each other goodbye, and wished them both a good day. Like every other second grader in Israel, the girls lugged stone heavy book bags over half their size.
“Let’s sit up front,” Dassah said in Hebrew after she paid the bus driver. Her veil of pale blonde hair reached the small of her back, and her skin was white as milk like her immigrant Ukrainian parents.
Leah turned around, “Nah, let’s go all the way to the back.” She was a third generation Sabra—native-born Israeli—with a rich tawny complexion and an unruly mane of auburn hair true to her Moroccan ancestry.
The bus was not yet full. The girls made their way to the back dragging their book bags behind them. Dassah grumbled the whole way as she followed her best friend. She disliked sitting in the back because the engine heat made these sweltering days even hotter. Leah never seemed to mind and she blissfully took the window seat in the back row. At least the seats were cushioned.
“Put your bag on your lap,” Leah said as the bus left the stop. She grunted and hefted the bag onto her thighs.
Dassah scrunched her nose. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
Dassah sucked her teeth. “Alright.”
Leah bent down behind the bag and whispered, “I want you to tell me some more bad Ukrainian and Russian words and I’ll tell you them in Hebrew.”
Dassah giggled. “Sure.” She recalled their last bus ride and pursed her lips. “Nedonosok and eblan mean?”
“Moron,” Leah answered excitedly.
“Good. Opezdol and dubiina mean?”
“Idiot.”
“Good. Do you know what a mudak is?”
“No.”
“It’s an idiot who thinks he knows it all.”
Leah giggled. “Okay, now some new ones.”
“Sraka is—” Dassah shifted to the side and patted her bottom.
“Ass,” Leah said.
“Ahh, ‘ass,’ ” Dassah said. “Then guess what potselui mou zhopy means.”
“What?”
“Kiss my ass.”
They clasped hands and chortled. “More,” Leah said.
“Himno,” Dassah said. She clenched her eyes shut and groaned as if straining. She pointed to the floor then pinched her nose close.
“Poop,” Leah said.
“ ‘Poop,’ ” Dassah repeated with a nod.
“How about this?” Dassah pulled down the collar of her pink t-shirt, batted her eyelashes, puckered her lips, and did kissing sounds. “Sukka.”
Leah gave her a sidelong glance. “Sukka?”
“Yes, sukka or shliuha.” Dassah repeated the kissing sound with puckered lips, and rubbed Leah’s arm.”
“Slut?”
“Slut? You’re sure that’s what it is? I’m talking about loose women.”
“Well, that’s what my mother calls women who don’t cover themselves and hang all over men.”
“Okay, slut it is.”
The bus stopped and picked up more passengers. The bus was packed now. One of the new passengers squeezed herself down the aisle. She made eye contact with Dassah and smiled. She wore a business suit and had a long golden braid that reached her legs.
“Krasyva,” Dassah blurted.
“What’s that?” Leah asked.
“It means beautiful.”
Leah nodded. “Yeah, beautiful.” She pinched Dassah’s arm.
“Ouch!” yelped Dassah. “Why’d you do that for?”
“We only have two more stops left. How ‘bout some more?”
Dassah offered some more bad words in Russian and Ukrainian and Leah translated them into Hebrew. Before they reached the next stop, Dassah said, “I’m getting tired. Let me do one last one.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Ya tebe kohaju.”
“What’s it mean?”
Dassah pecked Leah on the cheek with a kiss. “It means, ‘I love you.’ ”
Leah blushed and grasped Dassah’s hand.
The bus stopped. Dassah’s thighs were getting numb so she shifted her book bag to cant off her left thigh in the small space between her and the passenger next to her. They looked out the window. A couple of college students were getting on. The last one to board the bus was a young man with a red shirt, Harry Potter glasses, and a big backpack.
“He must be going to our school,” Dassah joked.
Leah chuckled. “Okay, how about one—”
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