The Way to Becoming Yaelle

By Dassie Dahan

It's not easy to be a thoughtful misfit....

She's only in seventh grade, but Jan Miller already knows that the world is a pretty tough place for a thoughtful misfit.

At school, the kids either bully her or ignore her—until Anna the odd new girl shows up and turns things upside-down.

But home isn't much better. 

Jan and her popular younger brother Brian just can't see eye to eye, with Brian often pretending he doesn't even know her.

And their father is always backing out of his scheduled weekends with them in favor of Athena, his wacky girlfriend.

Then Jan starts feeling like she's getting in the way of her beautiful mother's search for a new husband.

And to top it all off, Jan's nearly forgotten Jewish identity suddenly starts popping up everywhere. The problem is that everyone, even those who don't like Jews much, seem to know all about Judaism.

Except Jan.

One day, Jan discovers that she shares a secret Hebrew name with a Biblical heroine Jan has never heard of —Yaelle. 
Determined to give Jan more stability and better Jewish self-esteem, Jan's mother makes her spend the summer with her mother's old college roommate Tova Rose, who is now the mother of a large Hassidic family in a picturesque ancient city in northern Israel. There, Jan befriends an artistic and passionate Hassidic girl who initiates Jan into the realities of Hassidic life.

Yet just when Jan starts to realize how to become what she has always yearned to be, brutal terrorists seize a much-loved teenage Jewish soldier, thrusting Jan back even further from where she started.

Can Jan find the courage and the answers she needs to truly become Yaelle?

(This book makes a great bat mitzvah present!)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dassie Dahan
• Release date: Jun 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536534832

Book preview

The Way to Becoming Yaelle

the novel of a young girl’s journey

to be somebody

in a world where

she’s nobody

by

Dassie Dahan

Copyright © Dassie Dahan 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder—except by a reviewer, blogger, or teacher who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review or teaching moment for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper or blog or classroom on the condition that proper credit is attributed (i.e., author name and book title) and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This ebook is licensed for your use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and it was not purchased for your use only, then please feel free to purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the investment of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of any of the characters to people you know in real life is merely a fun coincidence as names and details have been changed.

For photos related to this book, including a photo of the yael mountain goat, please go to my website:

www.dassiedahan-author.com

Then go to the Books tab and hover your cursor over it to see the drop-down menu with the entry entitled The Way to Becoming Yaelle—Photos. Enjoy!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Suggested Resources for Further Reading

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Though Jan stood with her knees slightly bent and her hands gripping the bat, she felt she still wasn’t positioned quite right. But Jan knew it wasn’t only when holding a baseball bat. Other than the times she binged on luscious fat and carbs, read novels, or sank into her own fantasies of a prettier and more thrilling version of herself, Jan trudged through her life feeling just as awkward as she felt at the batting plate—and always just as desperate to somehow figure out exactly the right moves.

And maybe one day, she would.

But for now, Jan didn’t hear the clean, sharp pop of a solid hit when she swung the bat. Instead, the baseball landed with a muffled bump-bump on the dusty ground near her feet. Jan’s team groaned. She was their last chance for this inning. But having no other choice, they still cheered her on as she awkwardly hunched her body once more over the batting plate.

Pretend it’s Reece’s head! shouted Jan’s teammates.

Desperate to avoid her teammates’ groans of disappointment, Jan did try to pretend the ball was the head of Reece, the worst boy in the seventh grade. But the thought made her cringe, causing her to hold the bat even more awkwardly. Though she disliked Reece and all his bullying, she still didn’t want his head smashed with a baseball bat—well, at least not by her anyway.

Reece’s head! Reece’s head! You’re bashing Reece’s head! they shouted encouragingly as the baseball zoomed toward her.

She heaved her arms out in a wobbly swing.

Bump-bump.

This time, she heard some of her teammates grumble about her athletic inability. However, the more optimistic ones still shouted, C’mon, Jan! You can do it!

Well, Jan couldn’t. And she didn’t. After her third strike, she dropped the bat on the ground and everyone switched positions. Head down, Jan scurried to the farthest position in outfield. Once there, she sank into her ongoing fantasy....

All the elementary school students watched Jan Miller as she stepped off the bus—svelte, thin, and dressed in black chic. Trendy silver earrings dangled from her ears. She raised her head confidently. Her hair, once light brown and limp, now bounced with ivory-blonde fullness, fanning out around her face in the wind. Her blue eyes, once lackluster and pale, now seemed richer and more vivid. Everyone admired her as she strolled into the building with a kind of French nonchalance. As she ambled down the hall, everyone stopped talking and stared at her enviously. When she entered the classroom, everyone gathered around to talk to her—or to at least be seen with her. No one ignored her. No one laughed at her. She was gracious to all, including Ryan the Reject, but she was not overly friendly to anyone—not even to Taylor, the most popular girl. Sophisticated and cool, Jan slipped into her seat. Suddenly, her cell phone slid out of her pocket and dropped to the floor.

Taylor picked it up, glancing at the screen with its picture of Jan’s boyfriend (who didn’t exist in real life).

Who’s this? Taylor asked, shifting her honey-blonde waves of hair out of her face. He’s not from our school.

Jan smiled and glanced coyly to the side.

He looks older—a lot older, said Taylor as she looked up at Jan admiringly. What’s going on, Jan?

Jan leaned back in her chair and gathered her abundance of full-bodied hair with her beautifully manicured hands as if to air her neck. She gave another coy smile.

He’s sixteen, she answered in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Taylor leaned closer and stared at Jan with wide velvety brown eyes. You mean he’s a sophomore in high school?!

Jan just smiled to herself.

Wow. Awe filled Taylor’s voice. Suddenly, she drew her breath in sharply. Oh, Jan—omigosh—does he have a LICENSE?

With a cool smile, Jan just nodded.

No way—Jan has a boyfriend who DRIVES! someone else exclaimed.

Murmurs of awe rippled through the classroom....

Bats in the red box! Gloves in the blue! barked the P.E. teacher. Then back to your classroom and get your things ready to go home!

Jan hurried away from outfield. One of the boys from her team nudged his friend as she rushed by and yelled, Hey, Jan the Woman-Man! We would’ve won if you hadn’t struck out! He turned to his friend. I didn’t want to pick her for our team, but she was the only one left.

You stupid jerk, Chris, Jan stormed as she struggled not to cry. Why does he always get so worked up about these dumb games? Two minutes after it’s over, who cares who won? Does it change your life or something?

Some of the other students started singing softly and Jan froze when she heard the words. It’s Jan...the Woman-Man...she ain’t white or tan...just kind of beige...and bland....

Jan’s face heated up and she willed herself not to turn red, though she knew it was too late. Please, God, she pleaded, let it be over soon.

She never understood why they picked on her. As far as she knew, she never did anything to provoke it. She didn’t talk much to anyone, though when she did say something, she always tried to be nice. But they made fun of her anyway. And each time, she froze up from the strain of trying to stifle her rage and tears.

Her classmates’ nastiness ripped into her very soul. Even now, as the boys continued to sing, something inside Jan continued to die. As always, she was too afraid that if she opened her mouth, tearful wails would come out of her throat instead of sharp, silencing retorts. And what if she said something stupid that gave them a reason to pick on her even more?

All that advice from books and grown-ups to just ignore them and soon they’ll lose interest is only partly right, Jan thought bitterly. That worked for some situations. But if you seem powerless enough, people will still pick on you no matter how boring a target you might be.

And she couldn’t answer back. After all, she knew that exchanging taunts not only boosts the fun, but gives the tormentor a right to continue.

Jan knew the only way to stop them was to smash them. She wished she could; she certainly got angry enough.

But what if they hit her back? What if, after breaking that barrier, all the taunts not only increased, but included slams and punches? And what if everyone ended up despising her even more?

Finally—thankfully—the boys lost interest in the song and, looking elsewhere for entertainment, they began making obscene noises while the girls looked away, rolling their eyes or giggling.

But another, deeper fear rendered Jan helpless in the face of their cruelty: the fear that maybe, just maybe, they were right. Maybe she truly was so repulsive that they just couldn’t restrain themselves.

Jan, slightly pudgy and not yet developed, did look somewhat genderless. In a world where men should be tall and athletic, and women should be svelte and shimmering—and both genders vibrant with confidence—Jan’s physical and social vagueness felt almost aberrant, even to Jan herself.

She sighed, trailing behind her classmates as they walked to the school building. If only she had a friend. She’d had one—Lissy—but Lissy and her mother had moved before seventh grade started.

Jan kicked a pebble as she trudged on. Truth was, Jan didn’t miss Lissy as much as she’d expected. Lissy was messy and aggressive. She dominated their friendship, which meant they always ended up seeing nightmare-inducing horror movies instead of the heart-stirring dramas that Jan loved. It meant that they discussed Lissy’s parents’ divorce and ignored Jan’s parents’ divorce. Their friendship began in sixth grade, when Lissy and Jan suddenly discovered they were both rejects, and that their parents were splitting up. Together, they shared the trauma of their parents’ divorce at the end of the year—well, at least when they weren’t talking about Lissy’s stuff. But other than Lissy’s companionship at school and her sporadic moments of compassion, Jan had never really liked her, although she hadn’t realized it until Lissy was gone.

But at least Lissy had been someone to hang out with and use Instagram with (Jan’s mother didn’t allow Jan a cell phone yet). And with Lissy around, Jan could always count on a partner for the dreaded group projects, P.E., quiz prep, or whatever.

As Jan neared the building, she spotted a group of girls in black leather jackets and black jeans, standing off to the side. One of them opened her jacket to reveal a pack of cigarettes in her inside pocket while the other two smiled.

It hadn’t always been like this, Jan remembered. Once, everyone got along together, even if they didn’t actually play together. But Jan remembered playing with Nicole, the girl now standing with the pack of cigarettes. Back then, Nicole ran faster than everyone—even the boys—and loved playing horse at recess. She even wanted to marry a horse. She’d been shy, however, and rarely opened her mouth other than to describe what kind of horse she wanted to be, or to convince Jan what kind of horse she should be. In general, playing with Nicole included very little talking and a whole lot of galloping.

Yet Jan also recalled how Nicole once mentioned her disgust at the little slugs that slipped out when she rinsed the cabbages from her mother’s garden behind their trailer. Jan, not understanding poverty, had wondered why Nicole’s mother didn’t just buy the bagged pre-shredded cabbage like everyone else.

Another time, Nicole said, I don’t know who my father is, just that my mother hates him. I think she also kinda hates her own father. She’s always yelling at him, even though they talk a lot on the phone and she lets him come visit. But I don’t ever yell at him. Grandpa is the only person in the whole world that I really like.

At the time, Nicole’s words pricked at Jan. Even though Jan always played with Nicole, and always agreed to be the palomino pony, Nicole didn’t even really like her; she only liked her grandfather.

Then, in the middle of fourth grade, Nicole’s grandfather died.

My mom said that God has a special wand, Nicole said a few days after his funeral. She stared up at the sky and stretched her arm out as if holding a wand herself. And God took my grandfather’s soul up into the sky—Nicole made an upward arc with her imaginary wand—and made my grandfather into a star.

As Jan followed Nicole’s movements, her mind’s eye pictured a little old man propelled by a Divine wand, somersaulting up into the sky.

Nicole stared so hard at the spot she indicated in the bright afternoon sky that Jan almost expected to see her grandfather’s star.

Suddenly, another voice spoke out from behind them. When my grandfather died, said Grace, he went to Heaven and became an angel!

My grandfather also went to Heaven and became an angel, said Nicole.

How can he be both an angel and a star? asked Jan.

He just can, said Nicole. God can do anything.

Grace, having said her piece, was already darting back to the jungle gym.

My mother showed me exactly which star, Nicole continued.

You’re sure? asked Jan. How do you know it wasn’t already there before he died?

I’m sure. It talks to me about all the things we always talked about and it’s his same voice. Nicole continued to stare at the place where the star would appear after dark. I can still see him and talk to him from there. He’s not really gone.

Later that evening, as Jan relished mouthful after mouthful of macaroni with lots of melted cheese and smoked sausage, she asked her mother about what Nicole had said. Her younger brother was at a friend’s house and wouldn’t be able to disturb the conversation with sarcastic comments.

Hocus-pocus, said her mother. That’s just something her mother told her to make her feel better. But it’s total nonsense. She raised an eyebrow at Jan. I thought you already knew from school about stars being huge balls of fiery gas, not dead souls.

Yeah, of course I knew that. Everyone knows that. Jan squirmed in her seat. But Nicole had seemed so sure back there on the playground that Jan just had to ask.

Jews don’t believe in all that mushy comfort stuff, her mother continued.

Jan’s family was Jewish. Other than that—and Hanukah—Jan knew nothing else about Judaism.

Do Jews believe in Heaven? Jan had heard a lot about Heaven from her classmates.

What, a place with harps and angels? Her mother laughed. No way. You’re such a smart girl, Jan. It’d be a pity to waste your brains on fairy tales.

So what do we believe happens after someone dies? Jan asked.

After pondering this for a long moment, Jan’s mother said, I don’t know. She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. Nothing, I guess.

Nothing? said Jan. I’d rather be a big ball of fiery gas.

Her mother smiled. Maybe it’s not nothing. Maybe we’re just more honest and admit that we don’t know. She paused. My Nona sometimes mentioned her friends or relatives waiting for her in The World to Come. So I guess she believed in another place, a life after death. But I don’t know if that was just her or if that’s the Jewish belief. Nona was very religious, but not very educated. So I didn’t always know what was from her own imagination and what was from Judaism. But I’ve never known a Jew who believed in Heaven—or who talked about any afterlife at all.

Jan thought about that as she slurped some dripping cheese. Then she said, Did you ever know a Jew who was religious like your Nona?

Um...no, actually. Except for Nona and her friends, I’ve never known any religious Jews. Her eyebrows arched. I mean, I do have one friend from college who became religious later on, but I’ve never discussed life after death with her—

Suddenly, her mother’s cell phone beeped.  She picked it up and stared at it a moment, then said, Oh my gosh, I just have to reply to this tweet! She glanced at Jan and smiled, then started tapping in reply to the tweet.

Jan sighed. She liked her mom a lot and knew that her mom really liked her, too. But lately, her mom seemed able to tolerate a only certain amount of interaction with Jan.

It hadn’t always been like that, just like her classmates hadn’t always been like they were now.

The changes at school had started in fourth grade, escalating the next year in fifth. The girls who had always played neat little games of house at recess—and especially the ones whose older siblings were high school cheerleaders and football players—started wearing make-up, texting obsessively, and pairing off with the boys. Then, when they all went up to middle school in sixth grade, things got even more extreme. The girls wore even more make-up, smuggled their phones into school all the time, and started doing a lot more stuff with the boys. And they started grouping together around Taylor.

Around that time, Nicole started wearing heavy black eyeliner and black nail polish, and her sad shyness twisted into a bristling silence. She didn’t want to talk about horses anymore or about anything at all. As if everyone—except Jan—had received a special map, Jan’s classmates went sprinting down a different road, leaving Jan behind.

The situation continued into seventh grade, where they were now.

HOLD ON, HOLD ON! called Mrs. Boise just as Jan entered the classroom. Their homeroom teacher was fat, and often wore the same olive green and purple paisley dress. (That was really popular during the Eighties, said her mother when Jan mentioned it to her. I can’t believe she’s still wearing it!)

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up.

"This is not how we behave, said Mrs. Boise. There is no need to yell across the room to your friend whom you’ll see outside in another five minutes. Also, the garbage can is not a basketball hoop. There were snickers all around. Finish what you’re doing—get your stuff ready to go home—but please, do it like human beings!"

The rustle of activity continued, punctuated by giggles and murmurs. Mrs. Boise sat down and rubbed one of her temples as she reached for her mug of coffee. Then she looked up suddenly and said, We’ll be getting two new students tomorrow.

Who? several kids asked.

Umm...oh, yeah. A boy named Joque from...Idaho, if I recall, and a girl named Anna from Boffert.

Silence. Jan watched everyone exchange glances with their friends.

Boffert! cried Grace. But the sign outside says that this school is a drug-free, gun-free zone!

She doesn’t live there anymore, said Mrs. Boise. She recently moved to a new family in this area.

Again, glances were exchanged and several kids mouthed, A new family?

Mrs. Boise looked thoughtful and scratched her chin. She hasn’t been in school much. A lot of things will be new for her. So be nice. She gave a shrug and took a sip of her coffee.

The murmuring and rustling resumed and everyone filed out the door to the buses.

As Jan passed Taylor and Jennifer, she heard Taylor say, Jock! Wow...what a name! I bet he looks amazing!

Chapter 2

I ’ve gone out with almost every girl in the whole sixth grade who’s not a dog, Brian announced.

Jan looked up from her book to see her sixth-grade brother smirking as he leaned against the sofa in a suave pose.

"I broke up with Emma yesterday. I saw her crying and Ashley was hugging her and giving me these nasty looks. But I know that I can make Ashley like me, too. Girls just do that BFF act for show. I’ll just smile at Ashley a lot and I’ll tell her that I really loved her all along, and that I just couldn’t be in an empty relationship anymore. Maybe I’ll buy her an ice cream at lunch, ‘like’ her pics on Instagram with meaningful comments and post some stuff of my own...it doesn’t matter so much. Girls are suckers for the word love."

Jan just stared at him.

"Yep, tell a girl, I love you...I’ll love you forever...you’re the one I’ve always been looking for.... She doesn’t even stop to think. He chuckled. They see me break up with a different girl every week, but my new target still believes me every time."

New target? Jan stared at him another moment, then curled her upper lip and said, You’re slime, Brian. Total slime.

He smirked again. You call it slime—I call it success. 

He swaggered his short, skinny self away to the kitchen. Jan looked down at the book she was reading. She tried to sink back into the story, but found that she couldn’t.

What was the point of him telling me all that? she wondered as she flung the book onto the cushion next to her. What does he want from me? Does he expect me to say something like, Wow, Brian, that’s soooo cool!?

Her shoulders sagged. Yeah, probably. That’s what everyone else did—literally. He’d shown her the stuff his 527 followers had posted on the phone he’d wrangled their dad into secretly buying for him.

She pushed herself up off the couch and went into the kitchen. Brian didn’t look up when she came in. He was slurping and crunching through a bowl of brightly colored cereal puffs.

Jan opened the freezer and pulled out the chocolate mousse ice cream. She put five goopy scoops in a bowl, then smothered it with whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

Brian turned his head to look at her. If you were in my grade, he said, his voice muffled by all the mushy cereal in his mouth, "and you weren’t my sister, you’d be one of the girls I wouldn’t go out with." 

Jan looked at him, her mouth slightly open.

"That’s so mean, Brian! she said. Then, with a frown, she added, And really stupid, now that I think about it. Why do you always have to say stuff like that? What’s wrong with saying something nice? Or maybe just keeping your big mouth shut?"

Brian turned back to his cereal and shrugged. All I’m saying is that there’s a reason why all the kids call you ‘Jan the Woman-Man, she’s neither white nor’ —Brian stretched out his own sun-bronzed arm— ‘tan.’

Ouch. Even her own home wasn’t a refuge from the horrible teasing. She glared at Brian and took her ice cream down to the den to watch TV.

"And you should see the stuff posted about you," he called after her.

But Jan already had. Back with Lissy. That was one reason why she didn’t pester her father for a phone. On the other hand, Jan couldn’t help wondering whether—if she’d post the right kinds of pics and text—she could live out her fantasy life on Instagram with kids on the other side of the country who’d never actually meet her.

Jan felt better already as she descended into the den with its dark gold rug and honey-colored wood paneling. The soft lighting and dark bookshelves contributed to the cozy, comforting atmosphere.

She sank into the aged, brown velvet couch and picked up the remote control. As she savored her decadent dessert, she flipped through the channels. She stopped at a news channel when she saw a clip featuring men in black hats, black pants, and long black suit jackets.

Hassidic Jews in Jerusalem stoned cars that drove on the Jewish Sabbath, the reporter announced.

Jews?

Jan stopped and leaned forward. Thirsty to know more about being Jewish, she always stopped to look whenever she saw something about Jews.

The neighborhood is located on the most direct route to the hospitals, he continued. Ambulances often need to pass through that neighborhood on the Jewish Sabbath.

Jan jerked back as if slapped. Jews stoned ambulances?

The reporter didn’t specifically say that, but Jan was sure that’s what he meant. She slumped against the sofa cushion. In her quest to figure out what being Jewish was about, TV offered disappointment after disappointment. Usually, the only Jews she found on TV were pale comedians with dark hair joking in broad New York accents about shrill, manipulative mothers. But her dad was from northern California and her mom was from Seattle, and neither one talked or looked like those comedians. And Jan’s mother was nothing like the comedians’ mothers. Weren’t there any other types of Jews?

Apparently so, but even worse. Hassidic Jews seemed almost as bad as terrorists.  

The phone rang. Jan saw that the number was blocked by the caller, which probably meant it was her dad.

Hello?

Hi, Presh.

Dad! Jan brightened and felt that warm, cozy feeling she always got when her dad called her by his special nickname for