Fault Lines      

Suddenly, Etti thought of earthquakes.

Which made no sense whatsoever — she had her feet firmly planted on the ground of her succah. She glanced around the table to make sure no one was looking at her, closed her eyes, and drew some air in through her nose. The smell of pine and bamboo, the whisper of wind on paper chains. She opened her eyes. The atmosphere was right.

Her childhood phobia. The mortal fear caused by some story her little ears had overheard, the years of never walking past a building without wondering if its foundations were safe.

Which made it very funny that Shua’s actual line of work was earthquakes. She looked across the table at her husband. Her sons, Meir, Bentzi, and Nachi were clustered around him, laughing at her brother-in-law Chaim, who was clearly at the end of a joke Etti had missed.

The company was right, too. Her sister Shaina was off somewhere, probably feeding the baby. Her nephew Kivi sat on Chaim’s lap. And Ma sat to her left, pretending not to doze.