Make Every Word Count

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Character Study – Fruma Ya’el

Published March 27, 2015 by rochellewisoff

 

The most dramatic operation she [Fruma Ya’el] had done in twenty years was to extract a well-deserved bullet from Pinkas Rabinovich’s backside after a tavern brawl. Never did she imagine she would be called upon to perform such grisly surgery as she had on a poor orphan. She wiped the amputation blade with her rag and laid it in the mahogany case between a pair of scissors and a scalpel. What else could she have done? Sometimes life left one no choices.  

Taken from PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields         

  • Framed Fruma Ya'el

    Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Although Havah’s introduction to Fruma Ya’el is a painful one, she will become one of the most important people in the girl’s life.

            Fruma Ya’el Levine, the cantor’s wife, is a one of Svechka’s most beloved citizens for she is the village midwife. She is proud of the fact that she’s seen most of the babies’ faces before their own mothers. Her great love of children has earned her the title of Auntie Fruma.

            In her youth she had the opportunity to immigrate to America to study medicine, but tragic circumstances barred the way. Trapped in an arranged and empty marriage, she pours her love into her only living child, Gittel.

            Fruma Ya’el sees in Havah the passionately intelligent girl she used to be. Little by little an ironclad bond forms between them.

 

Published by W&B Publishers

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

***

As a child growing up in a Jewish family, it never occurred to me that not everyone had a Hebrew name. My friend Lori Ginson was proud of her Yiddish/Hebrew name “Fruma Ya’el,” meaning Pious Strength of God. However Lori was a troubled soul and died much too young. I think she would be pleased that I gave her name to one of the strongest characters in my novels. 

Lori Ginson

 Lori “Fruma Ya’el” Ginson

1962-2004

27 March 2015

Published March 25, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

FIC

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The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. Does it ignite a song in your heart? Sing it in one hundred words or less. 

PHOTO PROMPT ©David Stewart

PHOTO PROMPT ©David Stewart

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

CURTAIN CALL

            “What’s to become of me?” whispered Minnie as she sat beside the hospital bed and gazed at her wrinkled hands that used to make the piano sing.  

            “Mama?” Maud opened her eyes. “The concert…the audience…I let them down…”

            “You have a little gastritis. You’ll be well enough for your concert on January 8th.”

            “Do you love me, Mama?”

            “Who made sure you practiced your violin twice a day?”

            “You did.”

            “Who sacrificed everything so you could study in Europe and become the famous Madame Powell?”

            “You did.”

            “And don’t you forget it. I did it all for you.”

            “Did you?”  

For more about Maud Powell

Character Study – Arel Gitterman

Published March 20, 2015 by rochellewisoff

 

“Havah saw him as if in a dream remembered long ago. His hair and beard, inky shadows, framed a face as pale as dawn. Like silver-gray clouds, his prolific eyes spoke with silent words.

Arel. A strong name. Lion of God.”

Taken from  PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME

Represented by  Loiacono Literary Agency

Published by W&B Publishers (Summer 2015)

 

Arel Gitterman - Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

AREL GITTERMAN – Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Arel Gitterman is the youngest of Yussel’s five children and his only son. Arel was five-years-old when brain fever killed his mother and took his father’s sight. A gifted child, he became Yussel’s eyes for reading.

He’s always been an obedient son, groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps as the next rabbi. At the age of thirteen he was betrothed to Gittel Levine, the cantor’s* daughter.

Arel’s never questioned his role in life—until the day of Havah’s dramatic arrival in Svechka. For both he and Havah it was love at first sight.

Much to her chagrin, he’s a man of his word and he refuses to break his covenant with Gittel, Havah’s adopted sister.   

 

*The cantor sings or chants prayers in synagogue service.

The following video is the Kaddish prayer that Havah chanted the night of her escape from Natalya. It is the prayer that’s traditionally recited or sung in honor of the dead. Rather than a prayer for the dead as some believe it’s a prayer honoring the Almighty. Here it’s sung by a Hasidic cantor.

Translation:

May the great Name of God be exalted and sanctified, throughout the world, which he has created according to his will. May his Kingship be established in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the entire household of Israel, swiftly and in the near future;

and all say, Amen.

May his great name be blessed, forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, honored elevated and lauded be the Name of the holy one, Blessed is he- above and beyond any blessings and hymns, Praises and consolations which are uttered in the world;

and all say Amen.

May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life, upon us and upon all Israel;

and all say, Amen.

He who makes peace in his high holy places, may he bring peace upon us, and upon all Israel;

and say Amen.

20 March 2015

Published March 18, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Snorkeling in St. Thomas

Undersea St. Thomas 4 Meme

FF copyright banner finalThe following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. What story does it tell you? Share it in one hundred words or less.

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 99

GULF

On fragrant spring afternoons, on the mossy stone patio in Arlene’s backyard, we shared sandwiches, secrets and giggles as only little girls can. In summer we waded in the creek that ran behind her house and tried to catch tadpoles that tickled our bare toes.

When we entered junior high, Arlene withdrew and when I tried to talk to her about it, she turned away as if I no longer existed. I never knew why or whether I had done something dreadful to offend her. 

The questions, answered by silence, scarred my heart. Fifty years later, the ache remains.  

***

Rochelle with Ami 1961

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” –E. E. Cummings

There’s no time like the present to get over the past and  get on with the future.  

good-news-300x200CLICK HERE

6 March 2015

Published March 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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***When posting your URL, please make sure it’s specific to your story and not just your blog. It’s frustrating to have to scroll down past several articles to get to your Friday Fictioneers post for the week.***

Thank you.

 

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The following picture is the PHOTO PROMPT.  Does it plant a story in your mind? Share it in a hundred words or less.  

My story follows the prompt and the inLinkz frog. I relish honest comments and appreciate constructive crit. 

PHOTO PROMPT - © Erin Leary

PHOTO PROMPT – © Erin Leary

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Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

ESCAPE

                “Sabira! Where are you, you worthless bitch?” yelled her husband, Davlet.  

            From the barn rafters she watched him through a chink in the wall and prayed. “Don’t let him find me.”

                Two weeks ago she’d been an ambitious university student until four men, including Davlet, jumped out of a car and forced her into it.

             “Kyrgyz tradition,” said her mother when Sabira called her for help. “You’ll learn to be a good wife as grandmother and I did.”

            “New tradition,” whispered Sabira as she tightened a noose she’d fashioned from barbed wire around her neck and jumped off the ledge.  

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.Bride Knapping

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RIVERS OF JEWISH BLOOD

Published March 3, 2015 by rochellewisoff

At a writer’s conference four years ago a prominent New York agent took an interest in PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME. She asked me to add twenty-thousand words to it and then send her a hard copy.

For months I made a point of rising three hours before going to work at 7:00 am to write. Heart pounding, I sent the fruit of my labors only to have it returned in a matter of weeks. In her rejection letter she said it was “too much like FIDDLER ON THE ROOF” and it was “a story that everybody already knew.”

Ironically, I’ve told others that my book could be subtitled “The dark side of FIDDLER ON THE ROOF.” On the other hand, does my novel tell a story that everyone knows?

Often, when I’m asked what my book is about and I answer that it’s about a woman who survives the pogrom in Kishinev, the capital city of what is now known as Moldova, the next question is, “What’s a pogrom?” It is that the question that convinced me to continue writing.

“‘Kill the Jews!’ Frenzied shouts came from the tailor shop sending icicles down Havah’s back. Sounds of machines toppling and tearing cloth ripped through her.”PSKFM

 On April 19, 1903, as Christians celebrated Easter, the pogrom began at noon. Fueled by the rumor that a Christian child had been murdered in a Jewish ritual and the blood used to make unleavened bread, a frenzied mob rampaged through Jewish neighborhoods for two days.

Reportedly, local police made no attempt to interfere with rioters wielding iron bars and axes. Those who were taken into custody were soon released.

By the time the violence ended two-thousand families were left homeless, five-hundred were wounded and fifty Jewish people were dead.

“Crushing silence, heavy and cruel, closed in on Havah like a burial garment. She opened her eyes. Her soul pleaded for a sound. Children’s laughter. She longed to hear it. Craved it like sweet raisins. But only more quiet answered her plea.”PSKFM

“Crushing silence, heavy and cruel, closed in on Havah like a burial garment. She opened her eyes. Her soul pleaded for a sound. Children’s laughter. She longed to hear it. Craved it like sweet raisins. But only more quiet answered her plea.” PSKFM

No one needed to identify the last corpse in the row for it was draped in his father’s tallis. He took off his hat, scraped a handful of dirt from the street and sprinkled it over his bare head. With a muffled sob he fell beside Evron’s body, clutching the prayer shawl’s fringes. Then he uncovered his brother’s face for one last goodbye, kissed his cold forehead and replaced the cover.

“No one needed to identify the last corpse in the row for it was draped in Itzak’s father’s tallis. Itzak took off his hat, scraped a handful of dirt from the street and sprinkled it over his bare head. With a muffled sob he fell beside Evron’s body, clutching the prayer shawl’s fringes. Then he uncovered his brother’s face for one last goodbye, kissed his cold forehead and replaced the cover.” PSKFM

News of the bloody pogrom sent shockwaves around the world. Rallies were held in London, Paris and New York. President Theodore Roosevelt urged the Czar to denounce the massacre. The Czar refused.

The New York Times reported:

“The anti-Jewish riots in Kishinev, Bessarabia, are worse than the censor will permit to publish. There was a well laid-out plan for the general massacre of Jews on the day following the Russian Easter. The mob was led by priests, and the general cry, “Kill the Jews,” was taken up all over the city. The Jews were taken wholly unaware and were slaughtered like sheep. The dead number 120 and the injured about 500. The scenes of horror attending this massacre are beyond description. Babes were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob. The local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror, and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.” (“Jewish Massacre Denounced,” New York Times, April 28, 1903, p 6)

Historians have called pogroms such as these the dress rehearsal for the Nazi Holocaust. Over a hundred years have passed since Kishinev and other such pogroms. Do we remember them? Is this really a story that everybody already knows?  

27 February 2015

Published February 25, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The next picture is the PHOTO PROMPT. Where does it take you? Can you tell us in a hundred words or less? Take the road less traveled if you dare! 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I enjoy comments and welcome constructive crit. 

©Dawn_Landau

PHOTO PROMPT –© Dawn Q. Landau

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHODUNIT

            “A moving picture is the last thing I want to see, Amy,” said Lizzie Le Prince. “‘The Great Train Robbery,’ indeed—starring Thomas Edison as the ring leader.”

            Amy patted Lizzie’s hand. “Let it go, dear. It’s been thirteen years.”

            “It was Edison all right. He had Louis murdered for his invention and tried to take sole credit.”

            “Police didn’t find any evidence. Louis just vanished without a trace.”

            Across the aisle in the darkened theater an elderly man peered at them over his program.

            “Poor Lizzie, my dear little martinet,” Louis whispered. “Perhaps a simple divorce would’ve been kinder.”            

 

leprince

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(I take no responsibility for the typo)

 

20 February 2015

Published February 18, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Another Hightway

Blue Ceiling FF

*NOTE: When linking your story in the inLinkz, you’re given three boxes. The first one is for your URL and the third for your email address. The second presents with your blog and story title. It would be helpful if writers would backspace over that and type in your name. This way we can all tell who the writer is at a glance. Thank you. 

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Below is the PHOTO PROMPT. What thoughts crystallize in your mind? Can you tell the story in a hundred words or less? 

My story follows the prompt below. I enjoy honest comments. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

SCHIST HAPPENS

            I’ll never forget Mike O’Hara, my fellow New York sanitation worker. What a storyteller. Every Friday night me and the boys would settle round for a long listen.

            “So I says to Mr. King, ‘whatcha make a dis rock I dug up?’”Mike took a long swig of beer. “Heavy sucker.  Looks kinda like a red diamond. King says he knows a jeweler who’d kill for it.”

            “This might be your tallest tale yet, O’Hara,” said Pete.

            Mike had the last laugh when his “sewer garnet” made headlines in 1886. Pity he didn’t sell it hisself. Could’ve made a fortune.   

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http://www.johnbetts-fineminerals.com/jhbnyc/articles/garnet.htm

http://www.johnbetts-fineminerals.com/jhbnyc/articles/nycminerals2.htm

 

 

13 February 2015

Published February 11, 2015 by rochellewisoff

Flowers from the Hill Thoreau

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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😀 In case you missed it we were mentioned in WordPress’s Daily Post 10 February 2015  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2015/02/10/highlighted-blogging-events/

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell me in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the Blue InLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive criticism. 

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

VICISSITUDES

            When Sarah and I were five, Grandma sold Jack. Mama took to her bed for a month.

            “Why she sell my daddy?” asked Sarah. 

            I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat. 

            “Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s a servant.”

             Six years later the old biddy sold my best friend. I haven’t seen her since.

            On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.

            This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.                      

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Black and white twinsReal life twins. It can and does happen. 

6 February 2015

Published February 4, 2015 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Can you get lost in it? What kind of story does it tell you? Share it in a hundred words or less. 

My story follows the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and constructive crit. 

garden maze

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Melanie Greenwood

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Perhaps it seems I’m late to the party as last week, 27 January, commemorated the seventieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. In my opinion, every day is a good time to remember. 

Shalom,

Rochelle

***

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

YIZKOR

            There is a museum in Jerusalem called Yad Vashem. Although I live five miles from it, I’ve never wanted to visit.

            “Come with me, Hannah,” says Zvi. “The candles are pretty.”

            My brother is relentless.

            “No, Zvi. Let me forget.”

 _________

            The maze of mirrors is filled with reflections of six candle flames.  

            “Shoshana Stein, six years old. Romania.”

            Disembodied voices intone names in an endless requiem for the dead.  

            “Moishe Lapinsky, sixteen years old. Poland.”

            One point five million children murdered.

            “Zvi Goldberg. Four years old. Ukraine.”

            At my brother’s name, I sink to my knees.

            I will never forget.     

Little Zvi with border

Original Artwork – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Yad Vahem Candle room

The names I used in my story are fictitious. The names in the following snippet are real. Haunting in its simplicity, the candle room is an experience I’ll never forget. 

Thru Violet's Lentz

My view, tho' somewhat askew...

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

Linda's Bible Study

Come study God's Word with me!

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A place to improve my writing skills, and that's all.

lindacapple

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Bringing Visions to Life

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Navigating the mountains and valleys of everyday life on the riverbank.

Our Literary Journey

Driveling twaddle by an old flapdoodle.

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Life is all about being curious, asking questions, and discovering your passion. And it can be fun!

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Looking at life through photography and words

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Speech Language Pathologist, Writer, Blogger -- life, language, communication, a good laugh, hope, healing, and the grace of connection

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Psalm 19:1 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

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Lost Imperfect Found

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If Eternity Is Forever, Am I There Now?