29 April 2022

Published April 27, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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Genre: Historical Fiction/Excerpt from Work in Progress
Word Count: 100 of 16,500

CHILDHOOD LOST

Schoolboys cavorted along the cobblestone street, shoving and teasing each other after a day of boring lessons. Peter missed being one of them.

Papa approached with determined strides, head held high, and a scowl on his black-bearded face. Like the Red Sea’s parting, the children made a path for him.

Peter turned from the window and hunched over his book.

Taking rolls from the oven, Mama clutched her rounded belly. “Son, come help me.”

He rose and took the pan from her, breathing in the yeasty aroma.

Papa burst through the door. “Peter! Lazy oaf. Get back to your lessons.”

25 June 2021

Published June 23, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

FOREST OF THE MARTYRS

Avraham set the seedling in the hole he had dug. “Blessed are You, Master of the Universe, Creator of life. May the memories of my Sarah and our little Isaac be blessed.”

Hannah helped Avraham cover the tender roots with sandy soil. “May the memory of my Shmuel also be blessed.”

Under Israel’s hot summer sun many others had come to plant. Their goal was to raise six million trees, one for each life taken.”

Avraham placed his hand on Hannah’s belly and smiled through his tears when their unborn child kicked. “By their deaths, they commanded us to live.”

The six million trees, planted in 1951 by Jewish National Fund, World B’nai Brith and immigrants, are a living monument of eternally green memorial candles for the six million of our people who perished during World War II.

22 May 2020

Published May 20, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE LEADER OF THE BAND

Cossacks torched the shtetl of Tolochin. Flames shot up from Cantor Beilin’s home. Five-year-old Israel choked on the billowing smoke, huddled in a ditch with his brother and sisters. He had never seen Papa weep so.

A ship carried the Beilins to America. In New York’s Lower Eastside, Izzy discovered his talent and at thirteen sang on the streets for thrown pennies.

Music and America. His love for both welled up inside of him and spilled over in the songs he wrote.

Composer Jerome Kern said of Izzy, “Irving Berlin has no place in American music—he is American Music.”

***

Born in 1888, Irving Berlin lived to be 101. Trying en-capsulize him in 100 words is no easy task. While you might not be familiar with name, I’ll bet you’re familiar with his music. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (Scandalous in 1911), “Easter Parade,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “God Bless America,” and that seasonal favorite “White Christmas” to name a few.

Irving Berlin 1906

15 March 2019

Published March 13, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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The following photo is the PROMPT. It is proper etiquette to give credit where credit is due. Thank you.

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

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The following is a snippet from my books AS ONE MUST ONE CAN and A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY. Rachel is a favorite character of mine. Perhaps I’ll write a novel about her in the future. At the very least, a short story. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction circa 1907

Word Count! 100

SHORTSIGHTED

Miss Kline glanced at three-year-old Rachel and back at Havah. “She’s—”

“Blind.” Rachel grinned. “I don’t have floppy nerves.”

“Optic nerves,” said Havah.

“May I play piano for Miss Kline, Mommy?”

“Play something pretty.”

Rachel’s dog led her to the upright piano and lay down next to it so Rachel could use her for a step stool.

“Surely you don’t allow her to bang on that lovely instrument,” whispered Miss Kline.

Havah smiled but said nothing. Rachel danced her tiny fingers across the keys.

Miss Kline clapped her hand over her mouth. “Bless my soul, it’s… it’s… Bach’s ‘Musette’!”

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WHO CAN FIND A VIRTUOUS WOMAN?

Published July 22, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Melbourne, Australia. Feel free to use the photo provided in the prompt, or seek out your own using Google’s street view or photo spheres.

Your mission: write up to 150 words inspired by the location. Once your piece is polished, feel free to share it with others using the link up below. Or, if you don’t have a blog to link to, you’re invited to post your story in the comments of this post.

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this challenge for globetrotting writers. It’s the extra 50 words that keep me coming back. 😉

Adass Israel School in Melbourne

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150

WHO CAN FIND A VIRTUOUS WOMAN?

Tonight Mama locked me in the cupboard under the stairs. “Beyz meydl! Evil girl!” I could hear her rant all the way down the hallway. “What dybbik enticed you to venture outside the safe confines of Adass Israel? Ours is a sacred community.”

I only went to a bookstore in Melbourne. I want to read novels that don’t have half the sentences marked out. Why is this so wrong?

I hate the dark. When I’m there I see my principal’s hands. I can still feel them touching me under my blouse and skirt. She claims she’s performing a mitzvah and preparing me for marriage. Sometimes I think she might be the only person who has ever loved me. Other times I’m not so sure. If this is a good thing, why does Mrs. Leifer always close the door and lower the blinds? Why do I feel disgusting and rotten inside?

*

Malka Leifer

JUSTICE AT LAST (Click to read about it)

26 May 2017

Published May 24, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

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Genre: Historical Fiction-Book Excerpt

Word Count: 100

JESUS WEPT

Broken glass, paper and other debris littered the once cheerful apartment. The prophet Jeremiah’s words swirled through Ulrich’s mind like a hollow wind.

“A voice was heard in Ramah…

…Rachel weeping for her children…”

Dim light from his lantern cast macabre shadows on the spattered walls. He gazed at the children’s battered faces and twisted forms. What could reduce men to such bestial acts?

His stomach shuddered and emptied itself. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “You bloody bastards! Christ died for you and you use Him as an excuse for your bloodletting! Why? Why? Why?”

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*Note: The title is John 11:35, the shortest verse in the New Testament and reflects Ulrich Dietrich’s beliefs. Ulrich is a Christian gentleman who is outraged that innocent people would be murdered in the name of his Lord.

CAST FROM HER FATHER’S HOUSE

Published May 15, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Cirque de Navacelles, France. This week’s location was suggested by JS Brand.

Many thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for hosting this unique challenge.

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

This challenge has become a favorite of mine and I couldn’t bear to miss it this week. This weekend has been an incredibly busy one. And as I’m working toward Book Four of my trilogy (coffee table companion book of illustrations and character studies), I hope you’ll forgive my posting an excerpt from my first novel PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME.

While the photo I chose is in Cirque de Navacelles, my story is not.

Genre: Novel Excerpt

Word Count: 149

CAST FROM HER FATHER’S HOUSE

Rocks, frozen grass and thorns stabbed the soles of her bare feet. There had been no time for shoes, no time to dress.

Who would pray for their souls? Who would remember David, the artist or Mendel, the poet or Mama or Papa? She forced her heavy mouth to shape the Hebrew prayer—Kaddish—prayer for the dead and prayer for the bereft.

“‘Magnified and sanctified is your great Name…’”

Havah Cohen detested its beauty. Her hands, held over her ears, could not blot out the anguished cries of friends and neighbors, fast becoming memories.

“‘…in the world which you have created…’”

Thorns grabbed at her nightgown and she fought to ignore the fire in her lungs. “‘…according to Your will.’”

Run.

Brambles ripped into her flesh.

Run.

The muscles of her legs burned.

Don’t stop. Run.

“‘Let His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.’”