28 January 2023

Published January 25, 2023 by rochellewisoff

The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

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As my life has taken some spins and dives of late, my muse didn’t seem to want to come up with anything new. This week, January 27, 2023, marks the 78th anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. I feel it’s more important than ever to post a reminder with antisemitism and racist hatred on the rise. How can intelligent people become animals and beasts? The following is a snippet of an interview I had the honor of doing with survivor Sonia Warshawski, fondly known as “Big Sonia” seven years ago.

Genre: Interview
Word Count:100

THE INTERVIEW

“For I’m gon’ tell you,” says Sonia, a colorful and imposing presence at 4 feet 8 inches tall. “It happened so slowly. Not all at once.

“The soldiers line up rabbis in the street and made us watch them rip out their beards by the roots. Then they shot them.

“I’ll never forget. In front of me they slaughter babies. I’ll never forgive.

“Silence kills.” Her intense brown eyes dig trenches in my heart. “I tell you what is not in history books. As long as God gives me power, I will speak for them.”

This interviewer will never forget.

29 January 2021

Published January 27, 2021 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

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This week, January 27, marks the 76th anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. May we never forget.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

MEYN SHEYNER FRINTZ

מיין שיינער פרינץ

For my fifth birthday in 1939, Papa, my handsome prince, gave me a beautiful book called “Kinder und Hausmärchen.”

The next year we went into hiding with Papa’s Christian friends in the country. Three years later the SS arrested us.

At nights in my bunk, I’d close my eyes and imagine Papa reading Briar Rose or Rapunzel, mimicking the ladies with squeaky falsetto voices to make me laugh.

I was eleven when American soldiers liberated us from the camp. I searched for my handsome prince, but Papa was nowhere to be found. For me there is no happily ever after.

Meyn Sheyner Frintz – My Handsome Prince in Yiddish

The Book was also known as Grimm’s Fairytales

It’s a 48 minute commitment but THIS LINK leads to a wonderful story of how one woman survived and has lived to tell and retell her story.

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

Published August 25, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to the capital of Latvia, in Riga’s Old Town. Your mission is to write up 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied, or venture around Riga for something that inspires you. You may write fact or fiction, poetry or prose. The only only requirement is to keep your piece at 150 words or less, as a consideration to others.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

As always, thanks to Karen and Josh for heading up the challenge.

Click the frog to read other stories and add your own.

Peitav Synagogue in Riga, Latvia was built in 1905. It has survived the Holocaust and bombings in the 1990’s.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

Katya played Chopin’s “Berceuse” on the imaginary piano in her coat pocket with trembling fingers. She tried to keep pace on the frozen path.

Without success, she tried to block out the image of her father, the cantor, lying in the street, his magnificent voice forever stilled. Latvia’s November wind whipped through her.

She remembered when Professor Philipp at the conservatory in Paris proclaimed, “Katya Abramis, you have an exquisite talent.”

“Schnell!”

A drunken soldier ripped an infant from a young mother’s arms and shot him. She dropped to her knees only to suffer the same fate as her son. The snow turned red beneath them.

“Shoes in this pile, clothes in that.”

Katya obeyed. What choice did she have?

Standing naked at the edge of a deep pit, Katya pictured her beloved synagogue and heard Papa sing “Lord of the World, Who was, Who is, Who is to come.”

There is little on the internet about Cantor Abram Abramis or his daughter Katya, renowned pianist of her time. Both perished in the 1941 Massacre in Riga. CLICK HERE for my source.

אנו זוכר’ם

28 November 2014

Published November 26, 2014 by rochellewisoff

The picture below is the PHOTO PROMPT. There’s much to look at. What do you see? Tell us in one hundred words or less.

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

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Randy Mazie

*Note: I apologize for any confusion over the inLinkz tool and encourage you to contact inLinkz.com DIRECTLY for help. Also, I’ve been told that the blue frog does a disappearing act from this page for some. I don’t know why this happens nor is there anything I can do about it. If you want to vent about it feel free to email me at Runtshell@gmail.com. I’ll do what I can.

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Genre: Realistic/Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WE BEGIN WITH THE YOUNG

“What’s this, Opa?” asked Gretchen. “Is it a storybook? I like the pretty gold bird on it.”

Herrick gently took the blue, leather-bound volume from his granddaughter.

“This was given to me a very long time ago.”

“Once upon a time?”

Gathering Gretchen onto his lap, Herrick closed his eyes and remembered the day the youth leader issued him a fresh uniform and the virulent tome. So proud he’d been to serve his country. So fervent.

“Will you read it to me, Opa?”

Herrick fished a box of matches from his pocket.

“Nein, Liebling. I ‘ve a better plan for it.”

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ORIGINAL ARTWORK – Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Use by permission only.

11 October 2013

Published October 9, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
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My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism.
Shalom,

Rochelle

Copyright – Sandra Crook

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

ROSE OF SHARON

Annetta’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and well-turned figure kept her alive for the worst part of two years at Ravensbrück.

A year after the liberation, she accepted an invitation from Gershom, a Treblinka survivor, to join him and his friends in Palestine.

At Kibbutz Ein HaNatziv they planted olive trees. Amid the date palms Annetta felt her spirit revive.

One day while strolling through Beit She’an’s ancient ruins, Gershom led her to sit on one of the amphitheater’s stone steps and then knelt. “Marry me.”

“You’d marry a…whore?”

“No…you…” With calloused hands he caressed her cheeks. “…are altogether lovely.”

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For the history behind my pound of fiction click here.