Pale of Settlement

All posts tagged Pale of Settlement

Character Study – Havah Cohen

Published March 15, 2015 by rochellewisoff

If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he

has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.

–Henry David Thoreau

Friday morning as I decorated cakes at work, I received a text message and an email from my agent, Jeanie, that began with, “I hope you’re sitting down” turned my world upside down. With several hours left to my work day, I tried to keep focused on tasks at hand while vacillating between smiles and tears. A nine-year-old dream that began with a story and nascent writing skill was about to come true.

***

 Click here to read all about it. 

Framed Havah

HAVAH COHEN GITTERMAN Original artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Barefoot, wearing only a nightgown, Havah Cohen escapes the brutal massacre that takes her parents and two brothers on a frigid November night in 1899. To keep her mind off her razed village as she runs through the woods in search of safety, she recites the Kaddish, the prayer said in memory of the dead. Who else will perform this mitzvah, blessing, for them? Just before sunrise she collapses on the synagogue steps in a nearby village called Svechka, Moldavia.

Havah is the daughter of a free-thinking rabbi who saw nothing wrong with women having the same education as men. To avoid the inevitable disapproval in her new surroundings, Havah tries to keep her knowledge a secret. However, Arel, Rabbi Gitterman’s son, finds her irresistible because of it. If only Arel wasn’t betrothed to Gittel, Havah’s adopted sister.

Both PLEASE SAY KADDISH FOR ME and FROM SILT AND ASHES revolve aroundHavah, her life, her loves and her challenges which she faces with stubborn passion. Althoughshe has a strong faith in God, she pushes the boundaries of religion and traditions.

www.rochellewordart.com

Published by W&B Publishers

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 April 2013

Published April 3, 2013 by rochellewisoff

NOW’S THE TIME TO MAKE THINGS WRITE WITH FRIDAY FICTIONEERS! 

***Happy Birthday to Renee Homan Heath -April 3rd. ***

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word 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 FICTION. (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).
    • Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have 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.

    ***************

    :) My story will follow the prompt for those who might be distracted by reading a story before writing their own . I enjoy your comments. :)

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  • From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyrigh-  Indira

    From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira




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This week marks my 50th Friday Fictioneers’ story. I hope you don’t think me melodramatic when I say that it’s been a life-changing experience. I certainly didn’t expect to become the bus driver when I asked Madison how to join. I’ve made some great friends since last April. Thanks to all of you! 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 99

FAMILY TREE

            “‘And they lived happily ever after.’” Leah shut the storybook.

            Shifra’s raisin-brown eyes, round as bottle caps, sparkled. “Bubbie? Did you love Grandpa at first sight?”

            “He was only eight when we met. Mama took him in…hid him from the khappers, bad men who snatched little Jewish boys from their homes and made them serve twenty-five years in the Czar’s army.”

            “Did she hide him in the closet?”

            “No she was smart, my Mama.”

            “He was like your brother, right?”

            Leah pointed to a tintype on the table of two little bonneted girls and grinned. “More like my sister.” 

Nu? Should you want to read more on the subject click here.

18 January 2013

Published January 16, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

 

We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt. The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning  CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.

WARNING! This is an addiction for which there is no 12 step recovery program.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word 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 FICTION. 
    • Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.

EXERCISE DISCRETION AT ALL TIMES WHEN COMMENTING ON A STORY! BE RESPECTFUL. THIS IS NOT  THE TIME OR PLACE PLACE TO PROMOTE POLITICAL OR RELIGIOUS VIEWS.  IF YOU HAVE SEVERE OR HOSTILE DIFFERENCES OF OPINION WITH ANOTHER PERSON PLEASE TAKE IT TO EMAIL OR ANOTHER METHOD OF PRIVATE MESSAGING.

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).

Thanks to Blogspot bloggers for disabling their  CAPTCHAs

The photo this week is mine. It’s a still life of “stuff” that I used as a model for a watercolor which is the book cover of my short story anthology, THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER that debuted in November 2011. You can find it in the right hand margin of this blog. 😉 In any case I’m interested to  see how many stories it will inspire this week. 

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 



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This week my story is not so much fiction as autobiography.  My maternal grandfather came to America in 1903, as my mom was fond of saying, with nothing but the clothes on his back. After coming through Ellis Island, he slept under park benches in Central Park and eventually hitchhiked to the Midwest. At least this is the story I’ve gleaned from my mother and cousins.  Grandpa wasn’t a warm fuzzy person and it’s only been the past few years through research for my novel that takes place in turn of the 20th century Eastern Europe that I’ve drawn some conclusions. They may or may not be accurate but I’ll never know because I was too afraid of him to ask. 

Click here to learn about the world from which my ancestors escaped.  

Genre: Memoir

SUNRISE, SUNSET

   Every Sunday my mother dragged me to my grandfather’s house. She said I should get to know him, learn from him. After all he’d survived Russia’s pogroms. My family history.

            But I asked no questions. He offered no stories.

            One week mom took a vinyl copy of Fiddler on the Roof for him to hear. His timeworn torso sank into his recliner as he listened to Tevye the milkman sing.

            “If I were a rich man, yaba-deebee-deebee-bum.”

            Forty years later I still remember how my austere grandfather’s granite-hard eyes transformed to liquid quartz.  

            “My father sang…just like that.” 

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