23 September 2022

Published September 21, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

THE MEASURE OF A LIFE

“The space was no bigger than a closet,” said Hannah. “Only room for six of us to hide at once.”

“Were you scared, Bubbie?” asked eleven-year-old Corrie.

“Oy! So scared! I had claustrophobia. But as much as small spaces scared me, the Gestapo scared me more.”

“Did you have to stay there for hours at a time?”

“Only when the family had—visitors. Other times we children were free to play and sing. We even celebrated Hanukkah with potato latkes and presents. The Ten-Booms, such wonderful people.”

“I’m named after Corrie Ten-Boom, aren’t I?”“Ja. May her memory be blessed.”

To learn about this very special lady and her family CLICK HERE

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This past week I’ve finally gotten around to opening an Etsy shop to market my note cards. Please CLICK HERE to come by and browse. There are many more entries to upload before it the shop’s “complete.” 😉

9 September 2022

Published September 7, 2022 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.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

1938

“Is this how you remember it, Mom?” asked Ruth.

Naomi hadn’t seen the scenic deutsche Stadt in fifty years. The synagogue had been replaced by a church. Although some shops still existed, her childhood home did not.

She swallowed. “I was ten. Momma gave me a sack of her homemade macaroons for the long journey. She told me, ‘You’ll be safe with Aunt Gertie and Uncle Norman in New York.’

“Poppa crushed me in his strong arms. ‘Momma and I will come for you soon. You’ll see.’

“From the ship I watched them grow smaller and smaller.

“They never came.”

26 August 2022

Published August 24, 2022 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.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

POLITICALLY INCORRECT

“You’re opening a Chinese restaurant, Pop?” Noriyuki looked up from his homework. “But we’re Japanese.”

“The camps certainly taught me that.” Tamaru shrugged. “Chinese. Japanese. We all look alike to them. Let’s go to the movies.”

Noriyuki stretched his legs. After spending his childhood in a body cast with no hope of healing, he relished a walk to—anywhere.

On December 7, 1966, stand-up comic, Pat Noriyuki Morita, sweat running down his back, said, “Before I begin, I just want to say I’m sorry for messing up your harbor.”

After a moment of thick silence, the audience burst into laughter.

*Once billed as the Hip Nip, Pat Morita appeared in movies and television. You may remember him as Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid or as Arnold Takahashi on Happy Days. As a child he was diagnosed with spinal TB. The doctors gave him little hope of ever walking. Alas after a procedure restored his legs, he was taken from hospital to a Japanese internment camp.

*As for the photo, I believe that food court is Korean. 😉

14 May 2021

Published May 12, 2021 by rochellewisoff

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.

You might remember my story a few weeks back about Korean American actor Philip Ahn. He was the eldest of four children. How could I resist shining a spotlight on his little sister Susan?

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count : 100

AMERICAN HERITAGE

“Appa,” eleven-year-old Susan blinked back tears. “Why must you go back to Korea?”

“There is work to be done.” Dosan caressed his daughter’s cheek. “Do your best to be a good American citizen but never forget your heritage.”

***

“How do I know you’re not the enemy?” asked the enlistment officer.

“I’m not Japanese. I’m Korean American.” Twenty-seven-year-old Susan bristled but stood her ground. “And proud to serve my country.”

“Okay, sign on the bottom line.”

***

Refusing to surrender to sexism or racism, Susan Ahn Cuddy served during WWII and became the first female aerial gunnery officer in the U.S. Navy.

***

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

Click the Frog to add your voice.

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.

10 April 2020

Published April 8, 2020 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 © Jeff Arnold

CLICK ME! PLEASE!

Thanks to my husband Jan who found an article about the following event. As soon as he shared the article I knew what my story would be. Just in time for Passover. Matzo and sweet wine for everyone.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WHY IS THIS NIGHT DIFFERENT FROM ALL OTHER NIGHTS?

PFC Nachman Levy recited the four questions for the hastily-organized Passover seder. At nineteen, he was the youngest in the “Rainbow Division” so the task fell to him.

“We’ve taken Dahn from the Third Reich.” Wearing his tallis over his fatigues and a twinkle in his eye, infantry rabbi Captain Bohnen led the ceremony reading from the hagaddah. “This is the first Jewish publication in Germany in seven years.” He brandished a crumpled ink-stained Nazi flag. “We put this to good use—cleaning the printing press.”

1,500 Jewish-American soldiers cheered.

Nachman’s pulse raced. He raised his cup and shouted. “L’chaim!”

The Haggadah begins with a message from Major General Collins: “My Jewish Soldiers– The celebration of Passover should have unusual significance for you at this time, for like your ancestors of old you too are now engaged in a battle against a modern Pharaoh. This Pharaoh has sought, not only to enslave your people, but to make slaves of the whole world.”

General Collins also told attendees, “I am sure this Passover will live in your memories forever. You celebrate it in Germany, the land in which Hitler said no Passover would be celebrated for at least a thousand years.”

Rainbow Division Insignia

13 December 2019

Published December 11, 2019 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Mikhael Sublett

Give us a little click.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

KEEPSAKE

Hadassah stood amid the ruins of her once elegantly furnished home.

She ached for two-year-old Aaron who had been seized and taken to the gas chamber. Peter took a bullet trying to save their son.

Typhoid claimed thirteen-year-old Gittel hours before the liberation.

Seven-year-old Gittel held out a piece of paper splotched with color.

“What is it?”

The child huffed. “Anyone can see it’s a butterfly.”

“Our daughter’s an artist.” Peter beamed. “I’ll frame it.”

“How on earth…?” With a gasp, Hadassah dropped to her knees and pulled the unscathed picture from the rubble.

“I painted it for you, Mama.”

23 November 2018

Published November 21, 2018 by rochellewisoff

Fun times with Russell Gayer at Ozarks Writers League Conference. November 17, 2018 (Not the prompt 😉 )

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.) Many thanks.

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.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction based on an actual survivor’s account.

Word Count: 100

PERSPECTIVES

Holding her granddaughter’s hand, Marta shut her eyes. “Doesn’t the water make a beautiful sound?”

Barely six, Segol fidgeted beside her. “It’s just water, Savta.”

“No. It sings the song of eternity.” Opening her eyes, Marta pointed to Segol’s new dress. “Your ema tells me you couldn’t decide between this blue one or the green one. She said you cried and cried.”

Segol hung her head and muttered. “Yes.”

“Such a choice. When I was six, I had to make a choice, too. Should I go with my mother to Auschwitz or flee to the convent? I cried and cried.”

***

Happy Thanksgiving this week to my American friends. I thought of reposting this story I shared 3 years ago. It’s a different perspective re Thanksgiving. The story is called “Keshagesh” which is a Cree word for “Greedy Guts.” Since many of you read and commented on it then, I’m just posting the link for the curious. https://rochellewisoff.com/2015/11/25/27-november-2015/

20 January 2017

Published January 18, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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Our Mantra

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.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

I’ve gone ‘there’ again. When the muse leads, I follow. But as EagleEye so aptly coined last week, “It’s a time too horrible to remember, too vile to forget.”

THE SONG’S STILL HEARD IN SELVINO

“It’s almost sundown,” said “Uncle” Moshe Ze’iri.

Clenching his fists, David followed the others to the huge Sciesopoli dining room. The familiar aroma of chicken soup filled his nostrils. It stirred memories of home and his parents, slaughtered before his eyes. After three years of lice and torture, why should he trust this smiling stranger or the Italians who had allied themselves with the monster?

“Shalom aleynu,” sang Uncle Moshe, his face aglow in the Sabbath candles, his voice tender and melodious. “Peace upon us…”

In that sweet moment the stone in David’s chest softened and beat once more.

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13 January 2017

Published January 11, 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.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

THE HEAVIEST WHEEL ROLLS ACROSS OUR FOREHEADS

When I was a little girl in the 1950’s, Mom used to take me to visit my aunt in St. Louis. I looked forward to those train rides. Sunlight dazzled through the trees as they whizzed by and the rhythm of the wheels clicking along the track soothed me.

Dad, on the other hand, hated trains, but would never tell me why. Only once did he accompany us.

As we left Union Station, tears trickled from the corners of his faraway eyes.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“The stench was unbearable. Fifty of us crammed into a cattle car. I alone escaped.”

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