Tag Archives: writing prompts


I have nothing for this day – sorry guys – I am tired, sad and empty of ideas.


Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts


PenFireSmall“No,” he says, “I will not be part of this.” The faces around him smirk. Mutters. Then one by one they turn around and walk away. Finally he is alone with the girl. She is curled up in a corner of the shack, clothes torn, skin bruised, face streaked with tears. He walks over to her, crouches beside her, takes off his coat and tries to wrap it around her. She shrinks back, panic in her eyes. He tries to smile, but his face is frozen in anger. He backs away a step, drops the coat where she can reach it. She grabs it and wriggles into it, eyes not leaving his face even to blink.

“Why?” her voice is slurred and hoarse. “you could have taken as much as the others, why did you not?”

Why had he not, he wonders. After all, she is just a girl from the projects, no-one of consequence. Happens all the time, doesn’t it? So why had he not? Images flashes by. The whole ugly scene replays. He shakes his head to rid it of what he has seen. That is it. Because it is ugly. Because it is not right.

“Because it is not who I am.” He finally says.

This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party


Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts


Bookandglasses“Isser, please stay behind with me,” the Rabbi calls out as the cheder ends for the day.

“Yes, Rabbi.” The boy walks over to the Rabbi’s desk. Outside he hears the others get into a run, all heading home. His stomach growls. Mother is waiting at home with stewed cabbage and the usual dark bread. The lantern on the Rabbis desk flickers, throwing shadows on the walls of the cheder.

“Isser, the Rabbi looks at him over the rim of his glasses, “next Shabbos is closest after your thirteenth birthday, is it not?”

“Yes, Rabbi.” Isser pokes deeper into his pockets. He knows he should look forward to this, but he doesn’t.

“So it will be your Bar Mitzvah. Have you talked to your mother about this?”

“No, Rabbi.” What would there be to talk about. Mother cannot afford the customary feast, besides, his father won’t be there.

“Why not, Isser, it is a very important day?”

“I don’t have anything to say about it, Rabbi, Mother has enough to think of without it.”

“You are worried about the cost of the feast?” The Rabbi takes off his glasses. “Or is it something else?”

“Well…it’s that, and then it’s my father.” The boy shuffles his feet. His heart sinks into his feet, he cannot look at the Rabbi.

“What about your father, Isser, he is dead, yes? Oh, I see, you are troubled because you will be up on the bimah alone, without anyone to stand with you?”

“Yes Rabbi.” A hard lump chokes him up.

“I see.” The Rabbi leans back in his chair, stroking his beard. “How would you like it if I stood with you on the bimah on the Shabbos of your Bar Mitzvah?”

“Would you do that, Rabbi?” Isser raises his eyes from the floor and looks at the Rabbi.

“Yes, Isser, and I would think it an honor.” The Rabbi smiles. “have you thought about the Torah Portion yet?”

“No, not really, Rabbi.” He hadn’t thought there would be any Bar Mitzvah, he hadn’t wanted it, so why think about it.

“Which is the Torah Reading on the next Shabbos?” The Rabbi looked at him, a small smile playing in his eyes.

Vayechi, Rabbi.”

“What is that about?”

“It’s about Yaakov blessing his sons, Rabbi.”

“Yes, Isser, how does the Reading begin?”

Ya’akov makes Yossef swear that he will not bury him in Egypt.”

“Can you make that fit your own life, Isser? If you are Yossef and your father is Yaakov, how would it be written?” The Rabbi turned to the bookshelf behind him, took out a book and leafed through it.

Isser didn’t know what to do or say. But he doesn’t dare to leave either.

The Rabbi looks up. Frowning.

“Are you still here, Isser. Don’t you have a dvar torah to write? Better run home and do it.” He returns his gaze to the book.

“Rabbi,” Isser draws a breath, “what do I tell my Mother? She will be worried about the feast,” he pulls out his hat and puts it on.

“Oh, yes. Tell her that it will be taken care of, and that she will be proud of her son.” The Rabbi smiles and nods towards the door. “Now hurry home!”

“Yes, Rabbi!” Isser turns and runs all the way home, to his Mother, her stewed cabbage and the warmth of his home.

Isser looks out into the room.The Shul is full. Everyone is looking at him. He recalls that morning as he tries to calm his stomach.

Just before Shul, Mendel the Beadle came to him with a small package in his hands.

Mazel Tov, Isser!” he says when he gives the package to Isser. Isser opens it. It’s a small pouch, he recognizes it. It’s his father’s Tefillin! “Your Mother gave these to me to have them repaired a month ago. They are yours now.” Mendel the Beadle moves away. While he stands with his father’s Tefillin pouch in one hand and tears in his eyes, Lazar the Weaver touches his shoulder from behind and hands him another package. Isser looks up, sniffles and tries to cover his face behind the Tefillin pouch.

“Mazel Tov, Isser!” he clasps Isser’s shoulder. “I had to sneak this past your Mother, with a little help from your sister, but now it has fresh new Tzitzit.” Isser realizes that he is holding his father’s Tallit. How is he going to get through the Torah Reading and the dvar torah, when people keep making him cry. He beams at Lazar the Weaver, and rushes into the Shul, seeking refuge in the crowd.

“Are you ready, Isser?” The Rabbi takes hold of him. “Shall we go put those on?” he asks and nods to the two bundles Isser is holding. He moves towards the front pews.

“Yes, please, Rabbi.” Isser follows the Rabbi. A short while later he is all ready, wearing the required marks of his adulthood. The prayers rise and fall around him, following an ancient cadence of spiritual intimacy. He tries to recall the words he has prepared as his speech on the Torah portion. He cannot. All he can think of is the feel of his father’s tefillin and tallit wrapping his body. Then his name is called for the First Reading. He gets up, looks for the Rabbi. The Rabbi stands with him, and they walk to the bimah together. Everyone is looking.

He hadn’t thought about that part. Suddenly he feels more shy than usual. He looks towards the mechitza at the back of the small shul. Somewhere behind it is his mother and sister. The chazzan moves the yad over the Torah text, Isser reads, steady and strong without falter to the last letter of the portion. The Rabbi motions him towards the pews. They sit. Six more readings and then he must get up and speak.

As he watches the Torah scroll being returned to the Ark, he runs through his memory, taking hold of all the thoughts he decided to share. The Rabbi nods to him. He gets up and walks up on the bimah for the second time. He looks at the Rabbi, Mendel the Beadle, and Lazar the Weaver in turn. They smile and nod.

“A week ago I feared this day. I had not thought about what to say. The Rabbi asked me about what the Torah says at the beginning of today’s Reading – it says: “And when the time approached for Israel to die, he summoned his son Joseph and said to him, “Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my fathers, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial-place.” He replied, “I will do as you have spoken.” And he said, “Swear to me.” And he swore to him.” and then the Rabbi asked me: “If you are Yossef and your father is Yaakov, how would it be written?”

My father, as you all know, is dead. He has already been buried. So how can I promise not to bury him in Egypt? I cannot, can I? Yes I can. Even if my father is dead, who he is, and what he gave me is here with me. If I, as we are commanded by Torah, honor his teachings, that are all our teachings, and accept that the Torah he taught me, is my Torah as much as it was his, then I have already promised not to bury him in Egypt, away from his people, among ideals and ideas that are foreign to him, or to the Rabbi who was kind enough to stand with me today, when my father could not.”

Isser looks out over the faces, finds one that he has dreaded finding there today. He swallows and draws a deep breath.

“Yankel, the green grocer, I owe you the price of a jar of applesauce since last Chanukah. I stole it from you. Today I will pay for it. Will you accept my coin as restitution for my theft?” Every head turns towards the green grocer. Isser holds his breath. Yankel, the green grocer nods and stands.

“I will, Isser, Dov the Tinker’s son, I will, as soon as the service is concluded, I will.”

This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party


Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Isser Son of Dov, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts


PenTorah175x175The market place is full of people, despite the cold. The smells and sounds whisk by him. He better hurry, Mother is waiting for the potatoes. They will have latkes today, tonight is Chanukah. Isser likes latkes. Before Father died, they used to have applesauce with the latkes on Chanukah. His little sister has never had applesauce with latkes. He looks for the green grocer’s stall. There is long line. Everyone is stamping their feet and huddling in layers of clothes against the biting wind. Crates full of pickled vegetables line the path to the green grocer’s stall. Just beside him is small crate with jars of applesauce. If only Mother’s coins were not so few, he ponders and looks at the rows of small jars. A few steps and he can reach out and touch the jars. He runs his fingers over them with longing, thinks of his little sister and Mother’s latkes. A glance up and down the line he sees no one looking his way. A jar passes down into his coat pocket. He steps away from the crate and moves with the line, closer to the green grocer.

“Thief, thief!” An old woman shouts. His stomach knots, his face burns. He looks around, sees people avoiding his gaze. He leaves the line and hurries away. Mother’s shopping bag flaps empty against his leg. A hand grabs him from behind.

“Come here, you little thief!” It’s Mendel, the Beadle. “You are going to the Rabbi!” Mendel’s hand feels around in his pockets. Finds the jar of applesauce. He grabs Isser by the scruff of his coat. The boy doesn’t resist. How can he? It is true. He is a thief. People turn, point and whisper. His Mother’s shopping flapping empty against his leg. The beadle knocks on the Rabbi’s door. The boy shivers beneath his coat. The door opens and the Rabbi looks down at him.

“What is it?” The Rabbi looks from Isser to Mendel the Beadle.

“The boy is a thief, Rabbi, he stole this from the green grocer,” the Beadle holds up the small jar with applesauce. The Rabbi looks back down at Isser.

“Who is this boy?” The Rabbi keeps looking at Isser.

“Isser, Dov the Tinker’s son.” The Beadle says.

“Isn’t his mother Gittel a widow?” The Rabbi asks.

“Yes,” the Beadle answers, “it’s been four years. The Beadle loosens his grip on the boy’s coat.

“Did you steal it, Isser?”

“Yes.” Isser nods and looks at his worn shoes.

“I see,” the Rabbi says, “why did you steal it, Isser?”

The boy shuffles his feet.

“For my sister, for Chanukah, Rabbi,” he says in a whisper.

“For Chanukah, you say, and your mother sent you for potatoes so you can have latkes, yes?”

“Yes.” The boy looks up at the Rabbi. “My sister has never had applesauce with latkes, Rabbi.”

“Hm, I see. So you stole the applesauce so she can have it with her latkes tonight?”

“Yes, Rabbi.” Isser moves his feet over the snow.

“Wait here Isser,” the Rabbi says, “Mendel come with me.” The two men disappear into the Rabbi’s House. Isser tries not to hear what they say. He thinks about his Mother, waiting at home for the potatoes, and of his little sister. The Rabbi’s voice drifts through the open door.

“I know Mendel. The truth is that Isser stole a jar of applesauce. Still we must ask why he did it to get at the perfect Truth. The Holy One, Blessed is He, judges everything on merit, and so must we. Truth is that Isser stole the applesauce for his sister, because it is Chanukah tonight and his mother has few coins to spare.”

Isser cannot hear what Mendel the Beadle answers. The two men comes back out. He dares not look at them. Mendel the Beadle puts something in his pocket. He can feel the form against his hand. The jar with applesauce! He looks at the Beadle. Mendel the Beadle smiles and nods.

“Isser,” the Rabbi says, “run and buy the potatoes your Mother needs for latkes. Tell the green grocer I will talk with him shortly. Gut Yontiff!”

This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party


Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Isser Son of Dov, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts


DoorWaterPen175x175“Give me my bag!” His bag rustle from hand to hand just out of his reach.

“Come and take it, you dumb kike!” Laughter.

“Give me my bag, the books in it  belong to the library, give it to me!” He reaches for the bag when  it passes through the air.

“Ooh, the kike has been to the library, the kike can read, the kike thinks he is better than us!” The bag lands on the snow. Books all over the snow. More laughter.

A rustle of clothes. Silence.

“Leave him alone!” Hands help him pick up the books.


This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party


Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts

Winter Solstice

WinterSolsticeShe grabs her two children and her small pack from the deck beside her. The cold winter wind rips through her clothes. Looking down the gangway she follows her husband into this new land. So many noises, smells and sights batter her senses. Fear ripples through her heart and mind. Ezra has a commission to build a cathedral in the spring. What will there be for her and the children? she wonders. What good will her calendar be, here in the far north where the sun either never rises or never sets? She takes a firmer hold of the pack, hears the candlesticks clatter against each other. Tomorrow is Shabbat. Will she get everything ready in only six hours of daylight? “Shekinah”, she whispers as she steps onto the snow-covered dock , “Bearer of Burdens and Eternal Presence, just get me through the cold, that will be enough.”

This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party


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Filed under 12 Days of Yule, Seasonal, Writing, Writing Prompts

Poetry Prompt 3 – part 1

PenBells175x175Write a 26-line poem using all the letters of the alphabet, where the first line starts with the letter “A,” the second “B,” the third “C,” etc., culminating with the final line starting with “Z.”

Hm… how about making this HARD? 26 Haikus – each line starting with the letters of the alphabet – sounds interesting, right?


A  1
arms holding too tight
acorns sprinkled on the path
approaching safety

B  2
bones scattered across
burning sands of the desert
bringing tears of rage

C  3
cat rests on doorstep
caring for nothing in sight
contemplating food

D  4
door sliding ajar
demons gnashing their sharp teeth
drowning in cold sweat

E  5
evening by the pond
early fireflies playing tag
entropy arrive

F  5
fingers over keys
fragments of music reach G-d
fortuity sighs

G  6
growing seeds break soil
grasping sunlight fearlessly
grateful for being

Writing Prompts

Thanks Daphne for helping with the syllable divisions:)


Filed under Poetry Prompts, Writing, Writing Challenge