The Cuckoo Clock – Chapter 4

April 29, 2019

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 4 of a new online serial novel, The Cuckoo Clock, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 


“One second. Quiet,” Elisheva said.

The family was sitting around the kitchen table in the midst of quite a rowdy supper that included the new parents, Miri and Yaakov; Binyamin, who had popped in from yeshivah to get his quilt; the older girls; and fourteen-year-old Shuki.

Everyone slowly quieted down and then…cuckoo! Cuckoo!

“It’s the clock again!” Elisheva dashed into the hallway and then into the dining room. “Can someone tell me what is going on here? But quietly, please, so the little kids don’t wake up.”

“The clock!” Binyamin exclaimed. “Did you decide to invest the money to fix it, Ima?”

She laughed. “Not at all! The clockmaker who checked it out told us that it would cost a few hundred shekels to repair, so we decided to skip it.”

“And you haven’t been here the past few weeks,” Shuki told his older brother. “This is the third time that clock has come to life, out of the blue.”

“Fourth,” Miri, the kimpeturin, corrected him. “Yesterday morning, when just the baby and I were alone in the house, the cuckoo bird popped out and began to chirp.”

“You mean, to call,” Riki corrected her. By this time, the cuckoo bird had stopped chirping or calling, so the grammatical nuances were pretty superfluous. The bird receded back into its place, and the little door slammed shut.

“Strange,” Elisheva murmured, as she walked back to the kitchen. “The food is getting cold, everyone. And it’s already 11:30. Shuki, you need to go to sleep.”

Her fourteen-year-old wrinkled his nose. “I need to bentch with a mezuman, Ima,” he said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“I’ll bentch,” Yaakov announced, and stood up to get his hat and jacket. “Because I think I’m also going to sleep, Shuki. So don’t think you’re going to be missing much here. I have to make up a few hours from last night. I didn’t know that babies are so exhausting.”

“You can tell you’re one of the youngests in your family,” Binyamin teased. ‘When my oldest child is born, b’ezras Hashem, I’ll have plenty of experience.”

In time, the meal wound down as each member of the family drifted off to do his or her own thing. Only Binyamin, Tzippy, and Elisheva remained in the kitchen.

“I’ll take down your blanket in just a minute,” Elisheva said. “Too bad you didn’t tell me in the morning that you were coming. I would have taken it out earlier and let it air out from the mothball smell. I know you don’t like that smell.”

“Eh, I’m not as spoiled as I used to be,” her son replied. “I was so cold last night that I had a hard time sleeping.”

“You’ve always suffered from the cold,” Tzippy remarked as she scraped the plates. “I don’t even use a thick quilt. I think the only time I used one was when we were kids and we went to Zeidy and Bubby Potolsky in Yerushalayim. It’s really cold there, but I love it like that.”

“So it sounds like you’d prefer living in Yerushalayim than in Bnei Brak,” Binyamin said with a chuckle.

Tzippy grinned. “When it comes to the weather, yes. In other ways, I’m not sure.”

Elisheva went to get the blanket from the top shelf in the bedroom closet. Binyamin knew there was no point in trying to offer to climb the ladder and get it down himself. The perfectly organized closets were exclusively their mother’s domain. “In such a small place, I need to keep track of what’s going on all the time,” she would say. And the kids never stopped marveling about how much their mother was able to store in just one closet.

“Now seriously, where are you going to live?” Binyamin asked his sister quietly.

Tzippy turned on the water. “I don’t know,” she said, after a minute. “Not in Bnei Brak or Yerushalayim. I can start with renting in Pardes Katz, like Miri did, but I can also try from the start to settle someplace where I have a better chance of staying long-term. Maybe Yerucham or Rechasim…I dunno…one of the cheap places. Not that I know much about these things.”

“Cheap places,” her brother murmured. “Nowhere is cheap. What’s cheap? An apartment that costs only NIS 400,000 and not NIS 800,000 or a million?”

Tzippy was quiet.

“And where will Abba and Ima get four hundred thousand from?”

“You’re right,” Tzippy said. “I heard them talking last night. Ima said she has no idea if Miri and Yaakov are expecting them to help pay for the bris, because if they are, she has no idea where the money will come from. And Abba told Ima that he is anyway going to the gemach today, so he’ll ask for that also. And Ima said that—”

“What Ima said and what Abba said is none of your business.” Elisheva stood in the doorway holding the quilt and looking from one to the other. “Really, Binyamin, I’m surprised at you. Why do you need to talk to Tzippy about this? Just to make her feel pressured? What do you want from her? That she should come and tell us that we shouldn’t give what we have to give and are happy to give?”

Chastened, Binyamin rubbed his chin. “But really, where is the money going to come from?” he asked.

“It’s not for kids to worry about,” Elisheva replied firmly. “And don’t look at me with those big eyes, my mature, eighteen-year-old-to-the-chuppah boy, because right now, you are still a kid. And when your turn does come, b’ezras Hashem, we’ll happily give what we can to you, too. Relax, okay?”

She dropped the blanket onto the table and went over to Tzippy. “And you also,” she said. “It’s nice that you and Binyamin are thinking about me and Abba, and it’s good to be realistic, but b’ezras Hashem, everything will be fine.” She lowered her voice. “And everything will work out with the bris, too. A thousand shekel more or less…we’ll manage.”

Tzippy and Binyamin exchanged glances but remained silent.

Elisheva spoke up again. “And I’m asking the two of you, please, not a word about any of this to Yaakov or Miri.”

“Of course,” Binyamin replied automatically. “Isn’t that understood?”

His mother threw him a gaze that said, I should hope so! and then quickly changed the subject.



Bratislava – 5704/1944

More than two years passed, and Slovakia—essentially a satellite of Nazi Germany—seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. After a period of deportations of Jews in 1942, Rav Michoel Ber Weissmandl was able to reach temporary agreements with the Nazis to suspend them.
But the calm did not last. On Erev Sukkos 5704, the Hlinka Brigades went from one Jewish house to the next. The Jews were taken with no advance warning, as they prepared for the holiday. The meat was still in their pots; here and there, half-started sukkahs could be seen abandoned in yards.

It was only the opening salvo of the renewed deportations.

On Motza’ei Yom Tov of the first days of Sukkos, little Yosef Ludmir’s mother came with her two-year-old son to the orphanage. Theodore finally accepted him, much to the displeasure of Farash, the director. But Theodore gave him half of the contents of the fabric sachet that the Jewish mother had given him, and the director promised to be quiet.

This time, he did not interfere in the selection of the name, and Theodore chose to call the child Edo. The director did not ask who he was named for. He just gritted his teeth and waited impatiently for the war to end.
And end it did.

And more than two years passed.

No come came to look for the children, not for Edo and not for Gustav.

“No one even knows about Gustav,” Theodore said confidently. “And Edo’s parents were for sure sent to the concentration camps; they won’t ever come back. The children are ours now, Farash.”

“I’m thrilled,” the director grumbled. “At least it doesn’t endanger me and my status in the party that was but is no longer. Too bad; we did some good things, but the Soviets couldn’t care less.”

A child’s head popped into the room. “Sir,” he said.

“Yes, Janko?”

“Gustav is not here. The teacher said to come and tell you.”

The director and Theodore both stood up at once.

“What does that mean, he’s not here?” Theodore asked.

“He’s not in class, and he’s not in his bedroom or in any other room, nor in the dining room or in the yard.”

The director muttered something under his breath while Theodore ran to the door of the office. He looked right, then left, and then strode down the corridor. Janko ran after him.

They came to the gate; it was ajar.

“Who is the last one who saw him before the lesson?” Theodore asked the boy.

“No one.”

“No one! And who saw him at breakfast?”

“No one.”

“And who saw him when you got up this morning?”

“All the children.”

“Aha,” Theodore said, and shaded his eyes with his hand to look out toward the fields, those same fields that, until a short time ago, Gustav would stand and stare at, night after night. After Edo arrived, for some reason, his nocturnal outings had dwindled, until they stopped completely. “So he slipped out after he got dressed this morning. Tell me, Janko, over the last few weeks, when you played in the yard, did you notice Gustav talking with any stranger?”

The child frowned, clearly puzzled. “No.”

“No one passed by the gate? You didn’t see Gustav hanging around near the wall a lot? Or near the main entrance?”


Theodore turned toward the main entrance, around the other side of the building. Again, Janko ran after him, but they were not the only ones to get there. The teacher and seven other students were also standing there.

“What’s going on?” Theodore asked.

“That’s the issue; nothing’s going on.” The teacher looked at him. “The boy didn’t turn up for class. When I sent someone to look for him, and began to delve a bit deeper into the matter—”

“You discovered that he’s been missing since the morning.”

“Since this morning?” the teacher gasped.

“Yes. But before we give up, let’s just do one last search of the whole property. Not that I believe he’s here, but…”

Theodore Heinke was right. Gustav wasn’t anywhere on the grounds of the orphanage.

“He went back to his people, the Jews,” the director said when he heard the results of the search. “Very good. You wouldn’t have been able to raise him here as a faithful Catholic anyway, not when our Slovakia is becoming just another little crumb in the Soviet Union.”

“I am capable of a whole lot, just so you know,” Theodore said churlishly. “And this whole thing is getting me annoyed. Very, very annoyed.”

He looked out the window. The sun was beginning to dip on the horizon of the fields, when he saw a small figure running up the winding path that cut through the fields.


“So you’re back, Gustav.” Theodore opened his arms in greeting, but the boy slipped out of his grasp and walked away, his head lowered.

“Did you meet anyone interesting?”

“No one,” the boy murmured. Then he suddenly shouted at Theodore. “She didn’t come back, Edo’s mother! And neither did my mother! He and I are both left with no one in the world!”

“That’s not true,” Theodore said. “You have me.”

The boy didn’t respond; he didn’t even look at him. “There were lots of people in the street, and I walked for a long time, but not a single woman approached to tell me she was my mother or Edo’s mother. Finally, one man asked me why I was walking around a whole day and where I lived, and when I told him that I was looking for my mother who disappeared during the war, he started asking me lots of questions, until I got fed up and ran back here.” He collapsed onto the grass, his heels digging into the loose earth, and began to kick his feet.

A shadow suddenly fell over him. The director was standing behind him.

“Listen, boy,” he hissed, ignoring Theodore’s looks. “And listen well. You are a little ingrate, that’s what you are. You wail day and night, and disappear without permission—and that is something I will not tolerate in our orphanage, do you hear? The next time you try it, you’ll find yourself outside, with all your Jewish brothers—for good. And even before that, you’ll be getting some well-deserved wallops from me.”

“Never.” Theodore’s lips formed the word soundlessly. Farash sounded so decisive now that he could not overtly contradict him.

It was a good thing that Farash was the one who was good at talking, while he was the action-oriented one.

The Cuckoo Clock – Chapter 3

April 22, 2019

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 3 of a new online serial novel, The Cuckoo Clock, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 


“You’re asking why, Abba?” He ate while she spoke and folded his napkin over and over. “We’re asking the same thing… I know that there are people for whom it is accepted that the parents of the couple pay for the first bris, but we’d never even thought about that. Then, a month before Miri had the baby, I went to a bris that the mechutanim made. Yaakov’s younger sister had a baby and they invited us.” Elisheva’s eyes stared almost blankly at the fish on her father’s plate.

“The mechuteiniste made me feel very good. She’s a very warm woman; I’m happy for Miri that she is her mother-in-law. As we were talking, she casually mentioned that they had ordered the hall and chosen the menu and made all the arrangements with the head waiter. And then she said, ‘Of course, if my Sarah would have wanted to decide about these things, I would have left it to her. But she said that if we’re paying, then we get the right to choose.’” Elisheva smiled. “The mechuteiniste quickly added that the other side had paid half, but because they live far away, she was left to arrange it all. And I’ve been worrying about it ever since.”

She filled Abba’s cup with seltzer. “Almost all of Miri’s salary goes to paying their mortgage on that tiny apartment. I really don’t think they can pay for a bris right now. But we can’t either! Part of my salary goes to the mortgage also, and to pay up debts from her wedding, not to mention what I have to give for Tzippy now… And even though people say that you can make a bris on a much smaller scale, something at home, it will still cost something. Where am I getting that money from? Another loan? What’s this expense going to come in place of? Devoiry’s root canal that we’ve waited nearly half a year to take care of? And anyway, where exactly am I supposed to make a bris in my house?”

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NEW RELEASE: As a Father Cares for His Son

April 16, 2019

Do you remember where you were when you heard that Rav Shach was niftar?

I know I do. (Believe it or not, I was actually at a wedding…) When a monumental event occurs, it’s hard to ever forget the surrounding details of where you were and what you were doing at the time. And the petirah of a gadol hador like Rav Shach was nothing less than a monumental event—an exceedingly bitter one at that—for all of Klal Yisrael.

As a Father Cares for His Son is a magnificent collection of 25 beautiful stories about Rav Shach, the latest book in our gedolim series for kids. As the title suggests, Rav Shach truly cared for every Jew the way a father cares for his son. He was the rosh yeshivah of the roshei yeshivah, whose hasmadah and love for Torah were legendary, yet he thought nothing of accompanying a distressed talmid to an appointment late at night…and waiting outside for the boy the whole time, too. When he heard a beautiful explanation of a Tosafos from a chavrusa, he told the chavrusa, “I love this pshat so much; it is worth everything I own!” and promptly handed him every last dollar that he had on him—which happened to be $500 at the time.

These are the she’ifos you want your children to develop. This is the kind of book you want to read to them.

Which is why I plan on presenting this book to my own kids as a gift this Pesach. Just saying.

Click here to purchase online.


The Cuckoo Clock – Chapter 2

April 15, 2019

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 2 of a new online serial novel, The Cuckoo Clock, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 


Bratislava 5704/1944


The woman who had materialized shook her head from side to side. “I’m not your mother, child,” she said hoarsely. Gustav gaped, fascinated, at the pathways that the tears forged on her face. “I’m…” she murmured, and lowered her eyes to the large bundle in her arms.

“You have the wrong address, ma’am,” Theodore said. “And I suggest that you get away from here before I summon our guards.”

“No,” the woman choked out. “No. They told me that here, at the orphanage of Lucius Jan, they will agree to take my child. Who can I speak to?” She pulled a small fabric sachet out of somewhere.

“With me,” Theodore said. “Only with me. And you have the wrong address. This place cannot take in another Jewish child. The problems we have with Gustav are far more than we can manage. Get lost.”

The woman ignored him and held the little sachet between her fingers. “There is payment here for you, please…” Gustav gaped wide-eyed as the woman continued to cry. “Take him, sir, and take care of him. At least he should survive…”

Theodore looked at the proffered sachet but didn’t take it.

Gustav tugged at the man’s arm.

“What?” Theodore asked.

“Theodore, Theodore, please…” he whispered. “Please! I promise to behave and not to make any more problems. Please, just take this boy. I’m ready to help you take care of him. His mother is such a poor, miserable lady. And she’s crying so much.”

“It’s not your mother.” Theodore raised Gustav’s chin with his finger. “It’s a different woman, and we cannot accept her child. He’s too young. Look.” He pointed to the large bundle. “How old is he?” he snapped.

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NEW RELEASE: A Fish on my Pillow And A Whack on my Head

April 12, 2019

The telltale knock-knock-knocking on my bedroom door slowly pulls me out of a deep sleep. I claw at the last vestiges of sweet sleep—maybe if I ignore the noise, it will stop and I’ll be able to drop back off to dreamland—but it’s a hopeless cause. The knocking is persistent, and soon it’s followed by a tremulous little voice.

“Ma? I had a bad dream…”

Groan. What was the bad dream about this time? And why, why, why did it have to be now, at 2:57 in the morning, when all I want to do is…(yawn)…go…back…to…sleep…

Sounds familiar? I thought so. Particularly if you’re the parents of imaginative little children, you’ve likely had your fair share of being woken up in middle of the night by fearful whimpering and “Can I come to your bed?” requests.

That’s why you’re going to love A Fish on my Pillow And A Whack on my Head. Here is an adorable children’s book that will actually help your little ones combat the very common childhood problem of having bad dreams at night. In a fun and entertaining way, kids will learn, as Ruvi does in this story, that imagination is a gift, and it’s an amazing tool that can be used to slay yucky nightmares, giving your kids—and hopefully you!—a peaceful night’s sleep…at last!

Click here to purchase online.


April 11, 2019

Pesach might seem like a funny season to release a novel called Price Tags. Is there any season more costly than Pesach time? Between the matzah and all the pricey Pesach foods, and the new clothing for the family, and the new shoes, and all the cleaning help, etc., etc., whew—money sure is being spent!

But actually, that’s exactly what Price Tags is all about. It’s the gripping story of a family that “has it made” financially, and spends their money accordingly…and then their world gets turned on its head.

Oh, but this is not your typical “riches to rags” story—no, not at all. Because the characters—especially Yoni Greenstark—have so much background and baggage, which makes the plot so rich (no pun intended!) and multi-colored…

If you’re the kind of reader who enjoys “food for thought” novels, and you’re a fan of Ariella Schiller’s beautiful and emotionally-laden writing…then you’re absolutely going to LOVE Price Tags. Because this is one book that’s got it all—drama, a solid plot, lots of emotion, and some very important messages to think about.

Treat yourself this Pesach. You’ve worked hard…give yourself the gift of a good book to curl up with and enjoy, once all the cleaning/shopping/cooking is behind you. Buy a copy of Price Tags, and allow its magic to rejuvenate you!

Click here to purchase online.

NEW RELEASE: Modeh Ani, I Thank Hashem

April 10, 2019

“The cow is in the barn…it goes moo, moo.

The train is on the track…it goes choo, choo.

The bird is in the tree…it goes tweet, tweet.

All are saying Modeh Ani!”

If you’re humming along while reading these lines, then you probably have Uncle Moishy and Torah Island CDs playing constantly in your house and car. (Guilty as charged…) That Modeh Ani song is a great one, as are all the Modeh Ani songs out there that your nursery kids come home singing.

But when it comes to books on this important topic of thanking Hashem for His many kindnesses…well, there really aren’t too many of them. It was this dearth that made us so excited about Modeh Ani—I Thank HashemHere is an adorable children’s book that focuses specifically on the first tefillah that we say each morning immediately upon opening our eyes: Modeh Ani!

With cheerful and bright illustrations on each page, Modeh Ani—I Thank Hashem first explains, in a very age-appropriate way, what our neshamah is, and how it goes up to Hashem at night when we sleep and then returns to us each morning. The book then goes on to detail how much Hashem loves us all, and that is why He gives us our loving family…our eyes…our mouths…our feet…and a new day full of opportunities to serve Him.

Reading this book will fill your child with love in return for Hashem, and with appreciation to Him for showering us with so much good, and for believing in our ability to use that good properly. Modeh Ani…I thank Hashem!

Click here to purchase online.

The Cuckoo Clock – Chapter 1

April 8, 2019

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 1 a new online serial novel, The Cuckoo Clock, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 


“I’m going to warm up the bottles. Should I make you a cup of tea, Elisheva?”

Elisheva stopped rocking the playpen for a moment. “Yes, Gitty, thanks.”

“In a minute she’ll fall asleep, and then we’ll be able to sit down for a few minutes together,” Gitty, her coworker, said. “How much sugar in your tea?”

“One teaspoon.” Elisheva flashed her friend a grateful smile, which did not convey the fact that she didn’t have too much patience today to sit and chat about this and that.

Gitty had been right. After another minute of Elisheva rocking the playpen, she began to hear deep breathing sounds coming from it, indicating that Ruchie, the fifth baby under her care, had fallen asleep.

In the second row, where Gitty’s charges lay, it had been quiet for more than five minutes already. Only she, Elisheva, was still running around, putting in a pacifier here, picking up a baby for a hug there, rocking lightly, or tucking in a blanket. It wasn’t so pleasant, taking into account that Gitty was at least seventeen years younger than her and had only one little boy of her own, while she, the mother of thirteen children, was having trouble coping with the multitude of tasks that were part and parcel of taking care of several little ones at the same time.

“It’s all a matter of getting used to it,” Mrs. Gottlieb, the day-care center director, had told her when she’d hired her. “You have the experience, baruch Hashem, but dealing with several little babies at once is something that even experienced mothers find difficult. Ask anyone who has triplets…and I’m talking about a group of five babies here!”

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April 2, 2019

You know how a seminary girl feels coming back to America after an amazing year spent in Eretz Yisrael? Inspired, uplifted, and longing to return to the Holy Land, like, this minute?

I had a taste of those feelings when I finished reading Round Trip. I know, I know, it’s a book for tweens/teens, and no, I can’t say I fit in that age bracket these days…but there’s something just so…so beautiful about this book, it hits you no matter how old you are. I think it’s because the story is set in Yerushalayim as we know it today, the magnificent city filled with an equally magnificent population that is comprised of both passionate Yerushalmim and idealistic Americans choosing to make their homes there.

As you read this fast-paced and fun story, your mind fills with images of Rechov Sorotzkin, and the one-of-a-kind nursing home called Nevei Simchah, and makolet owners who are hidden tzaddikim, and so many other beautiful facets about Yerushalayim, all of which pull at the heartstrings of every Jew…

Give your tween/teen a peek into this wonderful world, by buying this book for her. And when you start reading it one night too, well, at least you’ll know you’re in good company!

Click here to purchase online.

The Cuckoo Clock – Prologue

April 1, 2019

Israel Book Shop presents a new online serial novel, The Cuckoo Clock, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 



Bratislava, 5704/1944


With a hungry look in his eyes, he looked out to the distance, gripping the wrought iron bars. His cheek already had a reddened imprint of a leaf, left there by the metal carvings, but he didn’t feel anything. His eyes gazed into the night in an effort to see something.

But, like every night, nothing happened.

He shook the gate and wept quietly, tearlessly and soundlessly. The gate responded with thin wails of its own. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Gustav, what is going to be with you?”

The child shrugged but didn’t respond.

“Again you’re out here, shaking in your pajamas? Are you waiting for the soldiers to come and kill you, or do you prefer to die from pneumonia?” The man behind him laughed at his usual joke. “Maybe I need to try and leave you outside one night,” he said. “Come.” And he stuck his big hand into the boy’s small hand.

“No!” the boy objected. As usual.

“Don’t tell me no. Come!” Theodore gripped Gustav’s shoulders forcefully, and the boy writhed away, flailing his arms and legs every which way. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. But remarkably, it did not come.

Theodore left him alone.

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