Night Flower – Chapter 38

September 12, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 38 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

Chapter Thirty Eight

Wearing dark slacks and a black wool sweater because of his court appearance made Shlomo look much better than he did in the green prison uniform. Chaiky looked at him as he took Yisrael Meir out of the carriage and hugged him, but she did not allow herself to cry. It was enough for her to see his lips trembling for her to know that she mustn’t break down now; she couldn’t show even the slightest crack in her veneer of strength. The ten days that she was here was supposed to help Shlomo be strong, not the opposite. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she asked.

“What’s the question!”

“Look how he’s staring at you!”

Shlomo smiled at his son. Yisrael Meir gazed at his father for a long moment with a solemn face, and then returned a small, tremulous smile. Chaiky lowered her eyes for a moment and then raised them. Here was her husband, looking almost like he usually did. He wasn’t shackled, there were no jailers in sight, and he was cuddling his son. Shlomo gently laid the baby back in the carriage. What would happen if they’d try to just walk out now? Yes, they’d just walk down the corridor, go down the stairs—Shlomo would pick the carriage up and carry it down—and they would get to the first floor. Then they could just stroll to the door and exit the building… Keep Reading…

Night Flower – Chapter 37

September 3, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 37 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s our pleasure, really!” Riva Margulies firmly rejected all of Chaiky’s attempts to thank her. Chaiky was sitting in the back seat of their car, holding Yisrael Meir in her arms. Riva’s husband had put Chaiky’s beige suitcase into the trunk and closed it, and now they were ready to head for the Margulies family’s home.

“One second,” Chaiky said suddenly, her eyes glued to the window pane. “How do you open this window, Riva?”

“With the button on the left.”

Chaiky quickly pressed the button and the window slid down elegantly. She took another look. Yes. What she had seen through the clear plastic was exactly what she was seeing now, through the open window. Could that girl walking on the other end of the parking lot really be her?

She squinted. Before the figure turned away and moved on, Chaiky managed to get a pretty close-up look. Those were definitely Noa’s features, and that was Noa’s way of walking… The person really did look just like Noa!

But on the other hand, it wasn’t possible. Noa, despite her strange background, still dressed like a proper frum girl. There was very little similarity between the figure growing more distant by the minute and the girl who had taken over the community center in Yokne’am even before Chaiky had gone on maternity leave.

“Hey, that’s Noa,” Riva said, following Chaiky’s gaze. “If we understood correctly, you gave her the phone number of our organization, right?”

“Right. Did she contact you?”

“She did, and the office gave her our address. She and her friend were with us for the first days of Pesach.”

“And how was it?” Keep Reading…

Night Flower – Chapter 36

August 27, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 36 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 


It was ten thirty at night, the last night that remained until Noa would board the plane back to Israel, and she needed to utilize it.

“Stefana, can you answer a few questions for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you report to my grandfather about everything we talk about?”

“Only the important things,” Stefana replied.

“Which important things?”

“Well, the things that he wants to know.”

Noa looked at her. “How can you know what he wants to know?”

Stefana evenly met her gaze. “They explained it to me.”

Noa sighed and turned to the window. “And if I ask that he shouldn’t know something?” Keep Reading…

Night Flower – Chapter 35

August 20, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 35 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

Oy, I’m so sorry, Chaiky!” Rachel looked mortified. “I spilled the hot cocoa all over everything. Should I bring a rag?”

“No rags now,” the man who seemed to be in charge of the search barked. The three others didn’t say a word, and it was impossible to know if they even spoke Hebrew in the first place. Chaiky wondered if they were agents who had come especially from Russia, or if they were just following orders from there. They entered the room; one went over to the computer and a second to the nearby cabinet.

“You, go out to the dining room,” the one in charge ordered Rachel. “And pray that I don’t decide that this hot cocoa is considered an obstruction to the investigation. Are you trying to create a diplomatic incident, or what?”

“I’m sorry again.” Rachel raised the empty cup. “I am more than twenty-five percent disabled. I didn’t do it on purpose.” And she walked out. Only Rabbi Pesserman remained at the door of the room.

Yehudis Pesserman and Chaiky moved to the dining room with the children, and settled on the couch. The bookcases seemed almost untouched. Only one cabinet was open, its contents strewn on the floor.

“Why are you standing, Rachel?” Chaiky asked as she rocked Yisrael Meir. “Sit.” Keep Reading…

Night Flower – Chapter 34

August 13, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 34 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

“You were great, Stefana.” The compliment was the only sentence Noa uttered from the moment they left the home of their hosts, the Margolises, until they reached Noa’s room in the huge complex.

“Thank you, Madam.” Stefana smiled. “I’ll go get some supper and—”  Before she could finish the sentence, there was a faint ringing from her palm. She left the room for a minute but was back in no time. “Mr. Rosenberg wants to see you, Madam.”


“He’s going on his evening walk now. Be downstairs in five minutes. At Door C.”

“I knew that would come,” Noa said mildly. She put her coat back on, dropped her overnight bag in the corner of the room, and turned to Stefana. “Just take me to him, please, because I really don’t remember what Door C is.”

“One of the back doors. Come.”

Noa stopped. “That tone actually makes me feel like I’m in prison,” she said. “I’m really very confused about the way you act both as my personal servant and as my jailer. Can you invite me to come with you in a more pleasant tone?”

Stefana fixed her with a long stare. “Would you like to come downstairs with me, Madam?” she asked, after the silence.

“Yes. And thank you for your politeness.” Noa smiled and walked out of the room. “You managed quite easily.”


Door C was surprising: small, made of unpolished slats of wood—or at least that’s the way it looked—it opened to a path that wound through a pretty flower garden. Chiseled rocks in various sizes were arranged alongside the path and between the beds of flowers. Noa went down the brown stairs that led to the path, and only after a few minutes did she realize that the place was as warm as it was inside and that her coat was superfluous. She looked up at the glistening sky above, and then realized that a transparent thick sheet of plastic—the kind used in hothouses—separated her from the dark expanse.

“These flowerbeds are full all winter.” Her grandfather suddenly appeared behind her, with two hulking figures lurking behind him. He walked down the stairs and motioned with his hand to the picturesque scene. “There is nothing like these flowers and the façade of my old house to give me the nostalgia I so need. This is exactly what the house that I grew up in seventy-five years ago looked like: with those stairs, the door, and this little garden.”

“It must not be from real wood,” Noa remarked.

“The door? You are sharp-eyed. Yes, that is right. It’s made of steel, of course, but the outside is a perfect copy of the door of my childhood home. I asked that this entire corner be designed based on my memories, including the well.”

Noa looked toward the round stone wall a bit of a distance away, with a bucket and rope hanging over it. They didn’t move, and she wondered if it wasn’t just a three-dimensional photo of exceptional quality. “You had a well in your yard, Grandfather?”

“Not quite in the yard, but very close. We lived in the house closest to the well.” He chuckled. “It was so deep that I could hardly see the water. I spent a lot of time there; I liked to help the Jewish water carrier. His name was…” He closed his eyes. “Mot-tel.” They drew closer to the well. It was real. Noa touched the metal bucket, which moved it a bit, surprisingly easily, and then peeked inside. It made her feel dizzy.

“The water isn’t frozen,” she noted. “You can see it; it’s quite close to the top. And the well that you had when you were a child probably didn’t have little light bulbs embedded in the walls like this one.”

“And they also probably didn’t pay two-and-a-half million dollars to dig that well, like this one.” He chuckled again. “Because of the heat here, the water isn’t frozen, but it is colder than ice. When I grew up a bit, we moved to a different village that was built right on the banks of the Volga, and we drew our water from there.” He went back to the path, and Noa followed him. “But there, the water carrier wasn’t a Jew; he was a pure German. Our entire village was built by Germans who, like my father, were Communists who had moved from Germany in order to live under Stalin’s rule, because they admired him so much.”

“When did you move, before World War Two?”

“Yes. During the war itself, Stalin suspected these Germans of collaborating with Germany, their hometown, and so he sent them to Siberia. I was a three-year-old baby and was sent to an orphanage in Moscow. When my parents returned from Siberia, they took me back. I was already eight by then.”

“What do you remember from that time?” They emerged from the small, homey garden into a much larger one, which was even more colorful and verdant than the first, but also built like a huge hothouse.

“That they would constantly teach us one thing: that there must not be rich people in the world, because look how the capitalists take all the money for themselves, leaving all the others, like us, hungry and miserable.” He laughed out loud. “So I left there with one clear understanding: be as rich as you can, be strong, and extract money from other people instead of letting them get it out of you.” He laughed again.

“But how did we get to this? Oh, yes, from the orphanage, from the war, and my village, the well…the Jewish water carrier. Yes. I remember him. He was actually nice. So, how was their matzah?”

Noa didn’t let the sharp swerve in the conversation addle her. “Actually, quite tasty.”

“And what was going on there?”

“Nothing special. A holiday.”

“What did you have to do there for so long?”

“They invited me for the whole first part of the holiday.” She smiled a bit, wryly. “So that I shouldn’t travel and desecrate the holiday. I couldn’t leave in the middle.”

“Yes, but why did you need this whole business?” His steps became quicker. “I don’t like it that you are friendly with Jews. I disapprove of it, you hear? I prefer that you stay away from them. We needed your services there, you did an excellent job, you finished, and now the time has come to leave. What’s this story that you want to stay on in Yokne’am? And why did you want to go and celebrate their holiday with them while you are here?”

“A friend from work gave me their number, and because I have to continue playing my game, I felt obligated to go. Maybe when I go back she will ask me questions. Maybe she’ll be in contact with the organization here in Russia.”

“When you go back?” He stopped next to a sprinkler faucet, quickly spun the knob, and turned his head to watch the fountains of water spurt out of the ground six feet away. “Are you not accepting my offer?”

“I might,” Noa said. The water sprinkled very close to her. “But I need to go back. The second part of the holiday finishes in Israel in another week, and I want to be at work as usual.”

“Why? What do you have to do there?”

“I have to finish off nicely, say goodbye, pack up my things…I can’t just disappear like that.”

He snorted derisively. “To say goodbye? To whom? Are you afraid of someone there? Of someone who might not understand what is happening with the budget for which you were sent to them?”

She laughed. “I’m not afraid of anyone. But for my own good, I want to close up matters. It’s already happened to me too many times that I’ve moved on without wrapping up my affairs, and it wasn’t good for me. Let me go, Grandfather, and it is very likely that I will come back.”


The upper doors of the closets in the boys’ room, where they kept the Pesach dishes, were closed and locked, and b’ezras Hashem wouldn’t be opened for another year. Yehudis Pesserman headed into the kitchen to see if there was a banana left to eat before she moved on to the next task—before Riki would be back with the little ones from the park.

She had managed to peel just one side of the too-ripe banana when there was a knock at the door. She rose, pondering where to hide the banana that the kids would certainly want for themselves, but quickly realized that the knock was not a familiar one.

In the doorway was the girl who lived with the Struks, holding a cup. “Excuse me, is the Rav home?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

“Yes.” Yehudis’s voice did not conceal her surprise.

“Because…people came to search the house, and we’re afraid to be there ourselves…”

In a flash, Yehudis noticed the door open across the hall and shadows moving around inside.

“I’ll call him,” she said hastily. “We’ll be over in a minute. Run to be with Chaiky in the meantime.”

Within a few minutes, Yehudis and her husband were at the Struks’. A uniformed man standing in the kitchen doorway was overseeing three people, who were walking around the house. He turned to the Pessermans with a scowl. “What are you looking for?” he snarled.

“We came to be with the residents here,” Rabbi Pesserman said. “And may I know what you are looking for in this house?”

“Something that we need.”

“Can I see the search warrant?”

“We showed it to the lady of the house. And if you want to check it and be with them, they are in that room. Now move it, and don’t hang around underfoot.”

Rabbi Pesserman and his wife approached the room. There, on Rachel’s messy bed, clutching her children, sat Chaiky. She didn’t look particularly alarmed, but still, her eyes filled with tears when she saw her neighbor. “Thank you, Yehudis,” she said quietly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Did they really show you a warrant?”

Chaiky nodded.

“Who signed it?”

“A court here in Israel.”

Yehudis came to sit next to her neighbor. Rabbi Pesserman remained in the doorway, observing the men traipsing around the house, with a crease in his forehead. Rachel stood near the bed, still holding the cup with which she had run to the neighbors, and Naomi and Dovi sat and swung their legs without saying a word.

“Hey!” Naomi suddenly exclaimed. “The hot cocoa you made for me, Rachel! You’re still holding it!”

“You probably don’t want it anymore; it’s totally cold. After they leave I’ll make you a new one.”

Suddenly the searchers approached the room. “There’s a computer here,” one of them said in English. They entered, heading straight for the corner of the room where the keyboard, screen, and processor were piled, just as Chaiky had left them while she’d been preparing for Pesach. Rabbi Pesserman moved aside, and Rachel tried to beat a hasty retreat.

Oy!” she gasped in alarm as the cup of cold cocoa she was holding spilled right onto the overturned computer, splashing brown drops every which way.

Night Flower – Chapter 33

August 6, 2018

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 33 of a new online serial novel, Night Flower, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week.  Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications. 

The moment of candle-lighting was her breaking point. Behind her, Yisrael Meir lay in the carriage, sweet as could be in one of the new outfits that he’d received as a gift at his bris. Dovi and Naomi sat on chairs in the kitchen, watching curiously as their grandmother checked the fridge for the roasted egg and zeroa, and asking her a thousand questions. Chaiky stood in front of the shelf; her mother’s candles were already lit, and hers were waiting to be lit. She struck the match, but found that she couldn’t say a single word.
The small flame quickly ate the match and inched closer to her fingers. She dropped the match to the floor when it got too hot. Then she gaped at it, glowing red-orange on the tile before it went out completely. Clumsily, she took another match out of the box.

“Is there a problem with the matches?” Rachel approached. “Your mother’s in the kitchen. Should I ask her for other ones? You know, those Chinese workers who made them probably didn’t really care if they came out good or not. Lots of times there are boxes where the matches don’t light well, especially those with the pink heads. They probably have almost none of that sulfur substance on it, and that’s why they are so light colored. Oh, I see that these match heads are really red. Do you want to try another one before I ask your mother for a different box?” Keep Reading…

NEW RELEASE! The Shabbos Kugel Turnaround

August 1, 2018

Ask any new mother, and they will agree: One of the really nice “fringe benefits” of having a baby is…receiving meals from friends and family for a few days (or, if you have really amazing friends and family, weeks) afterward.

Yes, you could cook up the same pot of spaghetti and meatballs or chicken and rice as your sister-in-law or across-the-street neighbor, but isn’t it always nicer to eat food that you didn’t have to cook? And let’s not forget, of course, that when you make spaghetti and meatballs for your own family, you don’t usually include a soup and a salad and a container of cubed fruit and a plate of cookies to go along with it, do you? But your sis-in-law or neighbor oftentimes will—not when they make it for their own families (hey, they’re not any better mothers than you are!), but when they send it to you, the new kimpeturin.

It’s one of the beautiful things about Klal Yisrael—we’re always doing chessed, and that’s especially so when the chessed involves making sure everyone has what to eat. And although a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich does technically constitute “what to eat,” no self-respecting Yiddeshe Mama would ever want a new mother and her family to subsist on that while the mother recovers and gets back her strength.

Maybe that’s why The Shabbos Kugel Turnaround makes such a pleasurable read—because it highlights the chessed that goes on within our communities. In this fun children’s book, a mommy who’s not feeling well receives not one or two or three kugels for Shabbos, but many, many more than that! And that’s just the beginning of the chessed train that follows…

The book brings out another very important lesson, too: emunah in Hashem; realizing that whatever happens is His doing, and He knows what’s best for all of us.

Now tell me: with such integral lessons a part of this book, and with such a delicious storyline (you’ll have to take my word for this, but I’m sure you’d agree)—could you be blamed for wanting to buy this book for your kids??

Click here to purchase online.