The Prophet's Day Job and Other Microstories

I’ve recently been writing microstories, 100 word pieces. One will appear on the Fairfield Scribes site next month. I also did one for the Forward newspaper’s April issue on Israel’s 75^th anniversary on the theme of “first visits to Israel.” Some are fact, some barely fiction; they all reflect reality.

The Prophet’s Day Job

Dawn had barely scraped the Judean hills when Jeremiah’s eyes flickered open. Last night had been rough. He secretly copied the prophetic scroll the king had burned, then stood before the Temple warning that the Almighty’s patience was exhausted and invaders were surging toward the city gates. Crowds laughed as he dodged camel dung hurled by the brats. His bones and heart both ached. “They’d better start learning Babylonian PDQ,” he muttered. Time for work; he lit the fire in his market stall to prepare his famous frothy “land of milk and honey” concoctions. For Jeremiah’s drinks, even the scoffers paid top shekel.

A Second and a Half

The police car’s lights flashed behind me as soon as I crossed the Katonah train tracks. I passed under the blinking gates as they rose, an infraction. Had I waited a second and a half longer for them to stop blinking, I’d be OK. Instead, the cop ticketed me and months later I appeared in traffic court. The judge fined me, then I took a course to refresh my driving skills. Weeks later, the judge was arrested for DWI and resisting arrest, and temporarily relieved from his duties. In my heart, I wished him well for he treated me justly.

Captive Audience

Ken read his book but the New Haven Line commuter in the facing seat demanded conversation. Beer in hand and jacket wrinkled, he groused about inflation, property taxes and schools ruined by changing demographics. Guys like him never got a break. “Guess you’re not interested,” he slurred to Ken’s silence. Ken shrugged “Sorry.” The lack of engagement led to muttering about Hartford screwing taxpayers. Ken glanced around, but other riders shunned eye contact as the complaints got louder. Ken was ready to edge away when the tightly wound man stumbled off in Westport. His captive audience’s clenched shoulders finally relaxed.

Language Lessons, or Saudade

That early online connection between Brenda and Flavio felt delirious, two souls crossing borders and languages. From IMs to coffee to movie dates, they progressed. Brenda loved hearing about his São Paulo upbringing, he enjoyed her stories of New York's River Towns suburbia. Then the trajectory faltered and flatlined. Frantic to stay connected, Brenda began studying Brazilian Portuguese so he’d help her with pronunciation and grammar. Flavio dissolved from romantic hope to coolly distant tutor.

She asked him to translate a song title: “What does ‘Eu Amo Você’ mean?”

“It means, ‘I love you.’”

Brenda drifted away on—now she understood the essential word—a wave of saudade. 

“That’s what I’ve wanted to hear.”

My Kaleidescopic First Trip to Israel

I first visited Israel in June 1982 when I didn’t know an alef from a bet, but I was eager to learn. My Jewishly savvy girlfriend, Adina, urged me to go, so I joined a tour that arrived at the start of the First Lebanon W—ar. I documented the trip with my Canon AE-1 film camera. Photos from Masada, Yad Vashem, Hebron and the Western Wall mix with ominous scenes of military trucks on the move, troops mustering and tank emplacements near the Lebanon border. Pictures show the 24-year old version of Van squinting in the blinding sun, standing against sun-blasted rocks and the ancient sweep of Jerusalem. In one photo I’m holding a copy of the Jerusalem Post with the headline, “Israel-Syrian Clashes are Escalating.” 

The kaleidoscopic experiences strengthened my growing engagement with Judaism. And as a young writer, I knew a good story when I lived one. So on November 14, 1982, the Yiddish Forward’s English section ran my 3,000-word account, “My First Time—Visit to Israel.” 35 years later, I wrote a six-part online series about my SECOND trip to Israel.