Better Happy Than Sad


“You think he’ll win?”

Shlomi shrugged. Elections or not, he was distracted by the scents wafting from the cart across the stone-paved alley. His wife would kill him if he drank any of the juices. Diabetes would kill him, too. So it was just a matter of whether it’ll happen on his terms.

Or not.

He sighed.

“Get that pomegranate juice,” Abdul urged. “You know no one makes it like my father does.”

Better die happy than sad.

“Abu Abdul,” Shlomi called across the narrow alley. “One pomegranate?”

“For sure, Habibi,” the old man grinned. “Want that fake-sugar in there?”



For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers 



Fates and Faiths

the old city osnathalperinbarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev


In the depths of the city

Where new rubs shoulders

With old,

Uncounted passes of prayers

And woven statements


Fates and faiths of what’s been

And may yet find

Better ways

To be told.



For Wits-End Weekend Photo Challenge: repeating patterns


Time To Unlock

the old city3 OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev


Morning bells reverberated in the ancient alleyways, echoing against well-worn stone.

He rose to make his way from the humble room he slept in, to the place of worship his soul knew as his actual home.

The Old City of Jerusalem. The holy place named for harmony, recompense, greeting, and – with hopes for higher roads to be achieved – for wholeness, safety, and peace.



For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Unlock in 63 words


Ring A Bell


bells jerusalem OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev


In the City of Gold

Strings attach

New to old.

Alcove bells pulled to sing

So walls can

Echo their ring.




For The Tuesday Photo Challenge-Ring

The Old Tree

old olive tree Jerusalem

Take a road

To the old

Olive tree.

In the city

Of God

It has seen

Two millennium of


And more.

It has borne

Many fruits

Born of peace

Lost to war.

It allowed countless branches

Be shaken

Come harvest.

Its gifts of

Ripe ovals

Olive branch,

Nourished life

Lighted shores

Hallowed faith, custom, lore.

Take a road

To the old

Tree of yore

Still within us.

In its gnarled trunk

A history

Written in

Well-bent rings

Wrought in

Famine and drought

Rain and flood

Hope and blood.

Take a road to

The old tree that still stands

In a sacred

Scarred city

Named for sighting a peace.

It awaits

Patient and life-lived-long hollowed

To awake

One true day

To a lasting glow

Of eternal Hello.