At the end of last year PJ Library, together with WIZO and Jewish News, launched its regular story writing competition, giving primary and secondary school children the chance to put their writing skills to the test. The theme, strength, could be interpreted in any way and submitted in the form of prose, poetry or cartoon. The judges were really impressed with the quality of the entries and choosing winners was a challenge.
Lauren Hamburger, Director of PJ Library for Europe said: “It was inspiring to read so many strong entries about where school children are seeing strength – from relatives to teachers, sporting figures to Jewish heroes. They really underlined the power that can be found in a well-written story.”
Maureen Fisher, CEO at Wizo said: “We were struck by the different creative interpretations and meaning attached to the word ‘strength’. The maturity and thoughtfulness from all age groups was impressive across all genres of entry.”
Bobbi Freeman
In the primary cool category Bobbi Freeman, who is in Year 5 at King David Primary School in Liverpool, won with The Shero, a moving poem about how a woman left at home while her husband is out fighting has a quiet strength.
Ava Nicholson
The runner-up was Ava Nicholson, also in Year 5, who wrote a lovely poem about her mum and how strong she is on the inside.
Ori Rum Zemet came first in the secondary school category with a brilliantly well-written and highly engaging story called The Black October, which opened with the chilling line: “A siren slices through my dream”. Ori is in Year 8 at Israel Arts and Science Academy.
Ethan, Lev and Vaughn
Ethan Levison, Lev Inyutin and Vaughn S Nagi in Year 8 at Leeds Jewish Free School were secondary school runners up with Roots of Resilience, a powerful poem about communal strength, which they said was “by and about” them.
Many congratulations to the winners and the runners-up. The winners will each receive an iPad plus one for their school. The primary school runner-up will get books from PJ Library and the secondary runner-up will receive book tokens.
The Shero by Bobbi Freeman, Year 5
A hero battles for all to see
But a shero’s strength’s displayed quietly
Her husband’s out fighting, far from home
She battles her worries, feeling alone.
Feeling fearful she prays each day
She tells the kids, “It’ll be okay”
With dishes and laundry, she doesn’t rest
The shero keeps going, trying her best
After months of pain and countless tears
She holds onto hope and calms her fears.
And dreams of when there is no more war
With her hero at home as he was before
A her battles for all to see
My mum by Ava Nicholson, Year 5
My mum is called Sophie,
She should win the mum trophy,
The best of the best in the year.
And this is a poem about how strong she is on the inside.
To the six of us she takes good care,
To make here punishments fair.
And this is a poem about how strong she is on the inside.
My brothers are neurodivergent,
So their needs are very urgent.
And this is a poem about how strong she is on the inside.
She copes with them,
Even though they had a pen,
And drew all over the den.
She has a balance between patient and firm,
And encourages us to learn.
And this is a poem about how strong she is on the inside.
Even though its not always easy,
She reminds us that they’re needy,
And we should treat them with love.
And this is a poem about how strong she is on the inside.
The Black October by Ori Rum Zemet, Year 8
A siren slices through my dream. I open my eyes.
“Girls, come downstairs now!” Mom shouts.
Climbing out of bed, bounding down the stairs, my eyes are heavy with sleep. I know what to do; everyone in Israel does – it’s ingrained into our brains from the moment we’re old enough to process information. Whenever a missile is launched towards us, there’s a siren. We have 90 seconds to find shelter. Closer to the border, there’s less time. Israelis face situations like this regularly. Strength and resilience are in our DNA.
As a one-year-old, I first heard a siren; Mom and I hid under the bed and I laughed, thinking we were playing a game. My vision is blurry as I reach the residential secure space (mamad). It’s a concrete room, designed to absorb the impact of a missile or bomb. Some people, like us, who don’t have a shelter close enough, have one. Mom locks the heavy door but struggles with the window. Dad rushes over to help. My entire body shakes, my heart pounding loudly over the nauseating siren. Although there are sirens all the time in the south of Israel, here in Jerusalem it’s rare.
“What time is it?” my little sister, Daniella, asks tiredly.
“About 8:15 am,” Dad answers.
My eyes droop, sleep threatening to claim me.
“When can we leave? I’m exhausted and forgot my glasses.”
“After the siren stops, we have to wait ten minutes; then we can go,” Mom answers. Just then… “BOOM!” The room shakes; I forget to breathe.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“The missile’s been intercepted; we’re safe,” Mom replies.
“Can we go?” Daniella hesitantly asks.
“In a few minutes,” Mom says, stroking my sister’s hair.
After an eternity, we finally leave. Grabbing my glasses, everything comes into focus.
Beginning to relax, I crawl into bed, intending to sleep Saturday away. A few minutes into my slumber, another interruption comes. The siren’s wail escorts me to the mamad. An uneasy feeling settles into my gut. More sirens follow, making it impossible to tell when one ends and another begins. I refuse to leave, even during a rare, silent moment when the others rush out. “Zohar, you can come out,” Mom reassures me when no sirens sound.
I don’t know how long has passed when Mom and Daniella come into the mamad with a plate of eggs. Mom says, “I must tell you something. There’s a war. We can’t go to your grandparents’ for Simchat Torah.”
Those words are a punch to my gut. Today’s supposed to be a celebration. What about my upcoming Bat Mitzvah?
“A war?” My mouth is bitter. “Impossible…” Just yesterday I watched TV until 2 am. Everything was so normal. Reassuring myself, I repeat mentally: It’ll be over in two weeks, maximum. I’ve been through this before.
“We have to be strong,” Mom tells me and my sister.
“Will it be over soon?” Daniella asks.
Mom answers, “I don’t know.”
Roots Of Resilience by Lev Inyutin, Vaughn S Nagi and Ethan Levison, Year 8
In the still heart where shadows tread,
Inner strength arises, where fears are shed.
A whisper of courage, a flame in the night,
Guides the soul to embrace the light.
With muscles anchoring, the body stands tall,
Physical strength, like a fortress, does not fall.
In each drop of sweat, in grit and grind,
Resilience is forged, and the limits redefined.
Through storms of emotion like waves on the sea,
There is emotional strength in bloom, wild and free.
In the tears that we shed, in the laughter we share,
We learn to be human, to love and to care.
And in the hold of the community, glimmers a tapestry gold,
Communal strength. Together we rise in unity’s song.
For the ties that we weave make us ever strong.
So here’s to the strength, in all its forms bright,
To the inner, the outer, the shared, and the light.
Together we stand, under the warm day,
Unbound by our strength, come what may.
