Black Coffee Book Tours April 11-14
See the book on Amazon here.
Readers love Where David Threw Stones:
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐“The author gives a voice to the atrocities of the past, to remind us in the present what our ancestors did or what was done to them, and most importantly gave a voice to Jewish people during the war while bringing forth the message of redemption, courage, forgiveness and peace. It was absolutely stunning.” – Read to Ramble
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “When I tell you this book left me with chills multiple times, I mean I was emotionally wrecked by this book. I loved every second of it, because it wasn't just a story... it meant something. Hoffman is a master storyteller and you find yourself drawn into the world that is created. The book is a really great example of finding redemption and forgiveness. GO READ THIS BOOK!!!”– Reviews by Taylor
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “This book will captivate you, and pull you back through time. The characters are real, and you'll absolutely hate some of them. It also highlights that people, just like life, are not all black and white, and hate can pass from one generation to the next. An excellent book overall.”– Goodreads Reviewer
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐“This book will grab you and keep you page-turning to the very end. Even when you’ve finished this book it will stick with you. Your heart will break for the characters and their suffering. The author will paint vivid pictures that will have you feeling like you could go and visit these places. “Relive” the history buried in the lands by walking it. You’ll hold back tears for the loses experienced, and tears for the healing and repentance that must take place. For avid readers of historical fiction, this book is a must read.”–Goodreads Reviewer.
About the author
Elyse Hoffman is an award-winning author who strives to tell historical tales with new twists. She loves to meld WWII and Jewish history with fantasy, folklore, and the paranormal. She has written six works of Holocaust historical fiction: the five books of The Barracks of the Holocaust and The Book of Uriel.
- https://www.elysehoffman.com
- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20851312.Elyse_Hoffman
- https://www.bookbub.com/authors/elyse-hoffman
My 5 Star Review
The boy
that never smiles. It would be an apt name for this book. But, Where David
threw stones, depicts the story of ten-year-old David unusually which captures
the imagination throughout the story. Though David vowed never to smile, his
new friends sure tried everything they could to make him forget the promise.
After
David’s parents' accidental death, David had no choice but to live with Herr
Ernst, his grandfather on mother’s side. It tells the story of one Jewish boy
who discovers a secret that kept WWII’s memories alive within its bosom
hauntingly. And Jews away from the town. David soon realised what the secret
was and the impact it would have on him as he experience up close the horrors
of the war. Despite it all, David’s character flourished within this small town
as he became acquainted with the townfolk in ways he didn’t think possible.
Even at
this young age, David was not easily manipulated into doing things he believed
to be wrong or against his upbringing. With a strict background, he wore his
kippah with pride no matter the hateful glares, and ultimately ban to visit the
shops. But once he stumbled onto the secret, his purpose for being there became
clear. Unwilling friends became comrades, family became strangers, and the
story started a life of its own.
“This
spellbinding Historical WW2 Fantasy Novel is a story of a ten-year-old boy's
loss, redemption, and ultimate courage. Award-winning author Elyse Hoffman has
crafted an expertly woven tale of World War II's horrors. This thrilling story is
perfect for readers of Marcus Zusak's "The Book Thief," John Boyne's
"The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," or Michael Reit's "Beyond the
Tracks."”
The vivid
story telling captures the imagination as it sends you back into a time where
no Jew was safe. The propaganda against Jews is an intense hate that moored
within the very fabric of the people and the lies they believed almost
crippling you. But David’s ways carried a wait that touched even the hardest of
hearts and views changed as the secret become real.
Going back
in time each night, layered the story with a unique ploy, remarkable characters
and dramatic plotlines that felt so real that my heart cramped in pain. Of
which Maria Rahm’s young character was my favourite. The children within this
book had to grow up fast, as they try to find the truth for themselves and how
they were connected to David. No grownup will help or tell them about the
curse, and David and his little friend had to unravel every lie spread by
Hitler and his cronies. A truth that surpassed the curse and secret and left me
speechless.
This is a
book I can recommend to every WWII reader. It adds another layer to what we
already know about the war and how it affected the nation.
Excerpt
"Ah...you
don’t have any allergies, Enkel?" Ernst queried. "Herr Ahles at the
pet shop said little Mozart was hypo-something-or-other. Your mama used to get
a rash when she got licked by dogs; I dunno if you got the same...issue."
"No, sir," David said. Even if he was allergic, he would have lied
and said no. He wouldn’t have Mozart sent back to the pet shop for his sake.
"Good! Little fellow seems to like you. Ah, why don’t you come in, both of
you? Ma'am, I guess we have some paperwork and such?" "A bit. A few
questions." "Right. Come on in. Mozart, calm down, boy! Enkel, will
you hold him? He tends to escape, and whenever he does, he's gone for days.
Careful when you open the door." David gripped the dog's collar and
wrestled him inside. The interior of the manor was something to behold; there
was a cold sort of majesty to it all. The grand staircase, fashioned of onyx stone,
led up to the second story, which offered two stairways to the third story.
Three chandeliers twinkled above his head, and David’s eyes glistened with
wonder when he realized the ceiling was painted violet with a sea of yellow
stars and a crescent moon making it appear like a twilight sky. A fireplace
crackled nearby, built of white marble with two carved lions on both sides and
a phoenix stretching its pearl-colored wings above the mantle. A few photo
frames hung above the tips of the phoenix’s wings, but they were empty and
slightly crooked, as though someone had just recently taken them down and
sloppily removed their contents. The furnishings were not nearly as beautiful
as the structure itself. The red and blue rug that featured an ornate, mosaic-like
design was frayed and stained with mud and pawprints. The furniture must have
once been quite nice, but Ernst either hadn’t wanted to replace it or couldn’t
afford to do so. The couch had been stitched up several times, the leather cozy
chair was peeling, and when David peeked into the dining room, he discovered
that the chairs were stacked up on the table, covered in cobwebs. It must have
been years since Ernst had invited someone over for dinner.
#2
Isak
Saidel’s unfinished story. He had never gotten to his time in Auschwitz. And
now he never would. David carefully carried the manuscript to his desk, setting
it on the smooth, polished surface and thumbing to the last page. I had, at
this point, forgotten what my feet felt like, and if I had suddenly found
myself snuggled by a fireplace, I likely wouldn’t have even remembered how to
wiggle my toes. When I walked with Mama to stand in line, clutching my ration
card in my once-plump fingers, the snow would seep into my
one-size-too-big-boots and soak my feet. Mama did her best to carry me on days
when the snow was above my ankles, but she was... And that was where it ended.
David remembered running up to Isak and tugging on his arm as he click-clacked
away at his work, begging him to finish it later. It’s time to go, Papa! Come
on, Papa! David had been eager, desperate really, to get to the synagogue for
the final night of Hanukkah. The Rabbi had chosen him, him, little unpopular
David Saidel had been chosen to light the menorah for the Eighth Night. He had
been so proud. Ruth and Isak had been so proud. David looked down at a tiny
burn mark on his right hand. To an outsider it would be indistinguishable from
any of the other light injuries he had sustained in the “accident,” but it
stuck out to him. He had been clumsy, clumsy and arrogant. He, the quiet one,
the mouse boy, had been chosen for the great honor and he had felt the envious
eyes of his fellows upon him. He had basked in the glory for too long and the
hot wax of the candle had dripped onto his hand. Then he’d cried like a baby.
Then he’d asked his parents if they could go home early because he was not only
in pain but horribly embarrassed. And Ruth had said yes. Isak had said
something cheerful about getting to finish that paragraph. And now they were
dead. Murdered, according to the police and the media and everyone else. A
small cluster of Hitler-loyalists, neo-Nazis and Nazi holdouts, had decided to
cut the breaks of every car in the synagogue parking lot that night. He and his
parents had left first, and the Saidels were the only casualty.
The Rabbi
had told him that he and his parents had saved the whole congregation. Perhaps
they had. Little comfort that was from the grave. Or in Isak’s case, from the
hospital. Ruth had died right away, but Isak had spent a few horrific nights
succumbing to his burns. He had barely been able to choke out a final farewell
to David, a final assurance. Isak’s last words rang in his ears, laced with
pain. “Not your fault.” But it was. The media had been in fits. The student
protestors too. Two Jews murdered two decades after the Holocaust had ended in
an incident that could have killed dozens. How many more Nazis were waiting to
strike? Would the Jews ever be safe in Germany? In a way, David was glad to be
so far away from it all. Gerta had promised to keep him out of the papers as
much as she could, but moving out here offered more protection from them and
their probing questions and fake smiles than she could have hoped. None of them
would follow him to Brennenbach.
Nobody in
this little town knew him. Or his family. Or what had happened. Or what he had
done. They didn't even have to know he was a Jew. He touched the rim of the hat
his grandfather had given him. There was a comfort to that. A comfort to
blending in, to being just another German. A comfort he didn't deserve. He
plucked the hat from his head and flung it under the bed with the yellow box.
No. Everyone in town would know he was a Jew. They would know, and he wouldn’t
stop them from giving him their worst. From giving him everything he should
have gotten on that eighth night of Hanukkah.
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