Fiction

There is a tradition, at the Eisenkopp Yeshiva for Fine Young Men, that when you make yourself tea, you fling the used teabag at the ceiling and see if it sticks. It is called teabagging, and no one knows why it is done. Some speculate that it’s a reminder that...

The Chevrolet Escapade truly is a tiny a vehicle. But it gets great gas mileage. For the first 26 years, the hydraulic pistons in the back of this one would hold open the trunk when you loaded it. Now a broomstick, permanently stored in the back, sufficed for the...

In the hyperbolic style of Mishpacha Magazine. Inspired by bullshit like this. Mild mannered and unassuming, most people looking at Gedalya Halevi Fleagenkrautz would not realize the man is truly one of the biggest leaders of the generation, a gadol who has brought thousands closer to Yiddishkeit. In the corner, a...

What does a fetus resemble in his mother's intestines? A folded notebook... And he sees from one end of the world to the other, and he is taught all the torah. And when he enters the world, an angel comes and smacks him on his mouth and makes him...

Sanbelat the Horny was horny. He adjusted the black hat and suit he was wearing, wiping the sweat from his brow. A black hat and suit were the last thing you’d think of wearing in the Middle East, but this what Moses had worn when he left Egypt, so it...

He never learned much math. Math was limited to two hours a week with a secular studies teacher who spent more time shouting at unruly classmates than teaching arithmetic. It was a shame, because he would have been good at it. He could have been an engineer, in an alternate universe....

What lost objects are your own, and which must you return to their owners?Rabbi Akiva says a stack of four coins.Rabbi Meir says five.Who is right? Teiku. No one knows. Schmaltzburg leaned against the fence and took a deep drag of the cigarette. It burned, this being the cheapest, shittiest brand...

Avreml Zingelwald kicks off his shoes and jumps into the freshly dug grave. He’s done this a thousand times before. It’s his job. Yankel Vozserzach hands him the body. They’ve done this so often, multiple times a day, that their movements are fast, mechanical, sterile. This lumpy body in its shrouds...

The streets were windy. Dark. Grey and overbearing. Little slits carved into limestone to accommodate passerby. Endless tunnels, where people lived over the street. Never walking in a straight line for more a few steps. This was home. Safe. Familiar. Where you had to worry about getting stabbed if you walked one block too far. Where endless...

Velvel couldn’t stop dreaming about Magda Pritzovsky. Every Sunday, he’d see her headed to the Greek Orthodox church with the extra little crosses on top of the crosses. Extra Christian. She would always go with her father. He had a long white beard and reeked of potato vodka. He looked like Rasputin. She...