Fiction

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...

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...

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...

Avrumi Zeivald was prepared to meet his maker. Or at least a maker. Someone’s, even if not his. The Torah, the Rabbis had assured him, came with a lifetime guarantee. It was guaranteed to be true, or he’d be eligible for a full refund. The problem was, that as Avrumi’s...

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....

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 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...

This was a post I wrote in my teens, while I was still very much religious. As you can see, I was still very bothered by the absolutely abysmal quality of literate in the Jewish community. BS”D By C. Yackobovitch Writing Frum novels can be an exciting, creative and rewarding experience....

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...

So it had come to this. He was dead, and it was judgement time. His first grade Rebbe had warned him about this moment. Rosh Hashanah davening had reminded him of it. And now, 83 years later, it was really happening. “When you arrive in heaven, you’ll stand before God on...