Fiction

I originally wrote this post while I was still religious, and published it under a pseudonym on Jewrotica. At this point, gentlemen, I have nothing to hide. Berel Shtiklwitz was an entrepreneur. A social entrepreneur, to be exact. He recognized a need: a lot of seminary girls out there were horny but...

Gedlya Goldfinger holstered his PsalmRay. Whereas the rest of the Goyishe Velt used neutron chips and nanotechnology to power their zappers, the psalm ray, engineered by The Conglomeration of Rabbis Against Advanced Technology, had been constructed mechanically. It was very steampunk, if Gedlaya had only known what that was, or how...

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....

Hear me out. (No good idea ever started with that, did it?) What if the entire Zionist idea was just a first draft for an even more Final Solution? At the time, Zionism was revolutionary. And it has had its benefits, to a degree. (Although if World War II had broken...

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...

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....

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...

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...

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...