Fiction

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...

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...

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...