When I first came to Israel, I was shocked to find that many Gentiles were going to great lengths to convert to Judaism. I had spent much of my adult life trying to hide that aspect of my identity. I could not understand their motives. Dialoguing with these people revealed to me the lie of […]
We’re neighbors, Naftali and I, but we have little in common. He’s already married off two of his children, and my eldest isn’t quite in first grade. He’s a high-profile heavy-hitter, an aggressive businessman, and I’m a misanthropic hermit, happy to be left alone. But we do share two passions—a good cup of coffee and
I woke up in the middle of the night and could not fall back asleep. While everyone knows I am a writer, I don’t think anyone knows why. I hear voices. They tell me stories, words that need to be recorded. And if the voices refuse to let me rest until I write those words
I run my fingers across my chest and feel the bumps. Four small scars where your claws sank into my flesh, a reminder I don’t need of the night I will never forget. Our bodies pressed together in a violent embrace until I pulled you away, my fear lending me strength I did not own,
Being the oldest student in the yeshiva didn’t make me bitter, but being old and single while young men came and went, married after just a few months, was like road rash after high-siding your bike and sliding half a mile on rough asphalt. Just when you got used to the pain, it got even
I need to preface this story with a disclaimer. It contains a few profanities and references to drug use. If this offends anyone, I apologize and request amnesty for this one story. It will never happen again. It was necessary to wallow in the mud once again to transmit a profound message. Like the Grateful
He had to stoop to fit through the doorway, his head pressed against the ceiling. He stood for a few moments, blinded by the sudden darkness, searching the dark interior. He panicked for a moment, not understanding how she could have disappeared. It was a tiny playhouse with only one door, and he had watched
Dear God, Please excuse me if I sound a little out of it, but I’m feeling kind of small today. I’m hungry and thirsty, and my feet hurt from standing. I have my good days, when I’m glowingly transcendent and strive towards the infinite, stretching myself to go further. Today isn’t one of those days,
For people who prefer to hear their fiction read to them. If you like this story and want me to continue writing, please encourage your friends to subscribe. If you would like to order my books, they are available on Amazon: Dolphins on the Moon The Hope Merchant The Master of Return and the Eleventh
Please let me know. It will require more effort, but I am willing if you are. Also, I am very open to advice and suggestions. Which platforms? What tech? Which stories?
Unlike most of my other stories, this is not based on real events. I wrote it when my in-laws were hosting my family at a hotel in Tiberias. The kids spent their days in the pool, and the hotel had an open bar, though I am mostly sure that had nothing to do with this
I originally named my site “Wrestling the Angel” because some Jewish sources explain that Jacob, the patriarch of the Jews, wrestled the angel of Esau, described by the sages as the patriarch of Rome and Western culture. I have spent many years dialoguing with Christians. I have encountered many amazing Souls, but at the same
Yes, this is a “true story,” but I only witnessed the beginning, the scene being set, the cast of characters lining up off stage. Nothing will be clear at first, but by the end, you will understand. I will explain at the end, but don’t peek. Wait. I hope it is worth the wait. The
Dolphins on the Moon I hadn’t been to the Danny Bar in a long time, but it bothered me that I didn’t find the entrance right away. Danny Bar was a hidden gem among serious blues enthusiasts and had once been an essential part of my life. Located in one of the more disreputable parts
