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Calligraphy
Breit had stopped walking to face Dovi. “Actually, you didn’t choose this, you were born into it. I married into this though, so I did this to myself”

By Dov Haller

Calligraphy
It’s a simchah, it’s a baby, a son for him and Batya. So what if the word son rips his heart clean in two, so what if his insides wrench from the pain of it

By Rochel Samet

Calligraphy
Miri answered as succinctly as possible. She was here to uncover a fraudster, not examine her innermost self

By Leora Klinberg

Calligraphy
"Yidden are givers, Yidden are generous, just speak to their hearts and they’ll open their pockets. Why doesn’t Motti realize that?”

By Blimi Rabinowitz

Calligraphy
This was an emergency. My mind raced. It could be nothing. It could be something. It could be congenital or genetic. Or then again, it could be nothing

By Chanie Spira

Calligraphy
She couldn’t have imagined how successful her channel would become, and that frightened her more than she would admit

By Ariella Schiller

Calligraphy
For one second, an avalanche of questions: What would Ahrele do? Where would he go? Could he ever go back to the way things were? And from there?

By Rivka Streicher

Calligraphy
So now I’m the poor friend receiving her tzedakah, when just a year ago I was the one helping her?

By Gila Arnold

Between Brothers
Though Moshe and Amram Blau operated in different spheres, their similarities persisted

By Dovi Safier and Yehuda Geberer

Breakthrough
Remember boys, the play is in two weeks. Start practicing tonight!”

By Y. Bromberg

My COVID Hero
As we mark one year since the pandemic changed our lives, we asked you to introduce us to your COVID heroes

By Shmuel Horowitz

Every Song Has Its Story
Faced with the prospect of his imminent betrothal to the daughter of the village chief, Yakob flees at night through the mountain

By Riki Goldstein

Under 18 Minutes
A single moment can make all the difference between chometz and matzah, between success and failure. They raced the clock — and beat it!

By Musia Slavin

Between Brothers
No one in the family was ever called Yosef, and my father continued to mourn

By Dovid Nachman Golding