Down from Sinjar
By Short Story Issue 103
We watched from behind ballistic glass and mounted guns and steel doors with hinged openings large enough for a rifle barrel or for a bunch of contorted fingers to press through and wiggle return greetings, muted waves, as we rolled on and up the mountain. We engaged with no enemy combatants.
Read MoreVulnerable Targets
By Short Story Issue 102
While in years past, evacuation drills at the Kaiserman Jewish Community Center took place only every few months, now they occurred every other week.
Read MoreMillat’s Orchids
By Short Story Issue 102
When things went wrong—and they did, some things went terrifyingly wrong—he turned to prayer. He opened his hands to an unknowable God and prayed as best he could.
Read MoreAid to Families with Dependent Children
By Short Story Issue 101
Mama kept informing us that the Lord would provide if we only had faith the size of a mustard seed, but Timothy and I pretended not to hear.
Read MoreThe Death of Danilo Ilić
By Short Story Issue 101
What is heaven but the immortal fulfillment of a mortal longing? What is it but the most sublime synthesis of memory and dream?
Read MoreThe Master of Salt
By Short Story Issue 100
It was another year or two before Brother Thibault whispered to Gérard the secret of his salt. He had, apparently, received unearthly assistance.
Read MoreBurn
By Short Story Issue 100
Doesn’t a fire, good and hot, burn back into a wound until there’s nothing left for it to do but heal?
Read MoreThe Wedding Season
By Short Story Issue 88
FATHER BOB MORTON had always enjoyed the wedding season, until this year. Of course, the proper mood came upon him when he felt the adrenaline of bride, groom, and family, and he delivered his homilies, presided over the vows and rings, consecrated the Eucharist, and attended the receptions per protocol. But he did not eat much…
Read MoreThe Broom
By Short Story Issue 88
THE THREE OF US got on bus 20 and rode from Ir Ganim to the Jaffa Gate of the Old City. The other two, a lieutenant-general from the air force and an Australian reporter who hated Jews, sat facing me, knees touching knees. I reminded them who I was, the man who when young swore…
Read MoreThe Promised Land
By Short Story Issue 88
THIS IS WHAT THINGS ARE LIKE HERE. The Palestinian fedayeen raids continue without mercy. Hardly a week goes by without a civilian being shot or ambushed in the Israeli Sector. Aubrey visits now and then, the young man’s face unalterably severe. He says there is a sense of foreboding in the air, a quiet dread,…
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