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1st Place
LEO MERCER
Wins $500
Leo Mercer's short story, "In my Father’s Thought", is a strong comic and intelligent voice that entertains and illuminates a family struggle.
He is the First Place Winner in our
Stories From The Heart Short Story Contest
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By Yaacov Peterseil
Having trouble getting your writing muse to pay attention to you? Sometimes, she or he (they come in two basic genders) needs a day off (just when you don’t) or sleeps late (just when you can’t) or is just being stubborn (just when you aren’t).
Speaking for myself, there are plenty of times when my (somewhat matronly) muse energizes me with a theme or a storyline or an ending to a story that gives me that rush of satisfaction my writer’s psyche craves. It’s her timing that’s a problem. Too often, she speaks to me when I’m too busy to listen, or too tired to concentrate, or too annoyed to jot down the very words I tell myself I’ll call up later (yeah, sure)....
Take now, for instance. I’m in the middle of a writer’s block about a story I’ve been working on for 6.5 months. It’s called THANATOPHOBIA (an abnormal fear of death), and my hero, Yerachmiel Pur, has obsessive “visions” of being tortured. After Yerachmiel actually dies, he enters the next world only to discover that he’s one of 9 other Yerachmiels who share the same soul. A matronly mother figure begins explaining the purpose of his soul to him but as Yerachmiel looks around he suddenly asks himself, “What’s wrong with this picture?”...
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LOKSHEN FOR LUCY
By Julie Bergman
Every Friday night, Lucy went to her Bubbe Bella’s house for Shabbat dinner. Lucy loved visiting Bubbe Bella. She loved looking at her old photographs and listening to her wonderful stories. Best of all, Lucy loved the smells that filled her bubbe’s home – the scent of pickled brisket, tzimmes with flanken and freshly baked potato knishes. Bubbe Bella was a great cook. Lucy, however, was not a great eater. Week after week, Bubbe Bella pushed Lucy to taste her delicious food....
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Rain
By Miriam Green
No, it doesn't rain here
in the summer, I tell the tourist.
She is dazzled, expectant
on her first visit to the land,
her carefree American eyes
unconnected to God.
I want to explain how the year is split
between Succot and Passover;
how after a dry, hot season,
our prayers change in the autumn
supplicating He who makes the wind blow and the rains fall,
mashiv haruach u'morid hageshem;
how if it rains before then, it's as if God, the master,
throws a glass of wine in the face of his servant; how the land needs...
