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Jewish Family Matters

My Family

By Rebecca Perlowitz
(Morah Becky)    
In my family we are many,
Josh,Jordan, Jacob, Jenny,
Borus, Bracha, Betty, Benny,
Lionel, Levi, Leah, Lenny.


Here comes Mario, Moshe, Mendel,
Rina, Robert, Rhonda, Rachel,
Yosef, Yael, Yulia, Yankel,
Dina, Donald, Debby, Daniel...
Jewish Family Matters
2Storymedalsmall.jpg 2nd Place winner

The new girl who wasn't a stranger

By Rachel Grunewald

Shaindy and her friends loved going to gan
With Morah Hadassa it was always such fun!
They loved being together, and the games that they’d play
he storieAnd ts and craft time with Morah each day

One day, Morah Hadassa had a surprise...

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1st Place 


 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

Go to Story Winner 


Welcome To

This is the place to be if you’re writing 
Jewish Prose or Poetry!  
By Joyce Zonana

 I remember my first day; after a simple breakfast, I walked out to my shed, set up my typewriter (!), put some pads of paper on the desk, and arranged my pens and pencils.  And then I just sat there.  How to begin?  What to write?  Surely someone must have made a mistake in selecting me for this residency.  I was a fraud, empty.  What could I possibly write?   I took out the proposal I had written for my application.  Something about the long-term friendship of four Jewish women from New York.  Okay.  I would make the effort.            

For two days I labored away, getting to my shed by 9 a.m. and staying there at least until 4 p.m.  I changed the names of all the characters, including my own.  I stuck close to real incidents but allowed myself to invent new beginnings and endings.  Everything felt labored and false.  Nothing seemed real or alive.  But I knew I had to keep going, if only to justify my existence at this amazing place. I wrote longhand, painstakingly, without any passion.

And then on the third or fourth day, something suddenly shifted.  I re-read what I had written and saw that my real impulse, my deep desire, was to tell the truth about myself.  I had grown up a shy and isolated child, someone who rarely shared anything with anyone.  Now, as an adult, I wanted my story to be known.  I wanted to tell people exactly how I experienced the world.  Changing names and inventing scenes made no sense; it was the truth that wanted to emerge, and it was the truth I would have to tell, no matter how frightening that seemed.  I decided I had to write memoir.  And I decided it had to be grounded in my current reality...



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....



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...