fiction by Naama Goldstein

Stronghold

Nine candle holders made of soda-bottle caps glued on a piece of plywood. Paint and glitter and industrial scraps, bolts, nuts, pebbles, a whole mess of extra trimmings if you wanted. I did not. I only swamped the thing with glue, hoping it wouldn’t dry. When school let out the substitute sneaked up on me just past the gate, panting. “Oy va’avoy! Look what we almost forgot!” The glue had set, unfortunately. She made me take my Menorah.

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