After posting a review of The Jewish Book of Horror we were delighted to hear from one of the featured authors, Rami Ungar. Rami was brave enough to volunteer to be the first author in the Bookishly Jewish author interview series and Evalyn happily took him up on the offer. Read on to see the results of their e-interview. Evalyn’s questions are in bold followed by Rami’s responses.

What drew you to horror as a genre?

A lot draws me to the horror genre, but it was Stephen King that made me decide to be a horror writer. I was twelve when I read IT, and it gave me nightmares, but it also fascinated and amazed me. The storytelling, the characters, the ability to terrify with just words. I could not get it over it! As I sat on the porch of my bunk at summer camp (Camp Ramah in the Berkshires, by the way. Great Jewish summer camp) after finishing the novel, I realized I wanted to write horror stories like IT. I’d been wanting to be a writer for years by then, but that was a turning point for me. And since then, a lot has happened.

What are you hoping readers take away from your stories?

I hope they come away scared, first and foremost. That’s what every horror writer wants with their stories. But I also hope they enjoy the stories and that they are tempted to come back for more. That, and they let me know what they think of my work somehow.

As a writer of both short and long fiction, what do you feel are the strengths and weaknesses of each form?

Long fiction is actually a lot easier for me to write. I’m an expansive storyteller, so I like being able to spread my wings and spend thousands and thousands of words on a single story. That being said, novels require a lot of time and energy, and several more drafts than a short story or a novelette. They also may take a few years to find a home for, whereas a good short story might find a home in a matter of months. On the other hand, while short stories and novelettes are challenging for me because I have to be succinct and make every word count, there’s something about the punch of a short story that I love. They can disturb your inner Zen and leave you feeling unsettled for days, and in just only a few thousand words. It’s something I’ve been trying to master for years, and I’m glad I’m finally seeing some progress (though I will always maintain I have plenty of room to improve).

How does being Jewish impact your writing or your career?

Well, some of my earliest stories had Jewish themes and characters. For a number of years, my stories had my moral perspective on the world, which is informed by my Jewish beliefs, though they didn’t usually have Jewish characters. Lately, though, I’ve been putting more of an effort into including Jewish characters in my work. I like seeing myself represented in the fiction I consume, and since I write the stories I would like to read, that’s going to reflect in future stories I write. In fact, I hope to start on a novel sometime next year revolving around a mummy, and most of the characters will be Jewish. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to make a joke about Moses and the Exodus while I’m at it.

What do you like to read?

Horror, obviously. I’m a big fan of Stephen King, though I also read a bunch of other authors. I also read a lot of fantasy, such as the Witcher novels and Japanese fantasy light novels. And I consume lots and lots of manga. In fact, I was known as a bit of a nut for manga back in high school as well as a horror nut. Plenty of people still remember me for both.

What is your favorite Jewish Book?

 Night by Elie Wiesel. Not because it’s a Holocaust memoir, which makes it a horror story in a way, but because some of the passages still haunt me to this day. If you compare the beginning, where Wiesel is learning Kabbalah even though he’s not old enough and it’s sort of a blissful spiritual existence, and then compare it to the end of the book, where he sees himself in a mirror for the first time in years after the camps are liberated and all he sees is a corpse of a teen, it’s a striking image that shows just how much the Holocaust scarred so many people.

Actually, I met Elie Wiesel once. He gave a speech at the synagogue I attended as a kid. Later on, I got to take a photo with him. I wish I remembered more of that night, but I was young and my attention wandered much more easily then. So I only remember his opening joke in the speech. It saddens me.

Don’t store food beneath a bed. Never drink anything that has been left out overnight. Openings in a home cannot be permanently sealed. You can’t save an onion if you’ve removed the stem. These are rules I’ve always kept despite my skepticism about their origins. Because these rules are what protect me from sheidim (Demons of Jewish lore).

However, there is also another set of rules. A set that I inherently obeyed, no matter how much they made me squirm, chaffing against me like the plastic tag in a new piece of clothing I’ve forgotten to remove. A set of rules whose origins we didn’t dare to speak out loud but were plainly written in the numbers on my grandfathers arm. 

Don’t throw out food. No walking home alone at night from organic chemistry (yes, my parents arranged a carpool for me in COLLEGE). Keep the windows shut and the doors locked tight the night before Christmas and Easter. Forget Halloween. Jewish school let out early so we could all be safely shuttered away in our homes before dusk on those “eves” aka the nights a pogrom was most likely to happen back in the shtetl. The world outside had shown it was not a safe place, and I was therefore not allowed to participate in it. 

Somehow, some magical way, Rebecca Podos has written a book that articulates all of these rules, and so many more, through the lens of the American Jewish teenager of today. There is no one Jewish experience, in fact the Judaism in “From Dust A Flame” is distinctly different from the one I grew up practicing, but the underlying ethos is the same. This is a book about parents and children, the secrets we keep from each other and the generational trauma that keeps us from moving forward. That, in my humble opinion, is universal. 

The main character, Hannah, has been dragged around the country by a mother she has never quite understood and whom she suspects has always favored her adopted brother, Gabe. Yet on Hannah’s seventeenth birthday it is she, and not Gabe, who receives the family heirloom hamsa necklace from her mother and wakes up in the throes of a body transforming curse. Although her mother heads off to find help, it shortly becomes clear that she won’t be returning any time soon and Hannah and Gabe must search for a cure on their own. 

What they find is an entire Jewish family they knew nothing about, a partner in crime named Ari, and a Golem which they manage to reanimate. Along the way, Gabe grapples with his adoption and how it relates to the families newly found Judaism and Hannah begins to have some not- so – straight feelings towards Ari. 

This trio of teens is captivating, voicey and so full of love you can’t help but root for them, yet I hope you’ll allow me to show my age a bit when I tell you that the speech in the book that most resonated with me belonged to one of the moms. It’s hard to know where to draw the line between safety and paranoia when, as Ari’s mom put it in the book, everything from sheidim to uncut grapes is a danger. 

It’s a fine line that Podos expertly walks across three generations of Jews. When to hold fast and when to let go. How to regain what is lost after a mistake has been made. How to move forward together. Because at the end of the day, that is what Jews have been doing for generations. Gathering up what remains in the dust after the world comes for us and lighting that spark, the pintele yid, and nourishing it until once again it becomes a roaring flame. 

Note: I received an arc of this book from the author after saying I was coveting it so hard it was possibly a tenth commandment violation. I suppose she took pity on my immortal soul.

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E. Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

Judaism should be strengthened by our diversity as a people, so why aren’t we growing stronger?  Remix Judaism, by Roberta Rosenthal Kwall makes the thought-provoking case that it is precisely the diversity of choice, or more specifically, the lack of Jewish choices being made, that is causing an extreme loss of Jewish tradition, literacy, and practice.  Many Jews today identify as Jewish by culture, but not by practice, as Kwall describes to the reader.  She passionately proves that regardless of which pathway one is coming from, cultural or traditional, Remix Judaism can help to rebuild and reenergize our entire Jewish collective. 

The pathway that I personally am coming from is a ‘remix’ of both the liberal and the traditional.  As a graduate student in Jewish Studies and a religious schoolteacher, I found Remix Judaism enlightening and an asset to my teaching.  It breaks down many questions of why we do the things we do, traditions, holidays, and rituals, with answers and options of how we can apply them to the realities of our hectic and complicated lives.  It helped me realize that to teach about Judaism, I need to create consistent and real connections to traditions and make these traditions as personally meaningful to my students as possible. 

With what feels like a constant metamorphosis of some kind or other in my own personal Jewish journey, I am sure that finding Roberta Rosenthal Kwall along this path recently was for a reason.  In the last six months, we lost my father-in-law and my own father.  Both losses were rather unexpected, and with their passing so closely to one another, I am sure one can imagine why it has caused me to feel a great soul searching and spiritual change like I have never experienced before. 

 I read this book after both had passed, yet it illuminated many things to me about the mourning rituals which are all so fresh to me, and many which I hadn’t even known about.  Reading about these traditions, shed light on many things I have been feeling but hadn’t had the literacy to define or articulate. 

Due to the pandemic, my mother chose to have only one day of Shiva for my father, and in my state of mind, I didn’t challenge it, nor did I have a larger sense of the purpose of that tradition at the time to ensure that we did have it.  Ultimately, this is an example of a gap in my knowledge, and had I had a richer understanding of these rituals, I could have benefited from the knowledge.  If I had a full 7 days of Shiva, I may not have felt such a desperate grief and loneliness on the day after the burial, with no Shiva, no formal prayers, no structure of familiar faces to hold me up.  Interestingly, I did feel compelled, without much background understanding as to exactly why, to say Kaddish for my father regularly at a nearby Orthodox shul, which has been incredibly comforting to me over these past few months.  Though this is an extreme example, it just showed me that building up a “thicker” knowledge and engagement of Jewish traditions as Kwall often advises, can only help one feel more at home in their Jewish culture.  

Kwall demonstrates her deep understanding of the contemporary Jewish narratives by applying a wide array of wisdom from Jewish texts, personal stories and even prayers to the realities of today’s diaspora Jews.  She makes the clear argument for “why” and “how” this Remix reality can help us all better participate in our Jewish lives, and she does it in a way that both educates and entertains.  Remix Judaism provides a fresh clarity to our often opaque and ever shifting moment in the Jewish American landscape. For me, Remix Judaism has become a resource, a place I can go to be fueled with knowledge so that I can make the choices that are meaningful to me, empowered and energized with my people’s traditions that are now my own too.  

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Every child has THAT book. The book they keep shoving at their parents, over and over again, begging for a reading. Typically said book is reserved for bedtime bribery. Sometimes it is hidden to preserve parental sanity. My personal favorite is when an older sibling is paid to read THE BOOK to the little sibling. Yet there is one book that I will happily read each and every time. That book is Here is the World written by Leslea Newman and Illustrated by Susan Gal.

From the cover picture of a happy family romping near a tree to the descriptions of each holiday, this book fills me with nostalgia. Perhaps it is because the curly haired mom favors dresses and boots like me. Perhaps it is the inclusion of even minor holidays like Tu B’shvat, which I delight in celebrating. Or maybe it is the depiction of a baby naming ceremony for a little girl. Maybe it’s all of those things put together. All I know is reading this book, with a small person cuddled onto my lap, feels like coming home to a warm bowl of soup and a snugly afghan.

The text is a simple primer to Jewish holidays for children and adults alike. No prior knowledge is necessary, but for those who do already celebrate these days it can be a way to open a discussion on family traditions. Talk about holidays you enjoy. Find the activities that are meaningful for your family. Use the pages as a stepping stone on your journey, not an end point.

Observance, and family, can come in many different flavors. This book is appropriate for them all. To the point where I have actually volunteered to read it for the umpteenth time to a child looking for a story.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

My journey to Jewish observance, like so many others’, has been a winding path of distance and proximity. Alienated by my fathers’ Conservadox upbringing that taught I wasn’t a Jew because my mother was Irish Catholic, I felt uncomfortable owning the identity myself. Then again, as a queer, trans adult, I couldn’t imagine a Judaism that had space for me. But I’ve always been a spiritual person, a “seeker.” I wanted to belong to something, to have something of my own. 

I’m also a chronically ill person that has reached the point where I’m willing to try anything at least once in the hopes that it will lead to some small reprieve from the pain. So, “jewitchery” was the first Jewish space that felt like it might be my own. I was drawn to the idea of tracking time by the moon, of wandering through plant life and knowing each plant’s secret name, of healing myself with something western medicine had long forsaken. (A note here: I take my meds and thoroughly believe in science – these things do not need to be at odds with one another.)

So, even now that I’m comfortable and firm in my Jewish identity and observance, when the debut of Ashkenazi Herbalism was announced, I felt a thrill. The book promised medicinal plant knowledge from a lineage that I could arguably claim as my own, or at least closely adjacent to my own.

The book is broken up into three sections. Section one is an overview of both Ashkenazim and Ashkenazi healer history. It feels rich and healing all on its own. Especially for someone who has been on the outskirts of Jewish knowledge for so long, reading through the short histories of early Jewish pharmacies and physicians, the ba’alei shem (Kabbalists and healers who traveled to rid people of afflictions), midwives, and so much more, felt like kneeling at the feet of a bubbe I’ve never had and being told stories of our heritage. 

The second section is the Materia Medica, which includes 26 plants that were known to and used by Jewish healers that lived within the Pale of Settlement between the two World Wars. Each plant has a simple black and white illustration (done by Deatra Cohen), the name of the plant in English and most European languages Ashkenasim speak (including Hebrew, Polish, Russian, and Yiddish), and the uses of the plant during different time periods. 

The final section is a brief afterword that gives credit to previous works of collected herbalism, notes the difficulty of collecting information that was often intentionally destroyed due to antisemitism, and outlines the method of data collection for this book. What follows the afterword are two appendices about history, and a bibliography to make nonfiction lovers’ to-read piles weep.

The authors, Deatra Cohen and Adam Siegel are librarians and put immense care into both the research conducted and the accessible presentation of information. While they are careful to inform readers that the plant entries are meant to be historical reference and not a practical guide, the book did leave me feeling empowered to seek out how herbalism might be more present in my own Jewish practice. 

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Writers of Young Adult sci fi are some of the most resilient people I know. Over and over we are told by traditional publishing that our genre is dead. Over and over we point to the fact that you can’t call a thing dead when 1) you refuse to purchase or market it and 2) marginalized writers haven’t been given a chance to publish it. Instead of believing in the self fulfilling doom and gloom prophecy (ironic, since dystopia is well within our wheelhouse) we soldier on writing books and exploring themes that can only be fully realized through the lens of sci fi.

Jamie Krakover’s Tracker220 is an example of such a book. Set in a future in which neural implants allow unlimited, immediate, access to the internet and tech, while also allowing the government unlimited access to our brain functions, this story asks so many important questions. How much intrusion into our personal data are we willing to sacrifice for faster tech? Why should unfettered access to our data be the stipulation required for web based services? How much should we allow tech to encroach on our personal space? And most dear to my heart – how do we reconcile all of this electronic plethora with observance of Shabbat, a time when Jews are meant to unplug and focus on the people around them and our connection to God?

These questions are already being raised by current modes of social media and personal computing but by speeding up the timeline and placing the computers into our very brains, Krakover allows the reader to contemplate what the end game is for all of the devices we regularly use and take for granted. The protagonist, Kaya, is not an orthodox Jew. She’s never had a tech free Shabbat, although her father extolls their virtue as he recalls the days before Tracker220 technology was forced on the population. In fact, she views the secret society attempting to take down Tracker tech as terrorists. Until her very own tracker begins to malfunction, showing her just how limited the promise of “unlimited freedom” the authorities purport her Tracker affords her, truly is.

The story is full of suspense and cool motorbike chases, along with a dash of romance and familial bonds, but at its core this is a story about modern technology, personal choice and how far is too far when it comes to tech. It is a question universally faced across all age groups, but especially by teens who are faced by a barrage of social media choices and pressured to use them to stay in touch with their peers. I am glad this story is there for them, that much like Kaya the author did not allow traditional authority to dictate her choices, because it is much needed.

Note – I received a copy of this book from the author, no strings attached, MONTHS before I even conceived of the idea of BookishlyJewish, because she knows how much I like sci fi and she is a generous person.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

I make no bones about the fact that I rarely write or read horror. It comes up in almost every conversation I have about being an SFF writer, because horror is often lumped in with SFF. I simply tell people I’m a delicate flower and move on, because I don’t want to get into a heavy discourse about the real reasons I have so much difficulty with the genre. Reasons that are inherently linked to my being a Jew.

As a child I was steeped in generational trauma – I had to clean my plate because my grandparents starved in the Holocaust, almost every holiday we celebrated featured someone trying to annihilate our entire people and the words Pogrom, Cossack, Inquisition, and nazi were far more familiar to me than the vocabulary I was supposed to be studying for the SAT. It’s even worse for kids today. With the advent of social media, and the platform it provides for anonymous racism and antisemitism, a thirteen-year-old can’t even post a video of himself laying tefillin without getting by hundreds of comments declaring he should have been sent to the gas chambers. Nope, there is enough horror in my real life. I don’t often seek to add more.

The Jewish Book of Horror, edited by Josh Schlossberg, changed some of that for me. In it there are stories ranging from the times of The Bible all the way to modern suburbia, each featuring their own version of what is considered horror, all tied together by the single thread of having been written by a Jew about Jewish topics. Unlike the usual horror offerings, I found these tales to be representative of a larger movement happening within the horror community of today. Marginalized writers are taking back the genre, using it to confront some of their own demons and show the world the horrors they personally experience. Instead of making me feel nauseous and sick, these stories inform and empower.

As mentioned, the level of gore ranges from the mildly creepy underpinnings of a normal society (The 38th Funeral by Marc Morgenstern, In the Red by Mike Marcus), to biblical stories explained (Ba’alat Ov by Brenda Tolian) to all out zombie apocalypse (How to Build a Sukkah at the End of the World by Lindsey King-Miller). Some contained familiar creatures from Jewish myth (The Rabbi’s Wife by Simon Rosenberg is a Golem story, Bar Mitzvah Lessons by Stewart Gisser features the Satan itself as a character ), while others utilized some of the sweeter bits of Jewish lore I’ve ever heard and turned them on their head (Forty Days Before Birth by Colleen Halupa revolves around the legend that a persons marital partner is decreed forty days prior to their birth). Others were downright gleeful (Demon Hunter Vashti by Henry Herz made me laugh out loud as did The Hanukkult of Taco WIsdom by Margret Treiber).

Horror is meant to offer a safe exploration of thoughts and ideas that are other to the reader, a way to delve into the depths of our nightmares and expose them to the light so that we might learn and grow as a society. As with any exploration, it should only be undertaken with the express permission of the reader. Therefore, If you find Holocaust narrative a difficulty topic (I do, there’s no shame in that) then you may wish to skip The Horse Leech Has Two Maws by Michael Picco which adds an additional layer of abomination upon a time when Jews were already subjected to horrors the likes of which no author has ever manage to replicate in fiction. It is interesting to note that the main character in this tale is in fact not Jewish. Instead he has been consigned to the camps for being a gay man. I appreciated this reminder that when one marginalized community falls the rest are sure to follow. Similarly, Elana Gomel’s Bread and Salt details what happens when Jews attempt to return to their ancestral homes after a war. Spoiler alert – they are not greeted with flowers and hugs.

Anyone that finds rape triggering may elect to skip John Baltisberger’s Eighth Night, which contains some references to sexual assault by demon. Those who have struggled with obtaining a Jewish divorce – a get – might find The Divorce From God by Rami Ungar to hit too close to home, although the twist at the end is not what you are expecting. The Hand of Fire by Daniel Braum revolves around a potential nuclear Holocaust involving Israel that may also be too real or anxiety provoking for some readers. And in content warnings people are not expecting, but I feel to my very core, if you are they type of Jew that worries about divine retribution for every single mistake you ever make in ritual observance then Phinehas the Zealot by Ethan K. Lee is not the story for you.

I was deeply disturbed, in the best possible way, by K.D. Casey’s story The Last Plague in which there is a modern day persecution of Jews. Same as Yesterday by Alter S Reiss filled me with a nostalgia only Catskill’s going, bungalow colony dwellers will ever truly understand (the line about the knish truck slayed me). The Wisdom of Solomon by Ken Goldman and Welcome Death by J.D. Blackrose both felt like modern day fairy tales. Not the Disney version, but the dark lush pieces The Brothers Grimm used to write.

There are stories here to entertain while they terrify- On Seas of Blood and Salt by Richard Dansky has a pirate Rabbi and a A Purim Story by Emily Ruth Verona is a clever take on parenting and Mazzik’s. There are stories here to make you pause – I’ll never look at the taslich ritual quite the same way now that I’ve read Vivian Kasley’s Catch and Release. In short, there are stories here for everyone. They key, as with all horror, is to find the ones that help you delve to the depths of your soul without losing your mind.

-This anthology featured an open call for stories, a process I believe helps improve equity in publishing –

Note- I received a reviewers e-book in exchange for an honest review.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

One of the greatest joys of founding BookishlyJewish has been the way this blog pushes me to read new genres of Jewish literature, including contemporary romance. So for the sixth night of Hanukkah, I am giving interested readers the gift of Roz Alexander and the “Hot for the Holidays” series, a set of queer Jewish holiday romances that also includes the tiny niches of butch/femme and butch for butch.

Matzoh Match, the first book in the series, takes place over Passover and follows Sam, a newly single lesbian nursing a broken heart after her ex left her in one of the most bizarre ways possible (not going to spoil it, but when the backstory comes out I think you’ll agree it is pretty wild). Sam is hosting her first solo seder and her best friend decides to play matchmaker and bring along a blind date for Sam – without informing her. To make matters even more mortifying for poor Sam the blind date just so happens to be Jordan, the extremely hot butch she has been not-so-secretly ogling at the grocery store.

***The following paragraph is NOT SAFE FOR WORK, but then again, neither is the book***

Sam and Jordan have instant chemistry, and they are both undeniably hot for each other, but it takes them two seders, a whole lot of wine and a few false starts to finally get things going. When they do, the payoff is excellent. This book contains a fair amount of sex, so if that isn’t your thing just skip over those bits, but it would be a shame to do so. Because, as stated in the forward, Judaism is a sex positive religion and this is a sex positive book.

*** end of NSFW content ***

On a more personal note, I’ve never been to an inclusive seder and it was a lot of fun reading about them and the different traditions incorporated by the seder hosts. Although the idea of having 3 seders, as Sam does in this book, is giving me a hang over.

Verdict? If you’re into high heat queer romance, this one’s for you.

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From the very first email I had with the author, I knew Sorry For Your Loss was going to be a bit quirky. I had requested some materials about the book and Joanne Levy’s response email was titled “the worst possible title for an email”. Because honestly, nobody wants an email titled “sorry for your loss” sitting in their inbox. This thoughtful hilarity surrounding death and mourning customs was as good a hint as any as to what I would find in this MG novel about a girl who works in a Jewish funeral home and the newly orphaned boy she meets on the job. 

My favorite part of Judaism is our life cycle events. The bris or kiddush to mark a new birth. The bnei mitzvahs. The weddings. Unfortunately, those celebrations of life come hand in hand with our traditions surrounding death – fast burial followed by seven days of sitting shiva for the mourners and the unveiling of the headstone a year later. Even as a kid, I’d been to my fair share of shivas. It felt strangely grown up to take my dutiful place among the comforters sitting with the mourners and bringing them food. But that’s how Judaism rolls. Our kids are full participants.

Recently, I sat shiva myself. Having ritual observance to fall back on was helpful during a time when I was trying to find my footing in a world that was both unequivocally changed and shockingly the same all at once 

That is the paradox that Evie, our aspiring junior funeral director, faces when she agrees to spend time with Oren, a recently orphaned boy whose parents funeral has taken place at her parents funeral home. Oren seems so much like a regular boy as they hang out and do regular kid stuff that it is easy to forget his parents have just died. Until something reminds them both of why he is there. Because grief has a way of sneaking up on people. 

For his part, Oren puts up with Evie’s endless chattering with the gratefulness unique to someone who has no desire to fill the silence with their own words. Through his interactions with Evie as they sneak around the funeral home and work on art projects, the author shows that the recently bereaved have a unique insight to offer and that sometimes those comforting the mourners are the true beneficiaries. 

Caring for the dead is often referred to as “Chessed Shel Emet”, the only true good dead one can do in this life, because it comes without ulterior motives. The dead cannot repay us. We cannot ask them for favors or expect recompense. We care for them simply because it is the right thing to do. The human thing. And this story is unequivocally human. While it handles death and grief with a light touch appropriate for middle graders it was also an enjoyable read for this  adult. 

Note: I received a free reviewer e-copy of this book in the hopes that I would review it, but no strings were attached.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

I write fairly often about how being Jewish impact my life, but never is it more apparent than in the days after Thanksgiving. Christmas messaging is now unfurling its way across the country and the hashtag #JustSayXMas makes a regular appearance on my social media feed. Yet never in my community did I doubt that when someone wished me a ‘Happy Holiday’ they meant Hanukkah. Which is why I was excited to read Love All Year 2021 an anthology featuring non-christian holidays.

Holidays are a time for family but also a time for reflection, when we think about our heritage, the traditions passed down to us, and the legacy we want to leave for future generations. It is a kind of thoughtfulness that you wouldn’t typically expect in a romance, the grand fate of ones people can be a bit of a mood dampener, but every single story in this anthology skirts that line easily. These stories are rooted in culture and sensitivity. Love grows because the pairs featured participate in these holidays together, honoring age old traditions while incorporating modern twists.

Speaking of growth, one of the two Jewish stories, The Koufax Curse by KD Casey, is a queer Tu B’shvat story. The New Year of the trees is one of my favorite holidays, but I have never held a Tu B’shvat seder quite like the one experienced by the pro ball players in this story. Let us just say Manischewitz makes a significant appearance. The second Jewish story, Spiraling Closer, by Elsie Marrone, features the Jewish High Holidays in a pandemic and kicks off with our heroine accidentally lobbing a piece of bread smack into the face of our soon to be love interest during Tashlich. It is both hilarious and poignant, a testament to the confusing times we live in right now.

While the other stories are not Jewish, I still highly recommend checking them out. I had never heard of Durga Puja until I read Soumi Roy’s fake dating story, A Tangled Truce, yet the vivid descriptions made it come to life for me. Another holiday I have never had the privilege of experiencing first hand is Black Love Day, featured in October Rhea’s bisexual Heart and History, the story of two art teachers finding community, and each other, in Harlem.

Several of my friends celebrate lunar New Year and Jasmine Luck’s story of love found through cooking lessons, Yes Chef, has me itching to email them for some recipes. Kosoko Jackson’s story, Kwanaza Kiss, employs one of my favorite tropes – time limited adventure/challenge – to bring its two protagonists closer. It also has a voice to die for. Seriously, I read this one twice for the craft alone.

I’m probably not supposed to pick favorites, but I will anyway, Hudson Lin’s Their Dragon Boat Featuring an enby leader of a dragon boat team and the OBGYN brought in as a last minute replacement for one of their paddlers before a dragon boat festival regatta, this is exactly the kind of story that makes readers go weak in the knees. Plus the medical aspects of the protagonists job were actually fairly accurate!

As I prepare to light my menorah tonight, I find it fitting that I spent some time getting to know other cultures and holidays. Living in a Christian dominated country it can sometimes feel like outside of our little isolated cultural enclaves nobody else appreciates our holidays. This anthology, with such a diverse representation of holidays, as well as romantic orientations, proves that is not true. We exist, we are here, and just like the candles on a menorah we shine brightest when we are together.

Note: I received a reviewer e-copy of this book from one of the authors after I expressed interest in reading it. No string were attached.

This anthology included an open call for submissions, a process which I believe improves equity in publishing.

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.