The Voice, Which Is Absolutely Not Reality Television

by Kent Oswald

Miriam Ruth fumed. Nine men in black dress and period hats, and one with a similar hat but otherwise dressed for golf, herded into a minyan. Any male would do,but not her despite studious, pious years. Not her even as their prayers were taking place in the unsanctified New York Thruway’s Ramapo Rest Stop. A half circle of males, backs to McDonald’s, nodded and murmured in the direction — if you could see the thousands of miles — of The Wailing Wall, where prayers like hers were also discriminated against. She heard The Voice pronounce and her anger dissolved as it came to her that from today, Tishri 3, 5780, she must walk with a different G-d.


Kent Oswald writes, edits, walks the dog, and pedagogs in NYC. Additional words here.