Charlotte's Web: The Literary Magazine of ICJA 2018

Charlotte's W eb The Literary Magazine of Ida Crown Jewish Academy 2018

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Dear Reader , Th e book you h ave ju st cr ack ed open , in t r igu ed, h as been pu t t oget h er w it h t h e t h em e of t im e in m in d. We decided t o f ocu s on t h e beau t y of lif e in all it s st ages, ack n ow ledgin g w h at h as been , w h at is, an d w h at h as yet t o be. Th er ef or e, t h is book is divided in t o t h r ee sect ion s: past , pr esen t , an d f u t u r e. Th e exper ien ces w e r ef lect u pon dr if t in t o t h e past . Th ese m om en t s w e live an d br eat h e cr yst allize in t o t h e pr esen t . All t h e year s w e h ave yet t o see r em ain a speck in t h e dist an t f u t u r e. Each sect ion is an adven t u r e in it self ! Th is book m ay be abou t t im e, bu t w e w an t it t o r em ain f or ever in you r m in d as t im eless.

Edit or s-in -Ch ief Gail Sch n eider m an , Tam ar Dallal, M ash a M at t en , Ron i Bell

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D ed i cat i o n Though we were never privileged to have met Mrs. Charlotte Rosenwald, a"h, it is in her memory that we dedicate Charlotte's W eb. W e have heard a great deal about her and understand that she was an extraordinary teacher. She inspired her students to think, write, create, and to be proud of their accomplishments. It is our hope that the words of this magazine will perpetuate her legacy, imparting that inspiration to this new generation of students.

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T h an k y o u to the Susan and Joseph Ament Endowment Fund for their continued generous support of this project. This foundation has enabled the students of Ida Crown Jewish Academy to showcase their best literary and artistic efforts in a public forum. Thank you to the Aments for enabling young writers and artists to soar.

And a large thank you to Mrs. Arons, without whom this magazine would not display the same high-caliber work and sophistication.

You really kept us on track!

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Table Of Con t en t s An Ode t o Win t er Roni Bell......................{10}

Sixt een Ayelet Cohen...............{28}

Th u r sday: t h e Best an d Wor st Pesach Day of t h e Week Jordan Bellows............{30} Bayli Alter...................{11} Color War Anna Jacoby................{31} How t o Sen d you r Siblin gs of f t o College Ar du in o, 13 Max Miller..................{32} Tova Oliff....................{12} Th e Kot el Nathan Fensterheim...{14}

Flow er s on t h e Islan d Ruby Grant.................{34}

A Lost Feat h er Jacob Miller.................{16}

A Day at t h e Th eat r e Tzippy David...............{38}

In spir at ion Gail Schneiderman......{17}

Self Scale Abigail Brasch............{40}

Th e Jazz M u sician Shira David..................{18}

A List of Sm all Th in gs Masha Matten ...........{41}

How t o Wr it e a M ovie Rebeca Price...............{22}

How t o M ak e New Fr ien ds Tova Kahan................{42}

Th ir t een Kayla Richter...............{23} A Dar k an d St or m y Nigh t at m y Gr an dpar en t s' Hou se E.J. Halpert..................{24} Th e San dw ich Avi Pullin.....................{26}

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Tiver t on Shira Cohen...............{44} On t h e Edge Molly Jacobson..........{46} At Th e Gar den Bina Wilens................{48} Libr ar y Poem Julia Polster.................{49}

Th e Holy Sabbat h Yonah Steinberg.........{50} Th e Qu ar t essen ce of Lif e Tamar Dallal..............{52}

St ayin g a Ch ild or Becom in g an Adu lt Liat Katz...................{70} Hom e Aw ay f r om Hom e Sara Richter..............{72}

Fan t ast ic Fen cer s an d Wh er e On t h e Fer r y t o Fin d Th em Molly Jacobson..........{74} Rebecca Quintas........{54} Su ccu len t Su pplem en t Th e Weddin g Tamar Dallal.............{76} Adina Matten............{56} Fr iday at Gr an dm a's h ou se Un der w at er Ami Greenberg.........{78} Roni Bell....................{58} Th e M ean in g of In t an gible Balan cin g Abigail Brasch.........{80} Noah Pogonitz..........{59} Daydr eam At M ich igan Aven u e Gail Schneiderman......{84} Sara Weiss.................{60} Iden t it y How t o Poem Masha Matten ...........{86} Tamar Dallal.............{62} Soar in g Beach Hou se Chaim Starr.... ...........{88} Ashira Lubin.............{63} How t o be a Good Big Sist er Th e Holiday Sarah Perlow ...........{90} Shira Cohen..............{64} How t o Adopt a Dog Noah Roffe................{66}

It Does Not En d Her e Rivka Comrov ...........{91}

Hou se of M em or ies Rebecca Friedman....{68}

Societ y Sara Weiss.................{92}

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Past

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The past is a shelf of dusty memories that wait to be brushed off and polished with reminiscence.

W e have many adventures sitting on that shelf that can be captured in artful words. Here, we share ourselves as we were.

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An Ode t o Win t er Ron i Bell As I walked around out side, A blanket of snow covered t he ground around me, And snowflakes fell from t he violet sky, frost ing my hair Wit h delicate love.

I looked around, suddenly reminded Of t hat scene from Narnia Right as t hey discover t he wardrobe and it s content s.

Snow covered t he t rees, lamppost s shone bright ly, And it was quiet , So quiet t hat I could hear t he snow fall onto t he ground Wit h a light ?plunk.?

Foot steps embossed t he fresh snow; People walked along t he st reet To avoid get t ing t heir shoes wet .

Not even an hour after t he snow fell, There were children screaming delightedly As t hey ran out side to have snowball fight s, Only to rush back inside For hot cocoa t hat brought t hem comfort .

Oh winter, How you come and go Wit h your cold air and fluffy snow.

How you block roads And keep people inside, Rest ing by t he fireplace, Grateful t hey can spend t his t ime toget her.

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Thursday: The Best and Worst Day of the Week Bayli Alter Thursday is my least f avorite day of the week. I get home past 5:30 p.m., I have two double-period classes, and it?s so close to the weekend I can practically taste it, yet it is also so f ar f rom f reedom. Despite these annoyances, Thursday nights are my f avorite night of the week because my dad and I go out f or f rozen yogurt every Thursday night. Af ter a delicious meal of pizza and f ries, I run to get my homework done quickly so that we have time to get our yogurt. When it?s time to go, my dad tosses the keys to me. Walking in the door of Red Mango, I am struck by the pungent, sweet smell that pollutes the air of the shop. I see the red lino-acrylic tables and chairs strewn across the f loor with a handf ul of cozy armchairs scattered among them. The employees stand behind a countertop that is taken up by a plethora of toppings. Across the shop, a group of college girls study and gossip while happily munching on their yogurt. Af ter my dad and I put our cups of yogurt on the scale to be weighed, I can barely wait f or the cashier to tell me I can take mine and eat it. There is nothing better than that f irst bite, the perf ect combination of yogurt and topping, the swirl of the creamy peanut butter f lavored yogurt passing over my taste buds, the harsh crunch of the chocolate chips. I cherish little more than these f rozen yogurt dates with my dad. Throughout the week, I lend myself no time to sit back and relax, but every Thursday night, my f ather tears me away f rom the sinking ship that is my homework to unwind and ref lect upon my week. During these dates, I break away f rom my stress to spend an evening with my f ather, content and happy.

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How t o Sen d you r Siblin gs of f t o College Tova Olif f When t hey tell you t hey have been accepted to college, make sure your sigh of relief is not mistaken for surprise.

Try not to feel bet rayed by t he 709 miles t hey have put bet ween you when t hey tell you of t heir commit ment to t he Universit y of Maryland.

Listen to t hem talk about dorm rooms, roommates, sororit ies, and classes. Perceive t he age gap grow bet ween you and your siblings as you feel a lifet ime away from t hese topics.

Remember when t hey were just start ing high school, and wonder how four years passed in t he blink of an eye.

Listen to t he conversat ions t hey have about t heir fears and hopes for college. Wish you could relate to t hem so you could weigh in on t hese conversat ions.

Feel guilt y for having expressed unhappiness during t he fourteen years of sharing a room wit h your sister.

As you count t he days you have left before your siblings move away, draw a t hick black ?X? on your calendar over today: August 10t h. Feel your heart suddenly drop as you comprehend t hat wit h 12 more ?X?s?, a t hird of your family will be gone.

Try not to become overwhelmed by all her clot hes sprawled out on t he carpet t hat you share.

Let her take up all t he space in t he room because in a few days, t his room will become solely yours.

Take joy in helping your brot her pack. Experience t his so-called chore as precious bonding t ime.

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When t he suitcases are full, see not only t he clot hes packed away in t hem but all t he memories you have wit h your siblings.

Open t he door to your room, and see half t he clot hes and clut ter missing. Feel t he empt iness of her absence.

Happily agree to play basket ball out side wit h your brot her. Listen to his advice on how to fix your shoot ing form. Understand t his is t he last t ime for a while t hat you will be shoot ing hoops wit h your big brot her. Look back shamefully at all t he t imes you passed up t he opport unit y to play wit h him.

Watch as your parent s st ruggle to fit five overst uffed suitcases in t he t runk of t he silver Honda parked in your garage.

Mentally prepare yourself for a t welve-hour car ride wit h six people and five suitcases.

Spend t hree days in t he st range new place t hat is to become t heir new home.

Stand in a parking lot at t he Universit y of Maryland engulfed in t he arms of your big brot her.

Do not let go just yet because you know it will be mont hs before you get to hug him again.

Leave his embrace blinking back tears.

Allow t hem to pour out shamelessly as your sister's arms wrap t ight ly around you.

Wipe your tear-stained face as you get into t he car to go back home.

Watch your t wo role models walk away, and feel an overwhelming sense of pride.

Wonder if it really took bot h of t hem leaving to realize how much you took t hem for granted.

Hear t he faint sound of your cell phone buzzing. Answer t he call. Tell your siblings how much you miss t hem already.

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Th e Kot el Nat h an Fen st er h eim In t his photograph, I see myself smiling in front of a wall. I am wearing a blue collared shirt and gray pant s. The wall behind me is made from stone t hat looks hundreds of t housands of years old, and green plant s sprout from some crevices. Pieces of paper lie in t he seams of t he wall?s stones. Up against t he wall rest s an ark wit h a pict ure of t he Temple on it s curtain. People are walking around t he area, exploring t he holy site or praying in front of t he wall, kissing and leaning on t he stones.

Inside t he Jewish quarter of t he old cit y of Jerusalem, Israel, I am standing in front of t he holiest Jewish site in t he world: t he Kotel, or t he Western Wall. This historical site is t he only remnant of t he Temple, making it famous t hroughout t he Jewish world. I visited t his site at t he age of t hirteen during t he summer after my Bar Mit zvah.

The day t he pict ure was taken was t he 9t h day of t he Hebrew mont h of Av, t radit ionally a mourning day for t he Jewish nat ion. Jewish people mourn t he dest ruct ion of t he first and second Temples and many ot her t ragic event s in Jewish history. There were t housands of Jews at t he Kotel on t his day, and it was ext remely difficult to walk around t he plaza in front of t he wall, yet I st ill managed to make my way t hrough t he small gaps of t he crowd to t he front of t he wall. I leaned on t he wall, kissed t he stone, and began to cry.

The Kotel was where I davened wit h t he most meaningful intent ions and t hought s. It was where I recited different psalms, t hanking God for what great t hings he has done and asking God for help wit h what I have yet to face. It was where I had t he most meaningful fast , and it was where I felt God's presence.

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I had been to Israel prior to t his visit when I was eighteen mont hs old. I have no memories from t hat t rip, as I was quite young. My family decided to take a t rip to Israel in honor of my Bar Mit zvah during t he summer of 2016. After t raveling around nort hern Israel, we went to t he holy cit y of Jerusalem for Tisha B' av. We walked about t hree miles in t he hot and sunny weat her wit h not hing to eat or drink. Sweat was dripping down my face like I had just showered, and my mout h was dry. I was weak, dehydrated, and I felt like I was going to pass out . We arrived at t he Kotel late in t he afternoon on t hat day. I sat down on a chair in front of t he Kotel and felt bet ter once I rested, allowing myself to have t his meaningful experience.

I chose t his pict ure because I developed a love for Israel and t he Kotel after t his amazing visit . I t hought about how Israel is t he most special, amazing, unique, and wonderful place I will ever visit . This wall is t he most direct way of connect ing to God wit hout t he Temple, and I t hought about t he coming of t he Messiah, t he t ime when God will redeem us. We will no longer mourn t he Temple, and it will be a t ime of rejoicing wit hout grief. I also t hought about how fort unate I was to have an opport unit y to visit t he land. After years of learning about Israel in my Jewish educat ion, I finally had a chance to wit ness t he beaut y of Israel for myself. It was like a dream come t rue.

Today, I am a different person. I have a bet ter understanding of t he land of Israel and t he Kotel. My belief in God was st rengt hened. I also have a st ronger love for Judaism and Israel.

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A Lost Feather Jacob Miller Under the great tree in f ront of my house one sunny day, I discovered an abandoned f eather. It rested on the plush grass, blending into the nature around it, but it called out to me. Intrigued, I bent over it. I was seven.

Bright white with several black streaks in it, the f eather laid on the ground, f acing the clear blue sky. I picked it up, admiring it, f eeling its sof t texture, examining its structure. I was seven.

The f eather could become my writing companion. I could use it as a quill and write with it; books, stories, letters?all could be written the old-f ashioned way, simplistically, just paper, ink, the quill, and me. I was seven.

But carrying the f eather into my house, I realized it might be dirty.

Besides, I owned other writing utensils f or school and home. It was the twenty-f irst century, and work was written by pen or on a computer.

Quills were tools of the past: obsolete, impractical, ancient.

I placed the f eather down, seven years old.

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In spir at ion Gail Sch n eider m an ?What would you like to read today?? I ask my lit t le buddy, a t hird grade girl named Maia. ?Let ?s read t hese,? Maia answers, gravitat ing toward a stack of books t hat have yet to be reshelved. Some are pict ure books, ot hers are easy-readers, and one is a pop-up. We make our way to a table t ucked into a corner and proceed to get lost in t he magical world of words and limit less imaginat ion.

It ?s July 2016, and I?m at t he public library volunteering in a program called Booking wit h a Buddy. As a big buddy - a high schooler - I?m paired wit h a lit t le buddy - an elementary-aged child - to read books in a fun way so my lit t le buddy can retain reading skills over t he summer. It ?s bot h my second summer volunteering in t his program as well as having Maia as a lit t le buddy. Booking wit h a Buddy is my favorite volunteer program because it combines t hree of my favorite act ivit ies: working wit h young children, going to t he library, and reading.

Fast forward a year to July 2017, t he first session of Booking wit h a Buddy. Sadly, I can?t have Maia again, since she aged out of t he program. As I walk into t he library, eager to read wit h my new lit t le buddy, I encounter Maia and talk wit h her about t he school year and t he good books t hat she read lately. Afterward, Maia?s mom pulled me aside and described to me what I did for Maia as her big buddy: ?Reading was always hard for Maia, and she basically gave up on it . But t hanks to you and a few ot hers, Maia won?t stop now. She only want s to read. You inspired in her a love and passion for books and reading. Thank you.? ?You?re welcome,? I replied, t hen excused myself to process t his praise. Just by dedicat ing an hour of my t ime and bringing excitement while engaging wit h Maia, I inspired her to become a reader. I sparked in her a love of books, which I believe is a necessit y for succeeding in life.

I inspired her; but really, she inspired me.

From Maia, I got t he passion to aspire to inspire. Because of her, I saw t hat my act ions and my level of commit ment and excitement as I perform t hem act ually make a difference.

And because I know t his, I don?t ever want to stop. I am ignited to inspire in any way I can by volunteering or doing act s of kindness wit h excitement and passion. Maia also showed me t hat inspirat ion is t he best gift I can give because it propels bot h t he giver and receiver forward in life; when I spark ot hers wit h inspirat ion, I' m sparked by inspirat ion - t he inspirat ion to cont inue support ing, mot ivat ing, encouraging, and inspiring ot hers.

So I t hank you, Maia. Because you inspired me.

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The Jazz Musician Shira David It was a humid day, far from dry, so nobody was worried about the rickety old farmhouse that had been in the family for years. Maybe if they had been, we wouldn't have to tell this story, but here we are. That was the day the world burned down. Well, my world did.

The day was hot, and the thick air was almost tangible. Small trickles of sweat ran down my neck as I fed the animals, my mind off in a different world. Absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't see the first sparks when they were ignited right on the edge of the forest. I can't remember what exactly distracted me, but it was something so trivial I'm ashamed to no end; whatever the case, I didn't notice the sparks until one of the pigs wiggled out through a loose board in the pen and made a run for the forest.

I ran after him, calling out, but he kept pumping those little legs, trotting ever further away. I stopped short, bending over to catch my breath, just as the pig squealed. Looking up, I saw for the first time what would mean the end of the sheltered farm life I had been living: the fire.

Screaming, I sprinted back to the farmhouse, but it was too late. The whole thing had already gone up in flames. Mama ran out holding my sister, my brother at her side, but Papa never made it out. That was our first loss. Mama stood there, waiting so patiently for him; all of us did. My brother looked at at my mother, his pain so raw. " What about Papa?" he whispered. " He'll come." Mama assured, squeezing his shoulders. " We have to help him!" my brother cried as he ran back toward the burning house. He was so young and thought he had superpowers that would save the world. My mother grabbed his shoulder to stop him. " You can't go in there - Papa will be safe."

He threw her arm off of himself. " You just don't care about him! He needs my help, and I can save him, I'll use my powers!" With that, he turned and ran back to the house before anyone could stop him. Just seconds after he entered, the whole house exploded, spraying shrapnel and ash everywhere.

Mama grabbed my wrist as she attempted to pull me away. I stood paralyzed for a minute, staring at the flames as hot embers burned my skin and smoke filled my lungs. I snapped out of it and ran as fast as I could away from the fire that had already ruined my life. I was too shocked to process what was happening. I couldn?t cry yet; this was too much to imagine. I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, shouting my whereabouts to the world. I heard my mother calling from behind, but I didn?t stop; all I could think about was putting distance between me and the evil that was burning my life down, piece by piece.

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" Stop!" my mother cried. " You don't know where we're going!?

That's when I broke down. I tried to choke down ugly sobs as tears streamed down my face, mixing with snot. Through the sobs, I managed to whisper, " Anywhere, I'll go anywhere that you're not. You let him go back, it's all your fault, it?s all your fault, your fault..."

Turning back, I screamed the last part: " I hate you, I'll hate you forever, you let them die, you let them die..." I was reduced to sobs, and my mother put her arms around me. I tried to force them off, but she held on tightly. " Listen to me," she said. " It's going to be okay. Remember the safe house? We're going there, okay? But I need you to help me here." I nodded, weakly struggling to my feet, my vision blurry from the tears. I slowly walked in that direction, holding my mother for support. We weren't the first ones to get there; a whole crowd was gathered outside, the people closer to the door banging on it and screaming for it to open.

The door opened, and a short man in a dressing robe and slippers opened the door with a yawn. Looking around at everyone gathered, he smiled. " You want to use the safe house, huh? Well, unfortunately, it's private property now, but of course I'd love to share it with you! For a small, insignificant fee, naturally." I wondered at the time how he could be so nonchalant, as if the world wasn't literally burning down, but he just nodded and smiled as everyone reluctantly handed over their money. " Who is he?" I whispered to my mother. As we entered, his eyes glinted, and he laughed ..

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" No need to worry about me, I'm just a jazz musician in a nearby bar, nice and friendly.

Maybe if you're good, I'll play a set for you," he said, winking. Once we were all inside, he locked the door, passed around refreshments, and began to play his saxophone. Despite the tension of the day, everyone loosened up and began enjoying themselves. I didn't. I stared out the window at the approaching fire, trying to understand what had just happened, everything that I had just lost.

I began wandering the halls aimlessly, looking for anything to distract me. That's when I found the notebook. I've never been much of a reader, and I knew that I was violating the musician's privacy, but I began to read anyway. A distraction was a distraction. It was mostly boring, as he just wrote lists of names that looked like cities and scribbled notes beside them, but the most recent entry caught my eye.

It read in a flowing script: ?I've put off doing it long enough, but I see today, finally, that this is the only way. People will recover after time, and I'll make off with the money I need. I finally have full ownership over the" - the writing was smudged there, so I couldn't read " so tomorrow I can safely do it. Far away, of course, so I have time to get back before anyone runs here. I will have to take out the telephone lines too, I suppose, so no one can stop me. Maybe this isn't worth it after all..."

It ended there. Intrigued and confused, I pocketed it and left, sneaking back into the main room. The musician was finishing his set and saying that the fire was almost completely contained, and it should be under control by the next day. I remember wondering how they contained such a large fire so quickly. Looking back, it's sad how many signs I missed, how blatantly obvious it all seems. I found my mother, who brought my sister and me to a quiet corner to sleep.

When I woke up, everyone was eagerly waiting for news that it was safe to leave. We got the ?all clear? from the fire department just past noon, and the musician led us all out of the house. Standing on the stairs, he cleared his throat to get our attention. When we looked up, he looked torn, then finally said, " I'm dreadfully sorry for this. I hope you can find it in yourselves to forgive me. You see, I lit the fire. I needed the money from you. I'm sure you understand."

Anger filled me to the brim, and when I burst out of the crowd, screaming, I thought I looked terrifying. I guess one of the bad things about being short is that the musician it was cute. I ran at him, yelling that he killed my family, and he couldn't run because the proof was in the notebook. He just laughed, sighed, and said, " I'm terribly sorry, but that wasn't the goal at all. The ends will justify the means, I suppose. So long, farewell; good luck catching me. You?ll need it." Then, waving his hands, he disappeared forever, along with any trace that he ever existed.

We searched but never found him. The police think that we all went crazy from a gas that was released into the air when the fire broke the old pipes. They say that it was a natural forest fire; I don't believe them. I know what killed my family, and I know who's responsible.

It's become my life?s goal to find him, and he's become reckless now, far too reckless if he wants to stay hidden. He may have magic, but I'm not giving up, especially not now that I have a hint.

I have his notebook.

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M ax M iller

Nerya Miller

Max Mi ller

M ash

a Ma

t t en

Or iya Fal k

ha M M as

at t en

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How to W rite a Movie Rebeca Price

Lorem ipsum do nonumy eirmod erat, at sed diam v W hen her dad let you use his video camera to make movies, feel a whole world of possibilities rebum. your fingertips. W rite the opening sequence to the big movie you two will write, produce, direct, Stet clita and star in together. Make sure you are the bigger star. Tell her she is seven and you are eight, and ipsum dolor sit you just know more. elitr, sed diam n magna Breathe deeply as you step onto her carpet, and know this is your moment to shine. Improvise a aliquyam duo dolores et e few lines along the way. sanctus est Lore Spend hours at her house working on the script. Make sure she does not get too much creative consetetur sadi control, as you are the wiser of the two. Employ your younger sisters as actors, but make sure your labore et dolore sister gets the smallest parts. accusam et just seaa takimata sa Film everywhere. W hen you go to the water park together, make the queen/ witch become mermaid or a pirate.

Let months turn into years you spend working on the movie. Hold the camera and go through all the footage, hoping someday you will finish the movie. Know you probably won?t.

Spend time doing other things. Stage epic water fights in her backyard as you pretend to be rival spies. Stay up all night talking at sleepovers, pretending to be characters in your own made-up world. Make sure you get the better part. Build lego houses and create lives for your toys in one afternoon. Learn to listen to her ideas. Hope she forgives you for taking so long.

Add more to the script. Forget where the plot started. Fight over scenes and forgive each other.

W hen your friend announces she is moving to Texas, remember all the good times you had with her.

Remember the first time she came over and you chopped off your Barbie?s head and attempted to blame it on your brother. Remember when you came to her house and interrupted the filming of her sister and your sister's wedding. Remember rollerblading contests and sleepovers and play doh and watching Annie Get Your Gun together.

Hug her and say goodbye. Regret not being a better friend.

W hen you visit her a few years later, laugh over the movie you made together. W onder if it is still out there.

Breathe a sigh of relief to hear her younger sister lost the footage.

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Th ir t een

olor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam Kayla Rich t er d tempor invidunt ut labore et dolore magna aliquyam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo duo dolores et ea On test he school a kasd gubergren, no sea takimata sanctus Loremret reat at Camp Chi, amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur I was outsadipscing in t he field one chilly day nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt and ut labore et dolore remembered t he t imes I spent playing soccer m erat, sed diam voluptua. At vero eos et accusam et justo wit h t he black-and-white ball on t hat same field. ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no sea takimata I was t hirteen. em ipsum dolor sit amet. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, pscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut e magna aliquyam erat, sed diam voluptua. vero spiky eos etgrass, t he aging goal net s, I admired t heAt damp, o duo dolores et ea rebum. Stet clita kasd gubergren, no t he soccer ball flying to wherever life took it ; anctus est Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet.

I kicked it forcefully when I chased it to t he goal, compet it ive and feist y.

I was t hirteen.

We could see t he end of t he field meet dry dirt on t he pat h behind it .

Chasing t he soccer ball, I remembered running t hat pat h.

At t he end of t he field, we were on our way to victory.

Goal!

I was t hirteen.

I was t hinking? t hose on t he field were not my compet itors t hey were my friends, who were happy for me.

They all had grins on t heir faces; we all cheered toget her.

Alt hough only half of us won, we were one big winning team.

Victorious, t hirteen.

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A Dark and Stormy Night at my Grandparents' House E.J. Halpert It was a dark and stormy night at my grandparents?house, and as the weather became absolutely terrible, there was one man outside under a metal awning in the backyard.

He was wearing a cashmere sweater so drenched that one could see the drops on every stitch.

The air was f ull of the strong scent of wet dog, but beneath that was the pure outdoor scent of rain.

Outside, the massive lightning bolts were dark blue in color and constantly rained down. The rapid f ire of lightning bolts was like a f irework show orchestrated by God himself .

Every time a lightning bolt would strike, the dark sky around it turned purple, and it would be f ollowed by a big boom.

In the corner of this scene was a distracting and nerve-wracking f lickering yellow light atop the garage.

The lantern swayed back and f orth of f its hanging point Like the boat ride in amusement parks.

{24}

All around the huge backyard were these massive and magnif icent trees with leaves that twisted and turned f rom the heavy winds.

The man was my grandf ather; he was still staring at the sky with a crazy grin on his f ace, as if the hundreds of storms bef orehand didn?t f it his satisf action.

He had one hand on the railing and the other on my back as we watched the storm together.

Through the f ogged-up study window was a cozy orange and red f ire crackling in the f ireplace with the TV on in the background, but I made the decision to stay outside in the cold with my grandf ather.

This Storm strengthened my relationship with him; f rom then on, we would share the same hobby.

If you were there, you would see thunderstorms in a whole new light; you might even f eel intrigued to watch the next storm.

{25}

The Sandwich Avi Pullin A boy of t welve walked carefully down t he seven st airs, making sure t o make as lit t le noise as possible, t o t he kit chen residing on t he second floor of his house. As he glided over t he st eps, he looked up t he st airs in ant icipat ion, wait ing for someone t o wake up; nobody did.

W hen he arrived, his st omach growled wit h an int ense hunger for what ever might inhabit t he small pant ry t o t he left of t he oven. Before looking in t he cupboard, he glanced at t he analog clock t icking above t he sink and saw it was 2:00 a.m. He t hen realized t hat he needed t o make somet hing t hat would sat iat e him quickly enough t o allow him t o sleep soon. He moved wit h purpose as he rummaged around t he sealed bags of sugar, uncooked noodles, and boxes of cake mix but soon became aware t hat not hing t here would sat isfy his appet it e.

His at t ent ion t hen moved t o t he refrigerat or, a large silver box sit uat ed bet ween t he oven and t he st ove. W hile he opened t he door, his eyes gravit at ed t oward t he cheese. As his eyes scanned t he mozzarella and swiss, an idea flashed in his brain. He remembered t he panini maker t hat his mot her bought not t wo days ago.

His next mission was t o creat e t he sandwich. He hast ily snagged t he bag of mozzarella and but t er but t hen t hought about what else t o put in t he panini t o enhance t he flavors of t he cheese; he grabbed some t omat oes. He moved over t o t he ut ensil drawer and t he bread basket and grabbed a sharp knife, a fork, and t hree crisp French rolls and set t hem on t he t able. He just want ed a sandwich t hat was bot h easy t o make and delicious.

{26}

He cut t he t omat oes t hinly and pushed t hem t o t he t he side. He t hen shook pepper, garlic powder, and oregano ont o bot h sides of t he t omat oes and laid t hem, st aggered, ont o t he bread t hat had been cut in half.

Finally, he sprinkled a liberal port ion of mozzarella ont o t he t omat oes and capped t he whole t hing wit h t he ot her side of t he roll.

W hen his sandwiches were complet ed, he walked t oward t he closet opposit e t he sink. He searched for t he machine t hat would t urn his sandwich int o a mast erpiece. W hen he emerged from t he closet , he held a bulky, yet surprisingly light , met al machine. He set it on t he t able and plugged it in.

On eit her side of t he roll, he spread t he but t er.

Then he gent ly laid t he finished sandwich ont o t he hot griddle and inhaled t he smell of melt ing but t er and cheese. He heard t he crackling of t he fat s boiling when t hey t ouched t he hot met al.

W hen he pushed t he press downward, t he smells and sounds only amplified.

His mout h st art ed t o wat er as he delicat ely placed t he panini ont o a paper plat e. He count ed down t he seconds unt il t he sandwich was cool enough t o devour.

W hen t he sandwich reached t he ideal t emperat ure, he sunk his t eet h int o t he crisp and savory bread. He t ook enormous bit es while st ill savoring each and every flavor. He t ast ed t he freshly cooked t omat oes t hat were encased in a melt ed layer of cheese. The pepper, garlic powder, and oregano int ensified t he flavor profiles of t he cheese and t he t omat oes and made t he boy feel happy and finally sat ed. He wat ched his st ack of t hree paninis dwindle t o not hing as he inhaled t hem.

As he finished t he plat e, he looked up at t he clock and realized how long it t ook for him t o prepare.

The t ime was 2:15, and he must go back t o sleep in order t o be well rest ed for school t he next day. He cleaned t he ut ensils, placed t he hot griddle in t he sink, and ran cold wat er over it t o cool it .

Aft erward, he headed up t he st airs t o bed, pleased and full.

{27}

Sixteen Ayelet Cohen

Sitting in the middle of the woods at Camp Chi, All bundled in sweatshirts, looking at the fire.

Pieces of the wood piled one on top of the other.

The colors of red fading into orange and then yellow.

I was sixteen.

I admired the warmth of the fire on a cold night.

Everyone gathered around, Singing and sharing stories.

No differences between the people, all one unit.

I was sixteen.

The whole grade coming together as one.

No crews, no cliques.

Everyone there for each other, no matter what.

I was sixteen.

Thinking how this is just a fire, Yet is has power to bring people together While only there for our own amusement.

I sat there, sixteen.

{28}

{29}

Pesach Jordan Bellows

On a warm spring day in the hot sun of Miami at a peaceful beach, my grandfather sits on his chair, listening to music with his sunglasses on,

W e start to walk toward the white stairs to eat the lunch that my grandmother prepared for us.

W hile we walk along the path,

watching the waves.

we cut through the huge tropical plants that lead to the apartment building.

The sound of the waves

W e walk past the showers,

crashing against each other is

up the white stone stairs,

impossible to ignore.

and across the deck to my grandparents? apartment.

The wind carries to us the smell of meat on the barbecue.

As we enter the balcony,

The man is surrounded by a rainbow of colors:

we start to smell the cookies that my grandmother just took out of the oven.

the light blue water, the beige sand,

I walk in, and I can see my childhood despite the present reflections of the mirror.

the animated bathing suits,

Games are played with my grandparents on the late nights after dinner and early mornings I turn to tease him about the outdated music after davening. he plays straight from his boombox.

I know it makes them happy when all of us are and the yellow-and-white volleyball net.

Behind us, white stairs lead to his apartment

there together

where he watches sports with his grandchildren on spring break.

because I can see it in the smiles on their faces.

Part of me grew up here and will never leave.

{30}

Color War An n a Jacoby Sweat is dripping down my neck, and my voice is raspy from cheering. I am dressed all in red, from the bow in my hair to my shirt and tutu, down to my socks. The red war paint on my face may be fading, but my passion is still burning bright! I jump onto the nearest chair, and my teammates surround me. We face our opponents across the room, each team desperately trying to out-shout the other. It is the final moments of color war, and we are waiting for the judges to announce the winning team - red or blue. After two days of fierce competition, I continue chanting, ?Red, hot, ready to roll!?

I am at summer camp nest led in t he nort h woods of Wisconsin, my Eden, where I?ve spent one glorious mont h each summer since I was old enough to be a camper. My experiences at t his overnight camp have shaped my ident it y. This past summer, I was a counselor in t raining and also an intern to t he camp nurse. Here, I was able to solidify my interest in a career in nursing. While put t ing toget her first aid kit s, t he camp nurse taught me basic healt h care, and at t imes I saw how lessons my biology teacher taught me related to act ual camp issues. As a counselor, I sharpened my abilit y to mot ivate, organize, and be compassionate. I aided 10-year-olds confront ing body fear. I inst illed confidence in t he self-conscious girls afraid to get up on stage. I mediated a sit uat ion where a camper was bullied. I wanted my campers to have t he deep-rooted camp experience t hat is a part of my very being.

My t rademark cont ribut ion to all camp act ivit ies is always ent husiasm! Whet her in at hlet ic compet it ions, t he camp dance show, or writ ing songs for my bunk, I do it wit h panache! I draw on my years in dance t roupes or my love of writ ing to enhance camp event s.

This past year, I helped campers channel t heir varied talent s to find unique places at camp be it in t he art room or t he at hlet ic fields.

One of t he huge draws of being at overnight camp is t hat technology is set aside.

Everyone is st ripped down to a t-shirt and a pair of dust y sneakers. Wit hout pressures from societal standards or social media, I have developed honest , lifelong friendships and learned to be open to people from all over t he count ry, each wit h unique backgrounds and values.

This has given me t he chance to expand my horizons and be exposed to people who challenge my beliefs.

In the moments before the winner of color war is announced, I run outside with a friend from the opposing team, and we start singing and dancing. More friends join us until the whole camp is dancing hand-in-hand. Although we have been on different teams for the past two days, we are all one camp. Ultimately, my team lost color war this year, but I felt like a winner nonetheless. I was an enthusiastic leader for my team ? through cheering, dancing, and writing chants. In color war, at camp, and in my everyday life I give it everything I?ve got and hold nothing back. I?m red, hot, and ready to roll!

{31} {31}

Ardui no, 13 M ax M i ller Si tti ng i n a fami ly fri end's house,

Where could I go wi th i t?

I was gi ven i t -

I could be a world-class i nventor,

An Ardui no,

Changi ng the world wi th every i nventi on,

The bare essenti als of a computer,

Or a software engi neer,

Up to me to code;

M y work on the web for all to see.

It was wi nter,

I was thi rteen.

And I was thi rteen.

I began to learn how to mak e i t talk .

I brought i t home.

It babbled i n the begi nni ng,

The electri c blue li ght

Yet i t was sti ll too complex,

And li ttle ci rcui ts

So I k ept learni ng

Bli nk ed hello to me.

Unti l we had a conversati on;

I bli nk ed back .

But there i s more to learn.

How would I get i t to speak more?

I was thi rteen.

{32}

I talk ed to i t, thi rteen.

Or

i ya

Fa lk

Oriya Falk

{33}

Flowers on the Island Ruby Grant Sitting softly on the island in my kitchen, Standing out violently from the white blanket of snow on the other side of the glass screen door, W ere bright red roses in a simple glass vase.

They stood there, tall, Confident, but humble, Claiming their rightful spot on the counter, yet waiting to be replaced the next Friday afternoon.

Those flowers represented an extremely strong love, and I was a sixteen year old who knew that love was for when I was older.

I always admired how the petals gave life to a dull room.

The sturdy green stems seemed as if they could never break And the way my mom smiled when my dad brought them in made nothing else matter.

This was the scene every Friday: My dad would come home from work, and my mom would be standing there with open arms.

These flowers would be placed gracefully into her arms as if they belonged nowhere else.

She would trim the stems and find the perfect vase W hile I would stand and watch, not interrupting.

I was a sixteen year old who knew that love was for when I was older.

I would have my own roses one day.

They would be mine to trim, and I would pick the very best vase.

I thought about my own home, my own family.

I imagined my own husband bringing me flowers just as my dad had brought to my mom.

{34}

I hoped. I prayed.

As I watched, I felt my heart leap.

Their love was enough to instill within me hope for the future.

W hen I did get my own roses, my daughter would see as well.

She would be a sixteen year old who could not wait for love.

I thought hard.

I knew there were plenty of flowers out there, But I was sure there were many that meant nothing.

I knew flowers that wilted along with the love behind them.

I also knew of flowers that stood alone And of flowers that died, leaving the rest of their bouquet behind.

I wondered whether I would find the roses meant for me Or if I would have the type of roses my mom had, As I was a sixteen year old who wasn?t sure if everyone found those flowers.

I walked downstairs, And the flowers my father had given my mother had been moved to the front table.

They were the first thing I saw, Those flowers with the strong stems, bright petals, and successful roots.

The next thing I saw was my parents, sitting together on the couch, smiling; As bright as those flowers were, This was even brighter.

I was a sixteen year old who had already experienced so much love.

{35}

Present

{36}

The present is spontaneity and exploration of life.

W e collect experiences that help us grow into new people, little by little. Here, we share ourselves as we are.

{37}

A Day at t h e Th eat r e Tzippy Davids Even t h ou gh t h e su n beat s dow n On t h e ou t side w or ld, In side t h e t h eat r e, t h e ligh t is dim .

A m an sit s at t h e pian o, Plin k in g aw ay at t h e sleek , sm oot h ivor y k eys, Playin g a slow , sw eet t u n e.

Th e m an sit s w it h good post u r e, Dr essed in a black su it ; He is m y m u sic in st r u ct or .

He car esses t h e ivor y k eys, Th eir pleasan t sou n ds Lik e t h e sof t pit t er -pat t er of dr izzlin g r ain .

Th e at m osph er e sm ells en t ir ely of n ew pain t , Nau sea-in du cin g; Th e f r esh pain t cover s t h e st age In a f an cif u l ar r ay of color s.

In f r on t of t h e dim ly-lit st age, Beh in d t h e r ow s of r ou gh r ed ch air s, Bar ely visible In t h e silen t dar k n ess, A w all sit s pat t er n ed w it h spaciou s h oles.

At t h e t op of t h e w all, a sm all boot h Aw ait s a f r ien dly f ace t o peek in t o it s f or lor n ar m s.

Th e ligh t boar d f lash es opalescen t ligh t s Acr oss t h e pr eviou sly gloom y st age.

Th e t h eat r e f ills w it h h appin ess as dazzlin g, ir idescen t Blu es, gr een s, yellow s, an d r eds f lick er acr oss t h e st age.

Beh in d t h e st age, u p t h e sw ir lin g, spir alin g st air case, Lies t h e dom ain of t h e elabor at e, elegan t cost u m es.

Hu n g u p n eat ly again st t h e old, yellow in g w alls, Th ey sit an d w ait f or t h eir st r ik in g color s t o be w or n .

{38}

In t h e w in gs, at t h e place Wh er e t h e act or s n er vou sly w ait beh in d A black velvet cu r t ain , an old t able sit s, It s pain t peelin g af t er len gt h y year s of u se.

It f in ds it s place on t h e lar ge st age Am on g var iou s set pieces, Heavily-u sed or h ar dly seen .

Beau t if u l, w on dr ou s; Th e cr eat ion of jaw -dr oppin g exper ien ces.

I sit on t h e st air s of t h e st age, Pr act icin g a m on ologu e.

Th e st u n n in g, splen did w or ds Gen t ly r oll of f m y t on gu e, Ech oin g t h r ou gh t h e ot h er w ise silen t r oom .

In m y h om e aw ay f r om h om e, I f eel a com f or t Fou n d n ow h er e else.

Lon elin ess is n ever f elt in t h e place Wh er e bein g t oget h er is k ey.

In side t h ese sm all, agin g w alls, I f eel f r ee.

Beau t if u l, w on dr ou s; Th e st or ies t h at u n f old h er e.

Again an d again , I w at ch a scen e u n f old, each t im e Spar k in g a f lam e of n ew lif e as t h e st or y Un r avels in t o a n ew , m ar velou s w or ld of possibilit ies.

If you sat in t h e f adin g r ed ch air s, You r eyes w ou ld open w ide At t h e st u n n in g st or ies t h ey w ou ld see.

You w ou ld be pu lled in t o a w h ole n ew w or ld, Aw ay f r om r ealit y, in t o a bet t er place, An d you w ou ld w ish t o st ay t h er e f or ever .

{39}

Self Scale

Do my hands shake when I hold my pen an inch away from the paper ?

Abigail Br asch Do the shor t nail beds on my left hand We star t with Hebr ew, from the r ight show that I am ner vous? side of the page, But I am also awar e of life, But from the left side of the page, I am awar e that it does not last for ever; that?s English; Even if I stand in fir st for ever, I know So for math we star t at the r ight, it ends, But for proofs, we make two So I like to challenge myself columns; To go up on r eleve or pass?e or pointe Fir st position, that's my position While my toenails squeeze together in Heels all in, toes far out, but it's flat - the small wooden boxes, I stand in fir st, with my r ight hand The wooden boxes that ar e sewn in laced over the bar pink (Not too hard, I tr y to avoid nail Wr apped around my feet marks in the soft wood); And match the pink tights I wear I n fir st, my toes point out, under my black leotard; Out all the way to him; A four-dimensional figur e, I am a shor t girl I am awar e of him, my brother, Shor t, but my tor so is still shor ter than All the way out, holding a r ifle, my shor t legs While I am her e wr iting proofs - was So it is easy for me to hide behind it two columns? textbooks when wr iting proofs, So am I balancing too much?

But I leap pages and dance floor s when Do the r ed bumps on my for ehead wr iting or dancing ballet; show my str ess?

Both my par ents taught me to leap: M y mother, who gave me five amazing siblings; M y father, who gives other families oppor tunities for amazing childr en of their own; Again, I am her e, and I wr ite from the left side of the page; But again, I have to r emind myself M y textbooks and wooden boxes Weigh less than babies and homes. {40}

Of Small Things Masha Matten

In my hand I hold

Your hands go to it

A small thing, a shining thing

Ready, assured

It has such tremendous power

They pick it up to place it

Yet it is so underwhelming

In my hands

A key But then your mind runs in Around your heart rests

W ith its army of hurt

A strong thing, a rough thing

Of fear

It guards your trust

Of destruction and distrust

Letting nothing go past unseen

It floods your sight

A lock

So that the only thing You can see is failure

My feet move toward you Long steps, fast steps

And then you?re left alone Drowning

But the lock only tightens And the key shrinks back in fear

Although you might not see

An impatience

I toss it to you, Strong, forgiving

This time it's slower Careful, mindful It?s comforting and kind

W ith all my strength I pull You see the connection A rope

And your guard slowly lowers A word

In my hands I hold Something precious, something worth more

In our minds there is A calm thing, a reassuring thing Something that only time And effort will gift

Than anything I could ever own I lift it up to my chest And hold it closer to my own Your heart

An understanding Around my hands, keeping them in place In my hand I hold An important thing, a weighty thing I grab your palm And place it in yours

Is a strong thing, a safeguard Making sure that I can never let go Of what they hold A lock

Trust And in your hands you hold The lock that protects it Unyielding, unforgiving Slowly turns, slowly creaks and falls Revealing the treasure underneath Your heart

A small thing, a sign Of your trust, of your Ability to unlock my own heart A key

{41}

H ow t o M ak e N ew Fr i en d s Tov a K ah an W h en t h ey t al k abou t al l t h e f u n t h ey w i l l h av e, act secu r e i n y ou r p l an s ev en t h ou gh y ou h av e n o cl u e. W r i t e t h em l et t er s abou t h ow m u ch y ou w i l l m i ss t h em an d t h e gr eat t i m e t h ey w i l l h av e. Br eat h e ou t sl ow l y as y ou w at ch a bu s f u l l of y ou r l i f el on g f r i en d s p u l l aw ay f r om y ou , an d f i gh t t h e u r ge t o r u n af t er i t . Feel y ou r ey es w at er as y ou w at ch t h em d r i v e aw ay , an d r em i n d y ou r sel f w h y y ou ar e d oi n g t h i s. H op e t h at y ou r p l an w or k s an d y ou d on ?t en d u p as em p t y as y ou f eel r i gh t n ow . K n ow t h at ev en t h ou gh t h i s h u r t s, goi n g back w ou l d h av e h u r t so m u ch m or e.

Tr y n ot t o bu r st w i t h ex ci t em en t t h e m om en t t h e gat e of y ou r n ew cam p sw i n gs op en an d t h e car d r i v es u p t h e d i r t r oad . For gi v e y ou r sel f f or t h e p ai n t h i s d eci si on cau sed , k n ow i n g t h at i t w i l l al l be w or t h i t v er y soon . L i st en t o al l t h e n ew v oi ces i n t r od u ce t h em sel v es. W on d er h ow y ou w i l l get t o k n ow on e h u n d r ed n ew p eop l e i n on e m on t h .

Accep t t h e ch al l en ge, an d ex ceed y ou r ow n ex p ect at i on s, m ak i n g st r on ger con n ect i on s t h an y ou ev er d r eam ed .

W h en t h e r ai n w on ?t st op com i n g on su m m er ?s l ast Fr i d ay , t h r ow t h e gl oom back i n i t s f ace an d go m u d sl i d i n g w i t h y ou r f r i en d s. L au gh as y ou t h r ow h an d f u l s of ear t h at t h em , an d sh i v er as i ce-col d w at er i s p ou r ed d ow n y ou r back . Rejoi ce i n y ou r n ew f ou n d f r eed om an d t h i s p er f ect m om en t . Be gr at ef u l t h at y ou f i n al l y f ou n d p eop l e w h o w ou l d p l ay i n t h e r ai n w i t h y ou . Sm i l e w h en y ou r f r i en d p oi n t s ou t t h at t h e r ai n h ad st op p ed an h ou r ago, an d y ou h ad been t oo i n v ol v ed i n t h e an t i cs t o r eal i ze.

Si gh at t h e si gh t of t h e scr ap es acr oss y ou r l egs, an d h op e t h at t h e m agi c of t h i s n ew p l ace f i gh t s i n f ect i on . Ru n back t o y ou r cabi n t o cl ean y ou r sel f u p . Tr y n ot t o t h i n k abou t w h er e y ou w i l l be i n t h r ee sh or t d ay s.

W h en y ou ar e back h om e w i sh i n g y ou w er en ?t , cal l on e of t h e p eop l e y ou ar e m i ssi n g an d l i st en t o h er m u f f l ed v oi ce r eassu r i n g y ou t h r ou gh t h e p h on e. W h en t h at d oesn ?t w or k , d r i v e ov er t o y ou r best f r i en d ?s h ou se, r u n u p t h e st ep s, an d t h r ow y ou r ar m s ar ou n d t h e gr ou p of p eop l e y ou l ef t ju st t w o m on t h s bef or e, ev en t h ou gh i t f eel s m or e l i k e i t h ad been t w o y ear s. H ol d y ou r p h on e an d r eal i ze t h at i t i s st i l l con n ect ed t o y ou r n ew best f r i en d ei gh t h u n d r ed m i l es aw ay. Tak e t h e op p or t u n i t y t o i n t r od u ce h er t o t h e ot h er p eop l e w h o m ean t h at m u ch t o y ou . W on d er at h ow qu i ck l y t h i n gs sn ap back t o t h e w ay t h ey w er e bef or e y ou l ef t . Real i ze t h at n o m at t er h ow m u ch t h i n gs ch an ge, t h ese f r i en d s w i l l al w ay s be t h er e f or y ou . Rem em ber h ow y ou f ear ed t h i s r et u r n , an d sm i l e as y ou r f r i en d s t el l y ou abou t t h e gr eat t i m es t h ey h ad , k n ow i n g t h at t h ey ar e ju st as h ap p y f or y ou . L au gh w h en t h ey ask abou t t h e scar s on y ou r l egs. Tel l t h em t h at y ou ar e h ap p y f or t h em an d m ean i t , k n ow i n g t h at y ou w ou l d st i l l m ak e t h i s d eci si on agai n .

Th an k y ou r sel f f or n ot get t i n g on t h at bu s an d f or m ak i n g su ch am azi n g f r i en d s.

Bot h t i m es.

{42}

Roni Bell

Tamar Dallal

Masha Matten

Hillel Stadlan

Tamar Dallal

Masha Matten

{43}

Tiver t on Sh ir a Coh en It 's a w ar m even in g in Tiver t on , Rh ode Islan d, An d t h e w at er m ak es gu lpin g n oises by t h e sh or e.

In a lon g r an ch h ou se by t h e Ocean side, An older w om an sit s in a w oven law n ch air in t h e m iddle of t h e h u ge gr assy law n .

Th e w ar m w in d blow s, Gen t ly sh ak in g t h e t r ees u n t il t h eir pu r ple f low er s st ar t t o f loat t o t h e gr ou n d.

Th e ou t door s sm ells lik e pieces of f r esh ly ch opped gr ass? w h ich cou ld be aller gy-pr ovok in g.

Th e ch ir ps of bir ds an d t h e sou n d of m illion s of cr ick et s bu zzin g Fills t h e air .

Th e h ou se sit s in t h e back gr ou n d, Hidin g t h e w om an?s ch air f r om t h e su n .

Th e f loor s ar e lin ed w it h cer am ic t ile t h at becom es f r eezin g cold in t h e w in t er , If w in t er ever com es; r igh t n ow , su m m er f eels f or ever .

Th e bu t t er -color ed cou ch es ar e ar r an ged in a squ ar e, a st on e t able in t h e m iddle.

Th e h allw ay leads t o t h e sm all k it ch en w it h a m ar ble islan d st an din g alon e in t h e cen t er .

Th e pot s an d pan s ar e h an gin g f r om h ook s in t h e low ceilin g, Len din g t h e in t er ior a Vict or ian f eel.

On t h e w alls t h at ar e sh ar ed bet w een t h e din in g r oom an d k it ch en , Wat er color pict u r es per ch as if t h ey w an t t o ju m p dow n .

A sof t w h it e lace t ableclot h gr aces t h e lon g din in g r oom t able t h at sit s a cou ple f eet Aw ay f r om t h e slidin g scr een door t h at con n ect s t o t h e big deck .

Sor r ow f u l gr ape vin es h an g f r om t h e t r ellis above t h e pat io.

M y gr an dm ot h er st ill sit s on t h e w oven law n ch air .

In h er h an d lies t h e pict u r e book t h at I h ad f ou n d on a book sh elf an d given t o h er t o r em em ber ; It w as m y f avor it e ch ildh ood book .

{44}

I w alk dow n t h e h ill f r om t h e f r on t of t h e h ou se t o t h e place t h at w e u sed t o r ead On h ot su m m er even in gs by t h e ocean in h er n et t ed w h it

e h am m ock .

Th e h am m ock look s lik e t igh t ly-w r apped cot t on r ope, An d ou r f eet u sed t o dan gle f r om t h e t h e edges w h ile sh e r ead page af t er page.

M y h ead w ou ld r est on h er sh ou lder an d I r em em ber bein g so com f or t able Th at I didn't ever w an t t o get u p.

Th er e's a n ar r ow pat h f r om t h e h am m ock t o t h e w at er side dock Th at is lin ed by w ildf low er s t h at alw ays dist r act m e.

I w alk on t o t h e st eep, sm oot h w ooden lan din g t h at is alw ays scor ch in g h ot Fr om t h e su n beat in g dow n on it .

Tall r eeds on eit h er side sh if t w h en t h e w in d blow s.

Th is place is exact ly as I r em em ber it .

Walk in g back u p t h e gr assy h ill f r om t h e dock an d h am m ock , M y legs f eel h eavy.

I r et u r n t o t h e m ain h ou se, Br eat h in g in t h e f am iliar su n -w ar m ed scen t .

If on ly you w er e h er e t o f eel t h e w ar m t h of t h is place, Th e m em or ies f loat in g in t h e air .

You w ou ld ask m e t o t ak e w alk s w it h you t h r ou gh t h e gar den Th at w e've w alk ed t h r ou gh m illion s of t im es.

Ar ou n d t h e side of t h e h ou se an d n ext t o t h e old, cr eak y sw in g set , You w ou ld see t h e br illian t ly vibr an t f low er s plan t ed in t h e dr y dir t An d t h e w h it e pick et f en ce ar ou n d t h is h aven .

Bu t n ow , t h e w in d is disappear in g Ju st lik e you did, Slow ly an d t h en all at on ce.

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On the Edge Molly Jacobson Balancing being right and maintaining the relationship,

My parents are a f ew f eet behind me, watching all of their children

Hands spread out like the wings of a plane,

stand together

I hold one f oot in the air and one f oot stationary on the rock under me.

And wondering when the next time this occurs will be.

A wide path is enclosed by evergreen trees in the background,

In the next f ew seconds, my mother exclaims,

I am anxious and insecure, sixteen,

As if I wasn't about ten f eet f rom the drop of f .

Too aware of my long toes peeking out of my f lip-f lops.

My f ather gathers my siblings and me f or a f amily picture

I am challenging myself to f ocus

In f ront of God?s remarkable creation

As my mind drif ts back to the hurtf ul comment my brother just made

When a stranger asks if we want a picture of everyone, including my parents.

About my f lowy black skirt and short sleeve white shirt tucked over my stomach

My f ather hands his phone to the stranger,

?Molly, get back f rom the edge! You nearly f ell But I am staring down at the canyon hundreds of f eet over!? below, As I step back, she gently pulls my arm with a Breathing in the f resh mountain air. concerned look,

To hide what is not actually there.

What this was I thinking While I examined the beautif ul colors painting the mountains orange, red, and yellow?

{46}

Allowing him to capture this moment intime And immortalizing it in my mind.

Max Miller

Gadi Kalman

Tova Oliff

Masha Matten

Tova Oliff

Masha Matten

Oriya Falk

{47}

A t t h e Gar d en B i n a W i l en s T h o u gh t h er e i s a ch i l l i n t h e ai r , a m an si t s by h i s v eget ab l e gar d en w h i l e t h e su n sh i n es d ow n o n h i m ; h e i s p i ck i n g h i s gr een zu cch i n i s.

T h e gar d en sm el l s o f su m m er an d i n sp i r at i o n , r em i n d i n g o n e o f w h at f r eed o m an d i n d ep en d en ce f eel s l i k e. Ri gh t n ex t t o t h e gar d en , a h u n gr y d eer l o o k s o n , w ai t i n g t o p o u n ce u p o n t h e gr een er y.

Su r r o u n d i n g t h e gar d en ar e t al l , l eaf y b r ow n t r ees an d a cl ear b l u e sk y.

A m et al f en ce r i ses h i gh b eh i n d t h e gar d en , en cl o si n g a sp aci o u s t en n i s co u r t . W eed s gr ow u p t h e si d es o f t h e f en ce, co n q u er i n g ev er y i n ch o f i t .

T o t h e f ar r i gh t st an d s a cab i n ; i t h as b een st an d i n g t h er e f o r ov er 50 y ear s, b u t t h e st o n es ar e st i l l as sm o o t h as a f r esh l y gl azed cer am i c m u g.

T h e m an i s w ear i n g gl ov es, o n ce w h i t e b u t n ow t i n t ed gr een . T h e b o t t o m h al f o f h i m w ear s k h ak i sh o r t s an d a t h i ck b r ow n b el t . U p o n h i s h ead r est s a f i sh er ?s cap . T h e st i f f w h i t e h ai r s o n h i s h ead sw ay i n w i n d , as d o es h i s h at . H e si t s, el ev at ed ab ov e t h e gr o u n d by t h e st ack ed st o n es t h at su r r o u n d t h e gar d en . H e gl an ces u p w ar d t ow ar d t h e sk y, a l ov e o f n at u r e i n h i s ey es.

I n t h e b ack gr o u n d , t h e so u n d s o f sm al l w av es b r eak i n g cr eat e a co n si st en t r h y t h m . T h e m et al d o ck si t t i n g i n t h e l ak e sl ow l y d r i f t s si d e t o si d e as t h e p er si st en t w av es b r u sh u p agai n st i t . T h e t r ees d an ce w h en a st r o n g w i n d b l ow s acr o ss t h e ear t h . T h e w h o l e w o r l d seem s t o m ov e i n t h e d i r ect i o n o f t h e w i n d .

I h av e b een st an d i n g o n t h i s r o ad , w at ch i n g m y su r r o u n d i n gs, f o r h o u r s, b u t t h e t i m e t h at h as p assed o n l y f eel s l i k e a f ew seco n d s. I h av e b een j u st st an d i n g t h er e, si l en t l y, t r y i n g t o see ev er y so u n d , t r y i n g t o h ear ev er y si gh t . I h av e b een l et t i n g t h e b r eeze h i t m y f ace, b l ow i n g st r an d s o f h ai r i n t o m y ey es b u t n o t m ov i n g t h em asi d e, so t h er e t h ey si t .

I f y o u w er e h er e, y o u t o o w o u l d f eel t h e sp eci al en er gy i n t h e ai r . Yo u t o o w o u l d f eel t h e sp i r i t u al v i b r at i o n s o f n at u r e. T h e f o r est an d t h e t r ees w o u l d co m e al i v e, f i l l i n g y o u w i t h a f eel i n g o f f u l f i l l m en t , b u t f ear t o o , t h e aw e at t h e f act t h at Go d i s al l p ow er f u l , an d h e cr eat ed t h i s v i ew . Yo u w o u l d en t er t h e gar d en as i f i t w er e t h e gar d en o f Ed en , a h o l y gar d en , a p l ace al l y o u r ow n , sh ar i n g i t o n l y w i t h t h e w i se an d t h e sp i r i t u al .

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Libr ar y Poem Ju lia Polst er

Th e

place I f eel saf e.

It 's m y h om e aw ay f r om h om e.

It ?s t h e r oad t o f r eedom , It 's a m aze of h appin ess To get lost in .

Th e k ey t o m y im agin at ion .

A por t al t o dif f er en t f an t ast ical w or lds.

It ?s a pat h t o joy, It 's a gat ew ay t o love An d h ear t br eak .

It 's r eu n it in g w it h lon g-lost f r ien ds An d m eet in g som e n ew on es, t oo.

It 's h ear in g a f avor it e son g, On e you alm ost f or got you k n ew.

It sm ells of t h e w or ld's cr eat ivit y.

It speak s t o m e In m an y voices.

It w h isper s of u n t old w on der s.

It f ills m e w it h h appin ess.

It is t h e libr ar y.

{49}

{50}

The Holy Sabbath Yonah Steinberg Although it is a hot evening on a Friday down by the W estern W all, An old Jewish man starts to walk down the limestone grounds of the Old City.

He is a tall brown-eyed man wearing a black hat, And white strings dangle by his side.

The Old City still smells of the fresh bread baked that morning because The holy Sabbath is coming.

W omen start to recite blessings upon candles in the windows, And children are just finishing setting the table for the Friday night meal.

The W estern W all almost seems to be glowing while everyone walks toward it.

The W estern W all is a pale tan color with green plants growing from it; This makes the wall not only holy but also beautiful.

Thousands of Jews are coming together for Friday night prayers, And as the night continues on, the whole W estern W all area becomes packed W ith people singing and dancing.

The air fills with sweet candy from the Jewish women, Jewish mothers W ho are throwing treats to the children.

The old man?s home is ready for him to return and eat the Friday night meal.

The man, my grandfather, and I start walking back to his house.

Inside my grandfather?s home is the wonderful smell of hot chicken soup.

The dining room walls are filled with beautiful artwork, And the table is covered in shiny new dishes and silverware.

If you were to come over for a meal, you would experience my grandfather's warm hospitality.

You would see how excited my grandfather is to start the holy Sabbath.

The most meaningful and powerful experience I can remember is with my grandfather, Seeing all the people praying by the W estern W all that holy night.

{51}

The Quartessence of Life Tamar Dallal The essence of summer is opportunity; It is wildness and chlorine and sand in places you never knew existed; Sunscreen and dewy makeup, mall visits and messy hair; W riting songs and learning an instrument, the emerald hue of happy plants; A whirlwind of emotion and stolen kisses and skinned knees; Floppy hats and light perfumes and a puppy napping in a sunbeam; Ice cream, road trips with friends, and picking wildflowers in overgrown fields; Burning last year?s math homework and sunburns, tans, and freckles; Flowy summer dresses and scrapbooks of forgotten people, fabric, poetry; Promises carried on the wind.

{52}

The essence of fall is slow; It is burgundy and pumpkin, coffee and cloves; Crispy leaves underfoot and sweater weather and pink noses; Books read late at night before a crackling fire, curled into a fuzzy blanket; Reflecting on the present, pondering the future, nostalgia; Staring out a bus window, lost in thought; Missing old friends and making new ones and new notebooks, pencils, paper; Memories you regret and memories of what you wish had lasted forever; Untangling earbuds for a stolen second of music; W armth and home.

The essence of winter is a hush; It is contained in soft kittens bounding across a warm blanket; The metallic taste of ice held in your mouth and the smell of Mom?s hot cocoa; W inning snowball fights, fogged surfaces, forgotten responsibilities; Pale silk and icicles, glinting in the cold sun, crystal and indigo; Learning about people from what they draw in condensation on windows; The loneliness of a failed relationship, impulsive decisions to order ice cream, The pain of chapped hands and split lips and shaking shoulders; Tinkling bells, a shouted reminder to put on a hat; A whisper and a laugh.

The essence of spring is gradual; It is a mellow, balmy wind after days of chilliness; Floral scents and patterns, reunions and t-shirts; Fresh flowers and tulle, chiffon and raspberry jam; W arm pastries, soft lights, new sheets, and fluffy towels right out of the dryer; Painting the clouds and the grass and the water and your pet; Discovering new music and listening on repeat for a month; The adrenaline rush when hints of summer breeze past, smelling of hope; Friends with a sparkle in their eyes, cheeks aglow from smiling; Joy and contentment. {53}

Fantasti c Fencers and Where to Fi nd Them Rebecca Qui ntas Outsi de, the Chi cago wi nter freezes the ni ght ai r, But i n the fenci ng practi ce room, The heat i s almost palpable.

A woman i s walk i ng around And helpi ng the fencers wi th thei r bladework and form.

One can smell the salty sweat coveri ng the fencers?bodi es And hear the clangi ng of the swi ft si lver swords clashi ng As each opponent comes closer to stri k i ng a poi nt.

The rectangular black score box si ts si lently on a smooth table Unti l suddenly, the box blurts out a beepi ng sound, Flashi ng ei ther red, green, or orange, Almost remi ni scent of a brok en stopli ght.

The walls are whi te wi th black mark s From when the fencers ?acci dentally? hi t the walls.

Everyone i s dressed i n whi te and armed wi th si lver blades, M etalli c vests called lamĂŠs atti ri ng some fencers?bodi es.

The black -zi ppered blue bags fi lled wi th the fenci ng weapons Are propped up agai nst the wall.

Some blades are new and golden i n the li ght Whi le others are old and a dull si lver color, And some are just brok en.

The woman wi th the pulled-back brown hai r Starts to put on her black coachi ng gear To fence some bouts.

To some, the fenci ng mask s look omi nous, i nti mi dati ng, But I k now she i s my coach, The one who has moti vated me to be a great fencer.

{54}

Two si lver fountai ns are mounted onto a si de wall, And clear, refreshi ng water streams out i n an arc When the rectangular button i s pushed.

I feel the heat of my burni ng cheek s cooli ng i n the water And see myself from the torso down In my whi te gear, wi th my si lver lamĂŠ on top.

M y blue-gri pped foi l wi th i ts long, thi n blade Is an extensi on of myself.

The blade feels li k e i t was made for my sweaty, gloved hand, Empoweri ng me, encouragi ng me to do anythi ng.

Even though I feel di sgusti ng i n my sweaty gear, There are few places I would rather be i n thi s moment.

If you were here, you would see M any bouts tak i ng place And hear the clangi ng of the clashi ng swords.

You would hear the referee call halt Each ti me the black score box beeped.

If you had the chance to hold one of the foi ls, You would feel the smoothness of the gri p And see how the weapon moves.

You would remember the feeli ng of Pressi ng down on the button at the end of the blade.

You would glow wi th the sati sfacti on of tak i ng down your opponent And feel proud of yourself for what you have accompli shed.

You would see the fencers walk out of the school bui ldi ng, Faci ng the cold weather wi thout jack ets Because they are burni ng wi th passi on.

{55}

Th e Weddin g Adin a M at t en Alt h ou gh t h e r oom is h u m id, dow n t h e lon g w h it e aisle a gr oom an d h is w if e st an d as on e in t h e dim m ed ligh t in g. Th eir r in gs sh in e in t h e gh ost ly ligh t , on e a blin din g silver an d t h e ot h er a sh in in g gold, an d t h eir clot h es ar e n ew an d special. Th ey st an d u n der an ar ch pain t ed w it h ivor y f low er s w h ile vin es w r ap ar ou n d t h e poles of t h e ar ch lik e t h e sn ak es on Her m es?s st af f .

Th e you n g w om an h as silk y-sm oot h , car am el-br ow n h air t ied u p in lacy st r an ds t h at f it per f ect ly in t o a spar k lin g diam on d t iar a, n est led at t h e per f ect poin t at op h er h ead. Her dr ess is layer ed t o per f ect ion ; each layer f alls over t h e n ext lik e w aves of t h e ocean an d t r ails beh in d h er as if sh e is a f eat h er , w eigh t less. Her sm ile is t h e sh in e of a diam on d an d br igh t as t h e su n , m ir r or ed by an even bigger sm ile f r om h er n ew h u sban d. Th e air f eels h eavy w it h love, m ak in g a m ot h er 's eyes w at er an d t h e gr oom 's h ear t sk ip a beat . Th e w eddin g r oom is set w it h w in dow s com posed of pict u r es m ade f r om glass, pu t t oget h er as if t h ey w er e m ade f or t h e Sist in e Ch apel. Ligh t sh im m er s t h r ou gh t h em , m ak in g t h e color f u l im ages dan ce alon g t h e car pet ed n avy f loor . Th e w alls ar e cover ed w it h lilies, an d t h e aisle is blin din gly w h it e, a f r esh sn ow t h at h as n ot yet been st epped on , an d spr in k led w it h lit t le pin k r ose pet als, t ossed by a car ef r ee lit t le gir l in a pu f f y w h it e dr ess.Th e w eddin g r oom h olds h u n dr eds of m ar oon seat s, each f illed w it h a loved on e, u n der a st eeply peak ed r oof t h at f or m s t h e bot t om of a h ear t .

M om en t s bef or e t h e n ew ly m ar r ied br ide an d gr oom glide in t o t h e r oom t o dan ce, t h e gu est s t en se u p, w ait in g f or t h em t o pass t h r ou gh t h e oak door s at an y m om en t . Th ey cr eat e an ar ch w ay of t h eir ow n w it h lar ge celloph an e sw im m in g n oodles an d sm all par t y popper s w h ile m u sic blast s in t h e back gr ou n d, aw ait in g t h e par t y abou t t o t ak e place. M u lt icolor ed ligh t s pain t t h e h ar dw ood dan ce f loor , an d t h e desser t t able is f illed w it h Ven ezu elan delicacies. Th e door s sw in g open , an d t h e gu est s er u pt in h appin ess an d excit em en t .

{56}

Br ide an d gr oom w ear sm iles on t h eir f aces, so big an d br igh t t h ey sh in e lik e a su n r ise, m ak in g it im possible f or ot h er s t o n ot sm ile as w ell. I gr ab a h an df u l of m u lt icolor ed st r eam er s an d t h r ow t h em in t h e air , w at ch in g t h em f all lik e slow f eat h er s, as br ide an d gr oom sw eep in t o t h e r oom lik e a car ess of t h e w in d. Th ey go st r aigh t t o t h e dan ce f loor , an d I f ollow , det er m in ed t o dan ce w it h t h em . Th eir f ir st dan ce is a slow dan ce, ju st t h e t w o of t h em , an d I w at ch as t h ey glide alon g t h e f loor , sw if t an d sm oot h , an d I t r y h ar d t o h old back t ear s of h appin ess f or t h em . Wh en t h eir dan ce is f in ish ed, lou d, h appy, en er get ic m u sic is played by t h e DJ, br in gin g ever yon e on t o t h e dan ce f loor . I f eel a r u sh of adr en alin e, an d f or t h e n ext f ew h ou r s, I f or get abou t m y lar ge blu e t u lle br idesm aid dr ess an d dan ce lik e t h er e is n o t om or r ow.

If you w er e on t h at dan ce f loor w it h t h e h u n dr eds of w ave-lik e color ed ligh t s t h at h it ever y in ch of t h e r oom lik e a r ain bow , you w ou ldn?t be able t o r esist t h e u r ge t o par t y as if it w as t h e en d of et er n it y. You r f eet w ou ld m ove f or you , m ovin g t o t h e beat an d t h e r h yt h m , losin g all con cept of t im e an d w or r y, ever yt h in g m elt in g aw ay lik e an ice cu be on a h ot day, an d you ?d on ly f ocu s on h ow m u ch f u n you ar e h avin g. It is as if you ar e on a h ot air balloon at op t h e w or ld f r om w h ich n o on e can br in g you dow n . At t h e en d of t h e m an y h ou r s of dan cin g, t h e air w ill gr ow h ot an d sw eat y as you sit dow n , an d you w ill f eel t h e beads of sw eat on you r br ow an d alon g you r h air lin e t h at you did n ot n ot ice u n t il n ow. You w ill be f am ish ed, deh ydr at ed, an d you r f eet w ill h u r t , bu t you w ill k n ow it is w or t h it f or t h ose f ew h ou r s of f u n , f r eedom , an d h appin ess. You w ill n ot r egr et you r decision in t h e sligh t est ; in f act , you w ill w an t t o do it all over again . It is lik e w h at w e im agin e eu ph or ia t o be: ligh t , clear , sw eet , br eat h in g, f r esh , u t t er ly f r ee, t ak en f r om h eaven it self , given t o you by God as a gif t . Wh en lif e is r ou gh , cold, an d u n ceasin g, it w ill be a w ar m m em or y t o h old dear f or ever .

{57}

Un der w at er Ron i Bell My favorite part about the beach Isn't the squishy sand between my toes Or the warm sun on my back It's not the sound of children screaming happily Or the sight of people playing volleyball Nor is it the glimmer of the blue water Or the sparkling seashells I find on the ground My favorite part about the beach Isn't the colorful fish I find swimming around me Nibbling at my toes It's not the sight of lifeguards in kayaks Or the smells coming from the snack shack Nor is it the the cute bathing suit I just bought Or the soft towel I lay on as I try to get a tan When my head is underwater And my eyes are open wide I can see the colorful fish that were nibbling on my feet And then I remember my favorite part.

My favorite part about the beach Is when I float on my back With my ears underwater And I hear the sounds of the sea All around me is the sound of the waves And muffled sounds from above And everything is still.

I see can hear nothing And yet I can see everything.

{58}

Balancing Noah Pogonitz I find myself balancing my passion of competing in the spor t of baseball with my Jewish values. I am most physically comfor table in the left- hand side of the batter 's box on a baseball diamond. I am patiently waiting to take the faceless pitcher 400 feet to str aight away center.

I am six feet tall, sixteen year s of age, and I am most ner vous in moments wher e I am being watched by people who ar e expecting me to put on a show. I am awar e that ther e ar e many gr eat talents I have that can become even gr eater. I am awar e that I am doubted and over looked sometimes. I am awar e that I have a pr ivileged, but not per fect, life. I am awar e that life can be challenging sometimes.

But her e I am, wear ing a white jer sey and pants with blue pinstr ipes and a r ed belt with a black sleeve on my left ar m. I am thinking about nothing other than destr oying the baseball that is about to come my way. I am mentally pr epar ed to give my best per for mance on the baseball field, and I am emotionally composed.

My father is sitting in the bleacher s, watching me in the left- hand side of the batter ?s box. He is ther e to suppor t his son, r emember ing all of the challenges I over come in the spor t of baseball as well as in life. My mother is sitting in the bleacher s, watching her son chase his dr eams while hoping for a str ong per for mance fr om him. Both of my par ents hope I can live a life wher e I can balance baseball with Jewish values; I think I?m doing pr etty well so far.

{59}

Michigan Avenue Sara Weiss On a windy November af ternoon, When the air is cold and the smell of rain is f resh, Over by the sharp grey corner of North Michigan Avenue and East Washington Street Lies a homeless man, sleeping peacef ully, Holding a clear plastic cup.

His clothes are ripped and dirty, And he carries with him the strong smell of garbage, A smell that makes one?s nose cringe.

The long, sticky sidewalks of Michigan Avenue See thousands of f eet every day.

The street is gloomy and f illed with yellow, red, and orange leaves, All dif f erent types of people walking down it, Most wearing brown or dark purple sweaters, Preparing f or Thanksgiving and pumpkin-spiced lattes.

A f ew f eet away, the smell of cinnamon rising From a churro stand is carried by the wind, Instantly hitting one?s nose.

On the other side of the street, Macy?s is having their f all sale, Drawing dozens of customers Like a swarm of f lies attracted to garbage.

In the hands of this homeless man, The crippled cup holds only a f ew clinking coins, Given to him by kind people who have passed by.

Of those people, I include myself ; I have handed him a small amount of hope In the f orm of green and grey currency, Hoping it will help this middle-aged man.

As I stretch my arm to hand him the money, He slowly awakens And reaches his scratched and dirty arms out into the dry silver air,

{60}

Looking into the clear, half -empty cup,

The one he aspires to have f illed one day.

As his tired eyes gaze into the gloomy cup, He takes the dollar bills And places them into his torn blue jacket.

Down the street are men in orange, Trying to f ix a huge gap in the street.

Across the road are people hanging shiny crystal lights f or a light show.

He looked at me with his bright blue eyes, Staring at my butter-f ur Uggs Almost as if he was imagining warming his cold f eet in them.

He managed to smile at me f or a moment But then turned his unshaven, wind-burned neck, Seeking another kind person to hand him more money.

Cold, windy and amazingly bright, The bright November day has reached 6PM, And back behind us, Store owners begin to close their tiny shops and kiosks, Customers slowly dispersing.

Yet this man does not go anywhere And slowly settles into his black bag.

If you should hand this man money, Stretching your hand out to the clear cup, Your heart will warm with kindness.

If you saw him sitting there as I did, Sorrow would overtake your heart, But you would continue to walk about your day.

In this world, At this place, In this time, This man is the opposite Of what we all strive to be: Successf ul, clean, wealthy, and happy.

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How To Poem Tamar Dallal I. I don?t really know how to write; Ideas and pens always put up a fight.

V. What is poetry What is a concrete poem

I could try out a limerick

What am I doing

And see if the style would stick,

What am I even writing

But no - hmmm. Not quite.

What am I bothering with What person is going to read this

II. Haikus?Way too hard.

I hate counting syllables; I always mess up.

III. How about an

What if someone notices this shape What if they see it?s a question What will they ask What will I say

Elementary poem first?

What is my purpose here

Let?s see if an acrostic poem could

What do I need to get an A

Possibly work.

My mind isn?t cooperating Excellently though.

VI. I?ll end with this one.

It?s called a tanka poem But the problem is

IV. Cinquain?

Brisk, short Confusing, time-consuming (Help - insert four words) ...Poem

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I have to count syllables.

Again. I give up.

Beach House Ashira Lubin Driving down the winding road on Mercer Island On a Sunday af ternoon in the middle of April To a small house overlooking the Pacif ic, We see an old woman reclining in her comf ortably woven chair.

She tells me she has been preparing all week f or our visit, excited as a child would be when receiving candy.

The deck outside of the dining room has delicately placed redwood planks,

She is tightly grasping a paperback book

And the lawn chairs are neatly laid out across its surf ace.

And smiles when we arrive.

The children are playing a game of f ootball

The sky is clear of clouds,

While numerous trees tower over the house,

And the air is warm,

Yet they block no sun f rom seeping through.

The smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill across the lawn f illing the air.

This woman has taught me the importance of literature

It is a brick house

Through her attitude toward lif e and the subject.

With three steps leading up to the door,

Her speech and writing portrays her talent,

The white wood door with chips of paint peeling of f the edges.

Which I have been captivated to learn more about.

It has only one story - two bedrooms

The sun has now set in the distance,

And a long kitchen opening into the dining and living And the stars have come out of hiding. rooms.

I walk down the steep stairs of the house that lead to the On the living room walls hang watercolor paintings of shore, f lowers and mountainous countrysides.

Able to tell f rom the broken-of f pieces of cement that The couches have lived a long lif e, The stairs have not been repaired in a while.

And their gray leather is worn down, You would enjoy the shore, The purple wool pillows settling themselves between How the water washes up but is then pulled back in like the cushions. a spring, The woman is my cousin's grandmother; The rocks sitting still despite being pressured to move She wears khaki shorts and a maroon polo, by the water.

Both ironed so neatly that any wrinkles are barely You would enjoy the peacef ulness of the beach, visible.

Especially af ter the sun is long set, Her white crew socks are buried in her white tennis When the sand glistens in the moonlight, shoes.

And all you can see is the sand and the ocean, Everything else surrounding you invisible In the quiet darkness of night.

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The Holiday Shira Cohen It's an unusually hot evening in Deerfield, Illinois.

It is the middle of September, The time when the Jewish holiday of Yom Kippur starts.

In an almost vacant strip mall, A middle-aged rabbi prepares his many speeches for the congregants W ho are coming to be inspired on the holiest day of the year.

The same place where the services are being held Used to be a restaurant before it was closed down.

The outside of the store still has the name ?Abruzzo?s?plastered to the name plaque.

The shul is laid out like the restaurant had been, W ith low-hanging lights and black-and-white tiled floors.

The air has a dusty feel to it that would make one's nose twitch.

The physical space of the shul is a strange contrast to the seriousness of the day.

I divert my attention to the Rabbi, My uncle, who holds the precious shofar in one hand.

I hand to him the shofar case to put it in So it doesn't get ruined or damaged.

I sit and read a book in the spirit of the upcoming holiday.

I watch as people begin to file in, Their eyes scanning the room for places for their families to sit.

There are all different types of people: Young couples, old couples, families with young children, and single adults, All ready to accept the holiday that stands for repentance and new beginnings.

As the prayers start, I glance around the picture-perfect scene.

Everybody has a siddur in hand, Dressed in as much white as they could find in their closets.

The Rabbi, in the front of the room, is wrapped in his white garment.

The white clothes, as I'm told, Are a sign of freshness and purity.

There is a certain feeling in the air, One of warmth, of connection, of hopefulness and of solemnity.

I wish you were here to appreciate this with me, To teach me how precious this time is.

You would sing along to all the melodies And point me to the current page when I lose my place.

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You would help make it more meaningful for me, Reminding me of what really matters in this life.

{65}

How to Adopt a Dog Noah Roffe When you reali ze that your si bli ng wi ll be graduati ng hi gh school i n a week , leavi ng you as the last chi ld to leave home, beg your parents to consi der adopti ng a dog.

Tell them how happy you wi ll be i f they wi ll only agree.

Remember how much you loved comi ng home to that waggi ng tai l of your old dog.

Li sten to your parents try to di ssuade you, but do not beli eve what they say.

Fi nd the perfect match onli ne. Show your parents when you fi nd the one that you cannot stop look i ng at.

Convi nce your parents that you wi ll be responsi ble: you wi ll walk hi m, feed hi m, groom hi m, and love hi m.

Do not gi ve up when they questi on your commi tment.

Reali ze that you only need to convi nce one parent, and the other one wi ll fall i n love i n ti me.

Wonder i f the dog i s goi ng to behave and be as cute i n person.

Have your parents dri ve you to the ani mal rescue.

When you reali ze that your fi rst and second opti ons are tak en, settle for the thi rd.

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Hear the veteri nari an?s assi stant say, ?He was the only happy dog to come off the transfer van after a fi ve-hour tri p.?

Feel the jumps and the li ck s offered by thi s energeti c dog.

Tak e hi m for a walk , and tell hi m he i s a good boy.

Hope your mom brought the check book ; thi s dog i s worth i t.

Watch your dad pace i n the park i ng lot, refusi ng to watch the mandatory vi deo.

Hear the veteri nari an?s assi stant say, ?If you do not tak e thi s dog home, there are three other fami li es on the wai ti ng li st to see hi m.?

Reali ze your mother wants thi s dog as much as you do - maybe more.

Watch her pay happi ly whi le your father i s sti ll paci ng.

Watch the dog jump i nto the car, but mak e sure he does not jump on the dri ver.

Go to the pet store and buy hi m a bed, toys, food, treats, nai l cli ppers, toothbrush, water bottle, leash, collar, and name tag.

As you are dri vi ng from place to place, hear your si bli ngs argue about what to name the dog.

Reali ze that no matter what hi s name i s, your mother wi ll mak e up a thousand ni ck names to call hi m.

Bri ng hi m home, where he wi ll soon become your new best fri end.

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H ou se of M em or ies Rebecca Fr iedm an I t i s a col d ev en i n g i n Vi r gi n i a.

Th e gr ou n d i s cov er ed i n sn ow , an d t h e sk y i s f i l l ed W i t h or an ge-an d -p i n k st r eak s p ai n t ed on t h e h or i zon .

Af t er a t ed i ou s el ev en -h ou r d r i v e, W e f i n al l y ar r i v e at a l ar ge br ow n br i ck h ou se W i t h a p l ast i c r ei n d eer st u ck on t o t h e l aw n .

Th e f r esh , cl ean ai r h ol d s a h i n t of p i n e.

Acr oss t h e st r eet , a m an i s w al k i n g h i s d og.

H e i s w ear i n g a coat , boot s, an d gl ov es.

H i s bod y sh i v er s sl i gh t l y becau se of t h e w eat h er , An d h i s boot s cr u n ch on t h e i cy sn ow .

W al k i n g i n t o t h e h ou se, I see a gi an t p i ct u r e of m y m om ?s f am i l y.

Th e p i ct u r e i s i n a cl ean -cu t w ood en f r am e Pl aced on t h e w al l r i gh t acr oss t h e d oor .

I t cap t u r es a h ap p y m om en t of m y m om W i t h h er si st er s, br ot h er s, an d p ar en t s i n K or ea; I t w as a beau t i f u l su n n y d ay w i t h f ew cl ou d s An d sm i l es on ev er y on e?s f aces.

Th e h ap p i n ess r ad i at i n g f r om t h e p i ct u r e r em i n d s m e Of al l t h e h ap p y m em or i es I h av e m ad e i n t h i s h ou se: Th e f am i l y m eal s, t h e l at e n i gh t W i i gam es, an d t h e al l -d ay sh op p i n g.

I al w ay s l ook f or w ar d t o com i n g h er e.

{68} {68}

Th e t abl e i n t h e k i t ch en i s f i l l ed w i t h v ar i ou s Asi an cu i si n es, Fr om k i m ch i an d bean sp r ou t s t o r i ce an d beef.

Th e sm el l s of t h e sw eet , sal t y , an d sp i cy f ood d r i f t t ow ar d m y n ose.

A k n ock on t h e d oor t ear s m e aw ay f r om t h e en t r an ci n g ar om as.

Th e m an f r om acr oss t h e st r eet w al k s i n si d e An d t ak es of f h i s coat an d boot s, l eav i n g h i m I n jean s an d a p u l l ov er sw eat er .

H e i s a f r i en d of m y cou si n ?s w h o h as com e t o joi n u s f or d i n n er .

H e t oo i s cap t i v at ed by t h e w on d er f u l sm el l s i n t h e h ou se.

As I w ai t f or t h e r est of t h e gu est s, I st ep ou t si d e on t o t h e back p or ch .

I am w ear i n g l eggi n gs an d a ov er si zed h ood i e, sm el l i n g t h e ou t d oor s M i x ed w i t h t h e sm el l of t h e f ood s f r om i n si d e.

Al l I can see bef or e m e i s a m assi v e f or est , A t r am p ol i n e, an d a sm al l r i v er .

Th e on l y sou n d I h ear i s t h e ch i r p i n g of cr i ck et s.

I f y ou w er e h er e, y ou w ou l d n ?t m i n d t h e col d .

You w ou l d en joy t h e w i n d w h i p p i n g t h r ou gh y ou r h ai r .

I f y ou w er e h er e, y ou w ou l d f eel h ap p y an d at p eace, A f eel i n g y ou w i sh y ou cou l d bot t l e an d sav e f or t h e r est of y ou r l i f e, A f eel i n g t h at i s on l y ex p er i en ced w h i l e w i t h t h e on es y ou l ov e: You r f am i l y.

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Staying a Child or Becoming an Adult Liat Katz

I am just a child, thirteen, Balancing myself Between staying a child and becoming an adult.

I want to be able to think impulsively and just act as things come to me While also being treated respectf ully as an adult.

I am naive, pale and skinny, athletic and anxious, with bright blue eyes and brown hair.

Now I am trapped in a plane, seeing us f loat through clouds over the city below, Wearing converse sneakers, sweatpants, and a t-shirt that I have been sitting in f or 18 hours, Which gets me thinking.

Thinking about how to change f rom a child to an adult.

Then it comes to me: the moment when I become an adult.

I hear the whimpers f rom my mother as she tells me My role model, my grandf ather, has passed away.

My mother and I are very sensitive on the inside but strong on the outside; It was in this moment when we are both weak.

{70}

I start to imagine what my f ather could be f eeling, As he is at home, telling my brother the bad news.

I stop thinking, But my thoughts overtake my body, and I stand there, crying with my mother.

We slowly walk of f the plane.

Seeing her in pain makes me realize that she cannot see me in pain; I am challenging myself to pull myself together as the adult that I am.

As we walk to our next plane ride, I realize we have two more hours f or my thoughts to overwhelm me.

Those couple of hours were just the beginning of a painf ul week.

I take a deep breath and remember him The way he smiled, The way he cracked jokes, The way my f ather reminds me so much of him.

Now my f ather becomes my role model, and I remember How much my f ather wants me to be happy, just like my grandf ather, So to I begin to smile again.

{71}

Home Aw ay From Home Sara Richter It is a cold summer morning up in t he Cat skills of New York.

A young camper is just w aking up to t he cold w ind and sun peeking t hrough t he old wooden cabin w indow s like a mot her checking on her sleeping children t hrough a door left ajar.

The young camper is rubbing her eyes and t hen st retches her arms and legs t hat have been const ricted by t he bedsheet s.

The air is crisp w it h t he sat isfying smell of dew, and t he bunkhouse at mosphere is full of murmurs and groans as everyone else w akes up as well.

The lake beyond t he bunkhouses shimmers and glow s as t he freshly risen sun reflect s it self on t he clear w ater t hat is moving in t he rhyt hm of t he lungs of a new born baby.

The sky is blue, puffy w hite clouds drift ing across it , and t he lake holds t hat image on it s surface w hile t he brow n cabins surround t he lake as if t hey were log benches placed around a campfire.

Behind t he lake is a st ill parade of t hick pine t rees.

The camper loves t he lake; she is mesmerized by t he approaching and receding w ater as she w alks along t he shores w it h her friend.

This young camper is my dearest friend.

I am row ing a canoe along w it h t hree ot her campers, The canoe made of a silver met al t hat is blurred and rusted from t he hundreds of t imes it has been submerged under t he lake's w ater.

All t he canoes look similar, but each one has a different scratch or dent .

The dirt y boat s are st acked slight ly at an angle along t he outer w all of t he shed cont aining t he life vest s and oars.

The small shed has many names and numbers carved into t he peeling wooden w alls, and t he lifeguard st aff keep all of t heir flip flops around t he outer perimeter of t he shed.

I have been in t he shed numerous t imes to t ake a small life vest and an oar, and I am alw ays excited w hen I smell t he wet foam and plast ic of t he vest s.

I remember carving my name into t he ceiling t hree years prior and forget t ing my flip flops under a pile of life vest s, w alking all t he w ay back to t he bunkhouses w hile barefoot .

(I learned to alw ays check for all my belongings before leaving.)

If you were to sit in t he w ide canoe, you would feel relaxed, but t he cold and hard met al seat might cause you discomfort .

If you were to dip your hand in t he w ater out side t he canoe, t he soft skin of your arm would brush past silky, and somew hat slimy, weeds.

If you were to close your eyes as you drift around t he lake in t he almond-shaped canoe, you would feel as if you were flying over a sleeping cit y in t he middle of a st ill night , peaceful and at rest .

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at ten Adina M

Masha Mat ten

Gadi Kal man

Masha Matten

ya Ner

l er Mi l

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On the Ferry Molly Jacobson Although it is a cloudy af ternoon

Pelicans resting atop them, looking out

On the Gulf of Mexico,

Onto the gulf as if they are the kings of

The f erry is f ull of tourists

the water.

Whose goal is to cross the water.

A young girl around 10 years old stands

On the roof of the captain?s steering section,

Looking down at the brackish water,

Surrounded by the scraps of f ood it collected earlier,

Stomach pressed against the cold saf ety bars,

Sits a plump seagull, glowing with triumph,

Arms spread out like the pelicans f lying overhead.

As he just caught a f ish bigger than any of his Companions?f indings with f eathers above his head

The air smells strongly of f ish skin that has dried to the surf ace of the f ishing boats passing by. It makes one?s nose ache and one?s eyes tear. The f erry has two stories: the top f or observing the water and the bottom to hold the cars. The stairs have slight spikes sticking up in order to properly grip one?s f oot.

All is gray: the debris of oil f loating on top of the waves creates miniature pools of rainbows, but the gray of the buoy, seagulls, and boat balancing on the water is the same color as the rainy, cloud-f illed skies looking as if they are welded together with the horizon.

Extending toward the heavens as if he has completed His goal in lif e and is ready to receive his ultimate reward.

The young girl lets the wind take her hair and stick it to her lip gloss.

She is my younger sister.

We talk of how great it is to smell the sea instead of staring at books And sitting in classrooms during most of our days at home While we wait to reach shore on the other side.

The boat railings are completely covered in layers of bird droppings,

There are signs of sea spray soaking her shirt; She has been standing there f or at least an hour

And the lif e rings are similarly plastered

And has become exceptional at balancing on one f oot

With tiny white sea barnacles,

At the f ront of the boat with the railing as her only protection.

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Down in the opaque water, f ollowing the small waves that the boat creates, Empty paper cups and aluminum cans Are f loating at the top, eventually becoming Toxic f ood f or f ish and other sea creatures.

He didn't know there was a boat of people admiring the beauty of his gleaming skin.

He was f ocused on breathing in the f resh air,

Taller, darker, and wider, Trailing behind the f erry,

Like me, currently taking a break f rom the stress and responsibility of school.

A boat towers over us.

Black, standing out f rom the color of the water, Looming like a whale f or krill.

I'd only been on that boat ride once bef ore, that short one that made me miss clear water, as the spilled oil tanks had coated the surf ace.

He would jump out, looking like he was f lying.

Majestic.

Then he immersed himself in the water, becoming invisible, and showed up again a f ew f eet away f rom the original area where he emerged.

One had to completely f ocus in order to see the wonders of his f light.

If you should swim in it,

It is like what we do to our world,

Your body would turn a dif f erent color and

Destroy, pollute, clutter, drown.

Your legs would not be seen, as if you were covered in a thick blanket that is used

Coating nature in man?s hand?

For only the most extreme, f reezing weather.

Then opening our eyes to the beauty of what we would miss

But f ar out Almost impossible to see -

Once it?s gone.

I have seen one dolphin in particular Jumping out of and back into the water.

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Su ccu l en t Su p p l em en t Tam ar Dal l al Fans of the m ovie Shar knado say that they enjoy it because ?it?s so bad, it?s good.? Cer tain autom obile owner s pr efer classic car s because they ?have m or e char acter .? And r ecently, vinyl r ecor d sales have skyr ocketed because it is per ceived that they have a war m er , fuller sound.

Discuss som ething that you love not in spite of but r ather due to its quir ks or im per fections.

-I nspir ed by Alex Ser banescu

Dai si es, r h od od en d r on s, or ch i d s, sn ap d r agon s, bl u ebel l s. Gor geou s f l ow er s, t o be su r e.

For ot h er s? Yes. For m e? N ot qu i t e.

Bot an y l esson on e: al l cact i ar e su ccu l en t s, bu t n ot al l su ccu l en t s ar e cact i .

On m y f i f t een t h bi r t h d ay , m y m ot h er w ok e m e w i t h a cact u s t o t h e f ace. W el l , n ot d i r ect l y i n m y f ace. An d i t w asn ?t ev en a si n gl e p l an t - I w as su d d en l y t h e m ot h er of f ou r sm al l su ccu l en t s. I n i t i al l y , I h ad n o i d ea w h at t h ey w er e or h ow t o car e f or t h em , so I t u r n ed t o t h e l i br ar y an d t h e t r u st y i n t er n et t o an sw er m y qu est i on s.

Th ose su ccu l en t s - h ar d y , f l esh y p l an t s t h at st or e w at er i n t h ei r l eav es t o su r v i v e i n d r y cl i m at es - n ow p er ch on m y bed r oom w i n d ow si l l , h ap p i l y t h r i v i n g on t h e su n l i gh t p ou r i n g i n t o t h at cor n er . Am on g t h em I h av e t w o cact i , a f am i l y w i t h i n su ccu l en t s t h at d oesn ?t u su al l y h av e l eav es or br an ch es bu t h as sp i n es, h ai r , an d f l ow er s t h at gr ow f r om aer eol es i n st ead . N o t w o su ccu l en t s I ow n ar e t h e sam e; w h y sh ou l d t h ey be, w h en I h av e so m an y sp eci es t o ch oose f r om ?

Bot an y l esson t w o: t h er e ar e at l east 20,000 v ar i et i es of su ccu l en t s.

Each of m y su ccu l en t s h as a d i st i n ct ap p ear an ce an d , I w ou l d v en t u r e t o say , p er son al i t y. M y r u by bal l cact u s, a sh or t , t h i ck gr een bod y t op p ed w i t h a v agu el y r ou n d , sp i n y r ed ?bal l ,? t en d s t o be l azy an d gr ow i n i t s ow n t i m e, ev en w h en i t get s p l en t y of su n . I h av e a bar r el cact u s t h at gr ow s w i sp y h ai r s of f t h e t op , an d n est l ed w i t h i n t h e h ai r an d su r r ou n d i n g sp i n es i s a sm al l y el l ow f l ow er . Th i s on e, t h e m ost eccen t r i c-l ook i n g su ccu l en t , i s n am ed Fr an ci s. I al so n u r t u r e a gh ost ech ev er i a, m y p al e bl u e beau t y t h at sp r ou t s a r oset t e on t op an d f an s i t s l ow er l eav es as i t gr ow s. A f ew ot h er su ccu l en t s h av e f ou n d a h om e on m y w i n d ow si l l , bu t t h ese t h r ee h i gh l i gh t m y gar d en s.

Th e r eason I l ov e su ccu l en t s i s becau se of t h ei r d i st i n ct d i f f er en ces f r om y ou r av er age h ou sep l an t . W h at p ot t ed p l an t i s col or ed bl u e, p i n k , gr een , an d w h i t e...al l at on ce? I l ov e t h e r oset t es t h at bl ossom f r om t h e st em s an d con st an t l y gr ow . Th e v ar i et y of l eaf sh ap es - geom et r i c, r ou n d ed , f l at - al l ow s so m u ch r oom f or cu st om i zed gar d en s an d ar t i st i c com bi n at i on s. Su ccu l en t s ar en ?t m er el y p l an t s, t h ey ar e ar t p r oject s. Ev en as I t y p e, I ?m l ook i n g d ow n at m y r i n g, u p on w h i ch i s gr ow i n g a sm al l al i ce bl u e ech ev er i a.

Th e best p ar t i s t h at t h ey can su r v i v e an y w h er e, ev en m y cl u t t er ed bed r oom , an d n ot on l y gr ow , bu t t h r i v e.

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Bot an y l esson t h r ee: su ccu l en t s p r op agat e easi l y.

I w i l l p r obabl y n ev er r u n ou t of su ccu l en t s. Th i s com es as a sor t of bl essi n g an d cu r se.

Th e bl essi n g i s t h at I can ?t k i l l t h e p l an t s w i t h ou t a p u r p osef u l at t em p t . Th e ?cu r se? i s t h at i f I acci d en t al l y k n ock a l eaf or t w o of f t h e m ai n p l an t , I cou l d en d u p w i t h su ccu l en t s gr ow i n g u n d er n eat h m y n i gh t st an d . W h i l e I d on ?t see t h i s as a h u ge p r obl em , I ?d st i l l l i k e t o car e f or m y p l an t s p r op er l y w i t h ou t r u n n i n g ou t of r oom f or t w en t y ex t r a p l an t s w h er e t h er e u sed t o be on l y t w o l eav es.

Of cou r se, su ccu l en t s n eed l ot s of car e, ev en i f t h ey can su r v i v e on v er y l i t t l e w at er f or w eek s at a t i m e. Th ey n eed p r u n i n g an d su n l i gh t , p est con t r ol an d p r op er soi l . Bu t f or al l t h at , f or al l t h e w or k I p u t i n t o t h em , su ccu l en t s br i n g a u n i qu e beau t y t o m y l i f e t h at I n ev er bef or e k n ew ex i st ed . An d I ?v e d i scov er ed a l ov e f or bot an y t h at I d i d n ?t ex p ect t o f i n d i n a si m p l e bi r t h d ay gi f t .

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Fr i d ay at Gr an d m a's Am i Gr een ber g I t i s a col d n i gh t i n Febr u ar y.

M y f am i l y an d I ar e w al k i n g t o m y gr an d m a?s h ou se f or Fr i d ay n i gh t d i n n er , t on i gh t d ou bl i n g as m y br ot h er ?s bi r t h d ay d i n n er .

I cy r ai n d r op s begi n t o f al l f r om t h e d ar k , cl ou d y sk y , as i f ou r ear t h i s w ar r i n g w i t h t h e cl ou d s.

M y f am i l y an d I begi n t o p i ck u p ou r p ace as t h e r ai n st ar t s com i n g d ow n h ar d er . Th e sou n d of t h e r ai n d r op s h i t t i n g t h e gr ou n d ar e soot h i n g as w e r u n t h r ou gh t h e d ar k . M y br ot h er i s r u n n i n g st r i d e f or st r i d e w i t h m e; h e n o l on ger w an t s t o st an d i n t h e r ai n an d can ?t w ai t t o be i n t h e w ar m t h of gr an d m a?s h ou se.

Th e ai r sm el l s of w at er , sew er s, an d w et gr ass; i t m ak es on e?s n ost r i l s t w i t ch . Th e st r eet s ar e bl ack , bu t begi n t o sh i n e f r om t h e m oon l i gh t r ef l ect i n g of f t h e l ay er of w at er cov er i n g t h e st r eet s.

Ev er y f ew m i n u t es a car p asses by , an d w e m ov e ou t of t h e w ay so i t d oesn ?t sp l ash w at er on u s. Al t h ou gh i t i s d ar k ou t , t h e cl ean st r eet s an d gr ou n d ar e st u n n i n g.

Th e l eav es on t h e t r ees ar e al l br ow n an d or an ge, t h e gr ass i s a br i gh t gr een , an d t h e st r eet s l ook l i k e t h ey h av e been gi v en a f r esh coat i n g of t ar .

Up ah ead w e can see m y gr an d m ot h er ?s h ou se, l ar ge w i n d ow s gl ow i n g f r om t h e l i gh t s i n si d e t h e h ou se.

M y f at h er l ook s at al l of m y f am i l y m em ber s M y br ot h er s an d I begi n t o r u n f ast er n ow , k n ow i n g t h at w e ar e cl ose t o ou r d est i n at i on an d can soon be ou t of t h e r ai n . M y f at h er w al k s w i t h m y m ot h er so sh e i s n ot l ef t beh i n d .

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W e ar e f i n al l y t h er e.

W e en t er m y gr an d m ot h er ?s h ou se an d f eel t h e h eat on ou r f aces, an d w e begi n t o sm i l e.

H er d og h ear s t h e com m ot i on an d i m m ed i at el y com es t o gr eet u s w h i l e w e t ak e of f ou r w et cl ot h i n g an d h u g m y gr an d p ar en t s.

Th e h ou se sm el l s of ch i ck en sou p , r oast , an d m ash ed p ot at oes, m y br ot h er ?s f av or i t e f ood s. Th e d i n n er t abl e i s al l set , bu t d i n n er i s n ot y et r ead y t o be ser v ed .

M y f am i l y h el p s m y gr an d m a f i n i sh p r ep ar i n g.

W e si t d ow n f or d i n n er , an d I l ook at m y gr an d m a an d t el l h er t h e f ood sm el l s d el i ci ou s, I can ?t w ai t t o eat !

A sm i l e sh i n i n g on h er f ace sh ow s m e h ow h ap p y sh e i s t o h av e u s f or d i n n er .

I f y ou w er e h er e, y ou w ou l d sm el l t h e f ood f r om t h e k i t ch en , an d y ou r m ou t h w ou l d begi n t o w at er .

Af t er a jou r n ey t h r ou gh t h e r ai n , m y f am i l y cou l d n ot be h ap p i er t o be si t t i n g an d eat i n g.

You t ak e y ou r f i r st bi t e, an d i n t h at m om en t , y ou r t ast e bu d s begi n ju m p i n g w i t h joy ; y ou r st om ach h as been r u m bl i n g al l n i gh t bu t i s n ow sat i sf i ed .

You w ou l d see m y f am i l y con v er si n g an d en joy i n g t h ei r f ood , gl ow i n g sm i l es on ev er y on e?s f aces f or t h e r est of t h e n i gh t .

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The Meaning of Intangible Abigail Brasch

Surely you know what intangible is. It is beauty, G-d, angst, trust, f reedom, motivation, f ear, pain, happiness, nostalgia, strength, claustrophobia, conf idence, clarity.

Intangible is beauty: the dance of notes that slip through your sister?s lips, f orming an angelic hallelujah.

It is G-d: to whom thousands silently shout hate, love, pain, too many prayers, not enough prayers.

It is angst: the shock f rom your toes to your chest three minutes bef ore stepping to the center of the stage.

It is trust: countless words, whispers, secrets reciprocated f rom your lips to sister?s ears, f rom your sister?s lips to your ears.

Intangible is f reedom: your f ace, her f ace, every girls?f ace buried in Siddurim at a bus stop f or evening prayers on a Springf ield highway.

Intangible is motivation: the f if th review of neutrons: 1am, electrons; 2am, protons; 3am...

It is f ear: your nails digging into the skin of the adult who f ound you, crying and alone, in the woods when your f amily f orgot you.

Intangible is pain: the slow rip of your f ather?s shirt the day he bade his mother goodbye, the tense clenching of his sweaty hands, the thick tears that stained your silk blouse.

It is happiness: one thousand heartbeats, one thousand exuberant licks f rom the ball of white f luf f who greets you af ter school.

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Intangible is nostalgia: the empty nest, the longing f or back then, when one brother was not a thousand miles away f ighting f or another country, another brother was not a Junior in another state, one sister was not engaged, when you all lived beneath the same roof .

When your sof t toes brushed against your sister?s under the same covers, but now you have your own bed, and she has her own room.

Intangible is strength: the f lutter on the monitor attached through grandma?s nose. The inhale, the exhale, the push f or every last breath, until she kissed each grandchild goodbye.

It is claustrophobia: seat 15B on your eighteen-hour f light to Israel.

It is conf idence: stutter upon stutter, building up your silky voice f or your 12th birthday, the speech to a room f illed with judgmental people.

It is clarity: the crystal translucence through your plastic scuba mask of f the Galapagos Islands, allowing you to wonder at urchins, reef s, angelf ish.

Intangibles are the anecdotes strewn across this page.

Or are they truly intangible?

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Future

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The future section contains fewer pieces because no one quite knows what the future brings, which paths and directions our lives could take. It is those writers who choose to write about that unknown, taking the leap out of their comfort zone, who truly leave an impact on the world. Here, we share ourselves as we will be.

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Daydr eam Gail Sch n eider m an

You ar e aw ak e, bu t yet you dr eam Of dr agon s, of m agic, of an ot h er Place - f or eign , yet so f am iliar . A w or ld pu r ely you r s.

A place you t r easu r e w it h All you r bein g. You alw ays r e-en t er .

You can n ot escape t h is w or ld.

No on e else in t h e w or ld Kn ow s abou t it . It is a place you con ju r ed. A pr odu ct of you r Im agin at ion . It is ju st a dr eam , Bu t it f eels so r eal. You allow n o ot h er To en t er .

It is st r ict ly w it h -

In you . Bu t com e w it h M e, an d I?ll let you en t er M y m in d, m y im agin at ion , m y daydr eam s.

Wit h in t h em - Book s com e alive. M ade-u p w or lds Br eat h e, alw ays en din g an ot h er Way. I w on der If you r

Daydr eam s look lik e m in e. If Book s com e alive. Or if you r Daydr eam s ar e of t h e f u t u r e - som et im es m in e ar e.

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I don?t en t er An ot h er dim en sion , bu t I dr eam Of f u t u r e even t s. Of r ealist ic even t s t h at cou ld h appen w it h Th e f act s t h at I k n ow or , som et im es, ju st w h at I w an t t o occu r in t h is w or ld.

I w on der if all ot h er s Daydr eam as in t en sely as I do. If ot h er s Daydr eam as an escape f r om t h is w or ld, As a t im e-passer or becau se t h ey w ish t o get lost w it h In t h eir m in ds. M y daydr eam s Ar e m y solace, m y cr eat ive ou t let . I w on der abou t t h e r eason f or you r Daydr eam s. M in e ar e a saf e h aven t o alw ays r en t er .

En t er An ot h er Wor ld Wit h You r Daydr eam s.

Bu t t ak e m y advice - don't get lost w it h in t h ese ot h er w or lds.

Re-en t er Ear t h . Wak e Up. Don't ju st dr eam . Ach ieve you r dr eam s.

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Identity Masha Matten

Som e people k n ow t h eir pat h , bu t w h at is you r w ay?

An d alt h ou gh you m igh t be su r e you ar e aw ak e, You ?r e livin g in t om or r ow. St ar t livin g f or t oday.

Th ey f or ce you t o ch oose ear ly, n o t im e f or delay.

It doesn?t m at t er if you don't k n ow w h ich dir ect ion t o t ak e.

Som e people k n ow t h eir pat h , bu t w h at is you r w ay?

You w on der w h at w ill h appen if you go ast r ay.

Don't be t oo w or r ied abou t f u t u r e h ear t br eak .

You ?r e livin g in t om or r ow. St ar t livin g f or t oday.

Wh at def in es you , you r in t er est s? Th e spor t s t h at you play?

Wh at k eeps you u p at n igh t ? In spir ed you t o w ak e?

Som e people k n ow t h eir pat h , bu t w h at is you r w ay?

You dr ead decision s lik e you dr ead M on day.

Don't w or r y if you m ess u p, if t h e pat h is a m ist ak e.

You ?r e livin g in t om or r ow. St ar t livin g f or t oday.

You r f u t u r e is n ot set in st on e, it ?s st ill as sof t a clay.

You w ill be w h o you ar e, you r iden t it y can?t br eak .

Som e people k n ow t h eir pat h , bu t w h at is you r w ay?

You ?r e livin g in t om or r ow. St ar t livin g f or t oday.

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Roni Bell

Oriya Falk

Oriya Falk

Gail Schneiderman

Oriya Falk Tamar Dallal

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Soar in g Ch aim St ar r In st in ct ively peer in g u p at t h e sk y, I k n ow w h at is t h er e bef or e m y vision r egist er s t h e pr esen ce of t h e air plan e. Th e t ellt ale dr on e of it s en gin es divu lges t h e locat ion of t h e Boein g 737. Squ in t in g, I can ju st discer n t h e t w in blu e-an d-r ed A?s t h at iden t if y t h is par t icu lar plan e as a m em ber of t h e f leet of Am er ican Air lin es. As in m ost cases, it appr oach es f r om t h e east , passin g over t h e scin t illat in g su m m er w at er s of Lak e M ich igan , af f or din g it s occu pan t s a br illian t view of t h e Ch icago sk ylin e - an d t h en payin g m e a visit . Th e 737?s alt it u de is a m er e sever al t h ou san d f eet , an d it s n au t ical speed h as alr eady gr eat ly decr eased in pr epar at ion f or it s lan din g at O?h ar e In t er n at ion al Air por t .

I gaze in en ch an t m en t at t h e air plan e, t r yin g t o f at h om all of t h e aer odyn am ic pr ocesses

t h at , w or k in g t oget h er , con t r ibu t e t o it s f ligh t . I f ail.

Non et h eless, m y u n br idled f ascin at ion w it h t h e 737 leaves m e st an din g in aw e of t h e m ach in e n ear in g m e. M an y su ch plan es pass m e by daily, bu t each on e is an in t r igu e u n t o it self . Th eir elu siven ess capt ivat es m e m ost : Th ey ar e alof t yet u n r each able, visible yet dist an t , an d soph ist icat ed yet in com pr eh en sible. M y dr eam is t o, in deed, f u lly u n der st an d t h e u n iqu e f u n ct ion of each par t of t h e air plan e. Wit h t h at in m in d, I can n ot h elp bu t be dr aw n af t er ever y plan e in t h e sk y. I m ay st ar e at t h em in w on der at t h e pr esen t t im e; soon , t h ou gh , I w ill n od in r ecogn it ion , gr aspin g t h e in n er w or k in gs of t h e air plan es.

On ce in a w h ile, a m u ch sm aller air cr af t passes over h ead. It s sin gle en gin e accom m odat es f ou r passen ger s, an d t h e Cessn a 172 h eads t ow ar d Ch icago Execu t ive Air por t . As a m at t er of f act , I visit Palw au k ee, as t h e Palat in e-based air por t is k n ow n , a cou ple of t im es each su m m er .

In on e su ch alm ost su r r eal exper ien ce, I t u r n lef t on Palat in e Road f r om M ilw au k ee Aven u e, pr oceed t o t h e cr am ped obser ver s?par k in g lot , an d ascen d t h e bleach er s.

Th er e, I dir ect m y at t en t ion a f ew h u n dr ed yar ds w est w ar d t o t h e r u n w ay; it is devoid of t r af f ic. As a qu ick scan of t h e sk y r eveals n o in com in g air plan es, I pr ess t h e bu t t on t h at act ivat es a live au dio f eed f r om t h e con t r ol t ow er ; all is qu iet .

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Su dden ly, t h e speak er cr ack les t o lif e: Th e excit ed voices of a pilot an d an d an air t r af f ic con t r oller con ver se f ar t oo qu ick ly f or m y com pr eh en sion , bu t t h at does n ot con cer n m e. A plan e is appr oach in g! I peer over m y sh ou lder , an d, su r e en ou gh , I glim pse t h e Cessn a. On ly a dist an t spar k le, t h e sm all plan e st eadily advan ces. I pr esen t ly h ear t h e bu zzin g of it s pr opeller an d discer n it s r ect an gu lar w in gs. Bef or e I h ave a ch an ce t o f u lly appr eciat e t h e view - t h e sleek r ed body of t h e Cessn a con t r ast ed again st t h e ligh t blu e of t h e sk y - t h e air plan e passes su f f icien t ly low over Palat in e Road t o cast a sh adow , descen ds on t o t h e r u n w ay, an d t ou ch es dow n sof t ly. M y t h ou gh t s r em ain in t h e air w it h t h e st u n n in g lan dscape u n dou bt edly spr ead below t h e Cessn a?s occu pan t s du r in g t h eir f in al m om en t s of f ligh t . A dozen air plan es t ak e of f an d lan d t h r ou gh ou t m y t w o-h ou r st ay at Palw au k ee.

I can n ot im agin e an y place in t h e w or ld in w h ich I w ou ld r at h er spen d an af t er n oon .

I exper ien ce sim ilar sen t im en t s on t h at clou dless m idsu m m er day ou t side m y h ou se.

Th e 737 passes dir ect ly over h ead an d con t in u es t o t h e air por t , descen din g yet u n r each able, car r yin g a sm all piece of m e w it h it . I w at ch t h e air plan e blen d w it h t h e h or izon , r elease on e f ar ew ell pu f f of exh au st , an d disappear f or good.

Alr eady, an ot h er low -f lyin g plan e is visible t o t h e east . Wit h each passin g secon d, t h e dr on e of it s en gin es in cr eases, an d t h e size of it s glor iou s f r am e gr ow s. So does m y desir e t o design m an y cr af t lik e it - t o becom e an aer ospace en gin eer .

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How t o be a Good Big Sist er Sarah Perlow W hen she first arrives, feel excit ed. Realize you will be ?ignored?more oft en. Take her under your wing. Teach her t he right ways t o live; inst ead of get t ing angry and using violence, use your words. Don?t get mad when she provokes you. Int roduce her t o your friends.

Hear t he way she st ruggles wit h a new language, t rying t o t ell you what she want s in English. Show her your favorit e books t o help guide her, t o make it easier for her t o go t o class wit hout being embarrassed. Even t hough she yells at you for playing wit h somet hing she want s or doesn't want you around when she is coloring in her coloring book, st ay calm.

Try t o never let her go, no mat t er what happens. Hold her hand while crossing t he st reet t o t he park on Sat urday aft ernoons. Answer her when she asks what t he red, yellow, and green colors mean. Push her down t he t all curvy slide. Wat ch as her feet land on t he dry wood chips, and she wears a big smile on her face, saying, ?Again!?

Int roduce her t o new foods she never had in Et hiopia - pizza, ice cream, pot at o chips, all t he foods you love, t oo. Analyze her face as she eat s more of what she likes or spit s out in disgust what she doesn't want .

Help her get ready for t he first day of school. Walk her t o her classroom. Realize, as t he days go by, just how quickly she is growing up. Feel awed when she is in high school wit h you. Build a bet t er bond. Teach her what high school is about : t est s, ACTs, longer days, friends, figuring out what pat h you want t o be on in adult hood.

Walk t hrough t he doors of your high school. See her join her friends. Realize she?s independent , but be a lit t le sad t hat she is growing up. Know your role is not over.

Remember from t he beginning, first bringing her home from Et hiopia and t eaching her t he ways of life, t o wat ching her flourish. She will always be your lit t le sist er, and she?ll need you for t he rest of her life.

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It Does Not En d Her e Rivk a Com r ov It 's n ot lik e I w an t it t o en d, bu t t h is is h ow it is.

I cr ied f or a n igh t an d t h en r ealized t h er e is n o poin t in t h is.

Th is is n ot t h e en d, m y f r ien d, t h is is on ly t h e begin n in g.

M y legacy w ill live on ; t h is is ju st t h e f ir st in n in g.

No on e said lif e w ou ld be easy, so I h ave a f ew lesson s t o sh ar e.

Th ey w ill t each people t o k eep m ovin g f or w ar d an d t o spr ead love an d car e.

I w as n ot bor n w it h w isdom - it cam e f r om exper ien ce.

Ever y st or y in m y lif e h ad a pu r pose; yes, t h at m ean s ever y sin gle in ciden ce.

Th e on ly t h in g t h at pr om ised m e h appin ess w as t h e Declar at ion of In depen den ce.

Alt h ou gh God did n ot give m e a lif e so I cou ld get ever yt h in g I desir ed, He gave m e beau t if u l t est s t h at I n eeded so w h en I r et ir ed, I w ou ld be able t o u n der st an d w h o I am .

M y lesson t o m y f am ily an d f r ien ds is appr eciat e w h at you possess; Love ever yon e you car e abou t becau se h at r ed on ly br in gs a m ess.

I do n ot n eed t o t ell you on ce, I do n ot n eed t o t ell you t w ice.

Love, car e, an d k in dn ess is w h at k eeps t h is w or ld n ice.

St r ive t o be t h e best , bu t do n ot pu t dow n ot h er s.

St r ive t o be t h e best , so you can h elp t h e w or ld lik e t h ey 'r e you r sist er s an d br ot h er s.

Do n ot be af r aid t o en joy lif e; eat t h e st u pid ch ocolat e cak e, Un der st an d w h o you ar e - t h er e is n o r eason t o be f ak e.

Spr ead lif e, lau gh t er , an d love; t h is is w h at you ar e su pposed t o do.

Follow t h e on e above - His w or ds ar e t r u e.

Cr y, sm ile, go cr azy, an d h ave f u n .

I'll be h er e in you r h ear t ; I am af r aid m y t im e is don e, bu t do n ot w or r y, an d do n ot f ear M y legacy w ill live on . I pr om ise it does n ot en d h er e.

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Societ y

I am n u m b

Sar a Weiss

Wh en it com es t o h avin g A voice.

I am a f ollow er of societ y.

Th e w h it e f en ce

I ch oose t o h ave m y f in ger s

We,

Glu ed t o m y ph on e.

Th e people,

I can n ot st an d u p t o societ y,

Ar e sh elt er ed beh in d Needs t o be pain t ed Br igh t Pin k .

Th e w ay w e alw ays Blin dly

Un iqu e an d St an d ou t .

We sh ou ld n ot be f ollow in g t h e

Follow t h e

Gr ey polit ical view s t h at ar e

Dist or t ion of t h e m edia

In st alled on u s.

Needs t o be st opped.

We sh ou ld be t h e

We act lik e

Pain t br u sh es

Wast ed zom bies

Splash ed w it h

Pr et en din g t o live in a u t opian w or ld.

Color

In r ealit y, w e do n ot .

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Scar ed t o be

On societ y.

We sh ou ld n ot be ju dgin g.

Decades h ave passed,

We sh ou ld u se t h e

Societ ies h ave ch an ged, Yet

Kin dn ess of speech .

I h ope w e ch an ge t h e am ou n t of

We, Th e people,

Oppor t u n it ies given t o people t o r em ain

Have r em ain ed

Dif f er en t an d Un iqu e

To t h e r h yt h m of h ow ot h er s act ,

In a cor r u pt societ y.

Not h ow w e act .

We n eed t o

We n eed

Bu r st t h e

To m ak e ou r ow n

Bu bbles of ju dgem en t an d

Ways.

Resen t m en t ,

We n eed

Bu t in spir e each ot h er t o

To est ablish

Ch an ge an d

Ou r selves as

Be f r ee.

Hu m an s w h o

Th is is t h e

Lead,

Un r ealist ic

Not f ollow.

Hope.

You n eed t o.

Tied

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C h ar l o t t e's W eb 20 18 Ed i t o r s Ed i t o r s- I n - C h i ef Gai l Sch n ei d er m an , T am ar D al l al , M ash a M at t en , Ro n i B el l

Po et r y Ri v k a C o m r ov, A b i gai l B r asch

Pr o se A n n a Jaco by, T am ar C h av el , Ru by Gr an t , T ov a O l i f f , T al i ah So l ey m an i

A r t an d Ph o t o gr ap h y O r i y a Fal k

L ay o u t T zi p p y D av i d , H i l l el St ad l an

St af f Reb eca Pr i ce, N er y a M i l l er , Sar a Ri ch t er

A d v i so r M r s. A r o n s

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Ph ot ogr ap h y an d Ar t Cr ed i t s 2-3 - Gadi Kalman

52 - Tamar Dallal, Gadi Kalman

4-5 - Masha Mat ten 6-7 - Gail Schneiderman

53 - Masha Mat ten, Gail Schneiderman

8-9 - Masha Mat ten

54-55 - Gail Schneiderman

10 - Gail Schneiderman

56-57 - Anna Jacoby

12-13 - Ruby Grant

58 - Tamar Chavel

14-15 - Tova Oliff

59 - Ruby Grant

16-22- Oriya Falk

60-61 - Oriya Falk

24-25 - Max Miller

62 - Masha Mat ten

26 - Masha Mat ten

63 - Nerya Miller

27 - Tamar Dallal, Tamar Chavel

64-65 - Gail Schneiderman

28-29 - Roni Bell

66 - Tamar Dallal

30-31 - Max Miller

67 - Gail Schneiderman

32 - Sam Feldman

68-69 - Roni Bell

34 - Gail Schneiderman, Masha Mat ten, Tamar Dallal, Max Miller

70-71 - Max Miller

35 - Masha Mat ten, Gail Schneiderman

74-75 - Max Miller

36-37 - Max Miller

78-79 - Roni Bell

38-39 - Oriya Falk

80-81 - Gail Schneiderman

40 - Tamar Dallal

83 - Roni Bell

41 - Oriya Falk

84-85 - Masha Mat ten

42-43 - Tamar Dallal

86 - Ruby Grant

44-45 - Tova Oliff

88-89 - Tamar Dallal

46 - Nerya Miller

90 - Gadi Kalman

48 - Masha Mat ten

91 - Nerya Miller

49 - Gail Schneiderman

92-95 - Masha Mat ten

50-51 - Tamar Dallal

96-97 - Gail Schneiderman

72 - Gail Schneiderman 77 - Masha Mat ten

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