Student Work from the A-Z Files

A-Z Files

The photograph, poem, and short written piece on these pages are only a few of the many works that appeared in the A-Z Files. This publication features exemplary original work by A-S students and alumni and was designed in memory of Zach Levy ’00 by his friends and classmates Kerim Eken '00 and Jonathan Klebanoff '00.

Each year, boys in Grades 6 to 8 submit writing, music, artwork, and more to be featured in the A-Z Files alongside the work of our alumni. This publication is a unique way for our boys to leave their mark on our community.

Charles Greenwald ‘23

WHERE I AM FROM Michael Ganitsky ’24

I am from the city that never sleeps, The buildings that don’t stop growing, The streets that never stop barking, like The rush in Times Square on a Monday morning, The dogs on 3rd avenue that bark as loud as an announcer at a Knicks basketball game.

I am from the generation that will change the future, The family that lives from the big apple to Soda city, The family that reads from the torah when they are 13, and The family that cooks hispanic fiesta ses when we visit.

I am from the family that never forgets anything about you like, When we look back at the past and remember when we were in Miami and go see our great grandpa for dinner at our grandparent’s house, A house that watches over the pear leading to the unknown, We eat pasta con pollo, rice, and other foods you would find in South America, They find these recipes passed on generation to generation, and The food originated from Bogotá, Colombia where my family lives today.

I am from the room that builds legos and that will one day build houses The basketball lays under my bed that bounces as high as the moon, The morning greeting from the doorman that I get to start my day, I live on the 6th floor only 6 floors away from my grandma, I have lived in this house that has comforted me since the day my parents brought me home from the hospital.

I am from the generation that has survived a global pandemic. I am from the generation that will solve some of the greatest problems.

THE SUBWAY Maurya Srivastava ‘22

Some people hate the subway. They complain about the grime that coats every wall, floor, and ceiling like peanut butter on the roof of your mouth; the smell of thousands of people mixed with the unbearable heat; and of course, the inevitable delays.

As one of the millions of New York City subway riders, I can attest to the great displeasures one experiences as a daily punishment when on the train, which is, of course, only for the measly price of 2.75. Only in New York would people pay and tolerate such trouble just to get to their destination.

Despite this, in the decade I have spent riding the subway, in the seemingly endless stream of people pouring into each and every door in that unbearable heat, in that dirty smell, and on that floor probably covered with every disease known to man, I have learnt that there is something to be appreciated amidst the chaos. For me, to ride in the subway is to witness the real New York - not the city that surrounds Allen-Stevenson, lined with fancy cars and elegant stone buildings - but rather, the city where people new and old, rich and poor, White, Black, Latino, Asian—somehow manage to coalesce into one subway car with just forty-four seats. The city where a beggar will always get money from someone in the train car; where I have witnessed two men physically fight and no one could care less, and where I have made new friends, while forging stronger bonds with old ones. There’s something authentic about the subway, something almost magical—whether it be the lady selling churros on Roosevelt Avenue or the man playing the drums on a Home Depot bucket at Fulton Street; or something entirely different—that feeling that this only happens in New York, only in the subway, really warms your soul knowing how fortunate you are to be surrounded by so much history, so much culture.

As for me, I recently witnessed that culture. The other day—at around 3:45 pm as I was coming home from school, two men, dressed in identical red and green jumpsuits, stepped in the half-full F-train car. One of them was carrying a boombox, the cheap kind with the LED lights, probably one you might find at a PC Richard and Sons (Are those even around anymore?), and it was connected to his iPhone. Immediately, he and his partner cranked up the music and began dancing, doing elaborate somersaults and spinning around the metal poles. This lasted for a minute or so, and eventually I noticed that everyone’s eyes were fixated on the duo, almost in harmony. When the performance finally ended as the brakes of the train began to screech along the age-old rails, everyone, including me, rose and gave them a standing ovation. The pair didn’t even ask for money—but were still given it because people had been so moved by their performance.

You see, this is the kind of thing that only happens in the subway—and that wasn’t even everything—as the doors opened and the performers stepped onto the platform of East Broadway, bound for another car, the echoes of classical music from a violin filled our ears, flowing through the doors like we had just turned on a faucet and let all the water out in a smooth stream. Then, in what seemed like a split second, it was gone, drowned out by the familiar beep of the doors closing and the electric hum of the train.

It was then that I realized how much I had longed for that music to continue, for those performers to keep on dancing, and for that multitude and flow of expression to keep on… happening. It was then that the uniqueness of New York made its way into my heart and soul and burrowed into a place that will never disappear. It was then that I realized that the Subway is what makes New York, New York.