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A THOUSAND WORDS

CHANGES Shalhevet High School

Literary Magazine 2021-2022

Volume IX

Table of Contents Editor’s Note........................................................................................3 “Under Construction” By Adina Kurzban.......................................4 “Comfort Through Familiarity” By Naomi Ornstein.....................5 “In The Face of Defeat” By Zane Mendelson...................................6 “The Mangled Crimson Blossom” By Olivia Orbuch.....................7 “Unstoppable” By Liana Gold..........................................................10 “Orange Bliss” By Adam Westerman..............................................11 “Flower Girl” By Eitan Jalali.............................................................12 “Clean Slate” By Rachel Blumofe.....................................................14 “An Eclipse” By Caleb Fishman.......................................................16 “Scars” By Andrew Melamed...........................................................18 “My Garden of Rotten Roses” By Anya Mendelson.....................20 “Sweet Without the Bitter” By Emily Klausner.............................22 “The Road Behind” By Nettie Wolkind..........................................24 “Memory Lane” By Eva Brous-Light...............................................26

Dear Readers, Roen Salem z”l was always a firm believer that every student here has a creative fire deep inside of them. Whether it was through her guiding hand in class or a simple conversation on the roof, Roen spent every moment of her time at Shalhevet helping all of us find and fuel our flames. The impact she left on our community cannot be overstated, and the hallways feel dimmer without Roen’s smile to brighten them. In her honor, we would like to dedicate the myriad of songs, stories, and poetry in this year’s Shalhevet Literary Magazine to Roen, who saw the very best in all of us, and helped us express it in ways we could never have imagined. For this year’s collection, we chose the theme “Change”. The last two years have been unprecedented, crumbling our societal foundations with each passing day. But now, we seem to be at the end of the fight. Every headline promises a better future and there’s a whisper of salvation hidden in the wind. For high school students, this new world brings a glimmer of hope, and yet, there’s a bittersweet undertone. After losing out on these years of our youth, how can we regain the time we lost? How can we adapt to this changed reality? When we set out to create the A 1000 Words Literary Magazine, those two questions drove the process. We wanted the stories told in this publication to detail the pain, sorrow, and eventual redemption of a community burnt to the ground only to rise out from the ashes. Our hope is that this unique window in the lives of teenagers over the past two years gives us all a little bit more of an understanding of what our students have gone through, what our futures have in store for us, and the spark of creativity that Roen saw in each and every Shalhevet student. Sincerely, Caleb, Eva, Aaron, and Joel Contributing Writers Liana Gold (9th grade) Rachel Blumofe (10th grade) Zane Mendelson (10th grade) Olivia Orbuch (10th grade) Adam Westerman (10th grade) Nettie Wolkind (10th grade) Alexandra Guetta (11th grade) Caleb Fishman (12th grade) Eva Brous-Light (12th grade) Eitan Jalali (12th grade) Emily Klausner (12th grade) Adina Kurzban (12th grade) Andrew Melamed (12th grade) Anya Mendelson (12th grade) Naomi Ornstein (12th grade) Bayley Sandler (12th grade)

Contributing Artists Rina Wolchansky (9th grade) Sami Brous-Light (10th grade) Aviva Cohen (10th grade) Talia Davoudian (10th grade) Julia Jahan (10th grade) Caroline Kaboudi (10th grade) Rami Melmed (10th grade) Olivia Orbuch (10th grade) Alexandra Guetta (11th grade) Tehilla Fishman (11th grade) Noa Talassasan (11th grade) Eva Brous-Light (12th grade) Jacob Hoenig (12th grade)

Editors: Caleb Fishman, Eva Brous-Light, Joel Asheghian, Aaron Schlacht Faculty Advisor: Ms. Michelle Crincoli Front and back cover art: Roen Salem z”l

Art by Roen Salem z”l

Under Construction By Adina Kurzban It’s interesting,

How the fog can seem so gloomy, so gray, so grim.

how the clouds, forever spin,

living soundlessly in the wind.

How mother nature rejects her own children, a pomegranate banished,

a sticky puddle like a potion in a cauldron. And yet, it’s interesting,

How despite the gloom, the gray, the grim of the fog, the couple still walks in unison, trekking on.

Huddled together over the sidewalk cracks, their love making up

all that this road lacks,

How the grass remains,

shiny leaves growing along the junction, flooding the sign that reads: “Under Construction.”

Art by Tehilla Fishman

Comfort Through Familiarity By Naomi Ornstein

I clutch onto my beloved three year old pointe shoes, Pulling them closer towards my chest. The torn exterior, Others mistake strength for frailty. My eyes scanned the store. Surrounded by numerous shades of rosy pink pointes. Each box placed in accordance. Each pair laced with precision. Countless sizes yet none seem to fit. I peer down at the pair in hand with undying admiration. Distraught by their mortality; The blood stained fabric of dedication, The reeking stench of perseverance, All to be replaced by the discomfort of untrustworthy satin slippers. Overcoming the intimidation of change, I carefully placed the bubblegum pink shoes on my feet. Reaching for the barre, I began to plié through stiffness,

Hoping it was only a matter of time before they became mine.

Art by Alexandra Guetta

In the Face of Defeat By Zane Mendelson

Some say we can obtain a new life. Others say this life has trapped us. But we need to explore the possibility That it’s all perspective. Are you able to move forward and look to the future, Or will you dwell in the past while remaining in the present? I guess that’s the uniqueness of the situation, People responding in different ways. But with different situations come different responses, So it’s not always up to us to decide. To be able to move forward and look to the future, Or dwell in the past while remaining in the present. So we have to ask ourselves, Is it rebirth or resuscitation?

Art by Jacob Hoenig

The Mangled Crimson Blossom By Olivia Orbuch

She had walked by the house every day, Seen the mangled crimson blossom on the ground, Always felt sorrowful. She hoped tomorrow would be different. Dusk came and the sun crept under the earth, The moon peaked out. Crawled into bed that night with feelings of hope for what tomorrow would bring. Sunk into her silk sheets and cozy blue blanket, The room became dark and her eyes grew heavy. Morning came and the sun beamed upon the earth, Walked past that same house with the hope of something new. To her amusement, the crimson blossom was no longer on the ground. It was massed together in its cluster, Together again, joyous at last.

Photograph by Olivia Orbuch

Excerpt of Unstoppable By Liana Gold

Liana allowed the nurse to take her blood. Of course she was scared, but the blood had to be drawn. She felt the pain of the needle, and after 5 seconds she opened her eyes. It was finished. It took about an hour for the results to come back. The doctor pulled her parents out of the room. He had something to tell them, something no parent ever wants to hear. “We believe your daughter has cancer”, the doctor said. That was where their nightmare began.

10 Art by Eva Brous-Light

Orange Bliss

By Adam Westerman As the orange sun shines on the bay, I know I’m ready to conquer the day. The beautiful sunrise creates bliss, And I know not to reminisce. Today is a new chance, To improve, to advance. I will take advantage of the moment, And thank god for the bestowment. For this amazing opportunity, That was given to humanity.

Photography by Rina Wolchansky

Flowergirl

By Eitan Jalali A crisp warm breeze, tickled the peach fuzz on my cheeks, I heard the buzzing of bees, as I walked past the trees. I got off of the road, because the sidewalk was flat, I looked up from the ground, and saw her little metal hat. A million times over, this statue I’d passed, I never paid attention, always walking pretty fast. For 17 years, I’d seen this flowergirl, A pail in her hand, and her hair in a twirl. She looked deeply at the ground, But there’s nothing to uncover. For the Flowergirl was stuck, always dressed for summer. Unfortunately for her, her dress had no color. The paint had worn off, and had yet to recover. The girl was still pretty, though bronze a bit duller. She’d been there forever, yet still had no lover.

Art by Tehilla Fishman

Clean Slate

By Rachel Blumofe We come into this world with a clean slate, nothing on our mind, Nothing on our plate. We use what we are given , and continue on living. We please and we suffer, all while trying to make ourselves tougher. All people make mistakes, The ones who get up and try again are the ones who reshape. Reshape the idea of trying harder, reshape the idea of being better. We must remember for ourselves, that the more we fall, The higher we are able to climb.

Art by Roen Salem (z”l)

An Eclipse

By Caleb Fishman The Night holds its breath. It waits for a sign.

No leaf dares stir.

No cricket dares sing. The shadows lie dormant Full of life that watches.

A hushed stillness holds. Patient. Breathless.

Suddenly, a moonbeam falls

Rusted silver on Batsheva’s pool. Silence.

The Night bears witness. It contemplates the copper light

That glints across the mirrored sky. Was it the answer?

Or was it the question? The Night can’t decide.

Art by Eva Brous-Light

Scars

By Andrew Melamed What do I like about myself? I like the smiling scars. Each one telling its own story. The wooden table dropped on my head causing a blemish forever, Not what I see. I see my family eating Chinese watching our favorite show for the 100th time. The bump on the back of my head created by the sharp wall, Not what I see. I see my siblings playing Just Dance flailing like chickens. The sun’s stain on my shoulder, Not what I see. I see the palm trees by the pool on Shavuot. The long lines living literally all over, Not what I see. I see the days of playing sports losing the weight that caused it. I love the millions of scars on my body, I welcome more. I am excited for the next chapter.

Art by Eva Brous-Light

My Garden of Rotten Roses By Anya Mendelson

Every day I awake I am anew, Just as each morning, the sky turns a different shade of blue. In the footsteps I leave behind a story will unfold. My perspective, more unusual than has ever been told. The summer sun will leak down my back, As I tend to the garden that I fear might lack A dozen or so of my favorite features, So I’ll plant, and I’ll create my special creatures. Each day I will water my glorified gems, I will watch as they fight for the longest stems. I will pray the heat never runs away, For that is the day when they might say: “Look at my petals they shine brighter than yours.” “Well look at my color, I’m the one who scores.” “Hush, you two can not compare to me.” My pretty flowers, let each other be! The winter cold can not come soon enough, For I fear these are no longer my diamonds in the rough. No, they have torn each other apart, A new beginning is the key to fix my broken heart. Let the snow fall, and wash away my poor work. All I hope is that when the sun reappears, my answer will lurk Right on the horizon, so that it is clear to me That all these flowers needed was a buzzing bee. A bias being to show them they are all the same, Just so they can stop playing this silly game. Each flower is filled with its own sweetness. When they come to this realization my garden will reach its completeness.

Art by Zoe Ritz

Sweet Without the Bitter By Emily Klausner

The trees slowly transform from an assortment of green leaves into arrays

of sunset-like oranges and hues of reds and yellows with each passing week

of fall. Fading into obscurity are the sun-filled months as the annual temperature drop returns to reality five degrees at a time. Autumn’s colors suddenly appear on the ground as the leaves fall from the trees, a true symbol of the season.

Tilting away from the sun as it rotates, the earth prepares itself for the win-

ter; the coldest months; the darkest months. Five degrees to ten degrees to fifteen degrees to twenty; a gradual, inevitable degree depletion. A season

filled with bone chilling breezes and frozen-over lakes; blurry grey skies and dark foggy mornings: winter.

The darkest moments each year shift to the rebirth of earth’s natural el-

ements; this is the renewal period. Hundreds of microscopic droplets of water gathered overnight act as a cleansing property for the earth; each

droplet responsible for a specific blade of grass. The dewy mornings turn

into bright blue skies that are just warm enough to help the flowers bloom. Bright pinks and oranges blossom from green flower buds everywhere.

Spring; the renewal period; the return to the most radiant and rapturous months of the year.

Summer is earth’s “high point”; the months in between spring and fall. Just

like humans, the earth must go through a renewal cycle in which its natural elements reach rock bottom. In order to grow, one must experience true

despondency; a palpable sense of heartbreak. We tend to fall like the leaves in autumn: slow, but sudden. We wallow in our grief and mourn the loss of

our senses in our own winter period, and then in spring we experience an

ascending bloom; one with a rebirth of our senses. Our sense of hearing is heightened as is our sense of taste, touch, smell, and of course sight. The

world is opened up again; a world of bright colors and endless possibilities and opportunities. Despite the unexpectedness, and sometimes suddenness, this cycle and process of rebirth is one that all individuals must go

through if they wish to grow, and become acquainted with the sensation of “sweetness”; because if you think about it, can “sweet” exist without “bitter”?

Art by Zoe Ritz

The Road Behind By Nettie Wolkind

The path to here has not been smooth, At times almost hard to move. With blisters on our hard-run feet, And thoughts sometimes of our defeat. But now, at last, we seem to feel, So light it seems barely real. But true, the road is not so steep, And when exhausted, we may sleep. The air, once poisoned and dark upon the tongue, Is now sweet and full inside the lung. The sun was weak and almost hidden, But now gives warmth and light unbidden. The plants once rotted and hid away, Now beginning to blossom and stand proud on display. The color of the world seems to be returning, Just like our love and our yearning. From the past, we did learn, But in our minds, we won’t let it burn. Because although the past has taught us much, We now look to the future pure and untouched. We emerge from darkness towards the light, And realize that all along we were right. We knew in our hearts that here on earth, The human life would have a rebirth.

Art by Sami Brous-Light

Memory Lane

By Eva Brous-Light Only through the duration of this song, Will I indulge the memory of you.

Beat, pulsing with what I’ve tried to subdue. Once soothing lyrics, now searingly wrong, The quick two minutes, now eternally long. My tightly sewn stitches, promptly undo,

The once healed wound, is left opened anew.

My heart reverts back, but the rhythm is wrong. My playlist has grown eclectic and vast, Ranging from 90s rap to urban blues.

Yet nostalgia reigns after all the time passed,

Through these last seconds, you will be infused. So as the bass fades, you are gone at last, Freely I skip to the next in the queue.

Art by Tehilla Fishman

Photo via The Boiling Point

Roen Salem z”l Nov 11, 1945 - Dec 30, 2021