Ramblings 2014-2015 Volume Four 1. long and muddled speech or writing; 2. a walk without a definite route, taken merely for pleasure; 3. the trilingual literary and visual arts magazine of the Weber School The Weber School 6751 Roswell Road Atlanta, Georgia
Table of Contents
Editors’ Note by Sarah Spielberger and Whitney Barnard “A Preface” by Sarah Spielberger “I’ll have to say, the car is one of my favorite places” by Mattie Rosen “Is silence truly golden?” by Mattie Rosen “An unheard confession” by Anonymous “Parental Tug-of-War” by Zavi Feldstein “Humanity is Like a Horror Story” by Eric Silver “Homeless by the Cupful: A Modest Proposal” by Naomi Balaban “My thoughts mixed with some tea and honey” by Mattie Rosen “Other People’s Clothes” by Chip Underwood “Riddle Me This: An Ode to ‘Mansplaining’” by Aviv Rau “When Moses Split The Sea” by Mattie Rosen “Veil of Faith” by Zavi Feldstein “El Sueño/The Dream” by Blake Rosen “I am Nothing” by Ross Williams “Alphabet Soup” by Izzi Ariail “What Are You Doing Here?” by Tav Cohen
“Perennial Cognizance” by Sydney Gelman “Blind Truth” by Anonymous “Look to the system” by Ross Falkenstein “The Arcane Doctrine” by Zavi Feldstein “Olympic Musings” by Bonnie Simonoff “Questions” by Mattie Rosen “Until Then” by Mattie Rosen “Petrichor” by Raffi Oquendo “Snow/La Nieve” by Rebecca Adler היאby Anonymous היוםby Emma Popowski עכשיוby Anonymous “Nerves/In Vain” by Anonymous “A Singularity.” by Sydney Gelman “My love for you knows no reason” by Anonymous “I Need You” by Adele Stolovitz “PS4 is an electric chair” by Ben Perlow “Staying Home” by Sarah Spielberger “Ode On Poetry” by Sara Murphy **Cover by Izzi Ariail
Editorsâ€™ Note This year in Ramblings, we have focused on sharing with one another the craft of storytelling. In our meetings, we explored the ways in which people articulate themselves, their perspectives, and their stories through multiple forums; spoken word poetry, found poetry, visual art, music, and journal entries being just a few examples of the media we probed and interpreted together. The attention we paid to understanding the "story" within each piece translated into our submissions. More students than ever before were eager to submit their work to Ramblings, aiming to share with the editing team pieces of their individual narrative. With the theme of storytelling emanating from each piece, we composed this year's literary magazine as if it were a storybook, specifically ordering the varied individual pieces to create a story universal to the Weber experience. A special thanks to all those who submitted their work to Ramblings--without you this literary magazine truly would not be possible. And we thank you, fellow reader, for delving into the narratives our student body and Ramblings' team composed.
Once Upon a Time . . . -Sarah Spielberger '15 and Whitney Barnard '15
“A Preface” I know this may sound weird. Before I ask my question, Let me begin by stating I have things I want to say, but I’m stuck in my own head. If your head was a sleeping bag I’d unzip you from cheek to cheek, And un-tuck all the right things To say. But I can’t unzip skin. I’m stuck in my own head. I have noticed interesting Things. Well, I think I have? Correct Me if I’m wrong. They seem vital. I don’t know what you think because I’m stuck in my own head. I’m sorry, I would tell you what I’ve Observed if I had time. But you
Had to hear my preface. I’ve thought Deeply is all you need to know. I’m stuck in my own head. -Sarah Spielberger
I’ll have to say, the car is one of my favorite places The almost-silent rumble of the engine If I lean too far forward to get a better look At what I see before me It stops me right in my tracks For my own safety How easily I sleep in the car It’s almost better than my own bed Allowing me to sing to music Watch the busy lives of others But I’ll never get to live them No, not because of my own restrictions But because of those put into place By the very thing that shows me everything I’ll miss out on If I don’t leave the safety of my car
Of my bed Of my home Of my radio So join me Stop the car Undo your seatbelts Open the door And live -Mattie Rosen
… “Is silence truly golden?” Thoughts in my head Swirling around Disturbing the silence That once encompassed my being
All around Me I hear the people Telling me what to do How to live my life What I should Or should not do When’s my chance To stand up? Part the crowd? Make my own voice heard? Make my own self proud? I feel so trapped Unable to breathe The sounds are drowning me The faster they speak Deep under the clouds Of the voices around me Day after day
When will it be time To make my own decisions? To live, to act, to be the way I’ve wanted to for ages But I can’t No I can’t Because if I do The silence that once surrounded me Will meet It’s last Day -Mattie Rosen
… “An Unheard Confession” Mr. Dimmesdale had evidently begun to fail.
The impression made by his aspect, so rigid and severe, was hardly keeping in the appliances of worldly enjoyment with which he had evidently done his utmost to surround himself. It would be sinful, in such a question, To follow the clew of profane philosophy As elaborately compounded as if the proposed result had been The elixir of life. By those best acquainted with his habits, the paleness of the young minister’s cheek Had a certain melancholy prophecy of decay. He himself, with characteristic humility, Such was the young clergyman’s condition, And so imminent the prospect that his dawning light would be extinguished.
And saintly men, who walk with God on earth, would fain be away, To walk with Him on the golden pavements to New Jerusalem. Mr. Dimmesdale was a true priest, a true religionist, With an order of mind that impelled itself powerfully along the track of a creed. He deemed it essential, it would seem. Arthur Dimmesdale, a man burdened with a secret. -Anonymous
… “Parental Tug-of-War” We were sitting in a murky restaurant booth when she told me, leaning down low
towards the table as if to share in a secret. The words escaped her mouth before I think even she expected them to, cutting abruptly through the pounding silence: “Your dad and I are splitting up,” my mother admitted. “You know we’ve never gotten along.” It wasn’t shock I felt; I had predicted the divorce far in advance – seen the looks in their eyes and the contempt in their voices, and it was the obvious solution. So what was that whisper reverberating through my veins? I understand that an eccentric spirit such as hers should never have been confined by marriage and children in the first place, but I felt incredulity over her freedom to leave. Was I
not my mother’s daughter, craving that same privilege of freedom? My mother disclosed the news of their impending divorce to me weeks before it was to be shared with the family, swearing me into secrecy and forbidding me from divulging to anyone what she had confided in me. My naïve self considered our shared malice towards my father a great step forward in our relationship; for years I had perceived him through a lens of contempt, and I felt privileged by my mother’s choice to share in this sentiment. But no dream can mask itself as reality forever. As time wore on I found myself plagued by her accusations against my father, and in his loneliness found it difficult to condemn the man whom I had
hated for so long when he seemed like such a victim. I was expected to share in my motherâ€™s secrets and comply with her actions, whether bringing home a strange man or aiding in the search for a new home, but was gradually straying from her alliances as her appearance in my home became scarce and her relativity to my life proved almost non-existent. This is not a story of defeat. No. I understand that the world is a frightful place and that unfortunate things happen, yet have come to recognize that they can only prove as detrimental as we allow them to. In the presence of turmoil I watched my father step up in a manner I could never have predicted, and I honor him for his bravery now more than ever. I can now perceive that
my fatherâ€™s courage is the same courage I harbor within myself, and his passion for life is the same passion that wakes me up every morning. The traits that I once hated him for are, in fact, the traits that I now prize the most within myself. A family once broken by malice has been united in recovery. The brothers whom I never before trusted have become my partners, and the parents whom I never before understood now stand out to me as clear as day. I am prouder of my family now more than I have ever been. Four children each leading their own lives have maintained a correspondence that was nonexistent before. I have been liberated in my acceptance of the complex reality of human beings, and the complex
circumstances within my own family: while some members may elect to remain flawed in their tendencies, lacking the courage or motivation to adjust, the ones who truly matter have proven their will to change and better the lives for those of us relying on them. -Zavi Feldstein
â€œAppleâ€? by Adele Stolovitz
Humanity is Like a Horror Story” Come out of thee, and crawl in this, How miniscule I once was, Once innocent and harmless, now an evil monster, And in this story our lives unexpected and scary, Although, know that this horror can’t undo A scare, nor tear, nor permanence of emotion, Yet, this life equals greatness. And emotion swells with happy smiles made from two, And this, horror, is more than just a ride. Oh live, one life inside of one ride,
Where we spend, “hopefully” a long time together. This life is our world together, and this Our “Horror Story,” and unexpected life is; Through emotions, fear, and ourselves, we are, Clustered together in these boundaries of emotion, Although used to make success, we may fail, Let us not think of failure or success alone, Rather, live; no guarantees of life tomorrow. Cruelty and chaos, life a gift Teared thy face, emotions full of pace. When could this life be ended?
Although not known where or when, enjoy your time. Yet thee triumphed, and say “live,” Find yourself in thy grave, nor alive or living, This true; live your life, fears be due Of little importance, few guarantees are due, I waste time, this matter of mine soon to die. -Eric Silver
… “Homelessness by the Cupful: A Modest Proposal” It has been such a long and hard day, everything that could possibly go wrong
did. You woke up late, barely getting out of the shower in time as you rushed to get your clothing ready for work. Checking your watch one last time, you rush out the door, forgetting the most important part of the morning: breakfast and coffee. Rushing to your car, catching every red light as you quickly drive to work, you pray that your boss will be late as well. Getting out of your car, you grab all of your supplies and rush to the entrance realizing that you forgot your keys in the car. You rush back to your car to grabbing your keys and dropping everything else along the way. Picking everything back up, you get into the office realizing that there was a meeting that morning.
As you try to get there on time with no one noticing how late you are, your boss calls for you to come to his office. Unsure, you close your eyes for a moment trying to catch your breath. Heading over to his office, all you can do is try to figure out what to say. Pushing the door open, you sit down, feeling cold as ever, knowing that something horrific is about to happen. Then before you get the chance to blink, there you are. Just blank, sitting there feeling dead inside with nothing left to say or do. Slowly you start to stand up, step by step gathering your materials as you walk out that door for the last time. All of those dreams, hopes, wishes on birthday candles and stars; they are all gone. Every image ever imagined has been pushed far away,
into the depths of the unknown, never to be seen again. As you climb into your car, numb with no emotion, cold and hard as stone. After seconds that feel like hours, you turn on the engine, turning the key to start the ignition. As the lights turn on, you switch the gear to reverse, then back to drive. Stopping slowly to say goodbye, goodbye to the job you grew up with, goodbye to the memories made here, and goodbye for the last time to the future you wished would come. Stopping at every red light along the way, you try to figure out the best way to tell your family. Slowly, creeping up to that red light you notice it. Out of the corner of your eye, there it is, the place knowns as â€œhome away from homeâ€?--STARBUCKS.
You stop for a moment, but it’s not long until you decide that you need to go inside. Your wallet crying to you, almost empty. Grabbing for the handle on the door, the smell of coffee immerses you and fills you with warmth. What could possibly go wrong here? There are so many possibilities, so many drinks and combinations for you to make. Hazelnut coffee with a shot of vanilla-- although you just bought that nearly 3 hours ago. Fruity or tart? Hot or cold? Those are the questions that seem so big now. Teas, coffees, frappuccinos, espressos, and so many more choices to choose from. Walking up to the counter, telling the barista that you would like “the afternoon usual.” A delicate venti frozen soy vanilla and caramel frappuccino
with light whipped cream sprinkled in tiny chocolate chips. You take out the last bit of money in your wallet, realizing you have $3 left, you try to figure out if you should get a brownie, or keep those $3 assuming that you may want more later. “$4.50 per cup, $1,653.00 for one cup every day of the year. $9.00 for two drinks (once in the morning and once at night) $3,285.00 for two cups daily for one year” plus however much money, gas is to travel to and from your home away from home (coffeetea.com). Just as the amazing and incredible, *Natalie.* :P on ask.com stated, “Yes them, the overpriced coffee—It has got me hooked!” It has everyone hooked. With all of these added fees traveling to and from family, friends, work, and everything
that involves some form of brain activity, why can’t this home away from home, simply become home? By already taking over the world, these franchises start small with something delicious until they have you trapped with the amazing abundance of drinks and foods. Why should you be worried about getting home on time for dinner? Simply have your family come stay at Starbucks with you. They have protein packs with everything your body needs, delicious sandwiches to order either hot or cold, perfect breakfasts or small snacks or even sweet little desserts. Let’s make this location our sit-down venue. Live in Starbucks, rent a cot or bunk bed. Have them become part of your family.
No need to ever worry about laundry, Starbucks now allows you to do your laundry there! They even offer a comfy bus for your kids to get a ride to and from school, helping you stay in your nice cozy chair, finishing all of your work. Some may try to wake you up, stop dreaming and get home to the family. Tell them about this problematic day that wasn’t all so perfect. Tell them everything that has happened, but be there. Be at home with the ones who are actually family. These treats are amazing and delicious, however they are full of calories and sugars that may for now make you feel better, but in the future only slow you down. While taking away that young body figure, these treats take away every ounce of that bank account until you
are left selling your house and living on the street. This turns from you, to your family, to everyone on the streets until there is global homelessness. So instead of living in Starbucks, spending all your money and time there, try making coffee at home. Get work done at the office or at home. Get a keurig machine or simple coffee maker and learn to make these treats for yourself. Make these treats on your own, be with your family. They tell you not to be the cause of global homelessness, but what do these people actually know? As smart and easy as this solution may sound, it will not help at all. This may seem like a smart solution, however all it will do is keep you home and cause families to start fighting. The more you stay home, the more issues
will start to arise causing divorce. Stay at Starbucks, live there, enjoy your dreams and keep dreaming! -Naomi Balaban
… “My thoughts mixed with some tea and honey” As I sit here contemplating What I’m feeling inside I sip tea thoughtfully Watching curiously as my feet hang off the side of my bed With all of the problems I’m facing Wouldn’t you think I’d be able to Touch the ground with both my feet firmly No, I guess not as that would make no sense
When I am older, I’ll have figured all of this out I will have a solid understanding of what I’m feeling What I’m facing All of my conflicts that lie within But now is the time of struggle In which I was placed like so many others To be forced to sit in this murky stage Of questions Of pain And of sadness But I know When the clouds decide to clear The previously shining sun Will shine again. -Mattie Rosen
“Other People’s Clothes” I have had a hobby that has lasted over thirty years! It is my fascination and love of thrift stores! I regularly indulge in adventures in many of our local Good will, Value Village, and St. Vincent de Paul stores! I have even gone to the Junior League Nearly New Shop, and of course the yearly Hadassah sale hosted by the Hadassah League of greater Atlanta! In short, the adventures are fun filled as you never know what you are going to find. Also as a clothes collector, yes, I said it, a clothes collector, I can feed my habit of loving beautiful, and well-made clothing. My love of vintage styles has kept me searching thrift stores all the more with
great results. My wardrobe contains clothing dating from the 1910s all the way to present day! Most all of it gets worn, even if just on â€œcostume occasions, like Halloween or Purim! As a long time teacher, my clothing budget was always limited, and to be honest, I lusted after clothing that when purchased new, I could not readily afford. I have long paid off my charge cards to department stores, vowing never to indulge myself again. After all, I want to retire some day! So, I can forage through the racks of donated items, look for the quality fabrics, labels, and styles that I am seeking and the rest just unfolds. I cannot lie, there are times
that I leave empty handed, but that is rare in my adventures. My wife benefits by proxy, as a long term survivor of shopping abuse as a child, she hates to shop for clothing. Her shopping-addicted mother dragged her through all kinds of stores as a child, in New York City, for hours at a time, leaving her swearing never to shop for herself again! Nonetheless, she loves clothes as well. My hobby has provided her with a lovely wardrobe. Her brands, you might ask? She loves Chicos, and any other comfortable yet stylish brand of clothing. She is not labelconscious but loves certain styles, and after 32 years of marriage, I know her styles
well. I seldom make a mistake; she wears most of what I bring home. You might ask, do I mind wearing other people’s clothing? The answer is no, but the clothing must meet my standards of cleanliness, wearablilty and style. I draw the line at underclothes and socks, these items must be new and unspoiled. This however leaves many other items, such as shirts, sweaters, ties, pants, suits, overcoats, and occasionally hats! My treasures include: wonderful cashmere sweaters, cashmere sport coats, tweed overcoats, great suits, ties, and pants, and of course dress shirts, shorts, and knit shirts as well! In short I dress much better shopping at thrift stores than I can afford! My brands
of treasures include, Prada, Zegna, Tommy Hillfiger, Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Lands End, Eddie Bauer, Pendleton, Nautica, Alfani, Bacarrat, and many others! My son used to protest as a child, swearing that he would not wear, “Other people clothes!” He changed this tune when he grew up and became a starving graduate student. He now accepts my donations regularly as he has the need of a professional wardrobe. Now that thrift shopping is considered cool, I just chuckle! I was one of the people who was doing it when it was considered eccentric and in questionable taste. Long live thrift stores and the adventures they provide! -Chip Underwood
“Riddle Me This: An Ode to ‘Mansplaining’” Enlighten me please, oh brilliant man, I cannot think logically; in contrast, you can. Teach me the ways of the world through evolution And how to conveniently forget centuries of persecution. Replace my bell hooks with Darwin and Freud, Free me from this mindless, feminine void! After all, guiding heathens to the light is your civic duty, Whereas mine is merely to provide you with beauty. Overshadow my arguments by inserting your own,
Void my emotional appeals with your superior tone. Seal your truths with a smirk that reads, “You’re histrionic,” And body language that is so charmingly hegemonic. Because, at the end of the day, I am just a woman; “Biologically speaking, [my] inferiority has been proven.” -Aviv Rau …
“When Moses Split the Sea…” As I lay here beneath the stars I wonder silently As thick clouds roll in
Tumbling over one another Racing across the sky The light of the moon Reflecting off of the sand Emitting an angelic shimmer From the ground upon which We have been beaten We have been slaves We have yet to fight back But no longer Now we prepare In the night Our footsteps Crunching in the sand The only sound Aside from the calm, crashing waves Beyond us Suddenly the ground shakes
But it is not my Lord, my God As they ride, as they chase us To these once-calm waters He stretches out his hand And the sea splits in two Blue and black Water and sky Hell and heaven To which shall we be condemned? Our walk turns into a run Men, children, women alike Walking between the great walls That have been formed As we make our way to the other side I watch It seems as if time stops The others continue running But I stay
I watch As my guide My light So darkly murders Hundreds of men Thousands of lives Golden chariots submerge Underneath the blood-red sea No longer a majestic blue No longer sparkling with the reflection of those stars Amongst the crashing waves Limbs grasp for solid surface Screams ring out Expressions soften Breaths stop Beneath the surface Crimson water swirls along the shore
Washing over my feet I canâ€™t move I am stuck I am lost Was it a miracle? Was it a curse? To see all of those deaths Caused by Him As the sea calms And the clouds part The storm slowly passes Now returning to where we must start Once again New stories must be told Old stories must be remembered Our freedom Created from the sentencing Of thousands
To death -Mattie Rosen
… “Veil of Faith” “The lower a person feels, the closer he comes to his true state and to the Creator.” -Talmud, Sota I do not believe that I have ever truly experienced a mystical moment. I am spiritual but not faithful, hopeful but not dependent. I am the kind of person who adamantly refuses aid no matter the situation, and because of this fact I suspect that even if something truly magical, or ecstatic, or theurgic were to happen to me, I would scarcely be able to recognize it. I am
self-sufficient, not subservient – determined, not expectant. I am constantly awaiting spirituality, yet I remain consistently disappointed as each fruitless moment is spent wasted with no result. I question God and I question religion – but most of all I question my uncanny ability to not give a damn about these issues. Why can I not feel God like others can, and why can I not give myself to religion as others do? It is a simple answer, I believe. I refuse to be aided and I refuse to be vulnerable. I associate vulnerability with that spiritual necessity commonly observed among those too weak to continue without the belief in some higher power. I do not need a higher power to guide me on my
path of life, nor can I pledge myself to a divinity that has scarcely shown itself to me. I strive off of my own spirituality that focuses on enhancing my inner contentment with the world around me, not a struggled being looking to “God” for answers and guidance. I will get myself where I need to go and I will do it because I say so, not because I let “God” chauffer me around. I will not let someone, or something, else be the reason behind my successes. There has been, however, a time in my life where I felt differently. For years I preached that I would follow what my parents told me and believe what they taught me until I felt that I had enough experience to make my own decisions. I kept kosher, went to synagogue, wore
Teffilin, and stood grounded in the religion I had been raised in. I felt that in order for religion to mean something to me, I had to wait for some inevitable calling that would cause me to realize how I fit into all of it. When outside of the Jewish community, I experienced a closeness to my faith that I have yet to experience again. When separated from the Jewish community, I felt I could truly be Jewish. It was an individual experience, isolated from my family, my community, and the smothering Jewish Day School curriculum. This was the hardest period of my life, and I believe that if anything truly mystical has happened to me, it occurred during that time of my sincerest vulnerability. But I have grown from there and am no longer that
girl, and therefore no longer find myself in a time of need. So no, I do not believe I need â€˜Godâ€™ or faith. Judaism to me is more a culture than a religion, a stronger identity than a classification. And though I respect the art of mysticism, I am neither humble nor hopeful enough to believe in it.
“El Sueño” Un sueño es un lugar Para ir y vivir En un mundo diferente que aquí Un sueño es donde el imposible cambia la mente dónde puedes simplemente estar Un sueño es un lugar Para intentar Para hacer Para inventar Un sueño es un lugar Para soñar
“The Dream” A dream is a place To go and live In a different world Than here A dream is Where the impossible Changes your mind Where you can Simply be A dream is a place To try To do To invent A dream is a place For dreams
“The 9” by Adele Stolovitz
“I am Nothing” Inspired by “Our Generation” by Jordan Nichols No one cares about me. Who would think, Someone would go out of his way for me, Helping a stranger, Everyone thinks about Who would do that? I was bullied once. There was no friend to break the fall. And I was naive to think, A person will stand up for me. No one else did. The bully laughed, I thought I am nothing, It was pitiful that,
I felt trapped. I remember, I cried that there was no one to go to; Strangers, Teachers, Parents, I thought no one could heal me. I now laugh because I knew better days will come. (Read from the bottom to the top now) -Ross Williams
7 billion people in the world 16 personalities I know when I took the test I was an ENFP Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling Perceiving the words that told me who I was granted, it was quite accurate but can I let 4 letters define me? Unless they happen to spell out “Izzi” I talk before I think it kind of all comes out but I'm not dumb for being talkative they're just more thoughts that need to sprout I'm the "extra" in extroverted but I can choose to be the opposite
no I'm not sad I just don't have my face stuck in my phone It's the "U" for "Understanding" because most people can't. I don't color inside the lines because I've learned to draw my own picture I am more than 4 letters 4 characteristics for they don't know me 7 billion will never equal 16 these divisions break us down it all adds up stop subtracting out the obvious if we combine the like terms there won't be much left Pluto can call itself a planet if it wants to and
Not let scientists millions of light years away decide that we are in a race the human race but it's not about who can get there first. I will not be boxed in until I die I am not 4 letters 4 characteristics I am the whole. Freaking. Alphabet. -Izzi Ariail
“What Are You Doing Here?” Vast, yellow, and proud stands the moon as I inhale the crisp morning air. I glance up, and wonder, is this some sort of game? How absurd, “Hey you, yes you, what are you doing here?” I glare. Have you the audacity to show your face in the sun’s presence? Have you no shame? The moon does not answer, he remains stoic and defiant. Alluring in its rebellion, the moon shines shamelessly in broad daylight, marching to his own beat. Against all expectations the moon takes a stand, refusing to be compliant.
See her over there? That’s Rosa Parks sitting bravely in her chair. This my friends, is no small feat. She sits with no hesitations, no doubts, only serenity. We could all be gutsy like the moon, we could bring the societal haze to a moment of clarity. We could, but we are not. For out of fear, we learn with everything, to agree. The sun in the sky does not make the moon any less magnificent And at 7:30 AM, the moon stretches across the sky, bewitching as ever -- brilliant. -Tav Cohen
“Perennial Cognizance” Humanity exists within the parameters of the laws of the cosmos, the statutes that limit all celestial and sublunary forces. Man defined these forces for himself. He constructed the limits within which human innovation can prevail, although prior theorists have entrusted future generations with gaps in their rationale, and they have been filled with leaps of conjectural knowledge that have defined a reality that is concurrent with expectations for mankind today. Gravity has tied men to the ground, and as a response the human race has created machinery--rocket ships and human-operated drones--that can do the work of god: send men into the ether to further illuminate the cosmos. The idea that there is a finite amount
of chemical elements that compose totality was conceived and then overcome by inventors– new atomic elements are being created constantly by men in lab coats who are gazing into the future. Science is a repercussion of logic, another man made tool to further expand the realm of human knowledge. Newton was able to observe the world around him and conceptualize constants that illustrate the way the entire universe works. Future generations have used own his laws to defy them– man has used his theories of force to elude gravity and launch explorers into space to illuminate the characteristics of the outer reaches of the cosmos. Europeans who thought their prospectors would go no further than other continents are now rivaled by citizens of the world watching their fellows
travel in the scope of light years rather than weeks and months. The realm of human innovation has been stretched not out of necessity, but as an experiment of the strength of the human persuasion, a penchant to extend reality to encompass the most intimate and farfetched thoughts within the human mind. Theologians deny that the malleability of reality is due to the capability of the human mind. They look to god as a culprit for the expanding realm of knowledge than man has prevailed within. This idea is founded on the basis of faith rather than reasoning, and therefore cannot be disputed by laypersons or experts in the field of theology. Philosophers and mathematicians have toiled ceaselessly to prove the existence of god as an omnipotent force within the galaxies. Descartes proved
his own existence conclusively, â€œI think therefore I am,â€? but was only able to illuminate a perspective on the existence of god, which is easily marred by concurrent thought. Imagine a godless universe. This is an easily conceivable realityâ€“ a verisimilitude in which there is no divine providence, no theological salvation, and no bliss of heaven nor peril of purgatory. This is a thought process commonly entertained by atheists, agnostics, and deists alike. It is within the scope of human imagination. Imagine a universe that does not function within the parameters of natural laws. Celestial bodies hanging in the balance, without the force of gravity keeping their internal functions stable. The moon crashing into the Earth. A solar system entangled with
a black hole, without the threat of imminent destruction. This is a feasible reality without knowledge of the laws that maintain order within the universe. This is a childâ€™s fantasy, a possibility in another domain that does not belong to man. Imagine a universe without human thought. This is inconceivable. Every perception of Earth, of the cosmos stretching outwards into infinity, the characteristics of beings, the crevices of the brain, and the actions of stars and quasars have been conceived by the human mind. Without which, is an utter oblivion that cannot be reconstructed by human thought. This absence, a totality existing within the scope of the void, is indescribable. This is the only reasoning that man is able to conceive whilst staring into the face of death, a point beyond
which the human mind cannot navigate nor illuminate for those on the other side of the chasm. Despite the terror of this non-entity, man is able to redirect all human instincts to preserve lifeâ€“ he can throw himself overboard, into an expanse marked by nothingness, the absence of everything, the veracity of death. If manâ€™s mind is the strongest force in the known universe, then the only thing it can overcome is itself. This is possible. This is horrific, and unnatural, but not unheard of. Man can take his life, he can destroy himself using thoughts alone, and this is conclusive substantiation that the mind is an irrepressible force that drives the known universe forward. Man can overcome gravity; he can overcome the limits of the cosmos using his thoughts alone. He can exist outside
of divine influence. But he cannot overcome himself. An individualâ€™s thoughts can poison the reality he has created for himself, and to overcome this, he escapes. The only ability for man to escape himself is to destroy himself. The greats have done it. Their minds have been too much for them. David Foster Wallace escaped and was destroyed by paralyzing depression created out of the mind resisting its body. Socratesâ€™s ability to dispute facts previously deemed authentic paralyzed the public with fear, so men disposed of another man the only way they could think to destroy him: by killing him. Once the mind is no longer ensnared to the human body, there is nothing but the ether, an indistinguishable void that cannot be illuminated by the human mind. The mind cannot overcome itself, and it can be destroyed.
Imagine a world without death. This is easily done. Conceptualize what comes after the mind has departed from the body. Your mind cannot comply. -Sydney Gelman
“ -“Girl Drawing” by Rebecca Adler
Look to the system, it is no more than fail,
You constantly study for an answer Your eyes like you guide to the universe this guide never says why; it is as is Your sight is blindness, oh yes ‘tis true the ocean’s tides are a true tale of time, came with first man, yet surpassing our chime seen blue, reality we learn is clear this foul truth makes us to question our sight how we are blessed with the gift of ponder thinking on the ocean we all wonder our thoughts, sights and make them reality but don't take sight as a fatality rely on sight and accept it as truth you and I, may well be blind as the youth -Anonymous
But we are told all students must prevail. Am I getting an education, Or fighting for great accommodation? Since when did learning become such a war? I am told to read, write, solve and more. What gained by this never-ending moment? Boring, rhythm total constant torment. What should keep me and peers from a forfeit. Runners: on your marks, get ready, set, go. Students: don't stay in classes that are low. Everyone exclaims PEOPLE ARE EQUAL, but how can I help feel like a prequel? Please practice hard, and try, enter the race,
Be born perfect enough and you might place. If you well, what is it entirely for? A piece of paper, come to your front door? Where you place does not define you for sure. Was school not ideally built to learn? Why must I feel everything should be earned? I have witnessed friends become so braindead, From insignificant knowledge in head. Students keep fighting over useless GPA What is the point, It's just a number grade. Reach the finish by end of senior year, Running slow, arriving late is to fear. It’s a relief knowing that line is near.
The Arcane Doctrine”
How is it that in such a vast, progressive society, religion remains prominent? With all of the modern knowledge of science and biology and evolution, how can the peoples of the world linger so persistently on the existence of a deity? As Jews we grow up encompassed by a parade of joy and faith…religion. From our births we are ushered into an unyielding community that expects enlightened actions to be guided by the roots of our faith, whether we realize it or not. Judaism defines us.
For those of us who have spent our lives homed by Jewish Day School, we have loved it and hated it; craved it and scorned it. But we have always been thankful for it. Jewish Day School encourages students to understand what it means to be a Jew. But why is it granted the freedom to dictate both who we are and who we can be? I love being Jewish, but I am sick and tired of Judaism. Is there not an extent to which learning Torah centered on this idea that “God is the supreme judge of the universe” is just depressing? How can I shape my life around a “God” that I don’t even believe exists? And how do people have the right to require me to do so? Jewish Day School claims the right to influence personal Jewish practices, but it
cannot steal our rights to our own morality. Being in a Jewish school does not warrant suffocating children with elitist Judaic beliefs. Being a Jewish school is about community. Judaism is a family, and it’s a home – so why are our Jewish schools ridiculed when they “don’t have enough Judaism”? Or why are they labeled “barely Jewish” if their advanced religious classes are not ‘advanced’ enough for your esoteric liking? No one has the right to tell us how to practice our religion, so why do we give these schools the power to do just that? To put a student in a lower Tanach class and label them as “not caring as much about Judaism” just because their Hebrew isn’t as strong as the native born Israeli’s. Judaism
shouldn’t be about forcing kids to care. I care about being Jewish, because Judaism is about individuality; let me be an individual and dictate how this religion affects my life by myself. No one has a right to tell me what to believe. If I needed help, I’d go to Confession. -Zavi Feldstein ...
“Olympic Musings” Clad in flags, the athletes encircle us On my turn, I, too, bear my country’s flag I buy into the “celebration of nations” -An awe-inspiring representation of global solidarity
Though the Games rank strength and agility, They foster the mutual elevation of world domains Perhaps countries can join forces To mend our broken world The cultural jumble and cooperation consoles me Yet disorients me as languages flood my mind At once, the flaws in my awe erupt Am I perpetuating a composition-division fallacy? The ceremony’s display lights become bomb sparks and rifle flashes With a battlefield backdrop
The crowd’s roars become the groundshaking rumble Of advancing tanks The lighting of the torch quenches the flame of our idealism Truly uplifting international relations? Irreproducible! For no one has ample time to duplicate them Our obstacles opportunities, and our opportunities obstacles Utopian delusions, these Games cannot predict reality I -- dodging languages and bullets -tremble in my spectator’s chair -Bonnie Simonoff
“Questions” Love tastes like nothing because it doesn’t exist There is either the cold truth or a scorching lie The world is not full of compromise You can either get burned by a lie Or stung with the truth Either way, all I can say To those of you who just tell me Search harder, look closer I have I’ve been through it I have the scars I have the burns I’ll show you just to prove it No, they’re not external wounds Because love lives inside
The shallow hearts That we all have Which stop Slowly When we die -Mattie Rosen ...
“Until Then” It seems we feel death is inevitable Due to the measure of sorrow that follows We feel that death could “never happen to [us]” But indeed death circles us all Watching, waiting, sometimes sharing Its melancholy aurora with those of us Strong enough to handle it
He remains far away, simply as a nightmare, a fear, even a dream for others Until we’ve paid our dues Until we’ve felt the pain Until we’ve healed again Until we’ve fallen in love They say death waits for no man But they are so wrong Death can be just Can be gentle, kind If you allow him to be He’ll lift you off your feet Make your spirit soar Your heart race One last time Allowing you to maybe even say goodbye To the people you’ve met
The lives you’ve changed And all the risks on which you’ve bet Don’t be so afraid Don’t look so sad It’ll happen to us all And then one day We might meet again In another life Or just laying beside each other in the ground Who knows? Maybe He’ll trick you And let you live -Mattie Rosen
“Petrichor” The past months have been a drought. I’ve indulged myself in utter solidarity. Some part of me believed that a step into sunlight could have helped, to get away from the time alone. I followed my heart, and did just that. First turn the lock, then the knob, and step onto my front yard, I thought. I wiggled my bare feet in the damp grass before I noticed a silhouette meet my shadow. The hairs on my legs stood stiff and goosebumps invaded my forearms. In disbelief, I reached my hands out in front of me, and found her. (In all honesty the woman in front of me was an absolute stranger.) Her smile stretched from one ear to the other, and she reached her arms out to me. I was hit in the face with an
aroma like none other, and just then I noticed rain was falling. The woman gripped my hands and stared into the sky. I mirrored her actions, unsure of what else I should have done. All that I could think of was one word: petrichor. It was as if that was the only word I knew. I tried to say it; it barely left my lips as a whisper. This woman is my petrichor. Just then she began to fade. Along with her went the rain, and the ground beneath me feet. I turned to enter my house but that too had faded. The opacity of my surroundings was thinning faster than I could touch the thing nearest to me. My surroundings then faded into darkness. I felt claustrophobic for a long minute before I could feel something cold on my back.
Regaining consciousness I turn my head lazily to the left, then the right. I’m laying on my bathroom floor with the door locked. I turn my head to the right again, and find a bottle of Methadone pills laying on my hand. I frantically pop another pill and hope to God I will have my petrichor again. -Raffi Oquendo
… “Snow” The snow falls in the night And blankets the earth with a white haze It’s soft It’s beautiful
It’s pure As the sun rises, The snow glistens in the light Sparkling and Shimmering Untrodden and perfect Then the people come out They make footprints And start their cars The once fresh air turns grey And so does the snow It fills with mud And trash And everything that was once perfect Is not perfect anymore
... “La nieve”
Es suave Es bonita Es pura Cuando el sol sube, La nieve reluce en la luz Está brillando y titilando Inexplorada y perfecta Entonces la gente llega Hace huellas Y arranca sus coches El aire fresco cambia a gris Y también la nieve Se llena de lodo Y basura Y todo lo que era perfecto Ya no es perfecto -Rebecca Adler
La nieve cae en la noche Y cubre la tierra con una neblina
"יום הולדת שמח" הם מברכים אבל אני לא מבינה אני לא עושה שום דבר ,למה הם אומרים? היום רק יום רגיל ,לא מגיעה לי מתנה אני רק ילדה ואני רק בת שש עשרה לא הצלתי חיים ולא שיניתי את העולם אבל כל השנים הם מאחלים "יום הולדת שמח" לכולם היום אני מבינה --כל הימים שאנחנו חיים הם ימים מיוחדים ,כי זה כמו נס אנחנו עושים ,ועושים ,ועושים "יום הולדת שמח" הם מברכים מהזמן שבו אנחנו נולדים ואני סוף סוף מבינה זהו לא יום רגיל ,או יום ככל הימים זהו יום הולדתי ,הנס הפרטי שלי
היא חייכה אלי פתאום ואני לא ידעתי מה יכל לקרות היום אבל אני ניגשתי ואמרתי לה "שלום ,שמי מקס ,ואת כל כך יפה" והיא רק אמרה "תודה" והלכה. לעולם לא אשכח את היום הזה ואולי בעתיד לא אפתח את הפה.
עכשיו לא הצלחתי להבין לא ידעתי במה להאמין רצוני לא היה לי ברור, עד שהצלחתי להתאמן בהרהור. נשימה אחת ...ועוד נשימה והכוכבים הם הבינה. ואני בלי מחשבות. תפסיק לשכון בעבר תפסיק לדאוג לעתיד עכשיו זה תמיד! -Anonymous
“Girl Drawing” by Adele Stolovitz
“Nerves/ In Vain” He’s on the other side of the room, and I have sweaty palms. As much as I want -oh god, how I want-to turn my head just the tiniest little bit, to see his face for a fraction of no time at all, I’m pretty sure-oh god, I’m positive-his eyes met mine last and they were empty. I could trick myself into
seeing smoke, but the fun in that wore out some time ago. I wasted it on lesser boys -oh god, what have I done – back when any boy who held my attention was probably everything. Was I ever anything to anyone? It all runs together like tears. But, no, not over this and not here. Please God Not here. He’s on the other side of the room, and I have sweaty palms. -Anonymous
â€œA Singularity.â€? Fall in love for the first time with someone who is also falling in love for the first time Set the precedent of how to break each other's hearts Know your name will fall onto the table at a thanksgiving dinner decades from the day you first kissed And parted for that first night Both thinking of the other until thoughts deliquesced into a silence that was charged with meaning and desire A young desire composed of firsts and musts that will define you for the rest of your life Have a first and take one too Be selfish You only have one shot at this
And you are both aware that You will inevitably break each other's hearts so do it intentionally with steady footing Fall in love with someone who has never fallen in love before because then he won't call you by someone else's name he will call someone else by yours Fall in love with each other and be his first so he can compare everyone to you and not compare you to everyone fall in love for the sake of being with each other for that first night creating something magic something so tangible that you taste it in the sweat dripping from each other as you stay up late
under the heated blanket that your mother bought for you inhaling one another as ideas come tumbling out of chapped lips that occasionally brush against one another fall in love with each other as interchangeable firsts, to be laughed at and teased by all of your friends as you kiss and sit against one another, regardless of their remarks unable to shake off the exoskeleton that this love has created around the both of you fall in love to pretend none of it is intentional when every move is calculated as if by divine intent this is your world and you are your god believe in yourself create something out of nothing.
this is your creation story make the beginning of your world. A love of diluted thoughts of attempted grandiose grasps at the universe because this is your story and you deserve magic so you try to manufacture something that isn't there at all and the dust will soon fall from your hands and you will laugh and also cry and realize it's over and you've had the magic of a beautiful first love and the pain of realizing he didn't love you back but you love him and you spend hours gazing at the ceiling pretending to feel his hands on your body grasping at your waist as if the world depended upon it But the only one who was ever there was you
but the emptiness of your heart was a repercussion against every night of stolen romance that you two had getting drunk and kissing in the back of his parents’ station wagon swaying together getting lipstick on his good white shirt the first time he kissed your cheek your favorite classical composer when “you” became plural and your reality became a duality calling each other as both of you are outside miles apart but feeling the crack of your lover’s voice in the frigid air you are not cold nor are you alone we need someone to take our mind off of who we are when we are
alone this is the reason we play god in our own universes to escape existing in a solitude created out of your own mind. so fall in love with each other for the first time and fall in love with being devoid of the voices that haunt you at night and fill your mind with the inhalation and exhalation of your lover that permeates every inch of the room and trickles behind your closing eyelids -Sydney Gelman
My love for you knows no reason
“I Need You”
If it did, I would not love you so For I know not the ways of love And you know not which seeds to sow Would that I could guide you 'Round the bend to arms outstretched But, even if I found my words, Might you not stand impressed It is cruel that I should need you When I cower, choked with sobs But crueler still for me to tell you My silence keeps, against all odds We'll rot, my love and I Neither flowers, tears, and stone My love for you knows no reason Tis much better to lie alone -Anonymous
Please don’t leave me I’ll break without you I need your strength to carry on You need me, too I can tell. So please don’t leave me I’ll fall apart without you That extra napkin can wait. Love, Your burrito -Adele Stolovitz …
PS4 is an Electric Chair” you need to finish work, but you don’t care you think that you are just getting better
but in reality you're getting worse you just want to keep going and going but sadly it will never quench your thirst it is killing you, can’t you see the truth? you’re pinched to the chair, you can’t even move it’s holding you back, you haven't improved you spend endless minutes on that machine get out before it starts to finish you you put yourself this far and you have failed now it’s going to end what you have started in the end, both have put you to this point -Ben Perlow
“Staying Home” Everyone looked tan, golden really, ready to display themselves across my Facebook’s homepage. And there I was, masochistically drinking in the trip I was positively meant to be on via Internet. The act of scrolling, even, caused near insurmountable envy as I forced glares at the cracked pale skin winter had offered me as payment for staying in Atlanta over break. The side-ads, fabled to reflect recent web activity, bolstered Ahava Dead-sea mineral-infused mud masks as perfect for remedying dry, irritated skin, and next to the adverts, which followed me in my downward stalk, were my peers covered tactfully in near-black mud, floating in glorified saline solution.
I slapped my screen shut and yanked my cell loose from its charger. As I searched through my recent outgoing calls for my friend’s name, I remembered the time difference. No way she would answer at 3:00 a.m. I called anyway. Voicemail. Hanging up, I realized that was the sixth time I tried to call her that day with no response, and the twelfth time I called anyone from the trip without a single answer. I didn’t leave any voicemail, though. What would I have said? My mom called from her office, asking if I had stayed home all day, and telling me I needed to get out of the house. I told her nobody was in town, but that I would figure out something. I ended up at the movies by myself, watching, in an
otherwise empty theater, the kind of romantic comedy nobody admits to having seen, inhaling handfuls of over-buttered popcorn and Sour-Patch Kids. When the Chick-Flick ended in the typical “boy chases after girl, they kiss, everyone cries” fashion, I exited the theater, avoiding sad, sorry looks from the custodians who felt bad for my having watched a movie by myself. I checked my phone. No missed calls. Reloading my Facebook page, a new picture phased in on my newsfeed. This time, my friends were turned away from the camera, walking along train-tracks with Israeli flags floating being their backs. The picture was grey but unedited. A place existing, it seemed, without color, like
Kansas in The Wizard of Oz. I jumped as my phone buzzed on the table next to me. “I miss you so much,” my friend said right when I answered the phone, “and I hate Poland.” -Sarah Spielberger
“Ode on Poetry” How the hell do I do this? I’ve done this all before. What makes this time different? It’s just the same old chore. It’s due tomorrow! I don’t know what to do. To use three devices That I haven’t got a clue. What’s unnatural to me, May be second nature to another. That doesn’t make it easier.
That doesn’t make it a comfort. My brain is stopped up, With an impenetrable cork. I’m searching high and low, To the sky and below, For something, For anything that I should probably know. The words seem stuck. My mind hugging them too tight, Refusing to share, Even though it’s late at night. I’m trembling. I’m sweating. My brain is definitely melting. Oh God! How do I do this? Can somebody please help me? I feel Personification breathing down my neck,
And hear Onomatopoeia zipping away in a sec, And a simile? Why a simile? That’s like braces — Beautiful result, but the process is a wreck. The page is filling up, And I’m finally able to breathe. Rereading each stanza Trying to make everything clean. Everything looks alright, And my nervousness has shrunk, But oh God, have mercy, I still have to write a chunk. -Sara Murphy
-“Still Life Dominoes” by Adele Stolovitz
Editors-in-Chief Whitney Barnard Sarah Spielberger
Faculty Sponsors Mr. Bradford Ms. Rocamora
Layout Aviv Rau Mattie Rosen Morale Gurus Sydney Gelman Tennessee Lieberman Marketing/PR Zavi Feldstein Avery Frank General Editors Rebecca Adler Rosa Brown Raffi Oquendo Blake Rosen Adele Stolovitz
The Weber School