Charlotte's Web: The Literary Magazine of ICJA

Charlotte’s Web The Literary Magazine of Ida Crown Jewish Academy 2016 ‫תשע״ו‬

Editor’s Notes Editors in Chief: Tamara Soleymani, Shoham Benmelech, and Brocha Shanes generations, and ours is no exception. In this year’s literary magazine, we have returned to our roots. We have listened to the creative voices and we have done our best to make these ruminations tangible with cardstock and ink. By creating this magazine, we have been inspired by the story of the very beginning of time; in doing so, we have created our own beginnings.

On Our Process: A literary magazine is not created overnight. It slowly evolves after countless revisions, long email threads, and hundreds of read-throughs.

lines of poetry are the stacks of unsorted pieces. Within the binding of the spine are the countless hours spent blinking into buzzing computer screens. Behind each small page number are the hundreds of made easier by the fact that our peers are talented beyond their years -- but it is this same talent that has made this task almost impossible. bring this magazine from concept to fruition. What began as thoughts, ideas, and simple musings that have passed through our minds is now being presented to you. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

Shoham Benmelech, Tamara Soleymani, and Brocha Shanes Editors-in-Chief

Editors: Prose: Sara Okner Poetry: Zoey Shulman Art: Rena Auerbach and Zoe Wolmark Photography: Layout: Noa Okner and Yardana Ben-Simon Managing Editor: Batsheva Stadlan Matan Bauman, Sarah Russman, Eliana Arnet, Nathan Edelman, Zalman Brimm, Ilana Peritt, Anna Jacoby, Advisor: Mrs. Marsha Arons

Dedication Though we were never privileged to meet Mrs. Charlotte Rosenwald, a�h, it is in her memory that we dedicate Charlotte’s Web.We have heard about her and we understand that she was an extraordinary teacher; she inspired her students to think, write, create, and 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.

Thank You 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.

Table of Contents My Graduation SpeechTamara Soleymani............1 Chaim Starr...................15 Sarah Quintas..................2 GrowthIsaac Gordon....................3 How to ReachShiri Yeger........................4 Collective ClichésShoham Benmelech..........5 Cross Country RaceAdina Trubnick................6 Lost in TranslationTamar Dallal....................7 Didi Karp.........................8 Matan Bauman................9 HamletElana Berger...................10 College (Ad)MissionsJosh Daniels..............11-12 Ida Crown StudentYardana Ben-Simon........13 How to Be the New GirlDaniela Kluk..................14

Didi Karp.......................16 Brocha Shanes................17

Noa Okner.....................19 It’s My Shabbos NowRivka Comrov................20 Crown FoundationSara Okner................21-22 Colors...Jump!Batsheva Stadlan............23 A Letter From the Boy Who WasBrocha Shanes................24 Adoption DayReuven Perlow................25 Tamara Soleymani..........26 Joey Weinger.............27-28

Praying to G-dPoem of an African SlaveNechama Braun.............29 Tzippy David.................43 How to Wear an EyepatchRefocusing My Vision of Black FridayDear Young MeBen Weinger...................44 Tamara Soleymani..........31 Disclaimer of a DisclaimerWrestlingShoham Benmelech..45-46 Erez Kaissar....................32 My Beautiful Dark FantasySarah Quintas...........47-48 Anna Jacoby...................33 A Necessary SeparationEdan Pinchot............49-50 Zoey Shulman................34 I Pity MirrorsDavid’s FaultMatan Cutler.................51 Sarah Quintas................35 Lamenting RepairHere is a Picture of MyselfZoey Shulman................52 Tamar Dallal..................36 Poetry, InterruptedOJ or JoeDidi Karp......................53 Matan Cutler............37-38 Long ExposureCross CountryMatan Cutler..................54 Daniela Kluk..................39 A Glimpse into the FutureSoap Farm, Age 6Joey Weinger.............55-56 Shoham Benmelech........40 A Moment in a NovelDrowning in a Sea of Sara Okner................57-58 TechnologyPassover MemoriesBen Weinger...................41 Sara Okner....................59 PuppetsShoham Benmelech.......60 Zoey Shulman................42

1

The Power of Words {Tamara Soleymani } words lift us up and tear us down they make us smile and make us frown a cruel comment can stab you in the back and make you feel as if you lack a few nice words makes the world sunny and bright as if you’re on top and feather-light but, at the end of the day words are just words no matter what they say

2

The Unreachable Goal {Sarah Quintas}

Plato says that “the life which is unexamined is not worth living” and I think— at least in terms of my life—he is absolutely right. For as long as I can remember, I have held an insatiable hunger for knowledge and information. If a topic did not makes sense, I would study it until I understood it inside out. To me, knowledge is everything. If I am talking to a friend and miss a single word of the conversation, I ask him or her to repeat it, however unnecessary and minor it may have been. Because if I do not ask now, I reason, I will never know. The fact that there are some things in this world that I simply cannot know tortures me inside and keeps me up late at night, gnawing at my insides and consuming me like a hungry parasite. The mindset is not exactly a healthy one, but one simply cannot be bothered by such trivial matters as mental health when she is on a mission to discover as much about the world as humanly possible. The world is a beautiful place and it would be a crime not to discover all that is possible about its stunning and elaborate complexities. But the more I learn, the more the true extent of my ignorance dawns on me—and the more my frustration grows. I know that I am chasing an impossible goal, but to some extent it does not matter. The mere fact that I will never reach perfection means that I will always have something for which to strive. My life will never be dull. It will always have purpose.

And in the end, I believe that is Plato’s message.

3

Growth

{Isaac Gordon} To some people, growth merely means increasing in size; not to me. I view growth as more than the physical advancement of one’s self. Growth is the bettering and improving of your life in every aspect. Every task that one performs every day has an effect on the mental state of that person.

The one who has the ability to understand this concept can take advantage of any occurrence in his life and translate it to personal growth, and the importance and sanctity of this cannot be overlooked. Even if a mistake was made or if the person was harmed in any sort of way, there is a always a choice that presents itself after the action is done. One can either become infuriated, embarrassed, distraught, and put himself in any other negative emotional state, or he can analyze what went wrong and learn to grow from it. Not many people understand this and even the ones who do understand it have trouble actually applying it.

Personal growth isn’t something that happens spontaneously or miraculously. Personal growth is developed over time through one’s trials and tribulations. Sometimes people will have to make the same mistake forty-nine times just to prevent them from doing it a fiftieth. The beauty of this process is that failing over and over again makes the accomplishment -- when you achieve it -- more gratifying than one could have imagined. In some cases the accomplishment isn’t a physical one; rather, the accomplishment is a mere comprehension of what can or cannot be achieved. If someone sets his goals too high and fails to achieve them but comes to an understanding that he needs to create more realistic goals, then he has grown.

I have learned that growth is the key to the door that holds infinite opportunity. When people grow, they become people who can benefit society and others around them. Without growth, people would have the inability to improve in any aspect of their lives. Bettering ourselves and continuously striving for greatness plays a major role in life.

I have chosen to display the concept of growth in a display which consists of the transformation of a seed to a full grown plant, blossoming with beautiful flowers. When a seed is planted in the dirt, it starts its life tiny, frail, completely dependent on other elements to survive, and it doesn’t contribute anything. As the seed is nurtured and given water and sunlight, it begins to get larger and emerge from entrapment by the Earth.

Over time, what was once just a seed transforms into a small plant, which is enriched with color and stands erect above the ground, which it was once below. As the plant is cared for, it eventually goes through a complete transformation in which it becomes a tall, majestic tree, blooming with flowers, branches, leaves, and fruit. Now instead of being reliant on others for care, the tree can give back to those who once cared for it.

The growing plant is a perfect metaphor for our personal growth. We start off frail, weak, and reliant on others. However, after a while we slowly become people whom we never dreamed we could be. And slowly but surely we develop and grow until we are ready to give back and contribute to the same people who cared for us.

How To Reach {Shiri Yeger }

4

When you get off the bus, try to push away the nerves that surface because you are due to speak in front of three hundred people.

Listen to the NCSYers campaigning for their friends. Try not to panic.

Remember that you want to be on Regional Board, as much as a toddler wants a lollipop.

Refocus your mind to think that backing down at this point in time is no longer an option.

Watch the other candidates put up posters with clever catch phrases. Smile because your glitter-filled posters stand out from all the other posters.

Patiently wait your turn to go up and present your case as to why you are the best candidate for Midwest NCSY secretary.

Listen to the Rabbi call your name. Notice your fast heart beat when you finally are facing the crowded room, about to give your speech. Remember your determination to be elected Secretary.

Wait until everyone has voted. Hold your breath while the Rabbi announces the 2015-2016 Regional Board members. Freeze when you hear your name called as the new Midwest NCSY Secretary. Realize you got the position. Try to hold back the joy you feel because of the few people in the crowd who unfortunately did not make it onto the board.

After Shabbos, call your parents and tell them you got the position. Listen to them congratulate you, and tell you how proud they are of you. Let yourself shed a few tears from the overwhelming amount of happiness. Thank your parents for being a vital aspect of your life.

At the candle ceremony, step forward to meet the outgoing Secretary of Midwest NCSY, and light your candle from her candle. Realize what an honor you have been given.

When you feel like giving up, remember how you felt when the Rabbi announced that you were the incoming Secretary. Feel the urge to go and befriend someone in clear distress. Hope that you help someone, just like you received help from advisors and other prominent adult figures in your life.

Remember and cherish the feeling of being elected as the Secretary of Midwest NCSY for the 2015-2016 board.

5

Collective Clichés

{Shoham Benmelech} In a world very much my own, I’ve conjured up images tinged by literature: Read, unread, and reread Where every dark cloud is an ominous one and every tall mysterious male holds a dark brooding secret.

Where roses and empty rooms contain symbolism far beyond a sum of their parts, and a dagger is always bloody, metaphorically or otherwise.

In examining the history of these clichés, I demand to know their logic.

Who was it that decided that white is the color of innocence?

Surely, it yellows with the passage of time with spring always reappearing to dot the innocent white with spores and green vines.

After much deliberation, I’ve accepted that such artistic interpretations of the meaning of life have seldom proposed any answers based in fact.

And in tune with my notorious cynicism, I am forced to reject such flimsy epithets.

But, as a closet romantic, I secretly like to think that despite every dark cloud being an ominous one, it still contains a silver lining.

How To Persevere Through a Cross Country Race {Adina Trubnick}

When you re-read the email regarding the details of the Cross Country All Conference meet, try to maintain a confident facade.

Tell your older brothers that you will bring home a medal. Do not admit to the anxiety that you feel. Hope that you will not let them down.

Feel your nerves start to work their way up your stomach, providing you with a feeling of nausea.

Admit to your parents the way you truly feel, though your constant drinking of water already clued them in.

Listen to them tell you that you are a speedy runner with great stamina and that you should not worry.

Absorb the warmth of the hug they each give you, assuring you that they love you and believe in you.

Try to let their assurance supersede your negative thoughts and doubts you have that you may not place in the finalists. Realize that the nausea you feel is starting to subside.

Tell your parents that you too, have faith in yourself and that you will strive to get a medal.

Hope you will achieve this goal, despite the few doubts you still have.

Watch as their faces light up from joy and relief because your confidence is essential and primary to them.

Remember how proud you felt after crossing the finish line, earning yourself third place All Conference, just the year before.

Realize that you truly are talented at running. Recall that you did not know this last year when you first decided to register for Cross Country. Wonder how you had the courage to even begin this new sport.

Glance at your many medals of success and your “Rookie of the Year” certificate from Cross Country. Hold each one of them firmly, with pride. Remember what they represent: pushing through practices of pouring rain and sloppy running conditions, bursting into three mile runs through mud and puddles, and traveling home in the car with wet and muddy clothes.Take pride in your determination, tenacity, and commitment. Feel thankful that you allowed yourself to find this special talent.

Hear your parents say that it’s almost time to leave and that you should start getting ready to go to your race.

Dress in your Cross Country jersey and put on a skirt. Fill up your water bottle with ice-cold water. Grab a light jacket.

Step into your parents’ car. Sit down and buckle your seat belt. Turn on the radio to B96, your favorite station, and sing along to the music, as you try to disregard all your worries and negative thoughts in your mind.

Roll down your window and inhale the outside smell of flowers and trees. Wonder why this smell has put you at ease. Recognize that this is the same smell that you constantly breathe in during your races. Realize that you have run this race before and succeeded.

Tell your parents that you are feeling less anxious, and more excited for your race to begin.

Step out of the car. Walk with your parents out of the parking lot. Feel confident and believe that you will have an outstanding finish to your race.

This time however, have no doubts at all.

6

7

Lost in Translation {Tamar Dallal}

Words.

Wonderful, glorious devices of communication.

In thoughts, in speech.

A thought: Fast.

A leap, a twist, a joyous dance of images and colors and Words.

Placed just so, placed understandably.

An attempt at speech: A journey, an expedition of arrangements of sounds.

Along the voyage: Chaos.

From thought to mouth: Confusion.

The act of speaking: A jumble A disaster A train wreck Of sound.

Others look on With pity As you try to speak Without stuttering Or tripping over words Or muddling through the oral gymnastics required to express yourself.

You burn in Shame and Frustration and Impatience at your inability to talk properly.

Try to fix your error, Laugh it off, curl up and die inside.

Because you know You know That every time this happens, This sudden blockade between brain and mouth, You hope their patience doesn’t end.

And you hope You hope They will be willing To understand.

When you finally close your eyes to them And breathe In and out And sort out your twirling, whirling thoughts And manage to speak Without mistakes Or blunders Or gaffes You feel proud.

Know that you have The strength To overcome that vast obstacle of communication.

Feel calm.

Feel confident.

Feel proud.

There Isn’t a Word Didi Karp

There isn’t a word for sinking into a mattress with the blanket tucked up around your chin and the pillows at just the right angle -- so that before you even begin to close your eyes you feel the stress of the day evaporating your mind being freed, your entire body feeling lighter and lighter and you know it’s only a matter of time until worry completely dissipates.

There is no single, unimpeachable word for that vague sensation of something completely embracing you as it engulfs you so that one is indiscernible from another -- which is too bad, because that is the word I would like to use to describe standing in an airport hugging an old friend as the awareness grows in me that she is no longer a friend, but a piece of me a person who I didn’t realize how much I needed until this moment, when we hold each other I think we share a feeling of relief, though to tell the truth What I already am thinking about is my gratitude for touchhow it will capture just so much and no more; how there are so many marks it will not conceal; how it will bend, if not through, then around the circumference of almost anything -how, over the years it has given me back all the hours and days, all the overpowering emotion and sensation, all the unspoken truths and misunderstanding I have willingly poured into it.

8

9

The Meaning of Junior Year {Matan Bauman}

I received an assignment from Ms. Goldstein, asking for a statement on the meaning of Junior Year. It is my duty to comply with such a request, and it is certainly my pleasure.

Surely, Ms. Goldstein knows what Junior Year is. It is the second to last mile of a marathon, when you cannot start speeding up yet. It is the “hard” in “hard work.” It is the “X’s” on the calendar, and the black marks on a white board.

Junior year is the darkness you are submerged in before you see the light at the end of the tunnel. It is the feeling of exhaustion after every day; the feeling of community when you all work together; the feeling of the pressure from teachers, parents, and yourself. It is the loneliness when you know that you could cry at any moment. Junior year is your teacher asking you to write about Junior year, in the middle of all the other hours of work you have to do.

10

Hamlet

{Elana Berger} To homework, or not to homework—that is the question.

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The sweat and tears of outrageous calculus equations Or to take arms against a sea of vocabulary words And by opposing end them. To relax, to watch television— To end the migraine, and the five-hundred pound backpack.

‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

To relax, to watch—perchance to eat pizza: Ay, there’s the rub, For eating too much pizza could cause a stomachache, This must give us pause There’s the respect that makes schoolwork of so long life.

For who would bear the tests and quizzes, The failing grades, the nervous break-downs, The essays, the research papers, the heavy textbooks When he himself might his quietus make via Netflix?

Who would homework bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life But that stomachache after pizza, Glassy stare, and limp body No traveler returns.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is to throw away the pizza, Untuck the blanket, Switch off the remote, And do homework.

11

College (Ad)Missions {Josh Daniels}

As college admissions deadlines near, thousands of students, teachers, parents, counselors, essay writers, Common App specialists, admissions officers, and many others involved enter desperation mode in order to submit the best possible application. Throughout the years, college admissions have become more complex, intense, and demanding. Students turn to experts to assist them with all aspects of the application, in order to really make it “their own.” The experts truly know how to make the applications personal and unique for each student. However, not everyone can afford to enlist an army just to get their child into college, resulting in an unfair college admissions process with unequal opportunity for all students. This intense, controversial process has reached the agendas of the most powerful people in the country.

With a Republican-controlled congress, President Barack Obama is also in desperation mode to make the most out of his last year as President. One criterion critical to change in Barack Obama’s eyes is education, particularly college admissions. He stressed the importance of affordability when it comes to equal access to higher education. Due to the nature of the situation on Capitol Hill, Obama thought these subjects were a lost cause. However, he may have found a loophole that would make change possible.

Globally, it is a general peaceful time. Minor conflicts in Syria, Iraq, Iran, Ukraine, Israel, and China are –for the most part– under control. Furthermore, the US withdrawal out of Iraq and Afghanistan successfully left room for a genuine and peaceful Islamic State, an entity that has not been seen since the Middle Ages. Due to this new reality, the US Military is sort of “in between jobs.”

Obama has outlined to take college admissions under the wing of the Military in a newly formed “CACOM,” College Admissions Command. Recognizing the special-forces-like units being put together by college-bound students, Obama felt that he would be able to strengthen the applications of many, as well as give all citizens of America an equal opportunity regarding the highly lucrative field of test prep and college prep. By consolidating all different experts into one division, the process of seeking assistance becomes easier– and free. Through this approach, maybe Obama will be able to advance his education platform after all.

College Guidance counselors will be used to help each student gain exposure when it comes to the college search. They will oversee all aspects of each teenager’s application. The counselor will be able to call up his other troops to help out on a case-by-case basis.

12 Expert Common-App-Filler-Outers will be a vital asset to the team. They will help each student flawlessly navigate the Common App as if it is the streets of that student’s neighborhood. These specialists will have the answers to all questions and will be there at every step of the way.

Essay writers will be on in high demand. They will be able to assist students through the pre-writing process and through the writing and revising process.

Through their knowledge, they will be able to truly help each student show off why they are different from everyone else. With so much experience in college essay writing, these specialists will get every ounce of the student’s personality into this important essay.

Standardized testing tutors will be a critical component of this new unit.

Students will have unlimited access to tutors and prep. SAT, SAT 2, ACT, PSAT, and AP test tutors will all be available at the student’s request. The tests are designed to assess what the student has gotten out of his education. However, if a student is lacking information, no problem! The skilled tutors will catch the student up!

Recommenders for recommendations will also be available. Students will be able to consult with these professionals on which teachers will write the best recommendations. Somehow, it seems like they really know every student’s teachers, and can successfully identify who will write the best recommendation possible.

The government will also cover college tour guides. Thanks to this new policy, families will not have to blow their life savings– at least not before college.

US Air Force pilots will fly chartered jets, following various efficient itineraries.

Whether the school is on the West Coast, East Coast, or even the Midwest all students will be able to visit, and no campus will be out of reach.

This government-subsidized program will level the playing field of college admissions for all Americans. The US Army’s CACOM will work tirelessly and will do their best. This is not simply a decision of which college is the “right fit,” this is serving the nation. America was founded on the ideals of equal opportunity and fairness, and as Donald Trump brilliantly declares, “we need to make America great again!” President Obama was looking for a way to make the most out of his congressional-tension-filled last months of his presidency, and he has found it.

This historic achievement will correct all the corruption, injustice, and inequality that have plagued the college admissions process for the last couple of decades, and will significantly simplify the stressful process. CACOM’s only possible concern is the possibility of an arms race for previously administered ACT and SAT tests– commonly used for practice–in the region.

13

Ida Crown Student {Yardayna Ben-Simon }

Davening starts at 8:05 every morning; even if you don’t want to pray, just open a siddur; come to school in appropriate dress code; meet your friends at breakfast to catch up on what you’ve missed since yesterday; Fridays are sweatshirt days; drink lots of coffee; this is how you graph a polynomial; this is how you write a rhetorical analysis; this is how you approach a teacher with respect; don’t bring coffee into the classrooms—it’s the new building, after all; bring a lunch every day, you will get hungry; try out for a team; believe in yourself; join a club; this is how you balance your time between Judaics, general studies, and extracurricular activities; “But what if I can’t? What if I’m unable to balance all of these things?” “Don’t you worry, everyone figures it out.

So will you.” This is how to show your Aces pride; this is what you should wear on pep rally day; this is how you create everlasting friendships; this is how to handle drama in your friend group; drink lots of coffee; befriend the office ladies; throw your trash away after you make a mess; this is how you dress modestly on hot days; this is how you stand up for yourself; this is how you read a Gemara; this is how you annotate literature; this is how you should study for your history exam; drink lots of coffee; this is how you can maintain your happiness; always read your English books; when everyone walks one way down the learning commons, walk the other way; study for your math tests; “But isn’t all of this math irrelevant, anyway?” “Everyone knows that, but you still have to study!” have fun; don’t cry too much; panic only when necessary; this is how you apply for college; “But what if I can’t get into college?” “You mean to say that after all of this, you don’t think you can get into college?”

How To Be The New Girl {Daniela Kluk}

14

When your parents sit you down and tell you that you are moving, try to remain calm even if you are nervous.

Tell them that you do not want to but that you understand that it is for the best.

Try not to make the news all about yourself.

Listen to your parents talk about the new city. Help them sort through what will be packed and what will be left behind. Pass them the tape to seal the boxes which are going to be sent on the moving truck.

Tell your friends the news and watch their shocked faces. Reassure them that you will keep in touch.

Be strong for your siblings when they come crying about not wanting to leave.

Remind them of all the good your parents promised you would be in the new place.

Realize that both of your parents have had experience in moving and that everything turned out well. Remember how happy you have been in this new place your parents had moved to. Hope that the new place makes you just as happy.

Tell your parents now that you feel that the transition will be smooth. Wonder how meeting all the new people might go, remembering your nerves as well as your excitements.

Get in bed early the night before school starts although you know that you will be up late thinking about the what-if ’s and how’s of the next day.

Wake up the next morning before the alarm clock sounds and quickly put on the outfit that you planned a month ago. Wonder how rapidly the time went from the moment you were told that you were moving, to this day.

Hear your parents in the kitchen making your lunch. Run to the kitchen, all ready. Feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around viciously.

When you get to school glance around at all the new faces. Realize that they all are noticing you.

Watch the kids approach you, listen to their welcoming and friendly tones.

Introduce yourself and explain that you are the new girl.

Allow one of them to show you around. Be shy and friendly at the same time.

Thank her for showing you to your locker and your first class.

Feel your heart thud when you walk into class and do not know whom to sit by.

Sit in the middle row, off to one of the sides. Pull out your pencil case as well as a notebook and folder. Wait for the bell to ring to begin class.

Listen to all of the kids chattering about their summers with each other. Analyze the behaviour of all the students and realize that all students around the world act similarly.

Pay close attention to the teacher as she gives her introduction.

After class meet up with the girls from earlier and stay near them until you find your way and place in the new school.

Know you will.

15

My Graduation Speech {Chaim Starr }

Balancing fear and excitement, my feet planted firmly on the ground, hands resting lightly on the podium and head held erect, I stand on front-center stage at the auditorium of Niles North High School, looking down upon the hundreds of graduation attendees who constitute my audience. In the background, my classmates are seated on folding chairs, with members of Arie Crown’s faculty situated on either side. An aging wall separates the auditorium from a dark, decrepit storeroom, the latter of which is in stark contrast to the brightly illuminated rostrum. I am brimming with anxiety, only thirteen years old, contemplating the sea of people to which I must speak at the culmination of eleven years of schooling. Aware of the enormity of the task at hand, I am challenged by the feeling of trepidation that seeks to overcome me. My startlingly red graduation cap and gown obscure all but my shiny, black dress shoes; my red and white tassel proudly displays my year of graduation, 2014, in gold lettering. I am thinking of the speech that I am to deliver, recalling each word as the oversized room is deathly silent in anticipation. My parents are positioned on the first row of the second deck of seats. Already, my mother gazes directly at the podium, elated at the prospect of listening to her son address the crowd. My father hopes that I will perform spectacularly, knowing that I spent many hours practicing the speech.

A Thank-You Note {Didi Karp}

16

I had repeated my script so many times that I could probably do it in my sleep, but this didn’t stop me from being nervous as I approached the desk. I cleared my throat and mumbled in the downward direction in order to avoid all eye contact, “Hi I’m in 5th grade. I like to read. Do you have any book recommendations for me?” This phrase had become my mantra during my weekly trip to the public library, and had helped me plow through the children’s section, starting with the easy readers and progressing through the chapter books.

I immediately rejected the librarian’s first five suggestions with a “I already read that.” I was getting desperate, it seemed to me as if I had read all the available books. And so I went through the motions not expecting any help: Yes I had already read Harry Potter, and Laura Ingalls Wilder, and the Dear America series.

But this librarian refused to give up on me.

“Follow me” she said as she suddenly sprang up from her chair. I followed her, a half-step behind, wondering where we could possibly be going. We passed the picture-books, the carousels full of chapter books, the play area, and the arts and crafts room. And suddenly we weren’t in the children’s section of the library anymore. I jogged to keep up with her long strides, my sneaker squeaks muffled by the unfamiliar gray carpet. She stopped suddenly and I looked up: we were in the Teen Section.

“Here,” said the librarian triumphantly, thrusting seven new books my way, “Try these.” I was shocked. I had always assumed that this section was not for me. I felt out of place. As if the librarian could read those thoughts on my face, she gave me a comforting smile and assured me I was allowed to check out books from any section I liked. A much bigger world was suddenly just a shelf away. As I pursued the foreign spines, my library bag began to fill with perspectives, opinions, and thoughts each different from the other, and all different than mine. From then on, each week at the library I scoured the librarya new book from each section. The more I read, the more I realized that this was more than just reading for pleasure, I now had a purpose. I was determined to metaphorically walk miles in an array of varying shoes. I had found that reading gave me perspective on how and why different people approach situations. I was empathizing with people I had never met, but now hope to meet. Because of this unlimited access to books, I had been given the gift of the foundation for successful dialogue understanding. Now, armed with the ability to understand and the capacity to empathize, I can take an active role in the world around me.

And every once in awhile I stop by the children’s section- just to make sure I’m not missing any important voices.

17

Three Words

{Brocha Shanes}

I love you.

That itself is a poem.

All the words I cannot tell you curled up in three.

The Brown Front Door {Raina Kutliroff }

18

It is a clear warm night as I walk down to creaky wooden stairs I feel as happy as can be This will all soon change.

I look out the brown front door waiting for him to come.

I wait and wait for the turning of the gold door knob, but it never turns Then it hits me He’s not coming.

I go back upstairs and start to cry Tears rolling down my pale soft cheeks As I cry, I remember how close we were How we used to talk about anything from my day to music.

I love him and he loves me, But the day he left is one I’ll never forget I know that he isn’t gone forever, But it just won’t be the same without him.

The day he walked out the brown front door was emotional for everyone, He walked out and got onto a huge white cross-country plane and he flew I don’t know how he feels right now, but I would like to think he misses me I miss him so much.

The day he turns that shiny gold doorknob and walks back through the brown front door will be one that I know, I’ll remember forever I will run into his arms and we will hug and talk for hours.

I’ll be waiting by that brown front door for the day that you walk back in.

19

The Meaning of Loyalty {Noa Okner}

The meaning of loyalty is simple. It is the committed endeavor of finding that missing puzzle piece. Loyalty is the feeling of discomfort when declaring a new favorite novel. It is the urge to put away hours of paperwork to attend a dance recital. It is a pinky promise not to tell, but telling your best friend anyway. Loyalty is the first breath of spring after an arduous winter. It is the dreaded annual Labor Day barbeque. It is the unspoken schedule of making daily school lunches. Loyalty is the result of a love so strong it surpasses high school. It is to agree to disagree. It is a plane ticket home from college for a sibling’s birthday. Loyalty is the perseverance through hardship, and continuous support after failure.

It’s My Shabbos Now {Rivka Comrov }

20

I am in my house, sitting in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, watching as my father frantically prepares the chicken. I see my father’s concerned expression. The potato peels drop one by one into the garbage, like the tears streaming down my face. I hear my sister begin to cry and my father in a hurried tone telling her that Ima is going to be okay. I should finish putting the season salt on the chicken. He grabs my baby sister to calm her down. I am aware that my father is nervous, but he is displaying a calm mask for my sister and me. I wonder as I sprinkle the salt on the chicken, why my mother had to go the hospital that morning and what we were going to do without her over Shabbos. I know that I am a older sister for the baby girl my father is cradling. I know that even though I am only nine, my journey as an adult starts now. I am frightened but I am prepared to do what is thrown at me, I am ready to be a mother for the next couple days. I am ready to help cook, feed and take care of the household. At this time what matters to me is that my sister is safe and healthy, my father is fed, and my mother gets better. I focus on preparing the Shabbos meal and I try to bring in the light my mother always brings in with every Friday night. I wanted to bring in the love of the home.

The story, “The Electric Candlesticks,” displays what love really brings to a family. It creates hope, closeness, beauty, and in this case even religion. Just like the grandmother brought shabbos in with love--that’s exactly what my mother does, every week and that’s the tradition I tried to keep up that weekend.

21

Crown Fountain {Sara Okner}

Choose a Chicago Statue and Create a Story About It I tower over the city of Chicago. Every day, I watch the wandering humans.

The pixels of my skin reflect the faces of the city: the hopeless, the sensible, and the kind. Children watch me, and their laughter is piercing. Sometimes the humans create my story, but sometimes I tell them theirs. *** I knew something was wrong when I saw the baby: a blue, silent bundle, alone in the NICU. Tubes protruded from every limb, pumping every kind of drug into his system. He lay, strangled by his wires, smaller than my arm, but his grip was strong. The crash was on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago, and my body was crushed under a tire. It was the 28th week of the pregnancy, and the doctors performed an emergency C-section due to placenta abruption. The child cannot eat, breathe, or warm himself. My left temporal lobe lesions impaired my memory, and my basic coping and human relation strategies are damaged. I have no memory of the pregnancy; I do not know who the father is; I do not remember a single detail from the past five years of my life. Now I have this child, a boy, next to me in a glass incubator -- and I am supposed to care for him.

All I think about are the newspaper headlines: “Deadly Car Crash Leaves Two Dead and Eight Critically Wounded.� Those words were the first words I read when I woke up, and they were everywhere: Every newspaper in the country flashed my story along with a picture of my disfigured facial structure. I accredit my deformed face with the reason why no one has claimed me. I am alone, and every day I wake up, confined high in a room above the city of Chicago, and watch the cars and the people. I envy their normality: their quick paces, their mundane occurrences, their feigned purpose. I envy them because I am gone; my body is here, and this child is here, but I have no idea why I was destined to stay and live in a mind that is blank. *** I remember being told they needed doctors on the scene. I hastily ditched my lunch, and clambered into the back of an already crowded ambulance. An intern handed me a first-aid kit and tied my gown. When the back of the ambulance opened, I was left breathless: The mass of hysteria I saw, and was supposed to attend to, was unlike anything I had seen before: severed limbs, blood

22 stained faces, children and mothers screaming for one another. I headed east, and saw eight overturned vehicles. I neared and found her underneath a car. She was merely a camouflaged and unmoving mass. A red tag was clipped to her sweater, identifying her as a corpse. Regardless, I felt for a pulse, and she had one.

The team delivered her baby an hour later, and she woke up three days after that.

I named her Julie, and when she opened her eyes, I was the first person she saw.

Because I pulled her from the car, my resident assigned me to her case. I am spending more time with Julie, a patient, than any of my friends in the hospital. When I look out at the city, I see faces— each face is connected to a mind that works, and a pair of eyes that can understand what they choose to see. But Julie has nothing. Her mind is damaged, and she was blessed with a child she cannot know. Her entire life is wasted. She is grateful to be alive, but cannot understand her situation. I have become her closest confidant in the hospital, and though I try to help her, I cannot understand what she is going through. If I woke up one day, and could no longer be a surgeon, I don’t know how I would wake up the next day. *** They told me that my doctor, Danny, pulled me out of the rubble; I am grateful. Through my recovery, he has not left my side. He told me I may never regain my memory, and he also has helped me to understand my situation. When the doctors told me I could go outside, it was Danny who wheeled me to the park. We sat talking for a while, and he told me about his life. He told me about medical school and the joys and hardships of pursuing a career in surgery. I tried to think about my history, but the blankness was overwhelming. He wheeled me over to the Crown Fountain, and I saw a face. The eyes were a piercing green, and the face was a normal version of my own. From my wheelchair, it was my face I was looking at. My mouth was animated and moving, and my eyes were clear. I was looking at a picture of me. *** Sometimes, when one cannot remember who they are, or how they have gotten to where they are, I can tell them. I am permanent while the human mind is fleeting. I watch over the city of Chicago. My photographs foreshadow and deceive, tell stories, and make children smile. I document the past and hold time still. Danny and Julie are just two of the many who remember because I decided to tell them.

23

Color... Jump!

{Batsheva Stadlan}

What I find to be amazing about American society is that, after all this time, we Americans have upheld so many traditions. We eat turkeys in November every year in honor of chasing out the Native Americans, we deep fry our chicken (and then deep fry it again) so that we can promote proper blood clotting, and best of all, pink is for girls and blue is for boys.

I was sitting in my room the other day and noticed that my walls are painted in bright pink. To my relief, my brother’s room was painted blue. From all the colors in the world I successfully asked for my room to be painted pink. I cannot even imagine having chosen a different color other than that -- and we should thank our hospital systems for reassuring society what color we should grow to enjoy and love.

What is a newborn baby girl without a pink beanie? The first moment of our existence is dedicated to announcing our gender followed by an assigned color. “It’s a boy!” Obviously wrapped perfectly in a blue blanket. “It’s a girl!” Obviously wrapped perfectly in a pink blanket. Hospitals are following the rules of sacrity. Being baptized in a predetermined color saves our world from chaos and confusion. We have been alleviated from the depths of disparity and depression. Our world has been saved!

Hallelujah!

Strolling through out the aisles of Target brings me such joy. Toys for little girls are painted sparkly pink. The rows are filled with Barbies, Polly Pockets, Bratz, and pink Legos. Two aisles down, however, lies my greatest fear. Gross, blue painted rows.

Trucks, Legos, and Nerf guns -- thinking of these toys makes me sick. A young girl should never stroll down the aisles of blue. It is a disgrace to society to enter and buy a toy from the blue aisles. Hospitals have taught us the rule of thumb from the beginning: pink or blue. Life is simple. Easy to follow. No complications.

10:30, August 7th, 2015: TARGET WILL STOP SEPARATING ‘GIRLS’ TOYS FROM ‘BOYS” TOYS. I was rushed to the hospital that night. I was tossing and turning. I fainted from the overwhelming rebellion of Target. This was worse than the uprising of the third intifada. Target is harming innocent girls and boys. They are ruining lives. Young innocent lives. There was only thing to do: Wal-Mart.

Letter From the Boy Who Was {Brocha Shanes}

(*based on Grace Paley’s short story “Samuel”)

24

To Samuel’s mama, You probably don’t remember me. I hardly do. I’m the boy who biked down your street plenty of times and played ball in front of your house. I would come inside and you’d give me snacks and ask me how I was and how my mama was and did we finish our schoolwork yet? We never did but we always said yes and you always knew we were lying.

Anyway, I guess there’s really no reason for me to be writing this. It’s been twenty years, after all, and still I’m not sending you advice or condolences or anything I should be, only telling you how I feel when we’ve had pretty much no connection since I used to come to your house after school and you would give me a cup of sweet lemonade you always seemed to have too much of. Samuel loved that lemonade, but he always pretended he didn’t, do you remember? He’d be all, ugh, Mama, you make that all the time, what have you got against lemons that you keep squeezing their guts out into our drinks, but then he’d take a glass of it and gulp it down like it was the last thing he’d ever drink. I guess he didn’t know that it actually would be one of the last.

I just can’t get it out of my head, you know? The image is seared into my mind and I still wake up at night with tears that never stop because he was my friend, like a really good friend, and I loved him, even if he did do stupid things sometimes. And he was right there next to me and we were having a good time and now he’s dead, and now every time I look at the rust on a train I can’t help thinking that maybe it’s his blood or something.

I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be telling you this. I can’t help that I’m there again every single night, but you don’t have to be there. Do you still take the train? It took me sixteen years before I could take the train. Honestly, I hold on to the railing so tight, I can’t believe I ever thought I could let go and survive, because I didn’t survive, not really. Part of me was lost with Samuel and I never got it back.

Again, sorry. You probably don’t want to hear this.

I just miss him so much. I miss the way when he smiled it was crooked and his teeth were full of spaces that never got a chance to be fixed and his deep brown eyes would get all squinty and when he laughed he would hardly make a sound, he would just breathe in real deep over and over until his face got red and he was so good at making us boys laugh, he didn’t have to think up a good joke, it would just come out of him. And he was so good at writing but wasn’t good at math, he hated numbers, I used to do his math homework for him and he would help me with my spelling and I loved him for that. And he was real good at games where you had to think up a strategy, he just never was too good at gambling games, and I guess that’s what happened that Tuesday, he gambled his life and he lost. He was so stupid, I love him and I miss him but he was stupid, and I was even more stupid because I didn’t stop him. I just want him back, I would do anything to get him back.

I heard you had another baby after he died. Congratulations. I’m sure he’s a great kid. You raise great kids, you know. Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise.

Oh, and I don’t have any boys yet, just three pretty little girls, but my wife’s gonna have a baby again soon and I just feel like it’s finally gonna be a boy this time, I can’t explain how I know but I know, and the second I have this boy I’m naming him Samuel, that’s for sure.

Anyway. If you’ve managed to read till the end of this, thank you. I miss him every day. In a way I guess I never really grew up. Samuel’s always with me, and so my childhood is also.

Write back, if you can. I think I’m finally ready to talk, and I hope you are too.

Yours, Calvin

25

Adoption Day

{Reuven Perlow}

August 31, 2005, There I was, getting off the plane with my older brother, Lev, and my younger sister, Sarah. As we walk through the busy crowd, I am embraced by a woman I do not know. At first I am scared, since I do know who the person is, but she says she is my new mother. Even though I don’t know English, everyone knows what “mama” meant. I jump up and down with joy because I finally got to meet my new parents. Now I have someone to read me books and bedtime stories. I thought about how we didn’t have a lot of money to spend, and my parents used it to send us to school. They worked so hard just to get that small amount of money and didn’t have much time to spend with us. I think about how I wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore or feel guilty about going to school. Most of all, I think about all of the new opportunities I will have in America.

Ten and a half years later, I sit here thinking back about my childhood. My parents died when I was four or five years old, but I was blessed to be adopted into a new family with new parents. In the short story “The Funeral,” the child lost his mother but he was happy for his father to get remarried. In the same respect, I lost so much when I left Ethiopia, but I am so happy to be in America and to have a new family. I learned from this was that good things can come from bad things.

Ari Daniels “Cactus Life”

The Synthesis of Me {Tamara Soleymani}

26

I am a synthesis of my parents’ culture, my values, and my strong sense of morality.

“The one thing they can never take from you is your education.” I heard these words many times from my father who heard it from his father. My parents were born and raised as observant Jews in Iran--an Islamic country. They encountered prejudice and violence at the hands of their neighbors, who, at times, fought with each other because of their differing Islamic philosophies. As a result, my parents had to learn to coexist and blend in with disparate factions--even among their immediate circle of acquaintances. In this midst of this imbroglio, they still maintained their values. When the Revolution of 1979 happened, my parents fled to America --leaving behind family members, cherished possessions, and their former lives. They relied on their own skills and knowledge. My father used math ingrained in him by harsh teachers to work with computers; my mother used the sewing skills taught by her mother to become a designer. From them I learned to rely on my innate skills and and use them to explore my interests and find my strengths. Since my parents came from a repressed culture they were also passionate about making sure I always had a voice and took advantage of my freedom.

Their culture encompassed respect for parents as well as others’ opinions; this value was also transmitted to me. But one example of when these values threatened to conflict was at our Sabbath dinner table, frequently a hub for discussion of current events, facts learned in class, or a philosophical issues. When the conversation turned to abortion, my dad stated categorically that government should prohibit all abortions: In his mind, all people should be forced by the government to uphold religious morals because that is what he grew up with and as an Orthodox Jew, he feels that abortions are murder. No matter what I personally felt about the subject of abortion itself, it was clear to me that what we were really discussing was the separation of church and state issue.

Several aspects of this discussion became clear to me: I have been instilled with the same respect for others’ opinions that enabled my father to live among Sunni and Shiite Muslims and engender mutual respect. I also have the ability to narrow the focus of an argument to its core issue and debate passionately, but logically. We weren’t talking about abortion per se, but the rights of individuals to determine their own course in a country where governmental intervention has limits. Like my father, I am defined by this ability to see others’ views, consider them valid, and yet disagree and maintain my own perspective. I understand that mutual respect is key to accomplishing any rapprochement. But most important, I am defined by my own sense of justice because I am an American and have grown up with the privileges of democracy and freedom.

27

Netflix

{Joey Weinger}

I have multiple personality disorder. Not in the clinical sense, although I am made up of many selves. Some may view this as problematic; however, I see this as completely normal and beneficial. My condition is due to one profound website: Netflix.

Now, one can easily infer that I must be a passive millennial who wastes his time watching hours of programing on the Internet. When Netflix was first introduced online, I too wondered how one can derive any benefit from watching television. But Netflix has changed my life. Binge-watching has taken me from sheltered child to educated citizen of the world.

On any given day, I am a congressman in a corrupt White House, a Baroness Anglo-Israeli, and an Earl Countess in 1900s England. I am also a midwife in London’s East End, a Danish teacher, and a prisoner in Danbury, Connecticut. My name is Joey Weinger, as well as Claire Underwood, Carrie Mathison, Don Draper, Piper Kerman, Sherlock Holmes, Alicia Florrick, Maura Pfefferman (thank you Amazon), and Selina Meyer. I live in Skokie, Illinois, but also in Munich, Buenos Aires, New York, London, Pakistan, and Seoul. I speak English, Hebrew, and Spanish, and also Chinese, French, and Dutch. I am a Jew, and a Christian, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Buddhist, and an atheist.

Of course, I understand that I am only one teenager watching an LED screen in the poorly-lit den of a suburban home. Pixels and sound work together to animate a narrative that is communicated to my brain. I have been to only three countries; I speak only three languages; and, I am not a fictional character in a fictional world. However, the beauty of Netflix is its power to educate and transform. Watching masterpieces like Six Feet Under, Olive Kitteridge, Black Mirror, and The Honourable Woman—even a reality show like My 600-lb Life— inculcate within me a deeper appreciation for storytelling. I learn French from Blue is the Warmest Color and German from Schlussmacher and have developed a severe case of Anglomania. Netflix has provided me with the potential to learn about worlds outside my own and has instilled a passion for globalization through vast international offerings. I can never live through the Holocaust or slavery; yet, I can experience the pathos and expand my conception of emotion.

28 Netflix is worth the precious time invested. As trivial as binge-watching sounds, I have developed a wider mindset with a more inclusive worldview in which the truth is always subjective and obstinacy is unacceptable. Through every genre, I am inspired by ideas that enlighten. I capitalize on Netflix for its expression of free speech as a voice and art form.

My infatuation with Netflix need not affect my passion for literature. As an observant Jew who keeps the Sabbath, I spend many a Saturday reading anything from Marie Kondo’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up to Homer’s The Odyssey. This, along with hours engaged in school work, has led me to understand the value of books. My viewing of Netflix is completely justifiable because I understand that books are more important that programs. However, the transformative power of stories, whether presented through written or visual media, imparts meanings and lessons that make both forms crucial for learning.

As much as I appreciate reading, I will not divorce myself from Netflix. As I watch, my identity expands. The knowledge I gain from watching Netflix leads me to a deeper understanding of and comfort within human relationships.

Individuals are powerful beyond measure: Our concern for and drive to help one another is inspiring. I will keep binge-watching to my heart’s content, understanding and expanding my opportunities to be a responsible member of society. I am not passive when sitting before a Netflix screening. Indeed, through experiencing the strength and weaknesses of others, I am empowered to embrace new challenges while continuing to mature intellectually and to enact social change.

29

Praying To G-d {Nechama Braun}

Balancing my body, feet together, standing in the women’s section on the holiest day of the year, holding a siddur in my hand in the shul with beautiful flowers surrounding the Ark and uplifting sunlight coming from the windows at the top of the ceiling.

I am standing taller than my mother and sisters, wearing my glasses so I can see the fine print, fifteen years old, aware of my seriousness and nervousness at this time.

I am challenging my faith, praying with conviction, and fearing whether G-d will sign me in His Book of Life.

Dressed modestly before Hashem in my new white shirt, canvas sneakers, and sweatshirt draped around me.

I cannot stop thinking if I will be forgiven from all my sins from the past year and whether or not G-d is truly listening to my prayers, while at the same time listening to every other Jews’ prayers at this exact moment.

My parents are also participating in the holy experience within the synagogue.

My mother is sitting in the chair next to me, freezing, and praying to Hashem as well.

When I sit down, she tells me how proud of me she is, how much my faith has grown, and what an amazing young adult I have transformed into.

My father is praying in a different room but occasionally comes to see me, my mom, and my sisters. He later acknowledges my passion in prayer and conviction on this holy day.

How to Wear an Eye-Patch {Tzioina Chernoff}

30

When you wake up, remember to place the patch on the right side of your face. Look in the mirror, pretend as if the patch does not clash with your outfit.

Remind yourself that you only have to wear the patch half the day, and hope no one notices it.

Remember to ignore the gooey feeling on your face, and attempt to forget how itchy your eyes are.

Wonder how your mom can compliment you every morning before school. Know she is only trying to make you feel better. Beg her to let you skip today, even though you know she will say no. When you look in the mirror try to see what she sees.

Smile as your new classmate is introduced, hide the half of your face where the patch rests.

Plan to say hello after you remove the patch. Hope the new classmate will not see your face until then.

After lunch rip off the patch in the middle of the room and quickly run to throw the offensive object into the trash can. Hold your head up high, walk back to your seat, and prepare to meet your new classmate.

Finally, feel confident enough to say hello. Without the patch you feel invincible. Wish you felt that way all the time.

Learn the classmate’s name, play with them at recess.

Run, laugh and enjoy your new friend’s company.

When she shows you her scar try not to frown. Try not to be ashamed of your lack of bravery.

Feel sad for the fact that she can willingly show her imperfection, and you hid yours.

When she compliments you on your courage and states that it makes her feel less lonely hold back your tears.Remind yourself that it’s okay to make mistakes. Tell her thank you.

Remember that bravery is something you must gain. Wonder how she has it already.

The next day, hold your head up high wearing your patch. Never feel ashamed of it again.

When you meet someone new, do not hide your face. Let the patch show.

Learn to look in the mirror and see what your mom sees.

Know you are beautiful.

31

Dear Young Me

{Tamara Soleymani}

Dear Young Me, Where does the time go? It feels like only yesterday we were together but it’s been years since you and I were one. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, I guess I’ve been avoiding this conversation. I’m scared you’ll be disappointed in me, but it’s time I talked to you and told you the truth. Here’s the deal, life for us didn’t turn out quite the way you hoped. We stopped growing at a very petite 4’ 10”. I know this is a shock since our mother promised we’d get to 6 feet. Also, we’re not as smart as we thought. We are not going to Harvard or Yale (even though our family members kept saying we would) we’re not even a straight A student (but, hey, we never really liked math). Yes, I know I shattered your naïve bubble, but I promise life is still great. Much to our surprise, we even enjoyed high school.

A lot of things are different in 2016. We have our own cellphone that’s also an iPod, and pressing the internet button on our phone no longer creates fear and a mad dash to hit cancel. It’s actually encouraged! Those mean girls you swore you’d hate forever are actually really nice now. I know what they did to us was pretty bad, but I swear they’re chill now. That boy who made us cry is now our friend. (I know it’s weird that we’re friends with boys, but I swear at least some of them don’t have cooties). Our friends today are people we never thought we’d have anything in common with, but they are amazing and awesome and everything we’d hoped for in friends. I wish we’d spent the time getting to know them sooner. Moreover, they’ve miraculously managed to get us to put down our books every now and then and actually leave our room. We’ve finally come to the realization that grades aren’t everything (don’t worry, we still berate ourself for getting B’s). In addition, we’ve lost some of our family and, yes, it was horrible, but our family has also gained some new and adorable little faces whom we adore.

While a lot is different, some things never change. We are still incredibly lazy and addicted to TV. And don’t worry our sass and fierceness is as strong as ever. We are still crazy, nerdy, and a complete dork, but we’ve learned how to hide it a little better. And I know I said before that we’ve taken a more relaxed approach to school, but we’re still an overachiever and a know-it-all. More importantly, we’ve become even closer to G-d and have found even more meaning in our life and religion. We still want to become a lawyer and are one step closer to our goal since we’ll be done with high school in a few short months.

All in all, I know we didn’t turn out to be your dream girl, but I hope you can be proud of who I am today and who we’ll be in the future.

Love, Older You

32

Wrestling

{Erez Kaissar} Balancing my feet, hands positioned in front, shoes laced tightly, on the mat between the lines, in the background a group of coaches, yelling inspirationally. I am lanky and fierce, fourteen or fifteen. I am challenging that opponent in my blue Aces singlet, with my knee-pads and head-gear positioned perfectly. Thinking about what move to start with, what escape to use, what’s he going to do. My parents sitting on the bleachers, waiting for the outcome. My mom cheering, yelling “hurt him!,” “get him,” or “you got this.” My dad questioning why I ever would join this. Why get started in this painful sport?

33

My Beautiful Dark Fantasy {Anna Jacoby}

Balancing myself, hands in motion, Feet sweeping across the floor And in the air On a dark stage between curtains hung from the ceiling In the background a screen shining colors To complement our costumes I am graceful and eerie, fourteen years old Aware of my teacher, waiting in the wings Smiling at her masterpiece I am challenging gravity In my shimmering navy unitard With tulle hanging from the edges And hair slicked back into a tight bun Barefoot Thoughts swim in my brain What step comes next?

What if I mess up?

Or trip?

My parents are in the audience Watching their young daughter glide on stage My mother is beaming with pride Thinking that just yesterday she bought me my first dance shoes My father is wondering when he will finally stop paying for lessons, Wondering wistfully when his little girl grew up

34 Through Closed Eyes {Zoey Shulman}

Life is best When I close my eyes.

Reality stops.

Possibility begins.

The noise stops.

I can hear myself breathe.

Everything stops.

Except for me.

With time frozen, I am now free.

I can do anything.

I can live like I’m alive.

But when I open my eyes.

Everything is moving.

And I am, as always, Just standing still.

35

David’s Fault

{Sarah Quintas}

I hold my father’s hand. If I had nails—mine were practically nonexistent from years of biting—they would surely be digging into his skin. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut, but I can hear the irritating songs from the cartoon animals around me. It’s just a little kid ride, I think. A kid ride. This is stupid, I shouldn’t be scared. Still, I know that any attempts to talk myself out of my terror are futile.

I am in Disney World and sitting on a ride called Splash Mountain. The bright colors and singing, anthropomorphic, stereotypically-southern-accented, cartoon animals are enough to make anyone uncomfortable; however, it is not the voice of Br’er Rabbit that evokes fear into my being (irritation, yes, but not fear). Splash Mountain is known for its thirty-foot drop at the end. I cannot stand drops! I was only on the ride because my brother and father bribed me with ice cream if I would try it. In retrospect, it was rather poor decision-making on my part; my body is simply not built for stomach drops.

The annoying children singing along to the cartoon characters fill my ears; their singing only makes me feel worse about my fear. I am nine years old, far too mature and sophisticated to be on such a ride, although my brother seems to be enjoying it. Stupid David. As usual, he is to blame for my troubles.

I shut my eyes in fear and tighten my grip on father’s hand. The drop is going to come. I don’t know when, but I know it is going to come. Nothing is worth this kind of torment and psychological agony. Absolutely nothing. Not even ice cream.

Of course, even the most intense mental exercises cannot prepare me for the moment when it actually comes. I must sound like an idiot to the little kids around me as I scream bloody murder. The drop seems to go on forever. Has the ride broken? Am I falling to my doom? I freeze in terror.

I suppose such a fate would be partially of my own doing. Only a complete moron would agree to go on a ride that clearly isn’t safe just because she was promised ice cream. If I had not agreed to go on the ride, this would have never happened! Mostly, though, the fault lies with my Dad and David. Mostly David. It’s always David’s fault.

SPLASH! The log boat lands safely in the water. I let out the breath I did not realize I was holding in. In years to come, I know that people will tell me that this experience helped me grow as a person. I know better, though. None of this was for my benefit and it had absolutely no bearing on my ability to face my fears. No, what this was some sort of sick game the old people played to further my misery. I glare at the main one responsible for my ordeal.

“That was fun,” says my brother. “Do you want to go again, Sarah?”

Here Is a Picture of Me as Myself {Tamar Dallal}

36

Balancing my attention, book open on my knees, curled up in bed, in the background a wall of memories from years past, reminders of my milestones.

I am fourteen or fifteen, tall and solid, aware of both the words on the page before me and the words rising to my ears from downstairs.

I throw my head back, eyes closed as for a moment the challenge of juggling alone-time with people-time overwhelms me.

I open my eyes and allow my gaze to drift to my book, and I snuggle deeper into my oversized sweatshirt as I adjust my sweats and fuzzy socks.

An hour later, as I fly through the pages of my book, a distant, passing thought: What was I thinking when I allowed my desire to drift into my paper worlds pull me away from reality? Again?

My parents are downstairs taking care of the children.

My mother is forced to raise her voice and speak over all the noise I hear from downstairs.

The noise presses in on me, creeping into my room, coming up through the floor and from the crack beneath the door.

My father, I can hear, is asking a question, probably wondering where I am. At this point, it’s too late to capture my attention; my paper worlds have stolen me away to a place of my own choosing, a place I can feel safe from the reality of time, a place I can let the world pass me by.

37

OJ or Joe?

{Matan Cutler}

My life does not contain many important decisions. I have never had to choose between feeding my family or following the law, I have yet to apply to college, and I am still waiting to face the classic two dates to the big dance dilemma. However, every once in a while I come to a fork in the road of my life and I am forced to make a choice that could alter my future forever. Last Wednesday, I was faced with one of these forks, the age old conundrum of orange juice or coffee for breakfast. Each of the two came with a cost, which motivated me to lengthily and exhaustively explore both sides’ pros and cons. Ultimately, the choice I made has had a large, if subtle, effect on my life.

When I woke up that Wednesday morning, I did not expect to face any defining choices, but once I encountered one I began to carefully weigh my options. That morning, after having stayed up late doing homework and watching television, I was exhausted. There were two drink choices to energize me, sweet orange juice and caffeine filled coffee. I knew that in the short time I had allotted myself for breakfast I could only choose one. As the only child and orange juice drinker left in my house, I had the responsibility to finish the drink before its expiration date. However, my parents also expect me to perform well in school and without caffeine I would have trouble staying awake during my morning classes. Orange juice contains a high amount of sugar, but for coffee to even be drinkable it requires creamer. My family only has non-dairy creamer, which instead of containing any actual cream is made from a host of chemicals unpronounceable by human tongues. According to news reports earlier this year, hard working, American, orange farmers had faced record breaking frosts and could use support. On the other hand, destitute workers in Columbia would benefit if my family increased its consumption of fair trade coffee. Orange juice is any easy source of essential vitamins and nutrients, but studies have shown coffee can increase memory and cognition. Coffee stains the teeth, but orange juice’s sugars cause cavities. My internal debate reached a stalemate and with my breakfast time slipping away, I started to consider the costs of orange juice and coffee.

38 Over the past couple of years, I have been drinking coffee more and more often. Every time I do, I feel like I am creeping ever closer to adulthood. In middle school, I could not stand coffee’s taste, but now I have grown to like it.

Whenever I picture a boring office worker in his cubicle though, I picture a cup of coffee right next to him. Coffee has come to represent the daily grind and the bitter, gritty reality. It is even addictive and has powerful withdrawal symptoms.

In contrast, orange juice has always been marketed as healthy, wholesome, and fresh. Early ads for canned orange juice even focused on the drudgery from which it saved housewives.

Advertisers stressed the exertion and time required to manually squeeze orange juice each morning, as opposed to simply defrosting a can of it and adding some water. Orange juice may not have much substance, but it can be enjoyed for its simple pleasure sweet children’s drink. Glancing at the clock, I realized a choice had to be made. After examining the costs, I finally had an answer, I would drink orange juice.

My choice of orange juice has impacted my life in the weeks following that fateful Wednesday. That day, despite my fears, I was able to stay awake, but my decision weighed heavily on my thoughts. Had I made the right choice? Or, was I just sticking my head in the sand by embracing the simple orange juice over coffee? Coffee may represent negative aspects of adulthood in my mind, but I must accept the good and the bad if I want to mature. Ultimately, though my choice of orange juice only has only delayed the inevitable. I drink coffee every Tuesday morning at JOH and increasingly often at home. But in years to come when I look back at that glass of orange juice, I suspect I will not view it as just the outcome of a rational decision, but one final stand for my childhood.

39

Cross Country {Daniela Kluk}

Balancing my breath, collapsing on the ground, laying my head down on the grass right by the finish line, in the background other girls are finishing their race, girls I raced against.

I am persevering and committing, fourteen or fifteen, aware of my capabilities and my weaknesses.

I am challenging my willpower in my black leggings with a flowy skirt and my white t-shirt hanging out loosely with my running jersey over it.

I always wonder before I begin: what was I thinking before I decided out of my own desire to run?

Appreciating my accomplishments at the end of every practice, race, and season.

My mom is in the car waiting to see if all my commitment and hard work payed off.

In seconds my mother will say “come on, let’s go!” as I shut the door.

My dad will call on the phone from my brother’s soccer games asking how I did, feeling a sense of pride that I have found my sport, cross country.

40

Soap Farm, Age 6

{Shoham Benmelech}

In our porcelain kingdom, We grow suds and younger.

Here, the only guns we own shoot pink bubbles.

To be young is to close both eyes And bet on just how long you can hold your breath underwater.

We brush with danger all the time It’s casual, almost.

We can’t see ourselves in the fog on the mirror So the only thing we feel is clean

41

Drowing in a Sea of Technology {Ben Weinger}

I was a despondent teen. All of my friends had the latest iPhones and iPads; I was left with books. I begged my parents daily for an iPhone. They would always ask me, “What do you need an iPhone for?” My friends could take selfies, check Facebook, and Snapchat each other, and all I had was a “dumb phone” which could simply receive calls and text messages. In my sophomore year, however, everything changed.

I persuaded my parents to buy me an iPhone, making them view the situation from a high school student’s viewpoint. I needed a smart phone when driving, travelling, assigning yearbook tasks, and for maintaining social connections. When my parents relented, I was extremely relieved and treated my phone with profound reverence. Because my friends had used iPhones for years, I felt I had to make up for the time I was deprived. No matter where I was, my phone was right beside me. Any moment I wasn’t in class, I was glued to my screen. Even in class, I found ways to use, but hide, my phone. I used my phone to transport me out of boring classes to other places and times. How rebellious I was! I used my phone so frequently that my parents repeatedly challenged me, “Can you ever look up?”

I disregarded their criticism. Why should I care what generations decades older than I thinks when it comes to technology? They just don’t understand.

So I thought, problem solved—I got my phone. Now I’d fit in. But with the solving of one problem came the realization of an even greater one.

Sitting in AP Psychology, I am taking notes on my computer when the bell rings for break. Immediately, all but one of us pulls out our phones and, within seconds, we are chained to our screens. As I like a photo on Instagram, the one student in class without a smartphone approaches my desk and stands over my shoulder. Eventually, I look up and see her terrified face. She bends over, trembling, whispering, “My god, look around.” I turn my phone off, stand up, and feel utterly horrified. I, too, begin to tremble. Every other student is on his smartphone, as my friend and I gape, like characters in a sci-fi movie where technology commands humans, rather than the other way around.

How do I resolve this situation? I had placed this giant millstone on my shoulders the moment I conformed. I could not allow my classmates or myself to live in an environment where technology isolates, ignores, and destroys physical interaction. While I knew I could not completely relinquish my iPhone because of its practicality, I realized I needed to lead myself away from the virtual and into the authentic world. My peers and I needed a tool like Kafka’s axe to free ourselves from the technological sea in which we were drowning. I wonder how long we will refrain from the enticement of the next breakthrough.

42

Puppets

{Zoey Shulman} Aren’t we all just Puppets on strings?

Controlling each other But never ourselves Stuck in an endless Puppet/puppeteer paradigm When did we stop falling?

Never hitting the ground?

Always pulled back up By puppet strings Why are we taught To stand straight in line?

Never do we deviate Too afraid to try Why is it that none of us know?

We look in the mirror Never do we see the strings Attaching us to our masters

43

Poem of an African Slave {Tzippy David}

Home, is the place I’ll never see again.

Home, from where I was ripped away across the sea.

Pain is what they inflicted upon me, when they took me away from where I wanted to be. Squished, upon a boat with many others.

Food, was scarcely given on the trip.

Stench, filled a boat of rotting bodies.

Tears, filled a place of death.

Arriving, at the New World of my sorrow.

Enslaved, with work all hours of the day.

I wish they could realize that I am human too, that I am no different than they.

I think of the days of the future, and try not to ponder the pain of today.

Thinking of the day when I will be free, and return to my home across the sea.

Refocusing My Vision of Black Friday {Ben Weinger}

44

A multitude of words flash through my mind. Thankful. Greedy.

Peaceful. Chaotic. How can a society whose values pioneered the free world be so materialistic? Especially the day after Thanksgiving! And what are people lined up for? Material goods. Nothing necessary. Just bargain-priced household objects, clothes, technology.

One reason behind this behavior? Unfettered consumerism.

It is a practice with a significantly overlooked impact—a practice that challenges the economy and the environment in ways many of us remain ignorant of.

Consumerism is not a new phenomenon; its social, psychological, economic, and environmental effects continue to flicker in and out of awareness. Meanwhile, many unmindful Americans persist in placing materialism before concerns for their families. The rise of technology and fast retail have made it possible for consumers to crave and access the next big thing, clothes that are in season, and bargains too big to resist. But where do they draw the line?

While in middle school, I fell into the same paradigm. I embraced quantity and the state-of-the art. As fast fashion and fast retail rolled into the marketplace, I was among those who waited outside locked doors for stores to open, trolled store aisles for the newest and the greatest, and searched the internet for the most extraordinary of flash sales. Then, the awakening. What was I doing? Was I adopting a practice just because it was the norm? I realized it wasn’t “the” norm; it was “a” norm, and one that benefitted neither society nor me. A society reflected in the practice of consumerism cannot be seen to define all of its members. Rather, our preoccupation must focus on serving the common good.

45

Disclaimer of a Disclaimer {Shoham Benmelech}

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Given that the previous statement is true, the author would like to legally note the following: The word “all” has more than twenty definitions, and the author would like to stress that there is a slight chance that he is not using the general one, but rather the archaic Germanic origin that means “a few of.” Therefore, it may be possible (with no conclusive generalization) that some of the characters in this work may, in fact, be based on real persons. Given this, the author would also like to state that he does not consider most of the entities in his book to be truly “characters,” but rather sentient mud piles and opaque specters, and thus exempt from the above disclaimer. In addition, the word “in” used in this context is not an accurate representation of the book reading process: characters are developed “in” the reader’s mind, and therefore no characters are truly found “in” the book itself. All characters appear in the mind of the reader, and if the reader happens to picture a particular character to be an exact description of the author’s Aunt Sally, the author has no control over the reader’s mind, and is lawfully innocent. All legal complaints shall therefore be forwarded to the reader’s personal address.

It is also relevant to note that the word “any” is quite vague in this context. Since the author refuses to allow for such sloppy inaccuracy, the author has heroically taken it upon himself to find the correct definition of the word “any” on the online Merriam-Webster dictionary. This author tragically struggles with limited Internet connection at home and, since he is actually running a selfless experiment on the effects of laziness right now, he could not go to the library for any reliable Internet. While the author does own a hard copy of the dictionary, he feels that it would be un-American to use that archaic method to look up the definition of the word “any,” as the dictionary is already five years old and the definitions may have changed since then. After exhausting all other possibilities, the author concludes that Merriam-Webster does not have a definition for the word “any” and that the dictionary is a failure to society and should be banned from all schools. The author then proceeds to sign a petition that promises to do exactly that. After this lengthy definition debacle, the author has, by his own authority, decided to remove the word “any” from the English language, as it is obviously too confusing for easy interpretation.

The author would like to note that the word “resemblance,” as it is used in the disclaimer, is rather personal: one person may think that a character in a book resembles the author’s Aunt Sally, while another person does not see the resemblance at all.

46 Therefore, any links between characters in the book and other individuals is a strictly subjective matter. Any and all resemblances are a construct of the reader’s mind and the author is totally and completely not liable.

The author, as an educated individual with half a college degree, would also like to point out that “persons” is not a word. The use of the word “persons” as a plural of person has been outdated since the 14th century when the first instance of “people” was recorded. The author finds that the use of “persons” in this disclaimer (which, by the way, has never been proven to be legally binding) is antiquated and an embarrassment to modernity. It is crucial to note that the author prides himself on being a pioneer in the realm of general progressiveness – to the point where the author waited in line for three hours to get the newest iPhone last month – and the outdated use of the word “persons” is a stab at his own religious beliefs. Offended and confused, our hero has deleted the insulting “persons” from the disclaimer for the sake of political correctness.

The term “living or dead” is another problematic area of the disclaimer. The use of the word “or” assumes that individuals can be only either living or dead, and not both. The author would like to remind everyone that, as humans, we do not know what happens to people postmortem, and therefore we cannot conclude that individuals can be only “living or dead.” Most of the people that that author may or may not have been inspired by while writing this book are considered, from the author’s perspective, as being between death and life (either emotionally or looks-wise) and are essentially exempt from the above disclaimer.

The author would finally like to address the use of the word “coincidental.” As a religious individual, the author believes that nothing is coincidental and all events are deliberate and predetermined. Therefore, if the author based one of his characters on a person, it must be Divine destiny and out of the control of the author. Any legal complaints may be sent to God, but must be postmarked after the holidays in consideration of the receiver.

The empirical laws of science state that any and all knowledge is rooted in concrete experience. Any writing is therefore based on previous experience, and characters are inspired by real people. Therefore, it is impossible to find a book that has not been inspired by true events, and this disclaimer is a boldfaced lie.

To combat the previous inconsistencies, the author, exhausted from his above analysis of a generic disclaimer, has come up with an innovative approach to avoid all legal controversies sparked by the publication of his book. The author has decided to ban fiction as a whole, as a noble attempt to create peace and harmony throughout the world.

His efforts are very much commended.

47

Giraffe

{Sarah Quintas}

With her toy giraffe gripped tightly in one hand and her lucky keychain in the other, Amelia felt that she was ready for anything. Today was career day, the day when she and the rest of the second grade class would get to present their dream jobs to the whole school. She had typed out her speech on Mommy’s computer and practiced it to the point of perfection. She couldn’t wait to show everyone what she had prepared.

The children drew numbers out of a hat to decide the order in which they would present. Amelia waited patiently for her turn to pick. She grinned when she saw the number three on the little scrap of paper. Three was her favorite number.

Today was turning out to be a great day!

Amelia waited in line next to her best friend Lily to present. Lily was dressed in a long, white coat and carried a stethoscope around her neck and a cold pack in her hand. Amelia wasn’t surprised; there was nothing Lily wanted to do more than become a doctor when she was older. What was strange was that she looked nervous. Amelia touched the girl’s hip lightly. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Lily forced a shaky smile. Amelia could see the large gap in between her front teeth where she had lost her tooth last week. Her friend had been so excited when it came out in the middle of story time that she ran around the school parading her bloody tissue for over an hour.

“I don’t wanna talk to the whole school,” she admitted. “There are lots of big kids and they’re so scary.”

Amelia gave her a little pat on the leg. “Don’t worry,” she assured her. “Not all big kids are mean and scary. My brother Cody is in grade six and he and his friends are always super duper nice to me. When I was hurt, my brother brought all of his friends over and they game me presents.”

Lily nodded, but didn’t look too convinced. “How come you’re never afraid of anything? It’s not fair!”

Amelia shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a lot that’s scary. I mean, like, snakes and lions are scary, but not really anything else, you know? You’re gonna be fine.

I bet your speech is, like, really smart and stuff because both your mommy and daddy are doctors and so they taught you to be smart. You can even have my lucky keychain if it makes you feel better.”

Lily smiled down at her. A real smile this time. “You’re a great friend.”

“I just do what my mommy tells me.”

“Hey, you never told me what you chose for your present…um…prez-enttay-tion,” she sounded out the word carefully to make sure she got it right. Amelia thought this was funny because she knew her friend could flawlessly say words like tuberculosis and hypochondriac in everyday conversation.

Amelia giggled. “I know. I’m not telling. It’s a secret!”

“A secret? That’s not fair! I’m your best friend!” she frowned at her hand. “Is it something with the giraffe?”

48

Another giggle. “Maybe. I’m not telling.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would ruin the surprise!”

Before Lily could protest further, the class was ordered to get into their positions, which meant lining up in order of performance number. Amelia positioned herself between Katie, who wore a chef hat and an apron, and Jack, who wore a bowtie and held a magnet in his hand.

“What are you being?” she asked him, feeling stumped.

“I’m a scientist,” said Jack. He pouted and stared at the floor. “I wanted to make something explode in my speech, but Mrs. Johnson won’t let me so I’m using this dumb magnet instead.”

“Why is it shaped like Mickey Mouse?”

Jack stomped his foot. “It’s not! It’s a rice krispy treat, okay? We didn’t have anything else on our fridge!” Mrs. Johnson hushed him because the presentations were starting, but Jack didn’t seem to care. “NO!” he shouted. “I WON’T be quiet. This is your fault because…because you wouldn’t let me explode things.”

Jack’s lower lip quivered.

“It’s okay, Jack,” whispered Amelia. “I think magnets are really cool. And when we have our play date on Sunday you can make things explode for me then, okay?”

Jack shrugged, but at least he stopped making a fuss. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Can’t tell,” she replied with a gleeful look in her eye. “It’s a secret.”

“Oh.” The start of the presentations were not particularly eventful and even though she knew it was rude, Amelia couldn’t help but fidget with her keychain while she waited for her turn. When it finally came, she grinned in delight and waited patiently for her teacher to help her onto the stage.

“Hello, Wendover Elementary,” she announced, giving everyone her best smile. “My name is Amelia Kanter. My Mommy always told me that I could do anything I wanted when I grow up. And…and I want to be tall like all the other kids. So when I grow up, I wanna be a giraffe!” She held out her stuffed animal proudly so that all the school could see.

“You can’t be a giraffe!” shouted a fourth grade boy. “It’s impossible!”

“Yeah!” said another. “People are people. They can’t be giraffes!”

The reaction was instantaneous laughter from everybody’s eyes widened.

No! This wasn’t supposed to happen. People were supposed to love her idea and be inspired. What had gone wrong? She felt tears in her eyes and found herself unable to hold them back when she caught sight of Cody and his friends laughing at her in the third row. Even Lily was giggling from the side.

Her crying grew louder and even more pathetic. Amelia hid her face in embarrassment but the redness in her cheeks seemed to burn through her hands.

The teacher sighed and helped the legless girl get her wheelchair off of the stage. Mrs. Johnson checked her watch; It wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

49

A Necessary Separation {Edan Pinchot}

Inventions or ideas that start small can change the world. Choose one idea or invention and explain what would be different if it never existed.

A mist meanders through the garden. The man sleeps, his body curled beneath a large leaf, seeking warmth against the cool, unsympathetic evening breezes.

He sleeps soundly, exhausted from his first day in the garden. A strange voice startles him from his rest. His foggy mind begins to race: What was that voice? An animal?

A dream? Peering through the mist, he surveys the perimeter around him. In the distance, he sees an unfamiliar stone rising from the ground. As he walks toward the stone, he notices a series of letters engraved on its face: “OFEVERYTREEOFTHEGARDENYOUMAYFREELYEATYOUMUSTNOTEATOFTHETREEOFKNOWLEDGEOFGOODANDEVIL” The man tries to decipher the letters, but his head throbs after yesterday’s overwhelming orientation to earthly life. He reads the engraving a number of times.

What are these letters telling him? They look like instructions – guidelines from some hidden source. The words form in his mind and stumble out of his mouth. “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat…you must not,” he reads. Disappointed and hungry, he reads further: “Eat of the Tree of Knowledge, of Good and Evil.”

Demonstrating faithful obedience, the man sets off to find this single source of sustenance, this so-called Tree of Knowledge.

Sitting to rest his sore bare feet, the man collapses into a deep sleep. When he awakens, a woman lies beside him. They decide to split up and head off in different directions in search of the permitted tree. A few hours later, the woman returns and presents the man with a large fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Enthralled, he takes a bite. Within seconds they sense something has gone terribly wrong. Dark clouds begin to swirl overhead. The garden temperature drops. A voice resonates through the garden – the same one the man remembers woke him that morning. Then, to their surprise, the voice accuses the man and woman of violating the only articulated restriction on their activities: not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Clearing his throat, the man steps out to defend his actions. He explains that, although he cannot recall its exact wording, he does remember that the stone prohibited them from eating of any trees in the garden, but then mercifully commanded them to “eat of the Tree of Knowledge.” An uncomfortably long silence settles over the garden.

Sheepishly, the voice returns. “Now that you mention it,” says the voice, “I never thought of reading it that way. You are correct. Sorry for the ambiguity.”

50 This twist on the Paradise story illustrates how differently the world’s history and its narratives could have evolved without the invention of word separation and punctuation. Shockingly, the concept of word separation, of dividing letters into distinct words, originated only in the 7th and 8th centuries. Irish monks, while copying manuscripts, began separating words and inserting punctuation. Previously, stories and knowledge were transmitted orally – using storytelling and speeches – and manuscripts featured a string of letters strung together without separation or punctuation.

The absence of separate words and punctuation often clouds intended meaning and introduces ambiguity to the written word. Consider the classic example of the phrase, “Let’s eat, Grandma.” Remove the punctuation and it becomes “Let’s eat Grandma” – transforming a gracious dinner gesture into a gruesome call to cannibalism. Similarly, add a simple comma in the middle of the sentence, “Stop clubbing baby seals,” and the meaning shifts from a mantra of the conservationist movement to a critique of the party culture among baby seals.

The lack of word separation and punctuation can create less frivolous outcomes as well. For example, the text of the 1872 Tariff Act issued by the United States Government intended to exempt only “fruit plants, tropical and semi-tropical” from certain tariffs. Instead, the actual text exempted “fruit, plants tropical and semi-tropical.”

This shift in intended meaning unintentionally exempted all fruits from the tariff, costing the U.S. Government an estimated one million dollars in revenue – a staggering sum in the 1870s.

Without word separation and punctuation the world would be very different.

Widespread education would face difficult obstacles. Transmitting knowledge across eras and continents would be nearly impossible. The evolution of thought, ethics, science, technology, and other critical aspects of our lives would be stunted. And, of course, we could be living in a world missing the transformative narrative of original sin.

51

I Pity Mirrors {Matan Cutler}

A lament to the one-uppers to those who will never be content who measure their worth on a relative scale who never strive to be better, just better than you.

Who will always be sure to get the last word, no matter how worthless that word is who will never learn to respect silence but be certain to boast: “I love silence so much that I once actually didn’t speak for an entire year and in fact I soundproofed my entire house as an AP Physics independent study, speaking of which did I ever tell you about....”

Calm yourself.

Please.

I don’t care.

But, I admit I love one-uppers when one-uppers meet one-uppers and one-uppers one-up each other like when you swing open the medicine cabinet door to face the bathroom mirror and it reflects your face a thousands times back to you but there is no object in between the one-uppers and no object to one-upping.

At least! behind one mirror is a mess of pills, and the other is a wall, when behind one-uppers there is nothing at all.

Because mirrors are all they are And mirrors are all they will ever be.

Lamenting Repair {Zoey Shulman}

The death of repair It came slowly Barely noticed A subtle shift in society The quality of things Descended lower than the point of mediocrity “It can’t be fixed” “It’s going to have to be replaced.”

This is accepted and expected But why does it matter?

What’s the problem with something new?

The objects matter But perhaps the more pressing matter The real problem at hand Is what it’s teaching people As a society Give up on what you have New is better anyway Don’t take the time And the energy To fix it The real problem being When this stops applying To things

52

When this is how we treat Our relationships Our efforts Ourselves When it’s how we live life Everyday viewing everything As disposable As replaceable And not fragile And not repairable And not worth working harder And just let go Because we shouldn’t let go When something really matters And if it’s broken It’s not really broken And when something really matters It’ll be worth the time and And when someone really matters He will be worth all the time and energy And when we stop throwing away and Replacing our loved ones and our dreams We’ll be able to repair ourselves

53

Poetry, Interrupted {Didi Karp}

I Know Nothing Depends On Any Wheelbarrow And I Have Never Heard A Caged Bird Sing But someone must have been watching

the rain and the waves and the time But someone must have been listening to the wind and trees and the seasons But someone must have been looking at the colors and the nights and the faces I need someone too.

And That Has Made All My Difference

54 Long Exposure {Matan Cutler}

Back and forth cars move Like shuttles on a loom, Spun by stoplights Into threads of reds and whites.

Above them hangs a canopy, Streetlights’ incandescent tapestry Woven by a passenger’s brain.

And as he speeds by on the train, The neon signs of loan sharks Become works of arts By the magic of long exposure All they mean, glossed over

55

A Glimpse into the Future {Joey Weinger}

At first glance, there is nothing of much interest to see in a fast-fashion store. Rows and rows of identical pieces of clothing suppress any conception of creativity. Yet, looking deeper, I am both awed and terrified by these brands. For example, within each Uniqlo store rests thousands of duplicate down coats and t-shirts. The clothing reflects a dread of conformity. I am overwhelmed thinking about a brand whose mass-production ignores craftsmanship and ingenuity.

Technology and capitalism have taken over the fashion industry. Uniqlo and similar brands flood the market with cheaply produced garments that shriek basic and boring. I envisioned fashion as a dream world in which art and culture combine to create masterpieces. Yet, all I see is repetition. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, black. Uniqlo has created a formula for pumping out clothing at record speed. But we must ask ourselves, “At what price?” If everyone were to wear the same outfit, then everyone would be no one. Aldous Huxley described this phenomenon in his dystopian novel Brave New World in which basic, identical clothing becomes the standard. Of course, I am purposefully hyperbolizing the degree to which Uniqlo can affect the world; however, there exists a problem in a brand whose main goal is to profit from the insipidity of the world. When humanity overlooks the extent to which conformity replaces individuality, the discussion must include more than fashion.

I used to be enamored with fast-fashion. The concept made the fashion industry more accessible to those like me who could not afford to wear prêt à porter. I still do love the idea, although the execution is corrupt beyond belief.

After the collapse of the garment factory at Rana Plaza two years ago, I became more conscious of the toll that fashion has on people and the environment.

Watching fashion documentaries and reading dozens of articles, reports, and books on the issues facing the fashion industry, I understand the harm being done day after day. Whole communities in India and China have been devastated economically and environmentally by garment factories. When I see a fast-fashion label, I no longer overlook the horror of the toxic dyes that pollute the water of thirsty children or the frail hands that stitch buttons in a building with no windows. Children grow up with mental disorders and physical disabilities because of the chemicals used on the cotton farms in which the thread is grown and in the factories in which the garments are sewn. I feel guilty putting on even a basic white t-shirt because I know the price I paid does not sustain the life that made it. Too often I overlook where my clothes come from and whom they were crafted by. Missing from much of the fashion industry is a social consciousness and a responsibility to the environment. Missing is the recognition of disease and starvation fed by fast-fashion. We who partake blatantly ignore reality in order to reap the benefits of lower prices. And this is unacceptable.

56 Fashion is not simply a cosmetic choice; it is a choice aligned with consumers’ views of their responsibilities to the world’s cultures and environments. Fast-fashion denies creativity; mass production threatens the environment by being a leading contributor to climate change and global warming. Fair Trade efforts make important inroads into the rights of textile workers and the sustainability of the environment. The successes reveal what can be done; we need to ensure it is done. Sustainability must be on the agenda of every fashion brand, from Saint Laurent to Fruit of the Loom. Every CEO must take steps to make the production chain transparent to the customer. Ideally, stores should sell and promote only products that adhere to sustainable practice in their production, promotion, use, and disposal. Governments should set higher standards and harsher punishments for those who purposefully ignore the laws meant to restrict harm. However, the major change must come from the consumer. We can neither support nor accept the conduct of dangerous conglomerates. Social reform is a clear path to improvement globally. Surely this will be a challenge, but change can affect a future that fully benefits from the values of fashion.

Mendy Zucker “Untitled”

57

Moment In A Novel {Sara Okner }

“He really laughed looking at me; he gave me an inspection: ‘Tobacco’s bad for you,’ he said, ‘your lungs are affected.’ But how am I going to give it up? What is there to take its place? I don’t drink, that’s the problem, he-he-he, that I don’t.

Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovich, everything is relative!” (426).

To a casual reader, Porfiry seems to be speaking to Raskolnikov about cognitive dissonance, and to this idea that there is pleasure involved in wrongdoing, or one would not commit this wrongdoing in the first place.

Additionally, to the simple reader, Porfiry’s psychological prosecution of Raskolnikov is also evident from the passage, as he begins with triviality to disarm Raskolnikov’s caution. However, on a closer examination of the passage, Dostoevsky seems to be commenting on this idea of how the body affects the soul, and of course, how good, bad, and everything are relative.

This the soul manifests itself in the characterization of Marmaledov: “But her chest is weak and she has a tendency to consumption and I feel it. That’s why I drink, to find sympathy and feeling in drink… I drink because I want to suffer profoundly!” (17). In his drunken state, his sorrow intensifies the compassion he feels for his wife, but his motives are paradoxical: he married Katerina in the first place because he could not bear to see her suffering. And now, he is drinking to suffer. Whether he is selfish or selfless is relative to Katarina’s plight, because he initially wanted to help her. But alcoholism took over and he grew helpless, his soul became diseased. As a result his family suffered, and Katerina Ivanovra forced Sonia, Marmeladov’s daughter, into prostitution. Marmadelov and Sonia are father and daughter—relatives—yet, Sonia is the antithesis of Marmaledov when it comes to this idea of how the body effects the soul. She too, lives through paradox, because though Christianity regards prostitution as sinful, Dostoevsky creates her to be the embodiment of untarnished Christian ideology. However, she never gets lost in these contradictions because she manages to separate her body and soul, and though she may end up in the Haymarket, she lives through her understanding and spirit. She believes in eternal security, the idea that a Christian cannot lose his salvation, and this allows her to love and save Raskolnikov.

Dostoevsky’s Svidrigailov is a creation of what Raskolnikov could have been. Svidrigailov is egocentric, a drunk, an eavesdropper, and a murderer. He

58 never faces punishment, feels no remorse, and becomes worse for it. Raskolnikov, too, is self-absorbed and egocentric, but he fails to “become a Napoleon “ (394), which differentiates him from Svidrigailov. Ultimately, Raskolnikov’s obsessive self-deprecation leads him to the point where he confesses his crime, as Dostoevsky is suggesting that the “punishment” part of Crime and Punishment was the constant torment Raskolnikov inflicted on himself. Additionally, Raskolnikov seeks intellect, but Svidrigalov cannot achieve his desires through intellect, as he lives only for the body, or for sensual pleasures. Therefore, when his own techniques fail him and Dunya refuses to love him, he has nowhere to turn and commits suicide. Raskolnikov, on the other hand, confesses, because he understands that there is more to life than just sensual pleasure, he understands Sonia. Relative to Svidrigailov, Raskolikov is an angel. On this ladder of morality, where Svidrigailov represents evil and Raskolnikov is split somewhere between good and evil, Razumikhin holds the highest and most profound place, because he is inherently good: “...that Razumikhin…is a very good person…he is competent, hardworking, honest, and capable of real love” (404). He is a foil to Raskolnikov, because both men are from the same socioeconomic class and are students in university (before Raskolnikov left). But, unlike Raskolnikov, Razumikhin is sober, he works, he is rational, and his friendship to Raskolnikov is steadfast. He represents where Raskolnikov can be if he decides to redeem himself, and when Raskolnikov realizes this about his friend, it becomes clear to the reader that Raskolnikov is on the path to redemption.

In this passage, just moments before Porfiry accuses Raskolnikov of murder, this “everything is relative” can be understood as “everything is connected.” Perhaps Porfiry is telling Raskolnikov that nothing can really just “go away” because every action will have an effect. For example, if one commits murder and evades capture, if he is human, the ramifications of his crime will haunt him. The entire narrative of the novel relies on one man’s tormented psyche due to his secret, and perhaps Dostoevsky’s point is that this man is still tormented, despite the fact that no one knows what he did. He is still tormented because everything is relative, as no crime goes unpunished, even if, for the time being, the crime only lives in the assailant’s head.

59 Passover Memories {Sara Okner}

It’s April 13th, 2007 and my grandmother is shouting at my mother in Yiddish. My mother, accustomed to such outbreaks, responds expertly in Afrikaans, her native South African tongue. From my small corner in the red-tiled kitchen, I hum too loudly and smack matzo meal together too haphazardly, doing anything I can to ease the tension.

Contrary to every family-bonding-while-cooking scene ever filmed, preparing for the Passover seder was never fun. Preparations were more akin to a three-day nightmare, one where my mother, sister, and I diced onions, minced garlic, and scrubbed all things tangible until my grandmother could see her reflection in every surface of the house. But I have a ticket in my hand, and for some reason, it takes me back to these days of preparation.

I would return to those days because, though my grandmother executed her preparations with determination, she handled herself with unparalleled grace, and even when her lungs were frail and failing and she breathed with portable oxygen, her tubes interlaced with strings of pearls. Or maybe because after enduring four hours of talk-and-getyelled-at-in-front- of-20-relatives, analytical Hagaddah reading, that first bite of steaming matzo ball soup made it all worth it. Perhaps I would go back because the long days before the seder were a testament, though miniscule, to the labor of our ancestors, and a foreshadow, though vague, to the years that would come. Or maybe because of the family in it all is something I will always remember.

60 Daily Affirmations {Shoham Benmelech}

You happen to like running through airports, And quiet feeling of being awake before anyone else.

You like dark, crooked handwriting that scrawls Angry poetry on public bathroom doors, And the feeling you get when you realize you’ll Always be a little small.

You like movie theaters where the air is musty and humid And the sound airplanes make when they touch down.

Tiny ways you know the universe cares about you, But just barely.

You especially like the darkness that comes when the earth decides to swing back around the sun And blanket you in a sea of cool air and stars.

So you tilt your chin up and try to count them all, Not caring if you miss a few, Since you’ll always feel tiny in the boundless night sky.

Which is why I love your first scuff on a shiny hallway floor, Your tiny act of rebellion Trying to prove to the world you still exist.

Art Credits Yoni Asher - “Flying Closer”......................................................................................................Cover Yoni Asher - “Through the Cracks”.........................................................Dedication & Editor’s Notes Eliana Dachman – “Seattle Sun”...............................................................................Table of Content Yoni Asher - “Beneath the Fog”.....................................................................................................1-2 Raina Kutliroff - “A Bright Forest Walk”............................................................................................3 Raina Kutliroff - “Butterfly Don’t Fly Away”.....................................................................................4 Avi Goldshmidt - “And It Was All Yellow”......................................................................................5-6 Rena Auerbach - “The Limit Does Not Exist”.................................................................................7-8 Yoni Asher – “Changing”..............................................................................................................9-10 Eliana Dachman – “Mount Ranier”............................................................................................11-12 Rena Auerbach – “Drape Leaves”.....................................................................................................13 Avi Goldshmidt – “Translucent Rose”.............................................................................................14 Avi Goldshmidt – “Autumn On the Lake Shore”.............................................................................15 Avi Goldshmidt – “Sun Blossom”.....................................................................................................16 Rebecca Friedman – “Family Time”...........................................................................................17-18 Caleb Maeir – “Beach Beauty”..........................................................................................................19 Avi Goldshmidt – “Black Sunlight”..................................................................................................20 Kayla Bulgatz – “Leisure”............................................................................................................21-22 Yoni Asher – “Pollution”...................................................................................................................23 Yoni Asher – “Before the Storm”.......................................................................................................24 Avi Goldshmidt – “Spring Awakening”............................................................................................25 Eliana Dachman – “Gateway to Paradise”........................................................................................26 Eliana Dachman – “Shine Bright”...............................................................................................27-28 Caleb Maeir – “Top of the Morning”..........................................................................................29-30 Raina Kutliroff - “Canoeing on a Sunny Day”.................................................................................31 Eliana Dachman – “Endless”............................................................................................................32 Rebecca Friedman – “Glow”............................................................................................................33 Yoni Asher – “The Mirror Beyond”...................................................................................................34 Ilana Peritt – “Contrast”...................................................................................................................35 Rebecca Friedman – “Flowing Through”..........................................................................................36 Yoni Asher – “Close-up”..............................................................................................................37-38 Raina Kutliroff - “Autumn Colors”..............................................................................................39-40 Ilana Peritt – “Caged In”............................................................................................................41-42 Kayla Bulgatz – “Unbroken”.............................................................................................................43 Eliana Dachman – “Our Backyard”..................................................................................................44 Avi Goldshmidt – “Pebble Creek”...............................................................................................45-46 Rena Auerbach – “Leave it Alone”...............................................................................................47-48 Raina Kutliroff - “Shadows in the Forest”....................................................................................49-50 Rena Auerbach – “God’s Silhouette”...........................................................................................51-52 Ilana Peritt – “Climbing Columns”.............................................................................................53-54 Ilana Peritt – “A Vivid Perspective”..............................................................................................55-56 Eliana Dachman – “Day Dream”................................................................................................57-58 Zoe Wolmark – “Linear Galaxy”.................................................................................................59-60 Yakira Kolom – “The Art of Music”...................................................................................Art Credits