Pegasus 2023

Rabbi Joseph Beyda Head of School

Rabbi Yigal Sklarin Associate Principal

Mr. Abe Hanan President

Mica Bloom English Department Chairperson

Esther Hidary Associate Principal

Rabbi David Galpert Assistant Principal

Jaclyn Pahuskin

English Faculty / PegasusAdvisor

Jason Novetsky Arts Faculty

Carolina Cohen Arts Faculty / Design

Mia Erdos Arts Faculty

Change your Mindset Marilyn Salem iPhone Camera, Photoshop

Philosophy of Publication/Colophon

Jaclyn Pahuskin

Pegasus is a magazine that represents the literary and artistic talent of our students at the Yeshivah of Flatbush. Writers, philosophers, dreamers, painters, photographers, idealists, leaders, sculptors, poets, readers and designers walk through our hallways every single day. This publication celebrates the diversity, beauty and talent that our students possess.

The pubication submission policy is open to all students from 9th through 12th grade. The editors select which writing pieces are published through an analysis of the originality, creativity, purpose, appeal and connection to theme. Additionally, editors also select which art pieces are published based on the composition, contrast, techinque, visual aesthetics, as well as the connection to the theme. Work is accepted all year long and students are highly encouraged to submit to pegasus@flatbush.org weekly. Faculty and community members are encouraged to submit work, but there is a limit on how many pieces we select for the publication. Literary editors are told to edit work for gramatical and punctuation errors and not to alter the content of the piece.

Pegasus 2023 was printed by Minuteman Press on 1844 Coney Island Avenue in Brooklyn, NY. The 168 page, 7.25” x 9” book was printed on 70# laser paper. The cover was printed on 100# gloss coated cover stock. Pegasus 2023 was created using Adobe InDesign 2023. The font family used was Avenir. This is a school funded publication. There were 100 copies printed and distributed to the contributors and their families, the high school Administration, English and Arts departments, the Executive office of the Yeshivah and lay leaders. Additional copies were available in the school library for other faculty and students.

Thank you to all the contributors this year.

To participate in next year’s publication, please email pegasus@flatbush.org or see Ms. Pahuskin in room 202, Ms. Cohen in room 205 or Mr. Novetsky in the Art Room to get involved.

Logo Design, Drink David Angel Adobe Illustrator

Hearts

Table of

64 I Choose Me/ Michael Chetrit/ Poetry

66 Common App Essay/ Danny Katash/ Essay

68 Shape Poem/ Jamie Shamah/ Poetry

70 Thriller/ Jacob Oved/ Character Narrative

74 Perspective of Gaston/ Ezra Rosenfeld/ Character Narrative

78 Yet We’re Still Strong/ Lynn Dweck/ Poetry

Art

47 Don’t Become Him/ Sylvia Ebrahimoff/ Magazine Collage

49 A Chip/ Jennifer Kreizman/ Mixed Media

51 Egypt/ Allegra Houllou/ Plaster Relief

53 Shattered/ Rachel Chaya/ iPhone Camera

55 Diamonds/ David Angel/ Color Pencils

57 Overcome/ Shelley Shaoul/ iPhone Camera

62 Colorful Me/ Sylvia Habert/ Collage, Watercolor

63 Not Really There/ Lawrence Warren/ Photoshop

65 Skin Deep/ Danielle Ashear/ Canon Rebel T3

69 Lost Boys/ Jennifer Kreizman/ Acrylic on Canvas

Art

13 Staying on Track/ Bella Soudry/ Canon Rebel T7

17 A Fabric/ Jennifer Kreizman/ Oil on Canvas 19 Squish!/ Linda Benun/ Canon Rebel T2i

Diamonds

73 A Walk in Music/ Debra Mizrahi/ Pro Create

77 Sad Reality/ Paulette Yazdi/ Photoshop

79 Does it Really Matter Surfboard/ Fortune Chakkalo/ Paint Markers, Acrylic Paint

Spades

129 Bipolar/ Danielle Ashear/ Canon Rebel T3

131 Howl/ Joseph Srour/ Acrylic on Canvas

135 Fuse/ Eliette Evenhar/ Collage, Watercolors

137 Learning Difference/ Shelly Shaoul/ Photoshop

139 Rebirth/ Jamie Shamah/ Photo Transfer, Acrylic Paint

143 Bubbles/ Raquel Katri/ Acrylic Paint on Canvas

145 Give Me Your Tired/ Lawrence Warren/ Photoshop

146 Water I/ Jacob Nussbaum/ Acrylic Paint

147 Water II/ Jacob Nussbaum/ Acrylic Paint

Joker

Writing

154 Pantoum Poem/ Jamie Shamah/ Poetry

156 Dear Chess/ Rami Harari/ Poetry

158 Names/ Joy Harari/ Poetry

158 To All the Books I’ve Stolen Before/ Galiette Mita/ Poetry

160 How Do You Do It?/ Olivia Shamah/ Poetry

162 Sixty One/ Edward Esses/ Poetry

164 Deafening Silence/ Jacqueline Halabi/ Poetry

166 Late/ Rivkah Lahav/ Poetry

170 Chess Essay/ Norman Levy/ Essay

172 In the Places That Surround Me/ Rebecca Mehani/ Poetry

174 Exceptional Jew/ Yvette Dweck/ Poetry

178 Into the Light/ Emma Kamagi/ Poetry

180 Crosswords/ Maurice Silvera/ Essay

182 Mixed Feelings/ Susan Mandil/ Poetry

Art

155 Looking Glass/ Annie Skaba/ Photoshop

157 A Duck/ Jennifer Kreizman/ Collage, Acrylic Paint

159 Unstitched/ Rachel Chaya/ Digital Illustration

163 Shattered Happiness/ Sylvia Ebrahimoff/ Resin Art, Pills

165 Made in America/ Sharyn Marcos/ Canon Rebel T3, Water and Oil

167 A Snack/ Jennifer Kreizma/ Watercolor

168 Paranoid Abandonment/ Annie Skaba/ Pencil, Photoshop

169 Suffocation/ Yola Katri/ Digital Drawing

171 A Fairytale/ Yola Katri/ Digital Drawing

173 Chained/ Rachel Salama/ Pencil, Photoshop

176 Standoff/ Joseph Esquenazi/ Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

177 A Fairy Tale/ Yola Katri / Digital Drawing

179 Too Late/ Danielle Kraeim/ Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

183 Collage/ Samantha Ryba/ Watercolor

Suits

Explanation of Theme

Life is a game that we play with cards. We’re dealt a hand, and from there, we decide which cards to throw down and which to pick up until we ultimately win or lose. Despite this simple formula, the cards can be played in an infinite number of configurations. That’s the beauty of the game: every single one is different, but we always use some combination of the same four suits of cards.

They are hearts and diamonds and spades and clubs.

As humans, we can’t help but wear our hearts on our sleeves. We require love, we seek partnership, we crave proximity. Be it romantic, platonic, familial—love defines the human experience. We live to love and we love to live, and as such, it is no coincidence that the heart within each of us that works tirelessly to provide us life is the universal embodiment of love. In pursuit of love, we are guided by our hearts. And if we are lucky, they will lead us to fulfillment.

The essence of modern-day luxury is the diamond. It is what differentiates unique from average, what separates the one percent from the remaining 99. When a bystander catches sight of the light endlessly refracting off of the multifaceted diamond, they know who’s walking past them. Opulence manifested, the diamond symbolizes both the grandeur of upper class as well as the rarity of achieving such status. And despite how rare it may be, we all strive for it on some level.

One cannot talk of extravagance without mentioning the path that needs to be taken to reach it. It requires passion of the greatest caliber, the drive to fight tooth and nail until success is yours. The spade represents the force needed to triumph above all other opponents. Only the competitor who grips that power by the hilt and stabs with no hesitation can win. The victor will always be the one unafraid to wield the spade and unleash its full potential.

The intensity of the three previous suits is undeniable; love, opulence, and passion are nothing if not extreme. The club, a clover in the meadow, provides the perfect balance of tranquility. It represents the serenity of life, the moment between an inhale and exhale imbued with complete and utter calm. We are grounded by the club, the rich dirt beneath our soles and the sprouts brushing against our calves. Content in our stillness, we are wholly at peace with ourselves.

Yet all of this time, I have neglected to mention that there is a fifth category: the Joker. A mere two extra cards that some decks don’t even contain. But the Joker is not to be trifled with. It is the original wild card, the element that changes all. The fate of the game hinges on these two sly cards, so it's no surprise that the possession of a Joker is so often kept a secret. Innately deceptive, the Joker is slick as oil and will never reveal its true intentions. It is, by definition, the exception.

Of course, though, every single one of these cards is powerless alone. Their true nature can only be unlocked by the hand that plays them.

Editor-in-Chief: Maurice Silvera

Junior Editors: Cover - Sofia Jemal, Chapter dividers - Jennifer Kreizman

Michelle Baum, Nitza Hanan, Aleen Jaradeh, Jamie Shamah

Editors Artists & Writers

Aliya Abergil

David Angel

Danielle Ashear

Cynthia Ashkenazie

Hannah Ayash

Tal Azran

Michelle Baum

Linda Benun

Teddy Beyda

Eliana Bonduryansky

Eliel Buskila

Jennifer Chakkalo

Fortune Chakkalo

Danny Chalouh

Rachel Chaya

Barbara Chehebar

Michael Chetrit

Michael Cohen

Zachary Davydov

Lynn Dweck

Yvette Dweck

Barbara Dwek

Sylvia Ebrahimoff

Joseph Esquenazi

Edward Esses

Eliette Evenhar

Kelly Fatiha

Danielle Fried

Daniella Friedman

Abigail Fuzaylova

Joseph Gammal

Racquel Garbulsky

Raquel Gindi

Jake Gindi

Sophia Goldstein

Sylvia Habert

Daniel Hafif

Jacqueline Halabi

Nitza Hanan

Rami Harari

Joy Harari

Boaz Harel

Isaac Hoed

Julian Horovitz

Allegra Houllou

Alynn Hovav

Lizette Husney

Aleen Jaradeh

Emma Kamagi

Danny Katash

Yola Katri

Raquel Katri

Sarah Kezra

Fortune Khabih

Rachael Kopylov

Danielle Kraiem

Jennifer Kreizman

Rivkah Lahav

Albert Lessler

Sarah Levy

Esther Levy

Norman Levy

Lauren Leybovich

Boaz Lotwin

Susan Mandil

Sharyn Marcos

Francine Massry

Rebecca Mehani

Galiette Mita

Debra Mizrahi

Daniela Nacmias

Jacob Nussbaum

Jacob Oved

David Rishty

Ezra Rosenfeld

Samantha Ryba

Sylvia Saad

Rachel Salama

Lillian Salame

Michael Salzman

Jamie Shamah

Albert Shamah

Olivia Shamah

Shelley Shaoul

Bella Shasho

Victor Shemia

Maurice Silvera

Annie Skaba

Bella Soudry

Sarah Soussan

Joseph Srour

Zach Steinfeld

Rebecca Tamir

Katie Waingort

Lawrence Warren

Jonathan Yagen

Paulette Yazdi

Linda Yazdi

Joshua Yushvaev

Jennifer Zirdok

Contributors

Hearts

Seeking Love

Fortune Khabih

A man, seeking love on a rainy day.

Sinking to the ground along with the raindrops, he finds love through a lens. As he captures two people live.

He wonders will he ever feel it?

Love in motion, not in stillness.

Captured smiles, captured laughter, captured love.

Staying on Track Bella Soudry Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

The Walk of Independence

Zach Steinfeld

Tick. Tock. The clock seemed to get louder and louder after every tick. 6:57. It's late. I should really go soon. Teddy was sitting inside the library, studying for his upcoming test. But, wait, isn’t the train down? The train had been shut down earlier that day due to an incoming storm. How will I get home? Should I call her? No, I can handle this. I’ll be fine. But… how else will I get home?

He leaned back in his chair, lost in thought as the clock continued to tick. Tick. Tock. Finally, he came to a decision. I guess I’ll just have to walk. At that thought, he promptly stood up, packed his things, and set off.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Teddy said to the guards.

“Good night!” one said.

“Get home safe!” said the other.

As Teddy walked outside, he could feel the warm air press against his skin. Huh, It’s kind of humid, isn’t it? He quickly dismissed the thought and set out for home. As Teddy walked, he looked around at his surroundings. Convenience stores and restaurants lined the streets. For some reason, all of the storefront gates had been closed. He looked ahead, hoping to find something to observe, but the sidewalk was surprisingly barren. What’s going on? There’s no one around for miles. Teddy’s phone started to vibrate. Oh, that must be Mom. He reached for his phone, pulled it out of his pocket, and answered it.

Steinfeld 2

“Teddy?” she said, a hint of concern showing through her voice.

“Yes?”

“Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine,” he said bluntly. He wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“But it’s dark, and the train is down, and there’s a st–”

“I’m fine Mom.”

“But…” She paused. “Just, be careful. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you when you get home, alright?” Teddy could still hear the worry in her voice, despite her attempts to hide it. “I love you, Teddy.”

“Love you too, Mom.” Teddy promptly hung up the phone and kept walking. I know she’s worried, but I’ll be fine. Why wouldn’t I be?

A drop of rain. Teddy looked up. Huh? Was that a raindrop? Another. Oh no. Another. It’ll just be a drizzle. Another. It has to be. More. Faster now. No. This wasn’t just a drizzle. It was pouring too hard, the wind was too strong for it to be a drizzle. No. This is a storm.

The wind started to pick up. This is bad. Everything around him was beginning to sway. The trees were desperately fighting to stay grounded, and leaves flew by his face at Mach speeds. He felt like the wind could blow him miles away. I can barely walk. I can barely move. How will I do this?

Still half a mile to go. A minute had passed and he’d only made it ten yards. Why did I do this to myself? He kept struggling, determined to keep moving. Why did I stay at the library so late? The wind was fighting back, dead set on keeping Teddy at bay. Why didn’t I let her pick me up? Why was I so stubborn? I could be home by now! The wind was pushing harder now, almost too hard for him to handle. Why do I always need to do it myself?

He thought to himself, going deep inside his mind. He imagined the clock ticking behind him. Tick. Tock. Why do I always need to do it myself? Still desperately pushing forward, he continued to think. Is it because… I want to be independent? No, not entirely. There’s something else. Despite the immense power of the storm distracting his thoughts, he focused on the clock. Tick. Tock. I… I don’t want to trouble Mom. That’s it. That’s why.

He wanted to ponder longer, but the storm was getting stronger by the minute. I have to get home first. Now, with newfound determination, he mustered the cour-

age to push forward. 30 minutes later, Teddy finally got home.

“Teddy! I was so worried!” she said, as she ran to hug him.

“I– I didn’t know there was a storm, and I got caught in it, and–”

“It’s okay, Teddy. It’s okay,” she said with a relieved expression. “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry!” He was struggling to hold back his tears. “I should have called you.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

“I just– I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I could be independent…”

“Aw, Teddy.” She gave him a comforting smile. “I know you’re in high school, and I know that you can take care of yourself, but… you’re still a kid. And I’m still your mom. You have to rely on me sometimes.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Teddy, It’s okay,” she said. “Now, let’s go grab some hot chocolate, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “Thanks, Mom.”

Embrace Jennifer Kreizman Oil on Canvas

The Meaning of Love

Barbara Chehebar

Deep below the bright shiny sun there stands love.

Love. Affection, warmth, and commitment Something we can not live without.

There stands a little girl waiting for the one Her one, That one.

The one for the relationship she’s been waiting for, That bond, That happily ever after.

She never knew when that one will come, Today? Tomorrow? Never? The little girl soon realized The right time will come Maybe he wasn’t the one.

Squish! Linda Benun Canon Rebel T7

Lone Girl Boaz Harel

Empty cup and darkness in the air, The sight of nothingness is hard to bear. All alone is how she sits, She’s surely broken into bits. Her face describes her soul, Being stood up brings a toll. Her heart is filled with shame, Not sure on who to blame.

Her Memories Debra Mizrahi Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

Dear Brother

Joseph Gammal

I hear you when I sleep, dear Brother In the whispers of wind The shuffles in the shadows

I hear your footsteps in the night Creaking up the old wooden stairs.

Dear Brother, you’ve been gone so short Yet sometimes I wonder if you ever existed A dream, dear Brother Or a figment of my imagination.

The pictures on the mantel which smile at me Is the smile faltering Like it hasn’t reached your eyes? Did you know of what was to come, dear Brother And if so, Why didn’t you warn me?

Collage Samantha Ryba Watercolor

Evil Acorn

Maurice Silvera

To College Board, my greatest nemesis Your scorn-filled acorn feels no shame, no guilt And poisonous exams leave me to wilt A flower meeting its decay; death’s kiss

I’d be remiss to not place emphasis On websites patched together like a quilt So faulty they should never have been built But you’d do anything to steal my bliss

I took your SAT of infamy I’ve suffered through APs of every kind And look what those horrendous tests got me A shattered psyche, nothing left in mind My greatest of foes, my worst enemy It’s true, you really are one of a kind

Bake the Pain Away Rachel Chaya iPhone Camera, Photoshop

Grief

Joshua Yushvaev

Dear Death, I know you come for all of us someday It's inevitable

But do me a favor–Take me first

Not my brother nor my sister

Not my mother nor my father

Take me first

I don't want to see you in my life I don't want to see you flying down To drag my family away from me

Stay away until it's my time

Because if you do not take me first I’ll collapse like a fish out in the sun

Lying in the hot sand until it dies

Heartbeat Lillian Salame Acrylic on Canvas

The Broken Lock

Lizette Husney

Metal bars between me and the rest of the world, Orange jumpsuit itching my skin Guards standing in the way Light from the outside Seeps from behind their heads The world waiting beyond Tortured, anxious, embarrassed, and all alone.

Tortured, The world is against me, Yet it's all I crave.

Anxious, No one to talk to. No reassurance.

Embarrassed, The way people look at me, The way I look at myself Alone, Just me in the empty cell,

But-

There are no metal bars, There are no orange suits, There are no guards, Just me, A prisoner of my mind.

Sisters Linda Benun Canon Rebel T7

Abandoned

Tal Azran

Every night I sit alone on my bed Nobody next to me to read me stories, or give me goodnight kisses. I look outside my window and feel the cold breeze Am I a fool who sits alone talking to the moon? Wishing my parents were here Staring at the window, talking to the moon hoping they’d come back for me.

Traveling Back Bella Soudry Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

Dream or Nightmare

Sophia Goldstein

Tearing our picture down Staring at the blank white walls

My one true love, Forever gone

How can he be gone

The gory scene playing in my head Over And over And over again

The knife Sitting on its side As the slit on his neck Slowly took his life

Crying for help

My hands layered With his thick, red blood His heart Stopped

I woke up.

The Show Goes On Rachel Chaya Pencil, Photoshop

I Now Care

Michael Salzman

I don’t care

I used to say that a lot But I never meant it

I don’t care

I would tell my parents when they asked My friends when they called And myself when I dared to feel

I don’t care

I would say even when I did But those words changed after I met you I love you and I no longer pretend I don’t care

I see you in myself Linda Benun Canon Rebel T2i

Just Leave Me Alone

Sarah Levy

(Lines taken from Refugee)

I walked down the gloomy halls

Whispers and murmurings bouncing off the walls

Head down

Hoodie up

I avoided eye contact

“Look at that filth”

I told myself to just ignore

Be unimportant

I had to blend in Disappear into thin air

To be invisible was key

Summer is Here Jennifer Zirdok Acrylic on Canvas

To My Future

Lizette Husney

Dear Future, Things are getting worse

Please tell me there is hope.

Please tell me I will make it.

Please tell me I will be able to smile again.

Why cant I live a normal life?

Why can't I breathe on my own?

The pipes leading to my mouth, The thousands of wires connected to my body. Is this it?

Is this what my life is going to be from now on?

Am I still a prisoner to death?

I want answers

I can't continue my life like this.

The doctors force a smile on their face, The nurses can't help but look helpless, My parents' eyes filled with tears. They all pretend, everything is fine and I will make it. But me, I don't believe any of that I know I wanted to to put an end to you, To leave you

I let my fears take control of me, Let them make me fear what you could offer me But now I am trapped within the same four walls. All I wish is to get the opportunity To experience you, Of what you could be And now, We rest in the unknown.

Welcome to the Family Michelle Baum

Come Back

Kelly Fatiha

Dear Happiness, Oh, how I’ve missed you. Just as a widow misses her husband, Just as an orphan misses his parents, Just as an adult misses his childhood, They all hanker for the nonexistent, to exist. Just like me.

You’re never returning to me, are you? A tumor of emptiness continues To grow inside of me. It swallows me whole. All because you abandoned me. It took 14 years for me to get to you, And 15 minutes for me to lose you.

I cry and I cry and I cry. I cry until my eyes can’t open all the way, I cry until I can’t breathe anymore, I cry until my pillow is soaked with tears. I cry and I cry and I cry.

I feel enclosed by two giant walls, They keep coming closer, And closer, and closer. Help me, I scream. The walls just keep coming closer.

I cry and I cry and I cry. I cry until I have ragged breaths, I cry until I lose my ability to smile, I cry until I’ve lost you forever, I cry and I cry and I cry.

I hope you see what you did to me When you left. You ruined me, Made me hate myself, Granted me with new insecurities. Come back, Fix me, Fill the void in my heart.

Dear Summer

Katie Waingort

Dear Summer

We wait ten months for only two

I love when it’s warm and bright

The crisp, cold ocean

And the big bright sun

The long adventurous days

And great times with family and friends

When everyone is happy

And it feels as though nothing can go wrong

Chasing Love Hannah Ayash

Canon Rebel T7

Diamonds

Just Another Picture

David Rishty

One flash Today just another photo

The next a recollection Of the past you forgot

One click

The souvenir Gathering dust

On your shelf

One snap Time frozen

For a second

Of a memory soon forgotten

Night Fall

Jake Gindi

The Dawn was coming then. Golden light seeps through sleeping eyes she stares, my soul uncovered. Whispers in my ear as we lay under the stars. “Nothing gold can stay” Though we can pray, That there will always be days like today. However I can’t sit here and wait, As time slowly moves, As dawn breaks into day Will you be there forever, With me by your side for all our lives? I promise we will thrive, Under the afternoon sun, Or the stars at night.

I hope we can be inseparable, Together, like the leaves on a tree, Clinging to each other in the cold winter, Slowly falling Until we are born together again.

A Chip Jennifer Kreizman Cardboard, fabric

ABC poem

Linda Yazdi

Asian, athlete, age, analytical — Am I supposed to just accept?

All the assumptions clearly stereotypical

All the same, the words consume me

Abusing me, being hypercritical

Being born here or there

But we’re all related

Because I’m never asked from where Best to stick to your brand

Being easier to bear

Changing for the “better”

Capitulating my soul for the approval

Confidence wavering on the pressure

Culture dissipating, ceasing to exist

Cogent reasons inducing me; leaving me deader

Done is my past

Dauntless behavior took its place

Disfiguring my appearance — Descendant of Americans is who I am, when asked

Disparity and reverence huge in contrast

Even so, guilt eats me away

Extirpating me from the inside out Encumbering me, leaving me in a state of disarray Ending my emulation

Expiating my faults, helping me find a way

Egypt Allegra Houlou Plaster Relief

Imagine a Home

Albert Shamah

Imagine a home

A mind without thoughts

A river

Deprived of water, current, flow, fish, strength, direction

Absent of all God painted, present everything

A river is.

Imagine a home

A mind without thoughts

A body

That has revised itself out of blood, heart, organs, limbs

Absent of all God painted, present Everything A body is.

The law I say, the Law Is?

What is a home

A structure with no walls, no doors, no windows, no ceilings! A home!

Shattered Rachel Chaya iPhone Camera, Illustrator

My Best Friend

Alynn Hovav

Dear Grandma, I miss you

Why were you taken away We finally became closer

But G-d decided your time was over

When I had no one

And I was at my lowest

I always had you Who I trusted the fullest

You, my grandma Are my best friend

I wish our time together

Had Never come to an end

You made me who I am today You taught me lessons I’ll never forget I wish I can talk to you face by face

I wish we had more time together

But I’m glad you’re in a better place

Our love will never break apart

Heaven has you physically But I have you in my heart

I love you

I miss you

I will always remember you

Heaven is lucky to have you

But I’m even luckier to have you as my great grandma

I love you, Alynn

Diamonds David Angel Color Pencils

Veracious Villains

Nitza Hanan

I think we can all understand wanting to stay young forever. If you had the chance to preserve your youth, wouldn’t you seize the opportunity as well? I loved being young and now I am dead. How could anyone blame me for wanting my youth back? I benefited from the magical sunflower for years to restore my youth, however, it was stolen from me. The queen’s men took it in order to use its powers and save her life. I just wanted to get back what once was mine. At first, I didn’t want to take Rapunzel, I was just going to take a strand of her hair for myself. However, once I saw the hair die after being cut I truly had no choice, I had to take her, it was only fair after they took the flower and selfishly used it for themselves.

I kept Rapunzel secure in the castle to ensure I would stay young, but I also grew to care for her. I was her mother and every mother wants their daughter to be safe. I was scared that if people discovered that her hair is magical, they would try to take advantage of her, and then I would lose my daughter. There are thieves, criminals, and diseases. The world is a selfish and cruel place. Rapunzel is such an immature and weak girl, the world would have destroyed her. I had to shield her from the outside world, it was what was best for her. So when she asked me to leave the tower for her birthday I had to refuse. How could I let a newly 18 year old girl face the world all alone?

It wasn’t always turmoil for Rapunzel in the tower, she had a great life up there. She was able to acquire many talents and had time to herself. Even though she did not voice it, I knew she was grateful that I gave her such a secure life. So while people love to portray me as this evil, overbearing, abusive woman who kidnapped an innocent girl, this is far from the truth. I was reclaiming the magical flower which I used for years, from those who stole it from me. I had a desire to stay young, which isn’t uncommon. And I just wanted to be a good mother and protect my daughter, Rapunzel.

Overcome Shelley Shaoul iPhone Camera, Photoshop

Xellow Openings

Samantha Ryba

Two Weeks Ago

I walked into my kitchen with a pile of mail in hand. At the top of the pile was a large blue envelope with my name on it. The return address read The Executive Bureau of Population. I knew there was no way I failed the exam, but there was something, something illogical and more powerful, that told me that once I tore open the blue envelope, my fate would be sealed.

“My results…” I said.

I began to tear open the seal of the envelope apprehensively. Behind me, my mother shut the faucet and my father stopped stirring the pot. The only sounds evident were my own ragged breathing. I carefully unfolded the white creased paper.

Dear Ms. Veronica Brawn,

We regret to inform you that you have failed your Official Evaluation Examination. Due to our country's current case of overpopulation, those who have failed will be required to attend the Official Day of Execution for their own execution.

We understand how abrupt and difficult this may be, which is why the Official Day of Execution is scheduled for two weeks from now, October 7, 2348.

We kindly require all participants to comply and die with honor and integrity for your country. We deeply empathize with families and hope that we can together persevere through our country’s difficult times.

Thank you Ms.Veronica Brawn, The Executive Bureau of Population

My eyes finish scanning the letter. I knew it.

With my limbs shivering and my head pounding, I ran up to my bedroom and shut the door. I crouched on the floor and pulled on the loose wooden panel where I stored my journals. Finding the nearest blank page, I fished for a pen inside the wooden cavity and began to write my last entry. I’m going to die. I write. After spilling my thoughts onto the paper. I return the wooden panel to its place, hoping nobody ever finds it.

Present Day

“There must be a mistake!” my mom cries. Tears stream down her face as we drive toward the facility. She turns her head to face the back row and grabs my hands.

“You’ll find a way out, Vonnie. I know you will,” she sniffles.

Tears well in my eyes while my lips quiver. I still have so much left to say and so much left to do. My sister, Elsie holds my other hand, sniffling, and Liam, my young brother, lays his head on my shoulder with his eyes shut. My dad’s tight grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white as he forces himself to swallow the grief. After I say my goodbyes, I get in line with the rest of the people that share a fate with me. A tall, armed, and suited man leads us through a stark white hallway. He halts to get a good look at today’s participants, he singles out my alert eyes and furrows his eyebrows. He opens his lips as if to say something but doesn't. He turns back around and continues to lead.

At the end of the hallway lies a room, whereI assume is where the event of my death will occur. I turn my head to get a better view of the people I stand in line with. The man behind me slumps against the white wall, his shirt untucked and his shoes mismatched. His mouth hangs open and a string of saliva drips from his lips. From my angle, I can spot his decaying, rotten teeth. He makes unintelligible noises while itching his head. Extending my view, I see that everyone in line emulates each other, except me. None of them seem to know where they are or what is to happen next. This must be a mistake, I think to myself for the hundredth time.

I slowly wait in line, almost preparing for my own death. Nearing the front of the line, the attendant from earlier wearily looks around and walks forward in my direction.

“You shouldn’t have been sent here,” he says quietly.

“I thought so too but I got the letter. It was clearly addressed to me,” I whisper frantically.

He scans through the line of people, up the hallway and back.

“I think I know why you're here.”

“Why? Why?”

“Keep it down, please. If anyone hears us talking, we could both get killed if not tortured. Now, what’s your name?”

“Vonnie, Veronica.”

“Vonnie, do you write any letters, articles, journals or any sort of writings that are say… anti-government?” He stares me dead in the eye.

My mind immediately goes to my journals. The journals that I write in every morning. They contain every thought, doubt, guess, or theory about the world, about the corrupt ones incharge. But how could anyone ever find them? They are safely tucked away.

“My journals. But they’re hidden.”

“There are cameras, Vonnie. Everywhere. We have to get you out of here.” He checks his surroundings for the twentieth time after admitting the next man into the room. He firmly grabs my arms and pulls me behind him.

I follow in his footsteps as he leads us down halls and stairways. He opens the door at the bottom of the steps to reveal what looks like a private train station.

“Get off at the third stop and walk up two blocks. You will see a yellow door that leads to a cellar. Tell them Heron sent you. If anyone stops you, you tell them school let you out early.” He says quickly. I make a mental note of his instructions as he turns around to go back to the facility.

“Wait!” I call out.

“I can't help you anymore. You can do this, kid. I believe in you.” He gives me a short nod and hastily climbs up the stairs. The train halts in front of me and the doors open. I step in and take a breath. Here I go.

One month later

Dear Diary, Things by the “cellar” are going fairly well. There are so many people of my

kind here and I feel like I’ve found my home. The danger still stands, but our underground facility is so secluded that even the government wouldn't think to come down here. I get to write my own articles that get published in The Yellow Journal, a newspaper that focuses on unveiling the secrets behind our government. You should pick up a copy at your local yellow-doored cellar. I’ve been in touch with my family but I’m not allowed to send too many letters. It could blow our cover and put all my flatmates in danger. I finally feel like I have a purpose and I know with some more time, we will achieve so much. I think with the help of these people, I will be able to make a difference in the world. With courage,

Vonnie

Colorful Me Sylvia Habert Collage , Watercolor

Not Really There Lawrence Warren iPhone Camera, Photoshop

I Choose Me

Michael Chetrit

Borrowed from: Mirror by Kendrick Lamar

Rather look out for myself than someone else

Rather buy myself a car than end poverty I choose me

Rather not endanger myself for someone else

Rather not share my belongings with my tribe This is the world we live in I choose me

Skin Deep Danielle Ashear Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

Common App Essay

Danny Katash

You know how when you say a word so many times, it starts to sound funny, even losing its meaning? Really, we should feel that way uttering any word. Simply put, language is nothing more than ordered sounds and breaths, or written strokes of the pen to signify such sounds. How can signs so arbitrary convey every thought that crosses one’s mind, however simple or complex? To our stunted, limited brains, our understanding of language is perplexing and ironic. Reasonably, the concept and use of language as we think of it seems absurd, but it is the medium utilized to even get that dismissive thought across. The absurdity of language when overthought appears more sensible with languages not understood. When a foreign language is initially heard, it sounds silly and nonsensical; but when it is learned and listened to, meaning and sophistication are inserted into the identical speech, even when far from fluency.

Raised in Brooklyn by Jewish refugees who fled Damascus, Syria, I was spoken to in Arabic, English, and Hebrew throughout my upbringing. Due to my need to balance proficiency in three languages, I felt illiterate with all of them. Since my parents had only spoken to me in Arabic, I never learned the written language. Hebrew felt more like a liturgical language, the holy tongue only uttered in prayer or religious study. English was the language I needed to use for the outside world. Schoolwork, hangouts, watching television, browsing the internet—all had to be conducted in the lingua franca. Because of my lack of mastery in any language, I never felt comfortable speaking at all. What if I said something unclearly in English, or the wrong word in Arabic, or misworded my Hebrew prayer? For much of my childhood, I stayed silent, not because I was too nervous to say anything, but because coherent thoughts could not dawn upon me without a primary language.

Eventually, schoolwork demanded writing more sophisticated than a child’s, which, supplemented by hard work and acclimation, led to my current English fluency. But as I dive deeper into the English language, I realize it’s not a language

crafted from nothing. Its vocabulary shows that it more so resembles a hodgepodge of Romance, Germanic, and Greek etymologies. With this unique mix of heritage in English, I notice patterns and trends. For example, Germanic words like “good” are generally more basic than their Latinate counterparts like “benevolent.” And I can look at the letters of a word like “cynicism” and immediately recognize that it’s Greek.

In my junior year of high school, I read Homer’s Odyssey in full for the first time. I paid attention to all the attractively foreign Ancient Greek names, which hazed my vision of the story. I pondered why the translator specifically chose each English word to replicate the masterpiece. I was dazzled by my own love for languages, just as Odysseus was deafened by the transcendent voices of the sirens. There is nothing more enjoyable than being so meditated on my reading of each word that I become mindless of the text’s overall meaning in the midst of the daze.

Shape Poem

Jamie Shamah

When you go to bed, your mind explores. It jumps, it flys, it soars.

I tuck myself under the thick covers A whole new sphere that I am eager to discover

My body sinks into the depths of a mattress of questions and queries My mind ready to devise my next greatest theory

My pillow supporting my head and my mind

My thoughts climb, breaking the rules of all that’s established and defined

My spirit hiking through jungles of problems and inequity

Examining the world and its integrity

You see me as a child, lacking knowledge, opinion, and insight

But when I crawl into my bed, I grow materials with which I can create, erase and rewrite

I talk to god, I write new laws

I generate justice, I relieve society of its flaws

I escape when everything around me seems too cruel

Running into a dreamed world, empathy is my fuel

As I grow my basis develops too

My bed is stripped of its innocence and optimism, new ideas begin to brew

In this darkness, my bed is my light

My clarity, my flashlight, my distinction between wrong and right I now lay still on my sheets so white

Until tomorrow night…

Lost Boys Jennifer Kreizman Acrylic on Canvas

Thriller

Jacob

Oved

They were all gone. Everyone I had ever loved. The world in which I had once lived seemed to be altered forever. With no connection to the outside world, I found myself locked in a classroom at a school I always dreaded attending, locked in my chemistry teacher Professor Andrews’ depressing classroom. I wondered if I would ever escape, if I would ever see my family again, and if I would be able to tell the story of my survival in the future.

My best friend, Tom, was one of the unlucky ones. While I saw him somewhere roaming within the walls of the building, I quickly realized that he wasn’t the Tom I once knew. It was a creature that had Tom’s face and body, but its mind was that of something else entirely. It had urges. Ones that humans didn’t have. It was a zombie. Tom had become a zombie.

Thinking about what happened to Tom only put me in a downward spiral of panic. What would happen to me if I was touched by a zombie? How can I escape this dangerous dungeon I once saw as a safe haven?

But as the sun slowly set, an eerie calm settled upon me in what should have been a perpetual time of panic. Then, when all hope seemed lost, the classroom triggered a memory. I recalled learning different chemicals in advanced chemistry class last year. And I remembered Professor Andrews telling the class the acronym DACH: dopamine, alcohol, calcium, and hydrogen.

I thought I found my way out! Those were the substances I needed to use. 1. Dopamine - Regulates non-human urges and reverts them to human urges.

Oved 2

2. Alcohol - Resets metabolic system and weakens zombies during the transition phase. It numbs what would otherwise be an intensely painful transition.

3. Calcium - Zombie bones grow weak. Calcium strengthens bones, reversing the weakened bones that come as a result of zombie transformation.

4. Hydrogen - Zombie skin dehydrates. Hydrogen negates those effects, reversing those skin dehydration effects.

I poured each into the syringe, hoping for the best and made my way to the door. The dark halls had never felt so empty and unfamiliar. I heard footsteps drawing nearer, and my heart began to race. Was it a zombie or is it a friend? My heart was telling me to go on, while my mind was telling me to hide.

The footsteps were getting closer. I saw a swarm of zombies walking slowly towards me. “Tom? Is that you?”

A bellowing, low pitched groan pierced the air around the halls. Even as a zombie, I would recognize the voice of my best friend anywhere.

I quickly grabbed Tom, injected him with the cure, and pulled him into the nearest classroom.

“Tom! Tom! Are you okay?”

“Where am I? Who are you?”

“You don't remember me? I’m Alex, we have been best friends ever since we were born. Don’t you remember? I am the one who protected you against the peacock at the zoo. I am the one who came with you to the arcade every single Friday.”

“That's the Alex I know. Man, do you know how to take a joke?

“Ohhh, Thank G-d. I missed you,” I said as I pushed his shoulder.

“Wait, but seriously, how did you save me? Last I remember I was a zombie?”

Oved 3

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me!”

“Remember Professor Andrews's class? The acronym he made us memorize?” “DACH? How could I forget.”

I reached into my pocket and searched for the paper but couldn’t find it. I searched all my pockets but I knew something went wrong. I hadn’t the slightest clue on what the ratios of chemicals in the antidote were. I then realized that there was only one place I could have possibly lost it. In the dark halls with the deadly zombies.

There was only one solution. We had to go back. We built armor for ourselves out of random things we found around the lab.

“Tom, pass me the vial. We can smash that and make it into knives.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I just found a few gas masks. Take one and put it on.” We charged into the hall until we ran into a familiar face. It was the zombie that was once my teacher, Professor Andrews. I had seen him in the hall earlier and a little white paper stuck out of his pocket. Barely visible, but it was there.

“Tom! Professor Andrews has the paper!”

Suddenly, its head jerked back to look at me and fear took over me at that moment. I was in too deep. There was no turning back now. I knew if I stood there one more second, they all would have attacked. I needed the upper hand so I charged, not wanting to hurt any curable zombies. Tom charged at one that had been lurking behind us. I was reluctant in using my knife.

I ran and tackled the zombie and just as I did, another one snuck up from behind and lifted me off of Professor Andrews by the neck. I knew that it was time to bring out my knife, as I would have been suffocated if this continued.

“Tom! I need help! There are too many of them.”

Oved 4

I looked behind me but Tom was silent. Something was wrong. I walked around the corner and saw Tom lying with a gold handled knife emerging from the center of his chest. A pool of dark red liquid surrounded it. I felt sick. It was my fault. I pulled him into the fight. What choice did he have? I had killed Tom. From that moment on I was going to spread the cure, and it wasn’t for me. It wasn’t for the world. It was for Tom, and nothing was going to stop me.

I grabbed Professor Andrews, knocked him over the head with a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, dragged him into the nearest classroom, and locked the door. I quickly made another cure and injected him with it.

“Alex? How did you make me human again?”

“Long story Professor Andrews, I’ll explain later. But I need your help. There are thousands of zombies outside of this classroom door waiting to bite us. We need to save the world.”

“We need a plan,” said Professor Andrews. “I think we should make a big dosage of the cure, put it into water guns, and start shooting all the zombies.”

“Good idea. I’ll get the guns while you make the cure,” said Alex. Together Professor Andrews and I made a cure, and began to put their plan into action. “Alex, I think it’s time. Open the door.”

“Okay Professor Andrews.”

I opened the door and both of us began shooting all of the zombies. One by one they turned back to humans. Everyone was saved. Everyone except for Tom.

“Alex, I’m very proud of you. You applied what we learned in chemistry class, and used it to save the world. Now, I think you deserve an A in my class. Congratulations,” said Professor Andrews.

A Walk in Music Debra Mizrahi Canon Rebel T7, Pro Create

Perspective of Gaston

Ezra Rosenfeld

“True beauty is found within.” We’ve all heard the saying. Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that phrase was made by an ugly person to make themself and every other ugly person feel better about their inferior lives. True beauty is found on the outside. Need an example? Look no further!! I, Gaston, man among men, am the perfect example of true beauty. Now, believe me, I wish I could keep talking about myself for hours, but there’s something more important that I’m here to discuss. My reputation is being tarnished by a hideous beast! A beast that, need I remind you, kidnapped an old man for taking just a single rose. A beast that then traded that old man’s freedom for the freedom of his only daughter (this is just a sidepoint, but what type of father trades his already mostly completed life for his still very young daughter? He should not have custody of his child, and at the very least be locked up in the insane asylum. But I digress.). And when that same old man came running back to the village in order to save his daughter, who stepped up and assembled a rescue party? I did! And it wasn’t easy by the way. The only thing this girl does besides reading is complain that the village is too small, and that the townsfolk are “little people” and too dumb for her. She’s lucky I was charismatic enough to get them on my side. I was fully prepared to put my life on the line against this beast in order to bring Belle back to her father. But when I arrived at the castle, something was off (besides for, you know, the whole “furniture coming to life and fighting against us” thing). Belle claimed that she was in love with her captor, the beast! Now I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it, but as a soldier in the Seven Years’ War who’s experienced Prisoner of War camps, I’m no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome. My manly definition of Stockholm Syndrome is “feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.” Does that sound familiar? Let’s see. Hostage taking? Check. Feelings of trust and affection? Check. A terrifyingly hid-

eous abomination that looks like a mix between a lion, a buffalo, and a goat (oh my)? Check. I know, I know, that last part wasn’t part of the definition, but it’s there because who could possibly love that thing?? Now, for those of you who are saying that he was really a beautiful prince all along, and that all he needed was a true love’s kiss, how the heck was I supposed to know that? I’m sorry but if he kidnapped me, kissing would be just about the last thing I’d do. Also, the whole “kissing things so they become beautiful princes” is a VERY slippery slope. What’s next? If I’m walking by a pond and spot a slimy, slippery frog, should I kiss it because it could just be another beautiful prince? Or, what if I see an already-beautiful princess, but with one teensy, weensie, but ever-so-crucial caveat: She’s dead. She took a bite out of a poisoned apple which killed her. Some dwarves found her and placed her in a glass coffin. What if I’m walking through the woods and that coffin catches my eye. Am I now obligated to walk over to that coffin, open it, and kiss the corpse? Okay, okay, that might have been a bit too much. What if she wasn’t dead, but asleep. For a long time. Like a really long time. Let’s just pick a time, say, 100 years, You know, like basically dead, but she isn’t because she’s breathing. Like that’s the only thing separating her from that last princess. Should I kiss her because maybe, just maybe, she’ll feel “true love” and wake up? Yeah, I didn't think so. I may be charming, but I can’t bring back the dead. And one other thing. Why would all of these princes and princesses be in these conditions to begin with?? Is there just some maniac that goes around finding and cursing the children of rulers of entire kingdoms? If that’s the case, then why is it my job to save them??? What about their parents? You have infinite resources, and you find out that some guy just turned your son into a frog. You’re not even gonna try and fix that. At the very least arrest the guy that’s causing this so future monarchs don’t have to deal withWait. Sorry. I went on a bit of a tangent. As you can see, I’m very, let’s just

say “passionate” about this whole thing. But where was I? Oh right, right. “Who could ever learn to love a beast?” Well, I kinda already answered that question: Victims of Stockholm Syndrome. That’s who. Well I basically said all that I needed to say, so I’ll just finish up quickly and go back to admiring myself in the mirror. The war hero who was the first to volunteer and assemble an entire village to save a young girl with Stockholm Syndrome from a beast who’s known to lose his temper is not the villain. And by the way, if you want to know the secret to looking like this, listen up. You’re gonna need eggs. A lot. Like four or five dozen of ‘em. Daily. I’m not joking. No, I will not elaborate.

Sad Reality Paulette Yazdi iPhone Camera, Photoshop

Xet We’re Still Strong

Lynn

Dweck

We've experienced horror

We've seen murder

We've been forced into labor

We were hated on Yet we’re still strong

Judaism and Zionism Is not accepted by many Coerced out of countries

Watched our loved ones die Yet we're still strong

Built a life from nothing After everything was destroyed

We had hope that led to victory We had faith that led to success Yet we’re still strong

it

Matter Surfboard Fortune Chakkalo Paint Markers, Acrylic Paint

Spades

My Mistake

Abigail Fuzaylova

I thought I knew Where my life was going And what I wanted to be

I thought I knew How to make friends at a new school And how to see things clearly

I thought I knew The answers to all the questions That concern me

I thought I knew The difference between good and bad And what shows the best version of me

But I was wrong

It’ll Be Okay

Danielle Fried

Words of consolation. Three words, One lie.

‘It’ll be okay’

When you lose your favorite black sweater, Your sweater that you’ve worn while making some of your favorite memories, Your sweater that was gifted to you by your grandmother for your birthday.

‘It’ll be okay.’

There are other black sweaters, More memories to be made, More birthdays to be had.

When you make a mistake, When you forget to study for your test, You mess up your job interview.

‘It’ll be okay.’

There will be more tests, There will be other opportunities.

When it becomes too challenging to get up each morning, Too exhausting to stay up past 8pm, Too draining to bring yourself to leave the house each day, ‘It’ll be okay.’

The weekend is around the corner, There is time to sleep.

When it feels like it will never get better, Like each day is worse than the last, The constant, excruciating sadness, The emptiness that makes you wonder why you’re still here, What would you say to that?

‘It’ll be okay?’

The words of consolation, Lose their meaning. From words of encouragement, To a handful of deceitful syllables.

The Chase

Isaac Hoed

With each pounding step of my shoes I chase the sunset down Ocean Parkway My bike with training wheels, moves As I leave the world behind again.

My mother’s voice calls to me, Saying it's time to head back home, But I won't slow down or miss the show, For in this chase I'm never alone.

The air is cold, the world goes still, But my heart pumps with every beat, And with each breath, I feel the power, The thrill of the world fading away

For in this moment, I find peace, And the clarity that comes with it, As the world’s noises and troubles fade,

So, I’ll keep chasing the sunset, Knowing each step will make me stronger, For in this moment I am truly free

Drowning Annie Skaba iPhone Camera, Photoshop, Blender

Eternal

Albert Shamah

Light darkness void These entities reside beyond time

Can't be withered by the rain

They are eternal.

In the midst of light and darkness water emerged Water flows through space and time

The waters above and below They are eternal.

After the endless flood, there was room for sky

In the vastness of the air, Zephryos and Euros of the east and west infiltrated

The winds never descend to the ground They are eternal.

From the chaos of the tempest, ground formed Clay sand and rocks alike Hardening, waiting for a purpose

They are eternal.

In a crevice of the arid terrain an insignificant speck of green materialized

From that tiny weed came fourth seed bearing plants of every kind.

Growing as their golden elixir covers the land

They are eternal.

Dwelling between the sky and soil, Insects roam From two to four to millions of eyes and limbs, They live to be devoured They are eternal.

Innocent creatures killed by the hunt Predators live comfortably above their domain Only beaten by the monsters above They are eternal.

Ruthless, Malicious mankind kills all Not caring other than themselves Human’s predecessor is destruction We are not eternal.

The End of the World

Daniel Hafif

A thundering boom echoed near the water.

Glass shattering. Guns firing. The entire region was broken, bombed, and looted.

One side aimed to destroy the other, the scene was horrifying. Bang.

the end of the world.

Women screamed, children too. They were surrounded. All of thempanicking, and full of terror. Boom. the end of the world.

Drowning Albert Lesler iPhone Camera, Photoshop, Blender

Every Night

Eliana Bonduryansky

Dear sorrow, Every night, you seek me

While I lie in bed drowning in unease, waiting for you You sink your jagged claws into my blemished skin

Gnawing at the old wounds

Forcing them to reopen

You take me whole and then make me fall apart And smile at me with a playful glee in your eyes

Every night, you seek me

You find me

And I beg you to stop

Until my throat closes up My pleading cries turn into sorrow

And I become one with you

Perspective Danielle Kraiem Canon rebel T7, Photoshop

Rachael Kopylov

What does one do when they have three forces grappling for control? Not enough to be the other, but too much to be the third. Nothing can define me; I’m too complicated a soul.

Put me in a box, that is mankind’s only goal. To label me as one thing, only one thing is absurd

What does one do when they have three forces grappling for control?

Is someone white, brown or yellow, or the color of charcoal?

Jewish? American? The line is already blurred

Nothing can define me; I’m too complicated a soul.

Braided with cement, much too complicated to unroll, To add Eastern European descent, most people’s view has now transferred.

What does one do when they have three forces grappling for control?

If it’s only black and white, so many shades society stole, I’m either grouped with all the mice or forced to be a thunderbird

Nothing can define me; I’m too complicated a soul.

An American Jew with Eastern European background is what I am as a whole.

Only I can define me, you can’t do it with just one word. What does one do when they have three forces grappling for control?

Nothing can define me; I’m too complicated a soul.

Never Enough

Sylvia Saad

Why is it not enough?

Not enough to be the most knowledgeable in the room

Or the most articulate

Not enough that I’ve trudged relentlessly

Carried everyone’s weight

Gave my blood sweat and tears

It will never truly be enough

Chemists are supposed to understand the basic fundamentals of science

But somehow the most brilliant of minds

Can’t understand that an XY chromosome is not inferior to a Y

(Elizabeth Zott from Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie

Garmus)

Narcissist Jennifer Chakkalo Collage, Photo Transfer

Dear Insecurities

Esther Levy

I deplore you

For you are the root of my lack of confidence

For you are the cause of all my problems

For you keeping me from being able to glance at my reflection Without guilt

Why are you here? To break me down Control me Ruin me?

Insecurities are like a gun You tried to kill my spirit But I will still build myself up And I will survive

Why Has the World

Turned Upside Down

Sarah Kezra

Why has the world turned upside down? The sky’s more wrong than right, I come to wonder if Earth is flat or round.

All blythe has escaped without sound, While sorrow quietly bites, Why has the world turned upside down?

Evil is royal and crowned, As the sky crumbles down from fright, I come to wonder if Earth is flat or round.

Smiles have turned into frowns. The sun now seems less bright. Why has the world turned upside down?

From bright city to dull town, Suddenly as black as night, I come to wonder if Earth is flat or round.

No more jolly left to drown. It’s now all drained out of sight. Why has the world turned upside down. I come to wonder if Earth is flat or round?

Behind the Mask

Boaz Lotwin

A part of me feels that it’s right To keep the mask on Because sometimes truth’s face can be ugly Yet would there be less harm or more If the truth was released?

Truth groans and grumbles

Drowning in black venom

Restrained by merely a few incisors

As truth tries to stab back against its selfish captor

But eventually, truth submits And its purpose is lost, but it will return It lurks behind the mask

Surrounded Bella Shasho Acrylic on Canvas

Tears of Pain

Michael Cohen

Tears of pain

Are the ones that hurt Stabbing us

Deep down in the heart. They are always hidden Around other people. We try to hide them With a beautiful smile But once we are alone

We cannot help But let the tears fall.

In my Mind Debra Mizrahi Canon rebel T7, Photoshop

We Used to Ride Bikes

Jamie Shamah

We used to ride bikes

Through boundless streets through open doors

Fresh air filled my free hair

Our harmless tire tracks painted the safe grounds with innocence and youth.

Breezes of privilege and independence filled my lungs

The rotating chains, the whirling petals propelled us further into our dreams.

Blissful freedom.

Today the bikes we ride are those of revolution

Fueled by wrath and fuming unrest

Propelled by fire and rageful bawls

Fierce handlebars steering us towards war

Suffocating veils shielding my luscious locks

Forbidden voices of our tires

scarring the dangerous streets with brutality and protest. Our wheels won’t stop turning our hearts won’t stop screaming we won't be silenced.

Every one of us on the bicycle of insurrection, in conjunction unstoppable. The demonstrations reek of death and sacrifice. Together we ride.

Stop Bleeding Cynthia Ashkenazie Collage, Acrylic Paint

What Used to Be

Linda Yazdi

They say our world used to be green

Our clouds used to be white

The sky always shined with the right kind of light

But all I remember is the rising ash of death

Since I have very faint memories of what used to be

They took me away for a reason I couldn't control

Locked me up in a prison I now call home

One small window that leads to darkness

Four big walls to keep me company

That's all I know, since I have very faint memories of what used to be

A sleazy, mischievous nothing is what I am

An abomination, Adolf Hitler says We cheat & steal & lie I'm told

While I don't remember my mother teaching that I have very faint memories of what used to be

I was once a Jew;

Proud, strong, and confident—I imagine Now I am nothing;

A nobody sitting in a pool full of fear, hunger, and pain

Nothing to keep me sane, because I have very faint memories of what used to be

But I think—I just might remember

A small house on green grass

A sky full of bright light

A glowing moon that saved the night

Merely that and nothing more,

Because I have very faint memories of what used to be

With the exception of my mothers wisdom

My fathers guidance

My brothers encouragements and advice

And my sisters hope that kept me alive

Greek Feast Barbara Dwek Acrylic on Canvas

Daedalus

Maurice Silvera

The father looks back At the flaming sun

And the roiling sea

And he sees the limp body

Hurling between the two

How devastated he is

To see that after all his work and warning His son could not, would not, heed him

How violently his stomach churns At the scent of singed skin

And the sight of blackened feathers

Fluttering in the distance

The father flaps away on gusts of freedom

Salt water soaking his face

Even though he is leagues away From the sea that swallows his son In a single swell

The father’s back aches

His flapping grows erratic

The breeze turns into a tempest

And he begins to feel the weight of it all

How jealous the gods must be, The father muses,

To see such a perfect imitation of their wings

And feel only a desire To watch them burn

Inside Out Paulette Yazdi Canon rebel T7, Photoshop

Clubs

Who Are Xou?

Jonathan Yagen

Outside, Inside, Looks, Personality.

They’re all hidden behind a mask, The inside is beautiful, The outside, Not so much.

Most judge, But a small amount don’t.

The most valuable people, The ones you want to hold on to, Are the ones that look past the mask, The ones that see your true personality.

The ones that value you for your personality and not your appearance.

If You Can Make It There... Lawrence Warren Phosthop, Resourced Images

A Beautiful Horizon

Sarah Soussan

Haven't seen you in awhile I've been missing you. I don’t always get the chance to see you It might be a cloudy day, Or a rainy day. But today it wasn't. It was beautiful, Just like your smile. Not a cloud in the sky. Running to the beach Don’t want to miss the chance

To say one last goodbye.

I’m here On cloud nine Staring at you, Feeling at home. Not a worry in the world

I'm happy I was able to see you. Until next time, Goodbye.

Wonderland Bella Soudry Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

Home

Aliya Abergil

I looked out the window

The clouds slowly fading The palm trees peeking through And I knew I was home

I took a step off the plane And looked up at the sky Blue as the sea And I knew I was home

Hebrew letters all around Pictures of the holy land

The big fountain in the airport And I knew I was home

Walking up the alleyway

A big yellow building before me Leaves and flowers all around And I knew I was home

I climbed the last step Entered her apartment And ran into her arms And I knew I was home

Do They Know?

Daniella Friedman

The sun in the day, The moon at night, The stars all together, Do they know that they shine?

The white clouds in the sky, The pretty flowers on the ground, While they look at each other, Do they know that the air is there?

The tall trees standing, The small bushes crouching, The birds flying away, Do they know that they’re important?

While they don’t know that they shine, While they don’t know that the air is there, While they don’t know that they’re important, There is someone who knows that they all matter.

Day Break

Rivkah Lahav

Tender sunlight draws tears from your eyes and I wonder when your skin was last embraced by love

Sunset

Eliel Buskila

Horizon shining Beautiful different hues

Day bids sweet farewell

Fifteen Ways to Look at the Ocean

Teddy Beyda

As one wave falls, Another one rises

The ocean is constantly alive, As it waits for its death

Dear House

Julian Horovits

Dear House, You are where I spend my days, You are my safe place in ways. From childhood memories to my teenage dreams,

You are part of my story -it seems. You've heard my laughter and seen my tears, You’ve seen all my accomplishments and my fears.

You've protected me from the cold outside, You have given me a place to hide.

You will always be my special place, When I think of there’s a smile is on my face. And when I grow up and and move away, You will still be a part of me each day.

Hibiscus Coast Surfboard Fortune Chakkalo Acrylic Paint

Rivkah Lahav

I could lose myself in the stars. Of the many kindergarten dream-jobs that I cycled through, astronomer was ever-present, a constant dream in the back of my mind. I wanted to explore outside of this tiny planet we’re stranded on, to break past the atmosphere in a fiery explosion and burst into the expanse of planets and moons and unknowns. I wanted to stand on the moon. I wanted to float in the low-density vacuum of an ever-expanding universe. Unlike volcanologist and president, my dream job of space studying and exploration endured the trials and tribulations of growing up. There was nothing more beautiful, more wondrous, than the moon peeking out from behind the clouds, than the sun painting vibrant colors across its endless canvas, than wondering what that particularly bright star was and finding out it was really Venus or Mars or Saturn.

As I learned more and more, there were a few things that never failed to light up my eyes. The death of a star. The mystery of dark matter. The singularity of a black hole. A total solar eclipse.

In my wildest dreams, I could never quite picture the feeling of watching the sun be reduced to a sliver of light in a daytime sky turned as dark as midnight. Pictures could not quite capture the absolute vastness of it all, the wonder of watching two celestial objects align, the event bigger than the human mind could ever comprehend.

My mother approached me in the midst of the hazy summer heat with a proposal. A beach day, she said. A beach day where we would buy special glasses with darkened lenses and sit on the sand and look up at the sky as it turned black.

I could hardly contain my excitement as we drove out to Long Island for the perfect view. I can still taste the fish we ate at a small restaurant near the shore. I can still remember rushing through the meal, knowing that the

moon and the sun would not wait for a little girl with oversized glasses to gaze up at them in awe as their paths met for the first time in months, as they brushed past each other with what I imagined was a soft smile and a whispered hello and goodbye. What I don’t remember is the beach itself. My eyes were on the sky.

The eclipse was everything I’d imagined and more. The entire world changed. Day turned to night, the sky pausing and watching with bated breath like the rest of us down on Earth. Utter emptiness except for the two circles, sizes warped by the peculiar perspective until they were equals, approaching each other slowly, reaching out tentatively.

Like all things that happen in space, the moment was silent. It was peaceful. It was not a dramatic explosion. It was the sun quietly taking its place behind the moon, allowing its light to take a break from Earth and rest against the moon for a moment. It was the moon appearing as black as the sky as the side we could not see shined brighter than the brightest of nights.

To anyone else with the proper eye protection, it may have simply looked like a white circle in a black sky. To me, it was the fulfillment of a dream that lasted a lifetime.

Being

Francine Massry

When I woke up I listened to the sunrise, Understood its warm, meaningful song. I got up and got ready for yet another day, And found myself singing along.

And that sunrise, its warmth seemed to fill me, Followed me throughout the day. To school. My walk home. In bed in my room. And let life whisk me away.

When the sun came again I heard it, And this time it sang softly in my ear, All at once, i understood life’s meaning, I love life. I’m glad that I'm here.

Bipolar Danielle Ashear Canon Rebel T3

A Gift of Despair

Maurice Silvera

Isn’t waking up such a beautiful thing

What a gift we’ve been blessed with I sometimes wish I could just forsake it

And I find myself hoping for sleep

What a gift we’ve been blessed with But I am so deeply tired

And I find myself hoping for sleep

To claim me for its own

But I am so deeply tired

How much longer can I wait for it

To claim me for its own

Let me run on fumes and fatigue alone

How much longer can I wait for it

I sometimes wish I could just forsake it

Let me run on fumes and fatigue alone

Isn’t waking up such a beautiful thing

Howl Joseph Srour Acrylic on Canvas

The Scariest Ride

Raquel Gindi

I had never been scared of planes until now. Until this plane ride where everything that could've gone wrong, did.

I sat down across from my mom and dad, threw my hair in a quick bun, and buckled my seatbelt and got ready for the eight hour plane ride to Canada. Both of them didn't speak, as usual, but they put on a happy face so no one could tell that they were fighting.

George and Mary had sent a private plane for the wedding and we had flown with another family, the Smiths. Their youngest son, Sam, was my best friend.

“So Lizzie, how has school been going?” asked Sam’s mom, Deb.

“Well, it's been better, but isn't every teenager going to tell you that they hate school?” I said.

Sam and I tried to pass the time by playing backgammon on the plane but eventually we got bored. We flicked through the movie options, finally settling on Home Alone, and Sam and I started to watch the movie.

I started to feel some rumbling under my feet. Assuming it was just turbulence, I ignored it and went back to watching the movie. Then suddenly, we dropped.

I woke up, not knowing what was going on around me or where I was. Caught underneath a small tree branch, and my hair everywhere, I saw orange and yellow leaves all around me and a cloud in the shape of a bear. Struggling to lunge the heavy tree off of me, I pushed it off of me and stood up, dizzily, and went to search for my family in this strange area.

“Dad!” I yelled; “Mom, where are you?”

I heard scattered yells around me and then I saw my dad screaming, “Liz, Liz and Grace, where are you?”

“Dad?” I said; “Dad, is that you?”

I gave him a big hug. Then I noticed that he was limping and had a huge patch of blood on his leg.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What happened to your leg?” I asked him.

“Don't worry about that honey, did you see your mom anywhere?”

“No, but we have to find her.”

We started searching for my mom when suddenly we heard banging. My dad and I started running towards that sound and we found my mom underneath a huge tree.

“Oh my god Mom, what happened to you?”

She could barely speak and was pale as a ghost.

“I…can’t…I can’t…. breathe,” my mom mumbled.

“It's okay Mom, we will get the tree off of you.”

My dad didn’t speak. The only thing he tried to do was get that tree off of her. There was no use. The tree wasn’t coming off.

Once my dad and I realized that, we lay next to her on the floor and held her hand. We weren't ready for what was about to happen.

We all chatted, her voice growing weaker, and then she just stopped talking. I can't remember how long my dad and I cried for, but we cried so long and so hard, we didn’t hear the rattling through the bushes. It was Sam.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Sam asked me.

“I'm fine,” I replied. But it was clear that I wasn’t fine–not at all. I pointed to my mother. He realized why I was crying and gave me a big hug and started to cry with us.

I heard some sounds coming from the sky.

It was a helicopter. Finally someone was here to save us.

The EMTs landed the helicopter. They transferred all of us to gurneys and put us on a different plane.

When I woke up in the hospital, the doctors told me they had amputated my dad's leg and I started to sob again.

“I shouldn't have ever fought with her. Everything is my fault,” my dad said.

“It's not your fault,” I told him.

Later that night, I went home, climbed into my bed, and cried the entire night. Things would never be the same.

Dear Comfort Zone

Rebecca Tamir

Dear Comfort Zone,

I love you very much. You know I do. Your protective bars keep me safe. Your comfort is so familiar and inviting.

But I have become your prisoner. I need to be free from you. I need to live.

I can't live without adventure.

You stop me from trying. I'm trapped behind your cage and cannot escape. You hold me back every time I try to step out. No matter how many times I attempt to try something new, you always seem to come back and haunt me.

Sincerely,

Rebecca Tamir

Fuse Eliette Evenhar Collage, Watercolors

A Sea of Sleep

Maurice Silvera

Submerged in the deep

Swallowed by the cold

Grateful to have finally found my sleep

Laying under the great blue heap

How many tales remain untold

Submerged in the deep

Left to forever count sheep

Drifting off into the fold

Grateful to have finally found my sleep

No more tears to weep

No more worries to hold

Submerged in the deep

Through my rested eyelids seep

Only the faintest ray of gold

Grateful to have finally found my sleep

This is my fantasy to keep

As it seems to be a wish too bold

For I’ll never be submerged in the deep Grateful to have finally found my sleep

Learning Difference Shelly Shaoul Canon Rebel T3, Illustrator, Photoshop

The Shoes That Built Our Community

Danny Chalouh

These shoes tell a story that no other shoes can.

The struggles they went through, And the miles they've walked, Is a story on its own.

The sacrifices they have given In order to give their children a better life, Is a story on its own.

Thank you shoes. You paved the way for us, And helped with the creation Of many generations to come That I am proud to say I am a part of.

Ephemeral

Rivkah Lahav

Worlds We built

With small hands

Escape our desperate grasp And crumble into our memories

Rebirth Jamie Shamah

Photo Transfer, Rubber Relief Print , Acrylic Paint

Rocking Chair

Rivkah Lahav

Until January of 2021, I had a rocking chair. It was a hideous shade of beige that was an awkward middle ground between yellow-ish and gray-ish, with lighter swirls in an odd pattern and a dark wooden frame that collected dust at an alarming rate. My mom had bought it before I was born, rocked in it with a book when she was pregnant with me, and it came with us to our new house when I was five. My room was small enough that we had to place it at an angle, creating a small triangular pocket between the corner of the room and the back of the chair. Utility-wise, it was pretty useless. I couldn’t rock in it because of the way that it was angled, or I’d just ram into my walls without being able to lean back.

The nook between the back of the chair and the walls was too small to accommodate anything—save for a little girl. As soon as I discovered that I could fit back there, I’d stuff it with blankets and pillows to create a little safe haven, piling books underneath the chair. On weekends, I’d crawl back there and disappear from the world for hours. Just me, the blankets, and the words. I probably spent more time behind that chair than I did on it.

I was my truest self when I was in my hideaway. I’d lose myself in my pile of books, words flying off the page and folding into places and creatures, surrounding me like living origami. It was in the cramped corner that my imagination was free to roam, that I was free to discover new worlds and adventures, always expanding my catalog of places I’d visited. I’d read everything from Harry Potter to the Time Science Almanac until the sun’s light was long gone from my windows.

In the alcove between my rocking chair and my walls, I discovered magic. I traveled the world and I traveled beyond it. I let my curiosity consume me. I let my mind soar.

A couple of years prior, when I turned twelve, I got a nice sum of money from my grandmother as a bat mitzvah present. My parents and I sat down and discussed what to do with it, and decided to put it into a complete redecoration of my room. It hadn’t changed at all since we’d moved in, and I felt I was ready to let go of the

green walls and pink bed sheets with little blonde princesses. Of course, with life being life, we never got around to it. But at fourteen, with the world on lockdown and nowhere to go during winter vacation, my mom finally decided it was time. We planned out furniture that would maximize my storage space, discussed a desk so that I could finally do my work in my room, and picked out bedding and wallpaper.

There was just one problem. With the size of my room and the spot where the air conditioner was built into the wall, we’d have to get rid of the rocking chair. We reconfigured our plans in every way we could, but there was no way around it. The chair had to go. I was almost willing to keep my five-year-old room throughout all of high school just to keep the ratty thing. I want to make it absolutely clear that the chair had no practical function other than a place to sit; frankly, it was quite an eyesore, and my mom had to point out that it was a lot newer than I thought it was, as its ugliness aged it a few years. I’d replace it with a smaller desk chair, which would be a far better use of the space. But parting with it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

By the time I was fourteen, I was too big to curl up back there anymore, my teenage limbs folding in on themselves ungracefully on the rare occasion that I decided to try. And yet, somehow, I was still reluctant to let it go. I was scared. Scared of letting my childhood wonder, the magic I’d discovered, be dumped onto the curb like it was just a lifeless piece of furniture. Scared that I was growing up, and that I simply couldn’t be that wide-eyed, curious girl anymore.

The rocking chair is long gone now. My new room feels less crowded, the design far more suited to a sixteen-year-old. But I still remember it, still remember my little haven covered in blankets and books. My most valuable moments are the ones where I can feel the traces of the space behind the rocking chair. When I finally have a moment to breathe and sit down with a book, or when I placed my terrariums on my desk for the first time. When I lie down with Teddy or Maddie, tucking them into my body protectively. When I open the window screen and stick my head out into

the frigid night and smile up at the moon. When my room is silent save for the soft sound of a piano coming from my phone. When my teacher proved Euler’s identity, when I listened to a podcast episode about the death of stars. When I wake up early enough to see the sun rise as I blink sleep from my eyes. When I step onto Solsbury Hill and hear the gentle wind chimes, and look down with my vision blurred by tears as Aberdeen or Chester approaches me with a happy snort. When I give up on staying dry and run out into the rain with laughter on my tongue. When I read a passage or hear an idea and pause, stepping back to appreciate its beauty. When I stand at the top of a mountain after a relentless hike. When Michonne curls up against my head, a wordless whisper of ‘I trust you.’ When I stop, just stop, for once, and think about orchestras, about trees, about poetry and prose, philosophy and calculus, about the wonder of human voices melding together in harmony, about the simple and unconditional love of an animal, about making someone smile, about the stars and moon and the universe that keeps on growing—in those moments, I feel like I’m back behind the chair.

My idea of magic has undeniably shifted somewhere between then and now, but I know that getting older doesn’t mean I lose that childlike awe. It simply means that the things I find wondrous are different, more sophisticated, probably more boring to the younger version of me who wasn’t satisfied unless she was winning a glorious battle against evil, the aftermath of a spell lingering in the air.

To the six-year-old me: keep dreaming. Grab onto your magic and hold it close. The world is so, so much bigger than you could ever imagine.

And to the fourteen-year-old me: you may think you’ll lose that magic, but I promise you won’t. You just need to learn to look for it elsewhere. Don’t worry about the chair. You may be throwing it away, but you’ll always have the space behind it.

Bubbles Raquel Katri Acrylic Paint on Canvas

Starry Night

Zachary Davydov

So calm and relaxing, On one starry night. As the yellow moon shines, On the bright blue night. The stars glowing like a light. The town is very silent. The wind is silent. This town is very old. The people of the town were all asleep, Outside there wasn't even a peep. On this starry night.

Water I Jacob Nussbaum Acrylic Paint

Water II Jacob Nussbaum Acrylic Paint

The Post War Outpost

Victor Shemia

I wish I had a warmer coat, thought Paul. Paul was slumped against the trench wall, his hand on the trigger, waiting for something to happen. There was a strong autumn breeze passing through the countryside, causing the branches of the trees to rustle through his gun’s scope.

Suddenly, Lukas screamed, “Rahh!” from behind Paul.

“I could have shot you! Dummkopf,” Paul struggled to gain composure. “With everyone so tense, I needed to lighten the mood,” Lukas chuckled. “Who is everyone? We are the only ones awake!” Paul caught his breath. “My apologies,” Lukas lowered his head in an exaggerated bow; “if only I knew you were still afraid of the dark.”

It was silent again. The only sound was of their own breath, and the murmurs of the wind. Both soldiers were unsettled with fear. It was just too quiet, something just seemed wrong. Paul, growing weary of the silence, lit a cigarette to ease his anxiety. He took a deep breath and watched the small puffs of smoke dissipate through the air, wondering where the wind would take it.

“Why are you awake anyway? I’m the one who is on night shift,” said Paul. “I wish I could sleep, but I had another nightmare.”

“The one about the village in Belgium?”

“Yeah. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to erase that from my mind.”

“There is no need to, you should be proud of the sacrifices you made for our country,” Paul’s tone was masked with a false sense of confidence. Lukas didn’t respond; instead, he stood in place, still in the cold night, displaced by the thoughts that plagued his mind. Paul then too, started to think about his own accounts of that time. His memory had faded, but there were some harrowing moments that still haunted him.

Why did I burn that house down? Why were there families hiding in the basement? Why did I kill so many people? Because I was ordered to. Paul stared down

at his rifle. There were noticeable marks, scars of war, each one with its own atrocious story, waiting to be told. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall all the people he had killed. He realized, in horror, that it was more than he could count. He wanted to run and leave this war behind, but he just stood in shock trying to control the panic that took over his body.

Paul found it hard to breathe. “Lukas, I don’t feel well, would you mind taking the shift?”

“I don’t see why not, I can’t sleep anyways.” Lukas was just relieved to have a purpose again and escape his thoughts.

Paul went to the barracks to sleep, but he could only think of his family. He closed his eyes, praying for sleep, but instead he spent the night drowning in his own thoughts. The next morning, Paul could hear Herr Krepp leaving his private barracks, mumbling in frustration.

Herr Krepp was the officer of their outpost. He took pride in our classified outpost hidden in the forest near the countryside. It was so secret in fact, that they spoke only through telegrams. He was a stubborn man, with an overwhelming pride for his country. “Paul!” Herr Krep shouted.

“Good morning sir, what seems to be the issue?” Paul smiled weakly. “The telegram last received a message on November 6th, now it’s the 15th. I’m pretty sure this garbage machine is broken again. I need to send a request for more munitions and rations, otherwise we’ll have to use our emergency supply.” Paul looked around the post for Lukas. When he found him, he was standing in the same place where he left him the night before.

“Hey Lukas, are you alright?” Paul asked in a concerned tone.

Lukas looked at Paul with bloodshot eyes, filled with sorrow and regret. “Yeah,” Lukas said unconvincingly. “Why are you looking for me?”

“The officer needs you to fix the telegram again.”

“How many times do I have to tell him that it is not broken? The higher command just doesn’t respond to his messages.”

“Maybe that’s a sign that the war is coming to a cease; Krepp seemed nervous after the last message.”

Lukas reluctantly followed Paul to Krepp’s headquarters where they found him impatiently pacing by the telegram.

“What took you two so long!” Krepp was furious.

“Sorry Officer, what seems to be the problem this time?”

“It’s the same issue as last time, I’m convinced you never even solved the problem in the first place.”

“I can assure you nothing is wrong with it; I ‘ve looked at it countless times.” “You’re just as incompetent as this machine, look at it again!”

“Herr Krepp, do you ever feel like we killed people without reason, that maybe we are fighting for a war that has lost its meaning?” Lukas asked, trying to find peace from a night filled with doubt and dread.

“The hell are you on about boy! Maybe shell shock is not a myth, because you sound insane to me.”

“I’m just saying, we killed so many people, that surely some of them must have been innocent.” Lukas wished he never opened his mouth.

“They would have done the very same to you, if the roles were reversed, so be thankful that it was them and not you.” Beads of sweat were forming on Krepp’s brow. “But some of them weren't even armed; I was forced to kill women and children! I feel like a complete monster!”

“I always knew you were a traitor to the empire; pigs like you would rather kill his own kind than the enemy!”

Paul watched in horror as Herr Krepp got up and started beating Lukas. Paul pushed the officer off of his best friend.

“I would suspect someone like Lukas of being a traitor, but you Paul, now that was unexpected.”

Krepp took the butt of his rifle, and bludgeoned Lukas until he was unconscious. Paul knew he was next. Although Krepp was ten years his senior, he was a seasoned veteran, who knew how to fight better than anyone. Krepp wouldn't go down easily.

Krepp attempted to hit him with the butt of his rifle, but Paul somehow dodged the blow, and kicked him in the thigh. Krepp was disoriented for a moment. This was Paul’s chance. He punched Krepp directly in the face, causing him to stagger.

“You hit like a little boy” Krepp said with a bloody grin.

Krepp fought back, hitting blow after blow on Paul. Paul collapsed to the ground, wincing in pain. Krepp aimed his pistol at Paul’s bloodied body, ready to shoot.

“You two are not only deserters, but traitors– you deserve to die.”

Paul grabbed his combat knife and stabbed Krepp. Krepp dropped his gun and fell to the floor. Paul rose up in disbelief, staggering to keep balance. He aimed his pistol at his very own officer, dreadful thoughts raced through his mind.

Out of nowhere, the telegraph received a message. Both Paul and Krepp glanced at the machine nervously.

“This is the British Expeditionary Forces, it has come to our attention that you are uninformed about the peace treaty that took place on the 11th. The war has come to a cease, please surrender your weapons and wait for the arrival of the convoy. ”

A sense of relief washed over Paul. He surrendered his weapons at once. He helped Lukas find his way to the front of their outpost, where they both waited to be picked up. Krepp sat wounded, in utter despair, in the corner of his quarters.

Joker

Pantoum Poem

Jamie Shamah

Nothing is as it seems

When your just a child, so naive

When you truly have faith in your childish dreams

How did I ever believe?

When your just a child, so naive You trust humanity

How did I ever believe?

I now see that our world is nothing but insanity

You trust humanity

You're gullibly convinced that heroes destroy every grafter

I now see that our world is nothing but insanity

In truth, there is no happily ever after

You're gullibly convinced that heroes destroy every grafter, when you truly have faith in your childish dreams.

In truth, there is no happily ever after Nothing is as it seems.

Looking Glass Annie Skaba Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

Dear Chess

Rami Harari

Dear Chess, Sometimes when I approach you, I feel scared at first. For like words, anything that happens cannot be taken back. I feel challenged, sometimes beyond my limits, As the silence of a chess game can be intimidating.

But once I put my mind to it, I feel all bubbly and joyful. I feel brave as I smoothly slide pieces across the colorless grid. The beautiful sight of the pieces attacking and falling, They all unite with one common goal.

Up and down. Right and left. Weaving in and out of tight corners and tough spots, Gliding diagonally, knocking pieces down along the way. To even the most glittering diamond in the world, your beauty is unmatched.

A Duck Jennifer Kreizman Collage, Acrylic Paint

Names

Joy Harari

Do you believe that names hold a lot of meaning? do you make your name, or does it make you?

To All The Books I’ve Stolen Before

Galiette Mita

You know that I will always love you and I know that no matter what happens, you will always be there for me. Love, The Book Thief

Unstitched Rachel Chaya Digital Illustration

How Do Xou Do It?

Olivia

Shamah

Dear Old Friend, I don’t understand how you do it

You’re always happy, all the time

Did you even cry

When your father said goodbye?

I didn’t know you then

And I don’t know you now

But there was a time in between

And that will always stay in my mind

From now until the end of time

How do you keep the tears in line?

Do you sit on your throne

In the palace you call home

And bottle them up inside

Every time they threaten to escape your eyes?

Or do you wait until you’re all alone

In your room, with no one home

And let the tears spill down your face

Dampening your skin, blurring your vision

Like a widow at a wake?

As hard as I try

To move on with my life

The question pounds my head

How does she do it?

How does she do it?

Everything, everywhere

Takes me back to my happiest time

Conan Gray

My brother’s car

Every time I play the guitar

Acai bowls

“Riptide” by Vance Joy

The color green

Do you feel the same way?

Do I even cross your mind?

Or am I just another tear

That you push down inside?

You know, if you don’t cry every once in a while

The pressure builds up and up and up

Until it all comes out at once

It’s bittersweet, you know?

How all those smiles were just for show

I don’t know if it’s you or me

But I just can’t believe how someone can be that happy

All the time!

Through thick and thin

Through good and bad

You always managed to force a smile

How do you do it?

How the hell do you do it?

Sometimes I like to compare and contrast

All the tears that my eyes have spilled

And sometimes I like to wonder

How do you learn? How do you grow?

How do you do it?

I consider myself a realist

I see half a glass of water

Always subject to change

Not empty

Not full

You are an optimist

Always looking on the bright side

Always happy

No variety No regret

How do you do it?

Sixty One

Edward Esses

(From the perspective of the Crowd) In the 7th inning of a tied game

A 6’7 man steps up to the plate

Everyone around me cheers

I hear the words “All Rise” I do as I’m told and add a cheer

But this is not just a normal man This man looks to make history

This man is the Judge

A pitcher faces the Judge with one goal To prevent 61, no matter the cost

On the ninth pitch of the at bat

The game takes a turn

The beautiful Judge swing attacks the ball

As the crack of the bat makes a loud noise

Everyone around me is gasping for air

Waiting for the baseball to clear the fence

Once it does

Everyone gets on its feet and screams

The moment we have waited for History has been made

61

Shattered Happiness Sylvia Ebrahimoff Resin Art, Pills

Deafening Silence

Jacqueline Halabi

I don’t wanna know How they can suppress me more Than tape on my mouth

Hullabaloo

The hullabaloo

Addled my brain beyond mend Again, laugh attack!

Buoyancy

After rain, rainbows

At the tunnel’s end, sunshine Where the gulls fly free Bedtime

Iridescent lights

Two scented candles burning Unique ambience

Made in America Sharyn Marcos Water and Oil, Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

Late

Rivkah Lahav

I missed my bus today. It was dark and I was alone and I watched it drive away. I felt small.

I tried to run after it. A bus, I discovered, is faster than a teenage girl with a backpack that makes her shoulders hunch inward like a scared animal. And so I walked along its route. Alone.

Look over my shoulder. Count to ten. Look again. The clouds blocked the moon. Finally, as I approached a different stop, I saw the next bus arrive.

A bright yellow square of static blocked the 49. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. When I got off the bus, the lights were changing. For a long moment, red hands glared at me from both sides. My shoulders ache.

A Snack Jennifer Kreizman Watercolor

Suffocation Yola Katri Digital Drawing

Paranoid Abandonment Annie Skaba Pencil, Photoshop, Glitter

Chess Essay

Norman Levy

Sixty-four squares and thirty-two pieces. That's all I really saw the first time I was confronted with a chess board. Today, that same board motivates me to keep striving for what I’m truly capable of. Chess has given me a new philosophy on life—I no longer fear challenging myself and concretely believe that with persistence and effort, I can accomplish anything. Through chess, I learned to expand the parameters of my self-imposed box and realize that even after making a strategic mistake, I can always re-evaluate and succeed.

I was first introduced to the game at my friend’s house. We had just come out of a final exam and planned to study for our next test. After a brief review session, I asked him to teach me to play chess. “The knight moves in an L shape, the bishops move diagonally, and the rooks move in straight lines,” he began. I was immediately hooked and knew that chess would quickly develop into something more than just a hobby for me.

Losing game after game to my friends, I was determined to improve. I started to self-study; I played countless online chess games, watched lessons on YouTube, and even joined my school’s chess team. I reviewed my board after every game, assessing each move and taking notes on how I could do better for the next game. After just a few months, I was arguably one of the strongest players in my school.

This past summer, I joined a local charity tournament which was something that terrified me at first. I had never competed in a tournament before and was uncertain of who I would be playing against, how I would perform, and what the experience would be like. When I arrived at the tournament, I saw chess boards set up outside and went to register. “My name is Norman and my rating is 1800.” Eight games later, I made it to the playoffs as the first seed which made my confidence skyrocket. I continued to play with some of the stronger players but ultimately came up short of the championship in the semifinal round. I left the tournament feeling a mixture of both disappointment and pride, and I was ready to take on the next challenge.

One month later, I registered for my second local tournament. I spent hours preparing and reviewing all of my games from the previous tournament. I went into the competition with confidence and excitement; I made sure to stay focused and that resulted in high-quality games on my part. After playing against some incredible players, I was left with the tournament victory. While the trophy was definitely a nice perk, the biggest reward was knowing that my hard work and determination had paid off and been recognized. Chess has helped me develop a new positive mindset in my life. Monumental challenges no longer scare me as I now have confidence in my personal abilities and know that persistence and determination are the keys to success. When I think about my experience in college, I look forward to pushing myself academically. I feel confident facing the next chapter in my life knowing that even if I make a bad move, I can always get back up and rebound—just like in a game of chess.

In the Places That Surround Me

Rebecca Mehani

In the places that surround me, My memories come aliveBut nightmares often haunt me

Allowing the pain arrive

I think back to that sight And suddenly I’m there once more Standing in the same place, feeling the same delight

Are the days of our lives like the sands of an hourglass?

That familiar smell- that familiar smell

A hint of that scent and I’m back again Back in the same room like it’s a witch’s spell Suddenly I feel the same joy just as it was then

It’s like a sudden flashback with simply a familiar scent

Then I hear a cheerful voiceWhat other memory could be better Then a past voice feeling rejoice?

Chained Rachel Salama Pencil, Photoshop

Exceptional Jew

Yvette Dweck

Embarrassed Jews wonder where my inspiration lies. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of how my Judaism survives. But when I try to explain, They assume I’m spewing lies.

I say, It's the trust in my head, The skirt on my hips, The pride that gives me pep, The smile on my lips.

I’m a Jew Exceptionally. Exceptional Jew, That’s me.

I stroll into shul, Relaxed and at ease, There are other Jews, Who pray or Ask Hashem, saying please. They look at peace, Little sheep, looking appeased.

I say,

It's the length of my dress, The confidence in me, The click of my boots, The Torah I studied.

I’m a Jew Exceptionally. Exceptional Jew, That’s me.

Onlookers wonder The source to my faith. As hard as they try They can't seem to pry, My inner confidence. When I try to explain, The source in which my confidence came. I say, It's the honor in my community, The faith in my God, The belief in my brain, The gratification in my heart. I’m a Jew Exceptionally. Exceptional Jew, That’s me.

Now you know, Exactly why I never put up a wall. I don’t hide or crouch, And I surely never feel small. When you see me walk by, You understand why I stand tall. I say,

Its the history of my past, The satisfaction of my achievements, The love of my God, The need to be me. ’cause I’m a Jew Exceptionally. Exceptional Jew, That’s me.

Standoff Joseph Esquenazi Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

A Fairytale Yola Katri Digital Drawing

Into the Light

Emma Kamagi

Rise and fall

Shiny stars

And feared tears

The sun may rise

But it will always set Loss of light brings lurking beasts

Rise and fall

Shiny stars

Why let the sun set?

When light exists

No light causes darkness

And fear of the undisclosed

But is it all black and white after all?

Too Late Danielle Kraeim Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

Crosswords

Maurice Silvera

I can plow through a Monday crossword, scribbling down answers faster than I can finish reading the clues. Trying to catch the ideas flying through my head is almost impossible. They’re coming at me from every direction of thought, all at once, and it’s exhilarating. Nine across, six letters long: Someone you never want to see eye to eye with. My mind sorts through answers across time and place: I start in the Old Babylonian Empire—perhaps Hammurabi and his eponymous code. My thoughts travel northwest to Nazi Germany—who wants to be aligned with Adolf? But neither answer is six letters long. A few mental machinations later, and the light comes on; it’s a play on words. I land correctly on the shores of Ancient Greece: the answer is Medusa (thanks Rick Riordan).

This is creativity with abandon—pulling ideas from every discipline and molding them into answers fit for complex clues designed to perplex.

I search for solutions everywhere, even in the shapes made up by the black squares. It’s a Tuesday puzzle, and I’m sure what I’m seeing is a football goal post portrayed in the center of the crossword. I’m halfway through when I tackle 22 down: Hebrew Bible text with the story depicted in this puzzle. Switching lenses from the Seattle Seahawks to the Biblical Prophet Samuel, I realize that the image I had originally thought was a goal post was actually a sling, and the theme of the puzzle was the quintessential underdog story: David and Goliath.

In my scavenger hunt for ideas, there are no boundaries between disciplines, no ideas off limits. The writer within me recognizes that every piece of punctuation, an italicized expression or a parenthetical word, may hint at new directions to explore. And with my propensity for reconfiguring shapes, I can scramble around clues in infinite configurations until I find the perfect fit.

At times when clues prove too cryptic to decode, I look up the solutions, because each answer is a drop in the pool of ideas from which I might draw for tomorrow's puzzle. And when encountering a feature in a crossword for the first time,

I enthusiastically turn to expert editors like Will Shortz and skillful solvers like @ coffeandcrosswords, who know all the tricks of the trade. Discovering rebuses, a crossword device, changed the game for me, unlocking countless combinations of letters and numbers in single squares.

Each crossword square is an encyclopedia of knowledge for those willing and able to go on the quest. What I once guessed might be irk (the clue was anger) turned out to be ire, a simple three-letter word completely foreign to me before a quick Google search. Irk was actually a red herring, designed to derail my quest to unmask the real three-letter culprit. But irk was no match for my dexterous typing and couldn’t stop me from getting my best time yet: 10:21!

As a senior in high school, I sometimes feel as if I’m living in an enigmatic puzzle as I try to decide which path to go down at the crossroads of my life. This is why I’m grateful for the one constant in my tumultuous schedule: the release time of the New York Times Crossword app—10pm on weekdays and 6pm on weekends. Whether I’m counting down the minutes to 10pm after a grueling night of studying for AP Calculus, or I’m happy to have a reason to look forward to Mondays—something I’d never thought possible—the crosswords are my stability in a world of teen chaos. I’m drawn to the unpredictability that challenges me to call on every ally I’ve gathered in my pursuit of new ideas. No matter how many times I unravel a puzzle, somewhere out there is a crossword constructor crafting my very next one, and I eagerly pick up the gauntlet and welcome the challenge.

Mixed Feelings

Susan Mandil

I hate you so much Like math, you make me confused But then I love you

Collage Samantha Ryba Watercolor