Dedication Editors` Note - Ida Crown Jewish Academy

Transcription

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Dedication
This book is dedicated to the memory of Mrs. Charlotte Rosenwald z”l who inspired her students to
think, learn, create, and write. She pushed the limits and encouraged her students to do the same,
challenging them to understand themselves and appreciate their own capabilities. The editors of
Charlotte’s Web felt the students who love to read, write, and create should have an outlet to display
their ideas and options.
We hope Mrs. Rosenwald would have been proud.
Editors’ Note:
There will come a time when no one is alive who has seen us live. Many of us will be forgotten,
our names mentioned only in the course of some obscure family tree project. But some of us will
achieve greatness, immortality. Maybe one of us will become president or the prime minister of Israel. I hope some of us will become famous writers whose names will be remembered for centuries
beyond our deaths. To realize this hope, each of us strives for excellence, for permanence; we do
everything we can to have an impact on the world around us, and we ensure that our actions are
memorable, whether they are remembered or not. This year’s Charlotte’s Web focuses on one specific group of individuals who define permanence: painters. Their work has transcended time, survived censure, endured endlessly, and has become the famous artwork that hangs in museums to this
day. Their God-given talent permeates each brushstroke on their canvases; it brightens a room with
its majesty. The sheer beauty of these people’s works has granted them immortality, and it is the
goal of any artist in any medium--painting, sculpting, writing--to achieve this immortality. As artists, we--the Charlotte’s Web contributors--strive to create our own beauty, to set our own lives onto
paper through words or a paintbrush or a photograph--to transcend time--and with God’s help, attain
immortality.
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The Staff of2Charlotte’s Web
Editors-in-Chief
Zach Millunchick
Rebecca Turok
The Staff of Charlotte’s Web
Editors-in-Chief
Zach Millunchick
Chief Prose Editors: Rachel Harris,
Rebecca Turok
Chief Poetry Editors: Shani Abramowitz,
Abramowitz
Meytal Chernoff,
Miriam Mosbacher,
Sarah Eisenstein, Chief Poetry Editors: Shani
Benji
Richter
Abramowitz
Chief Prose Edito
Meytal Chernoff,
Sarah
Eisenstein,
Poetry Staff: Ben Auerbach,
Prose Staff:
Hannah
Dimbert,
Chanan Bell, Eliana
Aliza Grant, Aliza
Poetry Staff: BenJaffe,
Auerbach,
Prose Sta
Block, Hannah DimJenna Katz,
Chanan
ElianaMibert, Eliana Kahan,
Sara Bell,
Lis, Gabe
Block,
Hannah
Ronit Miller, Maor
Sarah
Nagar,
chael,
SarahDimNagar,
bert,Chani
ElianaStaimin
Kahan,
Rudick, Abigail
Ronit Miller, Maor
Turok
Turok,
Rudick, Abigail
Turok,
Chief Art Editor: Eliana Borochov
Layout and Design: Efrat Chez
Art Staff: Moshe Brimm, ShaynaChief Art Editor: Eliana Borochov
Jacoby
Managing Editor: Miriam Mosbacher
Art Staff: Moshe Brimm, Shayna
Jacoby
Advisor:
Mrs. Marsha Arons
2
Layout and Desig
Managing Editor:
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Acknowledgement
We gratefully acknowledge the generous contribution of
The Susan and Joseph Ament Endowment Fund
This foundation has enabled the students of Ida Crown Jewish Academy to showcase their
best literary efforts in a public forum. Thank you to the Aments for enabling young writers
to shine.
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Table of Contents
Identity
Identity
Lis
Lis Sara
Sara Lis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Lis ........................................................ 9
One
One Room’s
Room’sStory
StoryDaniel
DanielJacoby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Jacoby..................... 10
II Am
Talia
Molotsky. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Am Talia Molotsky ........................................ 11
Why
11
Why II Write
WriteSarah
SarahEisenstein. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eisenstein........................... 12
How
to
Be
the
Blackhawk’s
Fan
Your
Dad
Wants
You
How to Be the Blackhawk’s Fan Your Dad Wants You
to
to Be
Be Sarah
SarahShandalov
Shandalov. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
................................... 13
Me
Myself
and
Me Myself andI IAdina
AdinaSchreiber. . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Schreiber .................... 14
Birthday
BirthdayWishes
WishesArianne
AriannePinchot. . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Pinchot .................... 15
Where
Where I’m
I’mFrom
FromShayna
ShaynaJacoby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Jacoby...................... 15
Who
Who Am
AmI?
I?Ilana
IlanaKatzin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Katzin ................................... 16
This
15
This is
is Who
WhoIIam
amGabe
GabeMichael. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Michael ...........................
Family
Family
A New
New Beginning
BeginningTali
TaliZuckerman
Zuckerman
................... 18
A
. . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Loneliness
Eisenstein. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
............................. 19
Lean
On MeSarah
Tali Zuckerman
Lean On Me Tali
Zuckerman
........................... 19
Grandmother
Abigail
Turok. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Grandmother
Abigail
Turok
............................ 20
Gramma’s
Hotdogs
Mimi
Elkaim. . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Gramma’s
Hotdogs
Mimi Elkaim.................... 21
A
Cup Full Devi
Braun. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Hard
Work
Pays
Off
DeviBraun.
Braun. ......................
22
Hard Work Pays Off Devi
. . . . . . . . . . .22
How
to
Be
the
Older
Twin
Sarah
Nagar...........
22
How to Be the Older Twin Sarah Nagar. . . . . . . . 22
How
to
Be
a
Good
Daughter
Sabina
Hanani
...
24
How to Be a Good Daughter Sabina Hanani . . . . 24
The Ultimate Gift Ronit Miller......................... 25
The Ultimate Gift Ronit Miller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Teach Me, Bro Benjamin Richter. . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Awareness
Points of Matter Mimi Elkaim ......................... 28
Awareness
SMILE-It’s the Heart’s Medicine Merav Stein 28
Points
Matter
Mimi Elkaim. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
AdviceofSarah
Eisenstein
................................... 30
SMILE-It’s
the
Heart’s
Medicine
Merav Stein. . . 28
The Sea of Being Chanan
Bell..........................
31
Advice
Sarah
Eisenstein
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
I am a Giant A.J. Miller................................... 32
Untitled
Hannah
Dimbert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Time Meytal
Chernoff......................................
32
The
Sea
of
Being
Chanan
Bell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
The World of an Artist Sarah
Eisenstein .......... 33
IMeaningless
am a Giant A.J.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
BenMiller
Auerbach
............................. 33
Time
Meytal
Chernoff. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Pavement Meytal Chernoff .............................. 34
The World of an Artist Sarah Eisenstein. . . . . . . . 33
Meaningless Ben Auerbach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Pavement Meytal Chernoff. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Pilgrimage Hannah Dimbert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Struggles
The Meaning of Stress Karen Layani. . . . . . . . . . 36
Struggles
Regret
Mimi Elkaim. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
The Meaning
of Stress Karen Layani................36
Here
Is
Picture
of Me.........................................36
Ezra Kapetansky. . . . . . . 37
Regret aMimi
Elkaim
Mandatory
Sestina
Hanah
Brasch. . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Here Is a Picture of Me Ezra
Kapetansky ........37
Life
in
the
World
of
the
Sane
Zach Millunchick. . 39
Mandatory Sestina Hanah Brasch
....................38
The
Yacov
Greenspan
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
LifeWar
in the
World
of the Sane
Zach Millunchick39
How
Succeed
Wrestling Sammy Magid. . . . 40
The to
War
YacovatGreenspan
Disappointment
Jenna
Katz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
How to Succeed at Wrestling
Sammy Magid ...39
Here
is
a
Picture
of
Me
Rosenfield. . . . 42
Disappointment JennaCourtney
Katz ..................................
An
Honest
Abigail
Turok . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Here
is a Thought
Picture of
Me Courtney
Rosenfield...40
An Honest Thought Abigail Turok ...................40
Artwork
Creativity
and Optimism
Marni
Rosen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43,
45, 49
The Meaning
of Optimism Rachel Harris .........50
Rivka
Polisky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43,
47
HowMiller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43,
to Sing in the Shower Jaclyn Stelzer ........50
Alex
51
Cutting
Steak. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
With a Plastic Knife Rachel
Bayla
Neren
Harris..............................................................51
Orli
Friedman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44, 50
The Meaning
of Friendship Merav Stein..........52
Rachel
Harris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Guilty
Sestina
Hanah Brasch ............................53
Jessica Weil. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Journey
Jessica
Weil ............................................
Jacob Weigner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45,
46
Hannah Emalfarb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
RealityPressner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Yardena
Human Sands Chanan Bell ...............................55
Tal Tovy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Porte des Morte Meytal Chernoff ....................55
Aliza Grant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
David’s Lament Zach Millunchick ...................57
Aliza Jaffe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
A Short Lived Joy Sara Lis ...............................58
Aliza
Katz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
The Sad
Truth Matthew Silberman ..................58
Jenna
Katz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
The Meaning
of Hope Aliza Jaffe.....................64
Sammy
What isShifler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
the Meaning of Procrastination? Jason
Fallon
Levin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Silberman........................................................64
Ronit
Miller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
The Empty Dock Aliza Grant............................65
Sara Kaha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Bayla
Neren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Accomplishments
Aliza
Katzin
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Finding It: Truth
Benji Richter ........................66
Chaia
Wiznitzer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Inspiration
Rebecca Turok ...............................68
Yonina
SunsetSakols. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Hannah Dimbert ....................................68
Ode to
the Pencil in My Hand Ben Auerbach ..72
Hana
Lupovitch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Arriella Matanky. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Elana Brocha. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Shayna Jacoby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
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Table of Contents
ʣ“ʱʡ
Accomplishments
Inspiration Rebecca Turok . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Sunset Hannah Dimbert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Ode to the Pencil in My Hand Ben Auerbach . . . . . . . . 80
Confidence Miriam Mosbacher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
The Next Step Sabina Hanani . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
The Meaning of Triumph Jessica Weil . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Photography
Merav
Faith Stein. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Ronit
Miller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
The Blue
Siddur Joshua Cooper ....................... 75
Jackie
Stelzer
Moonlight
on. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
the Ocean-Seen From a Rooftop in
Nathaniel
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
BrooklynBorochov
Zach Millunchick
........................... 77
Eliana
Borochov. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53,
54
Discover
Your Talents Eliana Block....................
Divine Harris
Crescendo
Zach Millunchick ............... 79
Rachel
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
EverSakols
Since . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53,
I Died Moshe Brimm ..................... 54
79
Yair
The Gordon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Meaning of Faith Yair Sakols ................... 80
Rita
The Light at a End of the Tunnel Maor Rudick 81
In Praise of
Clouds
Benji Richter .................... 82
Creativity
and
Optimism
An Empty
Room
Eliana Kahan
83
The
Meaning
of Optimism
Rachel.........................
Harris. . . . . . . 56
The Magical
Rebecca
Turok
.................
83
How
to Sing inWater
the Shower
Jaclyn
Stelzer
. . . . . . 56
The Painter
..............................
82
Cutting
SteakLeah
With Edelman
a Plastic Knife
Rachel
Harris. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
The Meaning of Friendship Merav Stein . . . . . . . 58
Guilty Sestina Hanah Brasch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Poetry Hannah Dimbert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Song Hannah Dimbert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Breathe Hannah Dimbert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Faith
The Blue Siddur Joshua Cooper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Moonlight on the Ocean-Seen From a Rooftop in
Brooklyn Zach Millunchick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Discover Your Talents Eliana Block . . . . . . . . . . 87
Divine Crescendo Zach Millunchick . . . . . . . . . . 88
Ever Since I Died Moshe Brimm . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
The Meaning of Faith Yair Sakols . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
The Light at a End of the Tunnel Maor Rudick . . 90
In Praise of Clouds Benji Richter . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
An Empty Room Eliana Kahan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
The Magical Water Rebecca Turok . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
The Painter Leah Edelman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Reality
Human Sands Chanan Bell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Porte des Morte Meytal Chernoff. . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
David’s Lament Zach Millunchick. . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Journey Jessica Weil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
A Short Lived Joy Sara Lis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
The Sad Truth Matthew Silberman . . . . . . . . . . . 65
The Meaning of Hope Aliza Jaffe. . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
What is the Meaning of Procrastination? Jason
Silberman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
The Empty Dock Aliza Grant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Finding It: Truth Benji Richter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
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Identity
Leonardo DaVinci
Mona Lisa
7
7
ʣ“ʱʡ
Lis
Sara Lis
Pack a lunch for school and put it in the fridge; start studying for your test on Tuesday even
though the test isn’t until Friday; think of an activity to play for this Sunday’s family night; get to
bed before midnight and that doesn’t mean twelve thirty; never walk outside without sunscreen even
if its forty degrees and there is no sun; if you get pomegranate on your shirt, immediately rinse it
under cold water, or else you’ll never get the stain out; you’ll ruin your bureau if you put stickers on
it; wait for the water to boil before you put the noodles in the pot; sing Shema to your sister before
you put her to bed; on Shabbos wear fancier clothes than the rest of the week so that you can greet
the Shabbos queen; tuck your older brother into bed every night or else he won’t be able to fall
asleep; only become friends with people who are sweet and thoughtful; ignore bullies or people who
are rude; But what if I still want to be tucked in myself instead of tucking somebody else in; have
confidence and always keep a smile on your face- a genuine smile; this is how you pack a suitcase;
this is how you pack a cooler so that you will have food on your road trip; this is how you pack up
the car and get all fifteen suitcases to fit; this is how you make sure that the cooler is accessible during the road trip, or else everybody will be hungry for the twenty-hour drive; this is how you sing
Friday night Shabbos songs; this is how you dance to Friday night Shabbos songs; this is how you
swim; this is how you play Marco-polo in the pool; this is how you plant flowers every spring; when
you are planting a fruit tree, make sure you plant it far away from other trees so that the fruit tree
will have enough nutrients; if you don’t, the fruit tree will die; this is how you read Hebrew; this is
how you understand what the words mean; this is how you talk to G-d; this is how you raise your
head high; this is how you say no; this is how you stand up for yourself; this is how you pick the
prettiest, most sweet-smelling lily-of-the-valley flower from your backyard and give it to your father
for his birthday; this is how you get ready for school every morning- throw on the first outfit you see
in your closet and don’t care about what others think of you; this is how you get ready for school
when it’s Rosh Chodesh- instead of wearing the first outfit you see, you may choose the second,
prettier outfit; this is how you get ready for school when you wake up and you only have ten minutes until school starts; this is how you shop for everyday clothes; this is how you shop for school
uniforms; this is how you shop for camp clothes; this is how you shop in your sister’s closet; be sure
to always be kind, even if you are just smiling at a stranger on the street; don’t tape pictures onto
your bedroom wall or else you’ll ruin the paint, but if your walls are still the same pale pink that was
painted when you were three, the tape probably won’t cause any additional harm; don’t keep every
single light in the house on- we are not trying to keep the electric company in business; don’t leave
your school bag in the foyer for everybody to trip over; this is how you make a snow angel; this is
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ʣ“ʱʡ
how you build a snow-chair; this is how you find eyes to put on your snowman; this is how you
build a snow fort and crawl through it; this is how you make bigfoot footprints in the snow; this is
how you lie on your back in foot-deep snow and silently watch millions of specks of white dust fall
from the sky into your face; this is how to clean up the table after Shabbos lunch; this is how to sing
Na’ar Hayisi while you clean up; this is how to climb into your parents’ bed once you finish cleaning up; this is how to ride a horse; this is how to ride a horse in the mountains; this is how to ride a
horse in the mountains and keep the horse from going off the trail and from bucking the horse in
front of you; this is how you ace a test; this is how you fail a test; this is how you buy yourself a
slurpee when you fail a test; this is how you practice tae kwon do at home; this is how you watch
your brother practice tae kwon do; this is how you kick your brother to let him know you are still the
boss- even if he may be stronger than you; always daven before you start your day; but what if I
don’t have time to daven?; you mean to say that after everything, you don’t have time to remember
who you are?
One Room’s Story
Daniel Jacoby
An open door lights a path; a room tells a story. The walls of green and orange reflect Ben’s happiness, optimism, and positive outlook on the world. An upside down mezuzah hangs from one of
the walls. It offers Ben protection and solace as G-d and his words are drawn into the room. And yet
it is upside down. Surely, a G-d fearing man would show no disrespect for his Creator. Rather,
blame the mezuzah’s faulty position on Ben’s sloppiness.
A dresser that is falling apart blocks the front of Ben’s bed. Maybe, it’s there to protect his head,
a guardian for his thoughts and dreams. Whatever the reason may be, a dresser should not be in front
of a bed. On top of the dresser are hats, little plastic cups with stays and pins, cufflinks, and deodorant. Ben uses all these things to beautify himself. The world is a beautiful place. Man is part of the
world and he too should look beautiful. These items sit on top of his dresser because he never puts
them away; he must always look beautiful. A broken iPod sits on his dresser. He has never got ten
around to throwing it out.
School books and papers are strewn across Ben’s slanted shelves. Ben works hard in school. He
is a student of the world and seeks knowledge. However, books on his shelves lie unopened, their
stories never told. There are also Super Bowl programs on the shelves, past memories still worth
holding on to. The homemade omer counter, Jewish timelines, and Judaic books on Ben’s shelves
are there for Ben to reference his past and tell him how to act and who he should become.
9
9
ʣ“ʱʡ
9 A box of blank stationery sits in Ben’s room. Maybe no letters came today. Maybe no letters ʣ“ʱʡ
box ofBut
blank
in Ben’s
no He
letters
came
today.
Maybe
letters
everAcome.
Benstationery
waits. Hesits
waits
for theroom.
lettersMaybe
to come.
waits
for his
calling.
Hisno
hope
never
ever come.
Beniswaits.
He waits
for beauty
the letters
to come. is
Hethere.
waitsHe
forknows
his calling.
His hope
never
fades
for theBut
world
beautiful,
and the
of language
it’s there,
and he
fades for
the world
is beautiful, and
the beauty of language is there. He knows it’s there, and he
waits.
Patiently.
Optimistically.
Quietly.
waits.
Patiently.
Optimistically.
Quietly.
There
are music
books in Ben’s
filing cabinet. Ben loves to play music. It’s an expression of his
are music
bookshis
in Ben’s
cabinet. Music
Ben loves
to playthe
music.
It’sand
an as
expression
heartThere
and soul.
It displays
moodsfiling
and feelings.
beautifies
world,
a citizen of
of his
the
heart and
It displays
his moods
and feelings.
Musicbeautiful
beautifies
the world, and as a citizen of the
world,
it issoul.
Ben’s
duty to make
the world
a better, more
place.
world,
it isbed
Ben’s
duty
to make
the world
better,
more and
beautiful
place. basket is empty. In his
Ben’s
is not
made.
His clothes
areaon
the floor,
his laundry
Ben’s
bedofisold
notclothes
made. His
clothes arePerhaps,
on the floor,
and things
his laundry
basket
empty.
In his
closet,
a bag
sit untouched.
he likes
the way
theyisare
because
he is
closet, a bag
ofgoes
old clothes
untouched.
Perhaps,
likes
things
waycloset.
they are
because
he isbeeasygoing
and
with thesitflow
of everyday
life. he
Tzizit
also
sit inthe
Ben’s
They
are there
easygoing
flowG-d’s
of everyday
life. Tzizithappily,
also sit in
closet. They
because
Ben and
lovesgoes
G-d.with
He the
follows
commandments
andBen’s
he therefore
wearsare
histhere
Tzizit.
cause
Benisloves
G-d.trap
He door
follows
G-d’s commandments
he therefore wears his Tzizit.
There
a secret
on Ben’s
floor. But that ishappily,
another and
story.
There is a secret trap door on Ben’s floor. But that is another story.
I Am
I Am Molotsky
Talia
Talia Molotsky
I am talented and admirable
talented
admirable
I am
wonder
whatand
happened
to me
wonder
happened
to me
I hear
Thewhat
Spark
of Creation
hearserenity
The Spark
Creation
I see
andof
tranquility
and
I see
wantserenity
to return
totranquility
my Garden of Eden
wanttalented
to return
my Garden of Eden
I am
andtoadmirable
I pretend that nothing upsets me
pretend
nothing
upsets
meand everything
I feel
thatthat
the stage
is my
home
Ielse
feelisthat
the
stage
is
my
home
and everything
my stage
is my
Ielse
touch
thestage
lives of others
lives
of others
I touch
worry the
about
being
abandoned
worry
about
I cry
when
I’mbeing
aloneabandoned
cry talented
when I’m
alone
I am
and
admirable
I understand that I am worth it
understand
thatme
I am
it just sit and putI say
“Don’t tell
notworth
to live,
I say “Don’t tell me not to live, to
just
justsitsitand
and putputter instead”
ter”
Iter”
dream that I am not always tired
dream
thatlose
I am
not always
I try
to not
myself
in thistired
mess of a world
try to that
not lose
in this mess
I hope
I willmyself
have enough
time of a world
hopetalented
that I will
enough time
I am
andhave
admirable
10
01
ʣ“ʱʡ
Why I Write
Sarah Eisenstein
never can lose them.
I strive to understand
and to be understood.
Feelings
become words
become feelings.
I pour myself onto paper,
but I am more myself after than before.
I examine my feelings,
describe them,
and then let others see the descriptions.
I gain
a chance to be part of everyone else,
and I give
everyone else a chance to be part of me.
This makes me
more me
in a way I don't truly understand.
When I do what I love most,
I connect with something that is larger than only
me.
I open myself up to words,
feelings,
colors,
movements
that are beyond me
and yet that come from within me,
and then I give them away,
so that everyone else can connect to them, too.
I put the most secret parts of myself
out where anyone can see them,
yet they feel more protected,
more mine,
because now I always can come back to them,
always can return to them,
11
11
ʣ“ʱʡ
How to be the Blackhawks Fan Your Dad Wants You to be
Sarah Shandalov
When you hear the final buzzer that tells you that your very first Blackhawks game at the United
Center has come to an end, quickly wake up, and pretend you have not day-dreamed through the
entire game due to lack of interest. Tell your dad they played a great game, even though they lost.
Listen to your dad talk for the rest of the night, reliving his favorite plays, shots, and goals made by
his favorite players. Realize that although they have lost, the final score is not what is important to
him.
Wear the white jersey that your dad gave you for your birthday. Pretend that the name and the
number on the back is one of importance to you. Read the articles written about the Blackhawks in
the newspaper in order to sound smart and interested when he “talks hockey” with his friends. Convince yourself you care if they win or lose. Understand the passion he feels about you being raised
with the same love of the sport as he was. Understand that God gave him three daughters and no
sons. Be the son he never had.
Stay up late watching the games with him, even though your mom told you to be in bed hours
before. Stare at the television screen in confusion. Scream when he screams. Jump when he jumps.
High five each other when he puts his hand high in the air. Hope they win, because if they do not,
you know he will be disappointed. Memorize the teammate’s names and numbers. Impress him with
your knowledge of the sport and team that you have simply memorized off of the internet. Ask him
questions about hockey while you are watching the games with him. Watch his face light up with the
that you are taking interest in his obsession.
Remember your very first game at the United Center while you are driving to your tenth. Compare the knowledge and love of the game you have now to what you had at that first game. Find
your seats. Scream together. Jump together. Put your hand up high in the air and wait for him to high
five you. Hope they win because you know if they do not, you will be disappointed. Hear the final
buzzer. Tell yourself they have played a great game even though they have lost. Talk to your dad all
night. Relive your own favorite shots, plays, and goals. Wear your white jersey with pride.
Wake up the next morning, race to read the sports section, and realize you have become what
you have been pretending to be all along…the son he never had...a Blackhawks fan…his Blackhawks fan.
12
21
ʣ“ʱʡ
Me, Myself, and I
Adina Schreiber
I am a quiet, studious individual
I wonder why good things happen to bad people
I hear the scratch of pencils as I quietly become
intrigued and work
I see calming waves on the beach as I allow myself to relax
I want to be happy about who I am and not who
people want me to be
I say that some people must learn higher morals
than the ones they have
I dream of world peace and happiness
I try to be a hardworking student and reap rewards
I hope to move to Israel where my heart lies
I pretend I can dance skillfully and gracefully
I feel the pain of others when they are hurting
I touch the hearts of the less fortunate when I
volunteer
I worry about being alone in the world
I cry when loved ones are in danger and I am
frightened
I understand the need of a challenge for the mind
13
31
31 31
Birthday
Birthday
Birthday
Wishes
Wishes
Wishes
Arianne
Arianne
Arianne
Pinchot
Pinchot
Pinchot
ʣʣ““ʱʡ
ʱʡ ʣ“ʱʡ
Where
Where
Where
I’m
I’m From
From
I’m From
Shayna
Shayna
Shayna
Jacoby
Jacoby
Jacoby
Preparing
Preparing
Preparing
myself,
myself,
myself,
eyes
eyes focused
eyes
focused
focused
on
on my
my
oncandles,
candles,
my candles,
II am
am from
Ifrom
am from
markers,
markers,
markers,
cheeks
cheeks
cheeks
filled
filledfilled
with
with air
with
air air
from
fromfrom
Crayola
Crayola
Crayola
and
and Roseart.
Roseart.
and Roseart.
on
on aa cracked
cracked
on a cracked
patio
patiopatio
in
in aa small
small
in a small
backyard,
backyard,
backyard,
II am
am from
Ifrom
am from
the
the kitchen.
kitchen.
the kitchen.
in
in the
theinbackground
background
the background
the
the dirty
dirty
the dirty
bricks
bricksbricks
of
of my
myofold
old
my oldA
A large
large
A large
open
openopen
space;
space;
space;
filled
filledfilled
with
with light.
with
light.light.
house
househouse
II am
am from
Ifrom
am from
the
the grapevine,
grapevine,
the grapevine,
I’ve
I’ve lived
lived
I’ve lived
in
in for
forinso
sofor
many
many
so many
years.
years.years.
and
and the
the
andpeonies
peonies
the peonies
II am
am aIa am
chubby
chubby
a chubby
five
five years
years
five years
old
old without
without
old without
aa care
carea in
in
carewhose
whose
in whose
petals
petalspetals
are
are filled
filled
are filled
with
with ants.
with
ants. ants.
the
the world,
world,
the world,
I’m
I’m from
from
I’m from
height
height
height
and
and readers,
readers,
and readers,
unaware
unaware
unaware
of
of my
myofsmall
small
my small
size
size compared
compared
size compared
to
to my
myto my from
fromfrom
Shayndle
Shayndle
Shayndle
and
and William.
William.
and William.
friends.
friends.
friends.
II am
am I am
I’m
I’m from
from
I’m from
the
the intense
intense
the intense
Scrabble
Scrabble
Scrabble
players,
players,
players,
catching
catching
catching
my
my breath
breath
my breath
in
in my
myin my
and
and friendly
friendly
and friendly
(or
(or sometimes
sometimes
(or sometimes
not)
not) competition,
competition,
not) competition,
loose
looseloose
purple
purple
purple
frog
frog outfit,
outfit,
frog outfit,
and
and silver
silver
and silver
tiara
tiara tiara
from
fromfrom
“Always
“Always
“Always
stay
stay close
close
stay close
to
to your
your
to siblings”
your
siblings”
siblings”
and
and “Be
“Be
and “Be
fastened
fastened
fastened
right
right right
below
belowbelow
my
my purple
purple
my purple
scrunchy
scrunchy
scrunchy
that
that that
aa lady,”
lady,”
a lady,”
is
is holding
holding
is holding
back
back back
my
my frizzy
frizzy
my frizzy
hair.
hair. hair.
I’m
I’m from
from
I’m from
believers
believers
believers
in
in G-d
G-d
in G-d
What
WhatWhat
was
was IIwas
wishing
wishing
I wishing
for
for while
while
for while
blowing
blowing
blowing
out
out my
my
out my
and
and homemade
homemade
and homemade
challah
challah
challah
for
for Shabbat.
Shabbat.
for Shabbat.
five
five colorful
colorful
five colorful
candles?
candles?
candles?
I’m
I’m from
from
I’m from
Holocaust
Holocaust
Holocaust
survivors
survivors
survivors
and
and survivors
survivors
and survivors
of
of loss,
loss,
of loss,
My
My mother
mother
My mother
is
is in
in the
the
is inframe,
frame,
the frame,
happy
happyhappy
because
because
because
II
I From
FromFrom
black
blackblack
Starbuck’s
Starbuck’s
Starbuck’s
coffee
coffee
coffee
and
and too
too
andmuch
much
too much
cream.
cream.
cream.
am,
am, and
and
am,my
my
and my
From
FromFrom
the
the street
street
the street
peddler
peddler
peddler
who
who sold
who
sold an
an
sold
umbrella
umbrella
an umbrella
to
to the
theto the
Dad
Dad is
is
Dad
outside
outside
is outside
the
the frame
frame
the frame
capturing
capturing
capturing
this
this momothis mo- President,
President,
President,
ment,
ment,ment,
so
so we
wesocan
can
welook
look
can look
the
the great-grandmother
great-grandmother
the great-grandmother
whose
whose
whose
vanity
vanity
vanity
increases
increases
increases
with
with with
back
back back
and
and remember
remember
and remember
itit later.
later.
it later.
age.
age. age.
My
My mother
mother
My mother
will
will soon
soon
will soon
cheer
cheercheer
for
for me
me
foras
asme
the
theas the Oil
Oil paintings
paintings
Oil paintings
by
by my
my
bygreat-grandfather,
great-grandfather,
my great-grandfather,
flames
flames
flames
go
go out
out
go out
hanging
hanging
hanging
on
on the
the
onwalls
walls
the walls
of
of all
allof
his
hisallgrandchildren’s
grandchildren’s
his grandchildren’s
and
and my
my
andsmile
smile
my smile
begins
begins
begins
to
to spread
spread
to spread
over
over my
over
my entire
entire
my entire
homes.
homes.
homes.
face.
face. face.
Old
Old wedding
wedding
Old wedding
pictures
pictures
pictures
in
in black
black
in black
and
and white,
white,
and white,
My
My father
father
My father
will
will wonder
wonder
will wonder
when
whenwhen
II grew
grew
I grew
up,
up, and
and
up, andOf
Of those
those
Of those
II hear
hearI about
hear
aboutabout
but
but never
never
but never
got
got to
togot
meet,
meet,
to meet,
when
whenwhen
the
the time
time
the passed
time
passed
passed
by.
by. by.
II am
am their
Itheir
am legacy.
their
legacy.
legacy.
14
41
Who Am I?
Ilana Katzin
A small dot
In a large painting,
Fighting to be seen.
Wondering if I make a difference,
Who Am I?
When the viewer steps back
Do they see me?
Am I insignificant,
Or do I complete the picture.
Who Am I?
How do I know,
When do I find my place.
Who Am I?
Then I step back,
And see the bigger picture.
I Know Who I Am,
I am part of the bigger picture.
ʣ“ʱʡ
This is Who I Am
Gabe Michael
I Am
I am talented
talented and
andresponsible
responsible
II wonder
wonder what
my
what mypurpose
purposeisisininlife
life
I hear the ocean at my window
I hear the ocean at my window
I see the white clouds passing by above me
II see
clouds
passing
byinabove
wantthe
to white
achieve
my many
goals
order me
to feel
Iaccomplished
want to achieve my many goals in order to feel accomplished
I am talented
talented and
andresponsible
responsible
pretend to
I pretend
to be
beaafather
fatherwhen
whenleft
leftwith
withmy
mysiblings
siblings
II feel
feel aa part
of
myself
missing
since
I
left
Israel
part of myself missing since I left Israel
touch one piece of sand out of the billions
II touch
one piece of sand out of the billions
I worry how I will act as a father
II worry
how
I will act
as atofather
cry when
summer
comes
an end
II cry
when summer
comes to an end
am talented
and responsible.
I am talented and responsible.
I understand that no one can be perfect.
say they should
II understand
that atnoleast
one try
can be perfect.
II say
dream
of
the
state
of
Israel
they should at least
tryfilled with only Jews
I try to infuse happiness wherever I can.
I dream of the state of Israel filled with only Jews
I hope that my time won’t be wasted.
II try
infuseand
happiness
wherever I can.
am to
talented
responsible.
I hope that my time won’t be wasted.
I am talented and responsible.
15
51
ʣ“ʱʡ
FAMILY
Mary
Cassatt
The Bath
16
61
ʣ“ʱʡ
A New Beginning
Tali Zuckerman
One beautiful summer night in early July, a group of 13 girls from one cabin, four counselors,
and one boy sat in a circle around a camp fire. These eighteen people were eighteen of the most important people in my life. This particular night in the summer of 2008 was the one night that my
cabin could come together without any interruptions. This was our camp out. Each year every cabin
goes camping for one night and in one night, each cabin really becomes a family. This particular
camp out was special though. My oldest brother Lev was on camping staff that year and it just so
happened that he was staffing this event for my cabin.
I was really excited because, although Lev was at camp, I rarely ever saw him because he
was always on camping trips with other cabins. But this night, he was with me. We could have
some sibling bonding time before he would leave for Israel a week later.
It was getting dark outside and our cabin sat down to have our classic bonding experience
by the fire. Our counselors had come up with a question and each person in the circle had to answer
it truthfully. “What is your greatest fear?” asked the counselors. I was thinking as everyone said
their answers. The majority of the answers were either about time or death or not being able to live
life to its fullest.
I was sitting on my brother’s lap when, finally, it was my turn to answer. “I’m scared of
both of my brothers being away in Israel this year and having to start high school all by myself with
no one to look to for help,” I said. At this point in time I felt my brother’s grasp on me tighten and I
could not keep myself from crying. Never before had I actually cried in front of my brother for any
reason other than pain, but this time I could not help myself. Nobody noticed as I hid my head in my
lap and let the tears fall. Everyone else finished stating their fears.
But then I heard a familiar male voice, “I am scared to leave my sister home to have a new beginning on everything and not be there when she needs help.” In my brother’s arms, I saw that we
both feared the same thing—just from different perspectives. At that moment, I really felt the connection with my oldest brother that any little sister wants to feel. I finally
realized
Lev
cried there
in hishow
lapmuch
but felt
no
cared forNothing
me andbut
no matter
he who
is, hewill
willalways
alwaysbebethere
therefor
forme
me.
shame.
love forhow
the far
bigaway
brother
and have a shoulder for
I cried
there
in his Ilap
butit.felt no shame. Nothing but love for the big brother who will always be
me
to cry
on when
need
there for me and have a shoulder for me to cry on when I need it.
17
But the shouts and movements of others can drive those thoughts away.
And so I go off on my own to the place no one else can see,
Where no one ever can touch or disturb, where I can truly be me.
I must embrace the aloneness when no one else is there,
For it saves me from the loneliness when the world just doesn't care
31
Lean OnWishes
Me
Birthday
Tali Zuckerman
Arianne
Pinchot
ʣ“ʱʡ
Where I’m From
Shayna Jacoby
Sitting
on myeyes
comfortable
brown
couch in the
my grandma laid her head on my
Preparing
myself,
focused on
my candles,
I amliving
fromroom,
markers,
shoulder.
day
going
to beand
truant,
a decision that turned out to be
cheeks
filledThe
with
airbefore, I had decided that I was
from
Crayola
Roseart.
one
of
the
smartest
ones
I
had
ever
made.
on a cracked patio in a small backyard,
I am from the kitchen.
The day the
started
just like
anyold
normalAFriday.
My space;
mom and
dadwith
leftlight.
for work and I was
in the background
dirtyout
bricks
of my
large open
filled
left home alone to sleep and do whatever I wanted.
I finally
decided that it was time for me to
house
I amWhen
from the
grapevine,
wake
up,inI for
called
my mom
to ask what food there
the house. We had our normal conversation
I’ve
lived
so many
years.
andwas
thein
peonies
of my
me what
we in
had and
what
I needed
to dowith
in order
I consisting
am a chubby
fivemom
yearstelling
old without
a care
whose
petals
are filled
ants.to get ready for
Usually,
mom
would
tell me what to do, I would
theShabbat.
world, Only this time it was a little different. I’m
from my
height
and
readers,
resist, and
shesmall
wouldsize
finally
give up
get away and
withWilliam.
not doing anything. This time
unaware
of my
compared
toand
my allow me
fromtoShayndle
though,I am
she overcame my considerable resistingI’m
skills
when
she said,Scrabble
“Grandma’s
care giver just
friends.
from
the intense
players,
called. my
Shebreath
is taking
her to the hospital. I need and
you friendly
to make (or
the sometimes
chicken and
salad
tonight and I’ll be
catching
in my
not)
competition,
home
as soon
possible.”
loose
purple
frogasoutfit,
and silver tiara
from “Always stay close to your siblings” and “Be
Myright
heartbelow
dropped.
me,scrunchy
Grandmathat
was like
my second mom. When she was able to drive, she
fastened
my To
purple
a lady,”
always
been
pick me up or drive me
places
whenever
I needed anything, she was
is had
holding
back
mythere
frizzytohair.
I’m
fromand
believers
in G-d
there.
When
I heardforthat
she blowing
was in the
I knewand
I had
to listen tochallah
my mom.
As soon as I
What
was
I wishing
while
outhospital,
my
homemade
for Shabbat.
hung
up
the
phone,
I
began
to
make
Shabbat
dinner.
I
had
never
cooked
a
meal
before
but somehow
five
colorful
candles?
I’m
from
Holocaust
survivors
and
survivors
of loss,
81
ʣ“ʱʡ
this
meal came
outframe,
delicious.
My
mother
is in the
happy because I
From black Starbuck’s coffee and too much cream.
am, and myBut even though the meal came out great,
From
the streetwas
peddler
who
soldthat
an umbrella
to the
something
wrong
about
Shabbat dinner.
Dad
is outside
the frame
capturing
I always
sit next
to Grandma,
butthis
thismoShabbat, President,
she was sitting alone in the hospital leaving me to sit
ment,
we can look
the great-grandmother whose vanity increases with
alonesotoo.
back and remember
it later.
age.
Grandma was
only supposed to be in the
hospital for one day which meant she would be out
My
mother
will soon
for anxiously
me as the for her to
Oilwalk
paintings
by our
my front
great-grandfather,
that
afternoon.
I wascheer
waiting
through
door and finally she did.
flames
go out
hanging
on theI walls
of her
all his
My aunt
accompanied her, but I only had eyes for
Grandma.
hugged
andgrandchildren’s
then I walked her to
and
smile begins
to spread
myI entire
homes.
themy
comfortable
brown
couchover
where
previously
been perched. I seated her close to me. and I lisface.
Oldhad
wedding
in black
andher
white,
tened to my aunt and mom discuss why Grandma
been inpictures
the hospital.
I felt
head bob up
My
father
wonder
grew
up, and
Of those
I hear about
butfell
never
got to
meet,
and
downwill
until
finallywhen
I feltIthe
weight
of it against
my shoulder
as she
asleep.
All
was well at
when
the time passed by.
I am their legacy.
our house.
Grandma was home after her care giver had mistakenly thought she was having a stroke. My
mom and aunt were talking about what to do for my grandma; and I was the content grandchild who
could not be happier to have her grandmother asleep on her shoulder. In that moment when I felt
Grandma’s head hit my shoulder and for the three hours it stayed there, I understood what was really
important. I hope I can repay her for all of the things she did for me when I was a child, but no matter what, that moment on my couch was my time to take care of her.
Grandmother
Abigail Turok
The aroma of freshly baked cookies
18
That is larger than life
mom and aunt were talking about what to do for my grandma; and I was the content grandchild who
could not be happier to have her grandmother asleep on her shoulder. In that moment when I felt
Grandma’s head hit my shoulder and for the three hours it stayed there, I understood what was really
important. I hope I can repay her for all of the things she did for me when I was a child, but no mat31ter what, that moment on my couch was my time to take care of her.
ʣ“ʱʡ
Birthday
Wishes
Grandmother
Arianne
AbigailPinchot
Turok
Where I’m From
Shayna Jacoby
Preparing
myself,
eyes focused
on my candles,
The aroma
of freshly
baked cookies
cheeks
filled
with
air
The smell of it on her hands
onThe
a cracked
patio
a small backyard,
smile on
her in
face
inThat
the background
reaches the the
sea dirty
of herbricks
eyes of my old
house
The late night talks
I’ve
in judgmental
for so manyresponses
years.
Thelived
never
I The
am aproblems
chubby five
without a care in
thatyears
were old
faced
theHer
world,
unyielding strength
unaware
of my
small
compared to my
The places
that
weresize
crumbling
friends.
I am generosity
Her unfailing
catching
myshe
breath
in my
The heart
wears
on her sleeve
loose purple frog outfit, and silver tiara
fastened right below my purple scrunchy that
is holding back my frizzy hair.
What was I wishing for while blowing out my
five colorful candles?
My mother is in the frame, happy because I
am, and my
Dad is outside the frame capturing this moment, so we can look
back and remember it later.
My mother will soon cheer for me as the
flames go out
and my smile begins to spread over my entire
face.
My father will wonder when I grew up, and
when the time passed by.
I am
from
markers,
That
is larger
than life
from
Crayola
and Roseart.
Time may pass
I am
from
the kitchen.
But
I know
your love is eternal
A large
openit space;
filled
with light.
I carried
with me
in kindergarten
I am
from
the grapevine,
Was
reminded
of it with presents every winter
andFelt
theitpeonies
again when I put on that necklace
whose
are you
filledvisited
with ants.
I sawpetals
it when
last year
I’mI from
height
and
readers,
will always carry your love with me
from
Shayndle
andall
William.
And
I send you
the love I have
I’m from the intense Scrabble players,
and friendly (or sometimes not) competition,
a lady,”
I’m from believers in G-d
and homemade challah for Shabbat.
I’m from Holocaust survivors and survivors of loss,
From the street peddler who sold an umbrella to the
President,
age.
Oil paintings by my great-grandfather,
hanging on the walls of all his grandchildren’s
homes.
Old wedding pictures in black and white,
Of those I hear about but never got to meet,
I am their legacy.
19
91
ʣ“ʱʡ
Gramma’s Hotdogs
Mimi Elkaim
“Ow!” my five-year-old self whined while holding up her hot fingertips. My “Gramma” just
smiled, with a twinkle in her eye and say “It’s hot,” while handing me a fork. She would then cut up
my two-inch mini hotdog for me.
My grandmother microwaving mini hotdogs for me is one of my first memories of her. When I
was younger, my family didn’t keep Kosher either, and I ate anything in my grandparents house.
The only food that I came to associate with my only Gramma, was two-inch mini hotdogs.
I would sit at the table, eagerly awaiting my hotdogs on their McDonalds plate, which were
cooking in the microwave. Gramma would explain time after time “You have to cook them a little
bit, so they get soft. Then,” she stopped the microwave, and took the plate out, to demonstrate, “you
cut it top to bottom so the inside can cook.” I was always amazed. My wise Gramma knew how to
properly and fully cook hotdogs!
Each time I asked for the hotdogs, I would see a little twinkle in Gramma’s eyes, who anticipated my question. I used to carefully take my hotdog, puffed dough surrounding the morsel, and
then gobble up the meat. My Gramma, always careful about her kitchen, would sternly warn “If I
see any crumbs on the floor, you’re picking them up!” I would reply, in my childhood innocence, “I
won’t make crumbs! Promise.” I was indignant she would believe I would make a mess, and I was
tired of hearing this every time I entered the house. I knew this.
As I grew older, and my family became more religious, I asked my mother if the hotdogs were
Kosher. Sadly however, they were not. After some time, Gramma ceased to buy them, making me
realize that she bought them for me.
My grandmother died when I was eight years old, but even now, when I enter her kitchen, I see
the ghostly figures of a girl eating mini hotdogs, and my Gramma holding a plate out to me.
20
91
ʣ“ʱʡ
A
Cup Full Hotdogs
Gramma’s
Devi
MimiBraun
Elkaim
“Ow!”
my five-year-old
self whined
holding
her hotiffingertips.
Myand
“Gramma”
just
We gave
my mom a coffee
mug. Itwhile
is white
withup
a picture
six children
a happy birthday
smiled,
with
a
twinkle
in
her
eye
and
say
“It’s
hot,”
while
handing
me
a
fork.
She
would
then
cut upand I
poem. The background is pink. My mother’s birthday was only a few weeks away. My five siblings
my two-inch
hotdog
forpresent.
me.
wanted
to get mini
her the
perfect
We chose a coffee mug because my mom drinks at least three cups
My grandmother
mini
hotdogs
is one on
of my
memories
of back
her. When
I
of coffee
daily. We putmicrowaving
a picture of us,
my
mom’sfor
sixme
children,
it sofirst
when
she looks
at it years
was
younger,
my
family
didn’t
keep
Kosher
either,
and
I
ate
anything
in
my
grandparents
house.
from now she will remember us at this age. The background is pink because that is my mom’s favorite
The only
thata Ismall
camepoem,
to associate
my only
Gramma,
two-inch
mini
hotdogs.
color.
We food
created
a happywith
birthday
wish
from us was
all, to
show our
love
and make this mug
I
would
sit
at
the
table,
eagerly
awaiting
my
hotdogs
on
their
McDonalds
plate,
which were
special.
cooking in the microwave. Gramma would explain time after time “You have to cook them a little
bit, mother
so they gave
get soft.
stopped the microwave,She
andgave
tookme
themy
plate
out, to demonstrate,
“you
Keystone,
Colorado sweatshirt
My
me Then,”
life andshe
love,
cut it top to bottom so the inside can cook.” I was always amazed. My wise Gramma knew how to
And brought me adventures
So that I could succeed in this world
properly and fully cook hotdogs!
And stories I’ll always remember.
And one day be an amazing mother too.
Each time I asked for the hotdogs, I would see a little twinkle in Gramma’s eyes, who anticiI gave
hersurrounding
a coffee mug.
And
her a coffee
mug.
patedI gave
my question.
I used
to carefully take my hotdog, And
puffed
dough
the morsel, and
then gobble up the meat. My Gramma, always careful about her kitchen, would sternly warn “If I
told reply,
me “Don’t
someone’s
yum,” “I
She
gavecrumbs
me a blanket,
see any
on the floor, you’re picking them up!” She
I would
in myyuck
childhood
innocence,
So that
I know
to respect
So
thatmake
everycrumbs!
night I would
feel her
warmth,
won’t
Promise.”
I was
indignant she would
believe
I would
makeother’s
a mess, and I was
And
their
opinions.
And
know
that
she
would
always
be
there
for
me.
tired of hearing this every time I entered the house. I knew this.
And II gave
coffee mug.
AndAs
I gave
herolder,
a coffee
I grew
andmug.
my family became more religious,
askedher
mya mother
if the hotdogs were
Kosher. Sadly however, they were not. After some time, Gramma ceased to buy them, making me
She gave me confidence
She
gave
meshe
birthday
realize
that
boughtcakes
them for me.
So that
always
takeI pride
I am Idoing
AndMy
taught
me how todied
celebrate
grandmother
when I was eight years old, but
evenI now,
when
enter in
herwhat
kitchen,
see
the ghostly
figuresare
ofreached.
a girl eating mini hotdogs, and my
Gramma
holding
plate out to me.
And
strive to
do myabest.
When
milestones
And I gave her a coffee mug.
The most important thing my mom gave me
is independence,
She taught me do what I want
And follow my dreams.
And I give her laughter.
She gave me The Exodus and a love for reading
So that I can visit places and history,
Without moving from the couch.
She gave me my height and small feet
Which taught me the importance of family
And how they will never go away.
21
02
ʣ“ʱʡ
Hard Work Pays Off
Devi Braun
The crowd is going wild at the YU Basketball Tournament. The bleachers are packed with
people. More than half the crowd is wearing red clothes, supporting Ida Crown Jewish Academy.
Everyone is jumping and screaming until their voices become hoarse. The court has five boys in red,
the Ida Crown players, and five boys in white, the other players. The players are all sweating, looking nervous. Their teammates on the benches are cheering them on. All the coaches are yelling plays
to their players. My dad, the Ida Crown coach, looks panicked. There is barely any time left on the
clock. As time runs out, and we are in the lead, my dad is lifted onto someone’s shoulders. My dad
looks around and smiles.
He had been coaching the Ida Crown basketball team for over twenty years. Every March
since I could remember, he went to New York for the YU Basketball Tournament. That year, he had
an exceptionally good team. My siblings and I begged my mom to take us to the tournament. She
kept saying that it was very expensive for all of us to go, but we continued to ask her. My mom finally agreed that we could go, but we would be driving. It took us eighteen hours, and we drove
through a snowstorm. But we were there to support my dad.
Knowing that after twenty years my dad finally won this tournament made this moment
really special. I remember my dad’s face. His expression showed that he felt like he was on the top
of the world and nothing could be better. His dream had finally come true. And we were there.
How
to Be
Bethe
theOlder
OlderTwin
Twin
How to
Sarah
Nagar
Sarah Nagar
When your mother asks you to tell him to empty out the dishwasher before she gets home, tell him. Know
to your
do it. mother
Feel theasks
panicyou
he feels
comes home
and
discovers that
he hasn’t
accomthat he wants
When
to tellwhen
himshe
to empty
out the
dishwasher
before
she gets
home, tell
plished
his
task.
Realize
that
he
truly
wants
to
do
what
was
asked
of
him,
but
has
forgotten.
Breathe
in that
and he
him. Know that he wants to do it. Feel the panic he feels when she comes home and discovers
out, hoping he won’t get in trouble. Hear your mother start to lecture him. Lie to her. Tell her it wasn’t his
hasn’t
accomplished his task. Realize that he truly wants to do what was asked of him, but has forgotten.
fault, but that you simply forgot to tell him. Hope she won’t get angry at you. Let her tell you she’s upBreathe
inyour
and room.
out, hoping
he won’t
get inbed.
trouble.
Hear your mother start to lecture him. Lie to her. Tell
set. Go to
Hesitate.
Sit on your
Remember.
her Remember
it wasn’t his
fault,
but that
to tell him.you
Hope
won’t get
at you.
Letback
her tell
when
he once
toldyou
you simply
he learnsforgot
from everything
do. she
Remember
howangry
you took
a step
you
she’s him
upset.
Go to what
yourhe
room.
Hesitate.
Sit though
on your
bed.
Remember.
and asked
to repeat
had just
said even
you
heard
him. Remember how you thanked him
you know; when
you tried
not to told
makeyou
it known
to him
thateverything
secretly youyou
already
knew he learns
from
for lettingRemember
he once
he learns
from
do. Remember
how
you took a
you.
Accept
it.
Remember
that
even
though
he’s
a
minute
younger,
he
watches
everything
you
do,
learns
step back and asked him to repeat what he had just said even though you heard him. Remember how you
from it, and
in other
experiences.
what
he might
learn
from
you. Store
that memthanked
himuses
foritletting
you
know; youWonder
tried not
to other
makethings
it known
to him
that
secretly
you already
knew
ory forever.
he learns
from
you.
Accept
it.
Remember
that
even
though
he’s
a
minute
younger,
he
watches
everything
Hear the faint noise on your door. Realize that he is knocking. He wants to come in. Know he wants
you do, learns from it, and uses it in other experiences. Wonder what other things he might learn from
you. Store that memory forever.
22
31
ʣ“ʱʡ
Birthday
Wishes
Where
I’m
Hear
the faint noise on your door. Realize
that he
is From
knocking. He wants to come in. Know he
Arianne
Pinchot because he never comes into your
Shayna
wants something
roomJacoby
unless he wants to ask for something. Hear him
ask why you took the blame earlier. Now know your answer will be something he will always remember.
Preparing
myself,
on my
candles,
I am from markers,
Explain that
you eyes
didn’tfocused
want him
to get
in trouble.
cheeks
filled
with
air
Crayola
and Roseart.
Hope he understands that you did it outfrom
of love,
and people
who love each other help each other
onout.
a cracked
in Share
a smallthat
backyard,
I am with
fromhim.
the kitchen.
Glance patio
at him.
moment of happiness
Grasp that small amount of time and don’t
inlet
thego.
background
the and
dirtyappreciation
bricks of mybetween
old
A large
openSay
space;
withbelight.
Feel the love
you
and him.
thatfilled
this will
the last time you do
house
I
am
from
the
grapevine,
that and he has to be more independent and take responsibility for his own actions. Watch him nod and
I’ve
lived know
in for that
so many
years.
andthough
the peonies
secretly
you will
always help him. Even
he’s the same age, but only a minute younger,
I am a chubby five years old without a care in whose petals are filled with ants.
understand that you still have to teach him those lessons that older siblings teach the younger siblings.
the world,
I’m from height and readers,
Be the older twin that guides your younger brother because he learns from everything you do and needs
unaware of my small size compared to my
from Shayndle and William.
you
in
his
life.
friends. I am
I’m from the intense Scrabble players,
Know
youinneed
catching
my
breath
my him too.
and friendly (or sometimes not) competition,
loose purple frog outfit, and silver tiara
fastened right below my purple scrunchy that
is holding back my frizzy hair.
What was I wishing for while blowing out my
five colorful candles?
My mother is in the frame, happy because I
am, and my
Dad is outside the frame capturing this moment, so we can look
back and remember it later.
My mother will soon cheer for me as the
flames go out
and my smile begins to spread over my entire
face.
My father will wonder when I grew up, and
when the time passed by.
a lady,”
I’m from believers in G-d
and homemade challah for Shabbat.
I’m from Holocaust survivors and survivors of loss,
From the street peddler who sold an umbrella to the
President,
age.
Oil paintings by my great-grandfather,
hanging on the walls of all his grandchildren’s
homes.
Old wedding pictures in black and white,
Of those I hear about but never got to meet,
I am their legacy.
23
22
ʣ“ʱʡ
How To Be A Good Daughter
Sabina Hanani
When you hear the phone ring followed by a cry from upstairs, do not ignore it. Follow your
father upstairs and watch him cradle your mother as she breaks down in his arms. As you hear your
father’s voice, through your mother’s pain, feel your heart break but don’t dare show emotion.
Take the next flight out to Israel. Observe your family as it begins to slowly crumble. Hold your
mother’s ice-cold hand as you stare at your grandfather’s gravestone. Inhale your deepest breath as
you place the rocks upon his grave. When the service is over, hug her tightly.
Later, reminisce with her about when you were little and how you enjoyed every minute you
spent with that smiling face, that salt and pepper hair, that brave, protective figure now watching
over from above. Glance at all the photos in your living room filled with smiling faces, birthday parties, and family events, and share those moments with your mother.
Clean every dish, fold all the laundry, run every errand, write all the thank you notes, letting
your mother heal and sleep. Spend every waking moment with her. Bring her breakfast in bed, and
say “I love you” every day before school. Sob with her when his birthday comes around, and sob
alone even more when you realize that he will not be there for yours. Feel your heart wrench as you
glance at the photo of him and your mother teaching you piano when you were four. Touch it, cry
on it, and replace it on your dresser where you can see it each day.
Cry yourself to sleep for weeks, months. Scream into your pillow one night, but this time let
your mother hold you. Let her be a good mother by being a good daughter first.
The Ultimate Gift
Ronit Miller
The “Juiceman Jr.” A handy appliance that every kitchen needs.
Complete with a pulp basket and juice spout, this fruit juicer was the perfect gift for my mother.
It appeared practical. It appeared easy to use. What more could a mother want?
However, inside the box there turned out to be a booklet. The Instruction Manual.
Thirteen pages indicating that this nifty machine was going to be neither simple nor practical.
And the Instruction Manual never lies. I remember being in middle school when my sister and I purchased
that gift for my mother. During those years, I found out a few things about myself: I was a dreamer, I was a
procrastinator, and therefore, all of my crazy ideas never worked out.
Nevertheless, I came up with many idealistic plans. One of these plans happened to include:
a juicer, which would replace our recently broken blender, my mom, who would use this appliance often, and
me, who would get to drink a flavorful, tropical smoothie every day.
24
22
ʣ“ʱʡ
Ever
juicer has
stayed in its spot in the depths of a kitchen cabinet.
How since,
To Bethe
A Good
Daughter
Sabina Hanani
Mom,
For the past sixteen years you made me a lunch every day.
youmehear
ringfloor,
followed
a cry from
do not
ignore
it. Follow your
YouWhen
sat with
on the
the phone
bathroom
in thebymiddle
of theupstairs,
night, when
I was
sick.
father
upstairs
and
watch
him
cradle
your
mother
as
she
breaks
down
in
his
arms.
As you hear your
You drove hundreds of car pools to hundreds of destinations.
father’s
through
mother’s
You
heldvoice,
my hand
whenyour
I was
afraid. pain, feel your heart break but don’t dare show emotion.
Take
the
next
flight
out
to
Israel.
Observe your family as it begins to slowly crumble. Hold your
You sang the Shema with me every night.
mother’s
ice-cold
hand
as
you
stare
at
your grandfather’s gravestone. Inhale your deepest breath as
In return, I gave you a juicer.
you
place
the
rocks
upon
his
grave.
When
service
over, hug
her tightly.
You have taught me not to waste, both foodthe
and
other is
materials,
which
you creatively reuse.
Later,
reminisce
with
her
about
when
you
were
little
and
how
you
enjoyed
every
minute
You have shown me how to be patient when you bring bags of magazines
to read
at Six
Flags.you
spent with that smiling face, that salt and pepper hair, that brave, protective figure now watching
You have taught me to be appreciative by constantly reminding me to say thank you.
over from above. Glance at all the photos in your living room filled with smiling faces, birthday parYou have shown me how to use time when you stretch your calves on the curb while you wait.
ties, and family events, and share those moments with your mother.
You have taught me to think of others before myself, something that you constantly do.
In
return,
I gave
juicer.Spend every waking moment with her. Bring her breakfast in bed, and
your
mother
healyou
andasleep.
But
most
important,
you
have
given
me a joy
life.
say “I love you” every day
before
school.
Sobfor
with
her when his birthday comes around, and sob
Whether
it’s
viewing
a
missionary
pamphlet
left
by
Cleaners
as a compliment
because
they
alone even more when you realize that he will not bethethere
for yours.
Feel your heart
wrench
asobviously
you
like
youatenough
to want
to and
saveyour
you,mother
if it’s admiring
cleaning
from
beneath
the cup,
glance
the photo
of him
teaching the
youbee
piano
when its
youantennas
were four.
Touch
it, cry
with
you have
it to take
outside,
or ifsee
it’sitsharing
your jacket with me in the freezing rain on
on it,which
and replace
it ontrapped
your dresser
where
you can
each day.
a two-mile
walk,
and
laughing
the
whole
way
home
arm-in-arm,
you always
manage
to find
Cry yourself to sleep for weeks, months. Scream into your pillow
one night,
but this
timethe
letpositive in
every
situation.
You have given me so much, Mom, and yet, the only way I could think to repay you was with a useless juicer.
What was I thinking?
I definitely should have gone with a blender.
25
22
ʣ“ʱʡ
Teach
Me,BeBro
How To
A Good Daughter
Benjamin
Richter
Sabina Hanani
When you
hear the in
phone
a cry talents
from upstairs,
dowith
not ignore
it. who
Follow
youryou.
Describe
a situation
whichring
youfollowed
used yourbyunique
to connect
someone
needed
father
upstairs
and
watch
him
cradle
your
mother
as
she
breaks
down
in
his
arms.
As
you
hear
your
How has this moment helped define who you are today?
father’s
voice,and
through
your you
mother’s
heartBenzi?”
break His
but eyes
don’twander
dare show
emotion.
Aryeh
stutters
says, “Can
teach pain,
me tofeel
playyour
da guita
all over
the room and
thehead;
next flight
out to Israel.
Observe
your family
it begins
to slowly
crumble.
Hold your
backTake
into his
a keyboard-stick
smile
illuminates
his face.asHis
feet flutter
in air—just
off beat—to
a selfmother’s
ice-cold
hand
as
you
stare
at
your
grandfather’s
gravestone.
Inhale
your
deepest
breath
as
made interpretive dance, expressing an emotion that he still cannot deliver in words. His arms flail around in
yousky-blue
place the
rocks
upon his
When
themixes
service
is over,
hugofher
his
footie
pajamas
andgrave.
his raspy
laugh
with
the tune
mytightly.
guitar to produce an apparently
Later,
reminisce
with
her
about
when
you
were
little
and
how
you
enjoyed
every
youbut fails
botched harmony. He attempts to pluck the steel strings tightly wound around
the neck
of minute
the guitar,
spent
with
that
smiling
face,
that
salt
and
pepper
hair,
that
brave,
protective
figure
now
watching
miserably to make audible music. He sings his heart out; but, his words are unclear. Yet in our new world, we
overmaking
from above.
Glance
all the photos in your living room filled with smiling faces, birthday parare
beautiful
musicattogether.
ties, and family events, and share those moments with your mother.
It was another aggravating evening after a stressful 8th grade day at school. My triplet half-siblings were
pounding on the locked door to my bedroom. As usual, I refused to let them in. I had just finished clearing my
your mother heal and sleep. Spend every waking moment with her. Bring her breakfast in bed, and
desk
the hairs
had pulled
from my
scalp Sob
whenwith
my dad
called his
out:birthday
“Benji! Icomes
need you
to babysit
Aryeh.
say “Ioflove
you”I every
day before
school.
her when
around,
and sob
Please?”
alone even more when you realize that he will not be there for yours. Feel your heart wrench as you
glance
I grudgingly
agreed.
When
out ofteaching
my room,you
I saw
mywhen
half-brother
Aryeh,
at the photo
of him
andI stepped
your mother
piano
you were
four.running
Toucharound,
it, cry and
making
unusual
sounds—his
normal reaction
to SpongeBob’s
entrance
on it, and
replace
it on your dresser
where you
can see it each
day. onto the television screen. Aryeh,
thenCry
five yourself
years old,tohas
Pervasive
Developmental
Disorder.
He
isolates
himself
from but
others,
appears
sleep for weeks, months. Scream into your pillow
one night,
thisand
time
let to be
locked
in
his
own
world.
“How’s
it
going
Aryeh?”
I
said
apathetically.
He
did
not
respond,
but
continued
to
frolic around aimlessly. I expected this response, and so I went back into my room, headed toward my locked
leather-bound guitar case and pulled out my glossy, red acoustic guitar. The introduction to “Dust In the
Wind,” flowed from my calloused finger tips, reflecting my oddly tranquil mood.
Aryeh then came in and began awkwardly stroking the strings on the guitar. “No! Aryeh,” I said, “You’re ruining my strings! Stop!” But he persisted. He began dancing around, gleefully, looking so innocent and harmless. I stopped and looked at him, hard—I saw his spirit and potential. I removed the capo strapped tightly to
my guitar and began playing a twelve-bar blues. Aryeh tapped on the side of my guitar, with my tacit approval. Our jam session had begun.
Language cannot yet bring us together, but music can. Aryeh may always have a tough time making connections, but he and I have found our enduring bond. Tuesday nights have become our jam session nights—
and something more for both of us.
Aryeh stutters and says, “Can you teach me to play da guitar, Benzi?” I see all the possibilities, so I tell
him, “Ya bro, when we’re ready.”
26
52
ʣ“ʱʡ
Awareness
Monet
Haystacks
27
62
ʣ“ʱʡ
Points of Matter
Mimi Elkaim
Lines, they make a tower
Strings, they make a cloth
Veins, they make a human
Each, significant as a moth.
Though to a leaf on wind
Insignificant to wind it seems
It changes the course a sliver
Not knowing what this means.
Colors, they are a rainbow
Drops, they are the sea
Pieces, they are a puzzle
Each significant, you and me.
Everything makes a difference
Be it a step, call or thought,
Means something to who effected.
Nothing, none at all, is for naught.
Merav Stein
SMILE—It’s the Heart’s Medicine
Sniffling, Margie Stein bent down to pick up the shards of her beloved blue and white Delft
house. She had been working on her collection of blue and white objects her entire life, and it was a
project still in formation. She inherited many of these objects from her mother, Lillian Sachs, and
now one was littering the floor. It was times like these that she felt the loneliest and missed her
mother the most. With her three children all grown up and out of the house and her husband working
at the office most of the day, Margie spent her time with her two precious golden retrievers Annie,
the puppy, and Sandy, the older dog. It was Annie who had caused the mischief, being her rambunctious self, and knocked the blue and white Delft house over, sending it to the floor with a crash.
Margie had heard the crash and sprinted to the living room to find Annie standing in the farthest
corner, a look of shame covering her puppy-dog face. “Oh no, oh no, no, no,” Margie moaned, “Oh
dear.” Her eyes rested on the graveyard of broken pieces. With a sigh, Margie began to pick up each
piece carefully, so as to not cut herself on the sharp edges. Feeling the tug of tears closely approaching, she started to pick up the pieces quicker and less carefully. Suddenly, she felt the sharp pain as
one of the pieces stabbed her hand.
“Ouch!” Margie yelped as she put her finger in her mouth in an attempt to reduce the pain. Then
she felt someone licking her arm. Surprised, Margie pulled her arm back, and saw Annie sitting next
to her, gazing sorrowfully into her owner’s eyes. Sighing, Margie patted the puppy’s head and said,
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know it would fall. We both learned something from this—you
28
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ʣ“ʱʡ
should try to be more careful, and I should have known you would knock one over sooner or later.”
With a yawn, Margie finished cleaning up. Soon her husband would be home from work. When
Robert came home, he immediately noticed something was wrong. Neither Sandy nor Annie had
greeted him at the door. “Honey?” he called, “I’m home. Is everything all right?”
“I’m in the kitchen, Bob!” Margie answered.
Bob leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was very tall, standing six feet five
inches—six feet six inches on a good day. In a matter of seconds he found Margie in the kitchen,
with a bowl of chocolate ice cream before her, stuffing her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” Bob said, planting a kiss on her cheek, “What happened today?”
“Annie knocked over one of Nana’s blue and white houses earlier this evening.”
“I’m so sorry, Margie. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. What happened, happened. There’s nothing we can do now.” Margie glanced at the clock,
which read 8:23. “I think I’m going to bed early tonight. I’ve had a rough day.”
“All right. Good night. I’m going to work on some stuff first, and then I think I’m going to go to
sleep early also. We both need the extra hours.”
“Okay Big B,” said Margie. “I love you 75-45-20.”
Bob watched his wife walk slowly to their bedroom. He had to think of some way to cheer her
up. It was unlike her to be this downcast. He looked at the pile of work he had brought home with
him. Suddenly, Robert had a brilliant idea.
The next morning, Margie woke up to the sun shining through the stained glass picture of two
golden retrievers her friend had gotten her for her past birthday. She turned to say good morning to
Bob, but met Sandy’s eyes instead. Sandy promptly licked Margie’s face when she saw that Margie
was awake. “Huh. He must have gone to work early,” Margie mused aloud.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Margie stretched and stood up. She remembered that
she would have to puppy proof her living room after yesterday’s incident. Margie’s shoulders
sagged as she remembered what had happened. She slowly walked into her bathroom to brush her
teeth. Reaching for her toothbrush, she saw a note card taped to her purple toothbrush. “This is
weird,” Margie said to herself. Intrigued, Margie pulled the note card off the toothbrush. “If a
Cheshire Cat Can SMILE, so can you!” Margie read. “How sweet of him!” she thought.
Once Margie was finished washing up, she moved to her closet to pick out an outfit. Pulling
open her pants drawer, she found a second note card on top of her many pairs of jeans. “SMILE—
Show your dimples!” A subconscious smile began to appear on Margie’s face. Her hand reached up
to her face, and she touched her dimples. Bob had never stopped reminding her that her dimples
were one of the first things that drew his attention to her when she had first walked into the Oakton
Manor, the resort where he had worked as the director of entertainment. The memory made Margie
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ʣ“ʱʡ
smile even wider.
After getting dressed, Margie went into the kitchen to make herself a bowl of granola and sliced
strawberries. When she opened the box of granola, she saw another note card. This card read,
“SMILE—IT LIGHTS UP THE PLACE!”
“Now, how did he know that I would have granola?” laughed Margie. Then she began to wonder, “How many note cards did Bob write?”
A look of determination grew in her eyes. She whistled for her goldens and they ran to her side,
as if they knew she would call them at any second. “Did you two know anything about this?” she
asked. Annie’s tail wagged wildly and she put both of her paws on Margie’s thighs. Margie laughed.
“Bob knows me too well. Forty-four years together with someone can do that to you. Well, who’s up
for an adventure?” Sandy barked her excitement. “OK, General Sandy, here’s our mission for today.
We’re going to find all of the note cards that Big B left. Got it? All right, spread out!” Laughing,
Margie left the kitchen to embark on the scavenger hunt her loving husband had left for her to cheer
her up. Sandy trotted faithfully next to her and Annie bounded after them, tripping over her little
paws.
This short story is dedicated to my Grandma and Grandpa. I love you 75-45-20!
Advice
Sarah Eisenstein
Dream big.
Hope for everything.
Reach for that which you can never earn.
But don't expect it.
Take what you can get, and from your losses, learn.
30
undefined-untitled
Hannah Dimbert
Today I feel nothing
(that’s a lie) and that’s the truth:
everything I touch is smooth,
so heartbreakingly beautiful;
there’s nothing to grab hold of.
my tears make no splash, no ripple;
my shadow passes, nary a sound.
92
ʣ“ʱʡ
The Sea of Being
Chanan Bell
The waves overlap
pulls the sand to the sea
seagull's wings flap
looking down on the scene
The fish swim up to the beaches
brush the sandy shore
soon followed by the leaches
who are hungry and want some more
who are we to stop the motion
we fill ourselves with pride
as I walk I get the notion
all I’ll ever do is a lie
strolling along the waves
horizon in the backdrop
I see secret caves
but we remain on top
on the beaches there are castles
surrounded by the seas
small lords and their little vassals
carved in sand, lower your knees
there is a whale underneath
she knows all and tells none
just watches the reef
looks at the ones she shuns
there are more fish in this sea
of us they are unaware
i don't know them as they don't know me
but why should they care
31
03
ʣ“ʱʡ
I am a Giant
A.J. Miller
I am a Giant
Reading a Book
Inside a Forest
Awaiting Death
Lost in my Search
Away from the Fire
Filled with Death
The Girth of a Forest
I live in a Forest
And rest in my Fire
Waiting, greeting Death
A lonely Giant
In hand, my Book
I continue my Search
Eyes filled with Fire
Large, round, and Giant
Incensed in their Search, I began my Search
Looking for a Forest
The pages of my Book
To read my Book
I had no Fire
No Giant
I welcomed Death
Death
Did not come. My
Search
In a Giant
Forest
I was on Fire
But I had my Book
Now my Book
Has fallen in Death
Farewell to my Fire
In end to my Search
Gone is my Forest
But still I’m a Giant
Books are for Searching
Death in a Forest
Fire does not make
the Giant
Time
Meytal Chernoff
At any moments it moves
Thick as a syrup flowing
Ever so slowly
And we wish for these moments
That the clock would speed up
That today was the past
And tomorrow was now
Or it can flow
At breakneck speed
Crashing like a waterfall
Careening without reprieve
Speeding toward the unknown
And however hard we try
To hold in it our grasps
To preserve just one minute
To make a moment last
Time laughs in our faces
And passes us by
Impossible to catch and still harder to keep
A mysterious figure
Cloaked in shadow and caged
But the truth is quite different
For the cage is our own
Time holds us in its grasp
And we struggle to be let go
The change is in our moods
Our feelings and pain
Time remains laughing
Always beside us
Always the same
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13
ʣ“ʱʡ
The World of an Artist
Sarah Eisenstein
The hum of a motor is music, a skyscraper is a work of art,
And no one can ever finish that which no one is willing to start.
The white snow glistens and sparkles, the green leaves live and secretly glow;
Very little is truly ugly, once you learn how to look and where to go.
Words can show pictures and feelings, words can help us to see
How the tiny ant is, in some ways, so much stronger than we'll ever be.
Beauty is always out there, if it's something you're willing to find,
But you must look at the world properly. You must filter it through an artist's mind.
Meaningless
Ben Auerbach
Sitting in the café at the bookstore makes me wonder.
All the people who sit to eat, drink, and discuss;
What is their purpose? Not the purpose of their lives
No!
Their purpose of sitting here, in the café
By me.
What is their destination, or for that matter
Where did they come from?
A simpler thought could be,
What are thinking about?
About their next goal they must reach,
About the person across the table,
About me.
Sitting in the café at the bookstore makes me realize
That this poem is in fact meaningless
For I should really not focus on other people's lives
Until I have explored my own.
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23
ʣ“ʱʡ
Pavement
Meytal Chernoff
Pilgrimage
Hannah Dimbert
Feeling trapped in a world of cement
Surrounded always by walls no green around
you
Wishing for a break in the monotonous
sound
Something, anything to change the ever still
ground
Wishing for trees moved only by wind
Watching the bird and wanting to
Trade places with it for just a moment or two
They can soar far above the buildings and
people
They can escape
Avoid what whatever they choose
But still you sit, lying awake
Staring at a ceiling that will never shake
In dreamland you can fly high above clouds
But in the morning once again
The pavement abounds
enlightenment i.
It is not a finding, but a looking.
The only discovery is yearningendless reaching, wanting, growing.
i enlightenment.
It is not a finding, but a looking.
A quest - an endless, thankless,
ugly task.
awareness ii.
It is not a connection, but an embrace.
A universe spirals,
continuous, constant, flowing.
ii awareness.
It is not a connection, but an embrace.
Irony! Constricting,
a viper hissing - dread.
wisdom iii.
It is not a knowing, but a feeling.
Melodies of a people proud
carried on the stiff back of prayer,
ascending.
iii wisdom.
It is not a knowing, but a feeling.
A pounded road,
and the beat of a thousand weary feet.
Repetition, and tradition.
joy iv.
The teachers never taught (whispered)
such a feeling as this!
A link, a life, real.
iv joy.
The teachers never taught (whispered)
such a feeling as this!
A question without an answer,
disgrace.
34
33
ʣ“ʱʡ
John Phillip
Simpson
The Captive
Slave
STRUGGLES
35
43
ʣ“ʱʡ
The Meaning of Stress
Karen Layani
Surely all teenagers know what stress is. Stress is coming home at 6:00 p.m. to be welcomed by
mountains of homework. It is returning to school after missing three days for a basketball tournament. Stress is the contact lens that refuses to go into one’s left eye. Stress is an orphan sock in the
dryer. It is the drumming of fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the traffic light to turn green as
the clock flashes 8:03 a.m. Stress is the sound of the second bell ringing right when you reach the
top of the stairs. Stress is a frozen computer. Stress is the knowledge that there are three tests to be
taken tomorrow at school. Stress is being down by three points with four seconds left in the fourth
quarter of the championship game. Stress is a milk carton that won’t open. It is the knowledge that
playing with a concussion could lead to permanent brain injury, as could worrying about it. It is the
ticking of the clock as the ball is inbounded. Stress is the plane ride back to Chicago where school
awaits. Stress is the golden red math book. It is the supply bag with the broken zipper. It is the thirty
pound backpack overflowing with work. Stress is pens with no ink. It is the phone battery that dies
when you start dialing. Stress is teachers and gradebooks. Stress is the house alarm that refuses to
turn off. Stress is waking up to a nightmare about school only to realize that you’re actually in
school. It is ACTs and SATs on Sunday mornings. It is the source behind all-nighters and bags under eyes. Stress is familiar to all teenagers.
Regret
Mimi Elkaim
As a spark of flame lit within me
I felt my temper rise
My very soul repelled that being
From life with me inside.
The spark at first grew slowly,
Other branches and twigs caught,
But soon I lost control and now,
A raging fire licks my mind.
As I sit upon this cold damp earth,
With m back ‘gainst frozen stone
As I wrestle with this torment
Part wanted, but to put to disgrace
That thin tendril of lava
That’s wrapped ‘bout my heart
Impervious to water and tears,
Will cold earth put it out?
36
53
53
ʣ“ʱʡ
Here is a Picture of Me
Here is a Picture of Me
Ezra Kapetansky
Ezra Kapetansky
Leaning on the balls of Leaning
my feet, on
shuffling
the balls
side
of to
myside,
feet, shuffling side to side,
elbows in, back straight,elbows
and focus
in, back
on the
straight,
enemy,and focus on the enemy,
in a large gymnasium full
in aoflarge
whistles
gymnasium
and cheers,
full of whistles and cheers,
on a blue square mat full
onofa sweat
blue square
and leg
mat
hairs,
full of sweat and leg hairs,
in the background my team
in theonbackground
one side and
mythe
team
rivals
on on
onethe
side
otherand the rivals on the otherboth supporting their own
bothschool.
supporting their own school.
I am average-weight and
I am
lanky,
average-weight
a puny freshman,
and lanky, a puny freshman,
nervous beyond belief, nervous beyond belief,
trying to be aware of thetrying
adversary’s
to be aware
next of
move,
the adversary’s next move,
just waiting for it all to just
be overwaiting for it all to be overwaiting for my inevitable
waiting
defeat.
for my inevitable defeat.
I am challenging my fear,
I am
anxietychallenging my fear, anxietyand embarrassment, and embarrassment,
in my tight blue spandex
in singlet
my tight
that
blue
is suffocating
spandex singlet
my body,
that is suffocating my body,
and questioning my integrity,
and questioning my integrity,
the headgear squeezingthe
myheadgear
head, squeezing my head,
the kneepads partly falling
the kneepads
down, partly falling down,
and the matching blue Asics
and the
shoesmatching blue Asics shoesthat complete my “attractive”
that complete
uniform.my “attractive” uniform.
There was no way I wasThere
in need
wasofno
a pictureway I was in need of a pictureto remind myself how badly
to remind
I hadmyself
done. how badly I had done.
I would say that my parents
I would
are say
outside
that the
my frame
parentsrooting
are outside
me onthe
butframe rooting me on butmy mother is alone, apprehensive
my mother and
is alone,
concerned,
apprehensive and concerned,
screaming “Don’t hurt my
screaming
boy!” and
“Don’t
“Gethurt
yourmy
hands
boy!”
offand
of him!”
“Get your hands off of him!”
as I am busy attemptingasthe
I am
move
busy
myattempting
coach instructed
the move
memy
to do.
coach instructed me to do.
Father will not even make
Father
a presencewill not even make a presenceas he is away in his second
as hehomeis away in his second homeas usual.
as usual.
37
63
ʣ“ʱʡ
Mandatory Sestina
Hanah Brasch
As if that is how they remain memorable.
They don’t deal with “trying”
They don’t even have thoughts.
I’m sitting here trying
To write this mandatory
Sestina. Struggling
To put my thoughts
Into words that are memorable.
But writing something memorable
Is not done just by trying.
Sestina’s are
More than just mandatory
Writing assignments filled with jumbled thoughts,
Screaming of frustration and struggling.
Poets have been struggling
To remain memorable
For ages. It is their thoughts
That are credited for trying.
Not some girl who must write a mandatory
Poem. While all she does is stare
Then comes the flood of thoughts,
More than I can.
Trying
To, struggling
To write them while they are all still memorable
Conquering the mandatory.
Mandatory
Thoughts
Are
Never memorable.
Leaving me struggling,
Trying.
Laughing in the face of memorable.
Remove stuggling.
Remain trying.
At blank pages that in return are
Staring—mocking her struggling
As if their duty to remain white is mandatory
38
73
ʣ“ʱʡ
Life in the World of the Sane
Zach Millunchick
The War
Yacov Greenspan
Life in the world of the sane
Dulls the light streaking across the window
pane,
Snuffs out the no-oxygen flame,
Makes everything feel the same.
To go to war is a wonderful thing.
Men brave and strong as though they have wings.
They march on for miles.
They are Harveys, Johns, Davids, and Kyles.
They are the simple men of this country,
Many of them will no longer be.
But still they march with their heads up high
in blazing heat, without a sigh.
It does give hope to this land.
It gives the people a guiding hand.
To the trenches they march with pride.
To the trenches they make their stride.
As they wait so valiantly,
I sit and watch alone, just me.
When the leader says “over the top,”
they start to run, and do not stop.
Lo and behold the general is shot,
and people around are all distraught.
They stop to help and do him well,
but all were hit, and all then fell.
The central powers go over the top,
and in the Allies’ land, there is a mustard drop.
A man is scared, all he does is stop.
He freezes there,
And simply stares.
The mustard rots him from inside to out,
destroying him as he starts to shout.
More shots erupt against the allies,
all shall look, and most shall die.
As I sit watching these people dying,
I say that war is a horrible thing.
Life in the world of decision,
Requires actions with impossible precision-Margins of error smaller than the neurologist’s
incision;
What a burden it is to live in.
Life in the world of pain,
Necessitates a constant search for gain.
Simply looking seems to be the main
Purpose of this lifelong game.
Life in the sphere of reality
Never passes listlessly.
Actions, rarely judged judiciously;
Options, ripped out of hands viciously.
All seems to be done maliciously.
But as you take careful aim,
Here in the world of the sane,
Occasionally someone refuses to feign
Ignorance of the drowning dame,
And he jumps headfirst without expectation of
favor,
Focused, determined to save her.
39
83
ʣ“ʱʡ
How to Succeed in Wrestling
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Sammy Magid
Sammy Magid
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When your friend tells you that you would be a good wrestler, and that you should go to the wrestling seminar, surrender to hi
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won’t stop harassing you until you come. Watch as wrestlers are thrown in the air and are returned the mat. Feel ground trembling
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amazement.
Become obsessed with the sport. Memorize its rules, college teams, and your school’s statistics. Work out in your free time, a
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have exceeded your goal. Tell yourself you can do five more over and over again. Educate classmates, so that you can have a dri
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on your brother at home in order to improve.
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At practice, burn your lungs out until you sweat like a cold can of soda. Rehearse every move diligently; do not waste a second
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hard
with your partner until you memorize ever detail. Review them in your free time. During a practice match, fight until the buz
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matches.
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Warm up and put on all your gear before your first match; do not forget your headgear. Know the technique for every position
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blows his whistle, explode while performing your favorite move. Slam your opponent to the mat, while maintaining control of him
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Cradle him with his back on the mat as the referee begins counting. Run to shake your opponents hand immediately after the refer
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with his hand. See victory, as the referee raises your arm in front of the enthusiastic crowd. Smile because you know you deserved
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Watch the tape of your match, so that you can learn from your mistakes. Wake up early the next day, and return to practice to
Finish the 50 pushups that that your coach tells your team to complete, even though you despise of the exercise. Understand that h
.)7).))$8)1+,/$("',%+,1=$H',$%"$/62A)$4"'.$"<<",),%/$62,*$+33)*+2%)04$27%).$%6)$.)7).))$/02</$%6)$32%$#+%6$6+/$
loudly, to make you the next leader of the ICJA wrestling team.
62,*=$&))$B+(%".49$2/$%6)$.)7).))$.2+/)/$4"'.$2.3$+,$7.",%$"7$%6)$),%6'/+2/%+($(."#*=$&3+0)$8)(2'/)$4"'$A,"#$4"'$
*)/).B)*$+%=$
$$$$$$-2%(6$%6)$%2<)$"7$4"'.$32%(69$/"$%62%$4"'$(2,$0)2.,$7."3$4"'.$3+/%2A)/=$-2A)$'<$)2.04$%6)$,)C%$*249$2,*$
.)%'.,$%"$<.2(%+()$%"$+3<."B)$/A+00/=$>+,+/6$%6)$NO$<'/6'</$%62%$%62%$4"'.$("2(6$%)00/$4"'.$%)23$%"$("3<0)%)9$)B),$
%6"'16$4"'$*)/<+/)$"7$%6)$)C).(+/)=$P,*)./%2,*$%62%$6)$+/$4)00+,1$2%$4"'$0"'*049$%"$32A)$4"'$%6)$,)C%$0)2*).$"7$%6)$
QMRG$#.)/%0+,1$%)23=$
40
83
ʣ“ʱʡ
Disappointment
!"#$%%&"'()*'(+
Jenna Katz
,*''$+-$(.+
Sammy Magid
+
++++++/+0*1*"2*3+$'+$##"4')*'(+5&0+6*)"'$0+&'+(7*+)*$'"'4+&5+3"#$%%&"'()*'(8+/(+"#+)9+3:(9+$#+$+#(:3*'(+(&+1&);
When your friend tells you that you would be a good wrestler, and that you should go to the wrestling seminar, surrender to hi
%<*(*+(7"#+$##"4')*'(=+>:(+"(+"#+$<#&+)9+%<*$#:0*8+
won’t stop harassing you until you come. Watch as wrestlers are thrown in the air and are returned the mat. Feel ground trembling
++++++6:0*<9+?#8+@&<3#(*"'+A'&B#+B7$(+3"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#8+!"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#+$>#&<:(*+.*0&8+/(+"#+(7*+&'*+1<&:3+
amazement.
Become obsessed with the sport. Memorize its rules, college teams, and your school’s statistics. Work out in your free time, a
(7$(+1&2*0#+:%+(7*+#:'+&'+$'+&(7*0B"#*+>*$:("5:<+3$98+/(+"#+$'+"1*+10*$)+#:'3$*+>&B<+<"1A*3+1<*$'+B7*'+9&:C0*+
have exceeded your goal. Tell yourself you can do five more over and over again. Educate classmates, so that you can have a dri
&'+$+3"*(8+/(+"#+(7*+)"':#+"'+D;EF+%&"'(#G8+/(+"#+(7*+0*3+)$0A"'4#+&'+$'+*##$98+/(C#+(7*+40$))$0+)"#($A*#=+(7*+:#;
on your brother at home in order to improve.
$4*+)"#($A*#=+(7*+#%*<<"'4+)"#($A*#=+(7*+$0"(7)*("1+)"#($A*#H+I7*+#(:%"3+)"#($A*#8+!"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#+(7*+>"4+
At practice, burn your lungs out until you sweat like a cold can of soda. Rehearse every move diligently; do not waste a second
)"#($A*#8+/(+"#+(7*+J:"*(+2&"1*+(7$(+$3)&'"#7*#=+"'#(*$3+&5+(7*+<&:3+2&"1*+(7$(+9*<<#8+!"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#+D1<&#*=+
hard with your partner until you memorize ever detail. Review them in your free time. During a practice match, fight until the buz
>:(+'&+1"4$08G+/(C#+0*$17"'4+(7*+>&((&)+&5+(7*+1$#(+<"#(+&'<9+(&+5"'3+(7$(+9&:0+'$)*+"#+'&B7*0*+&'+"(8+!"#$%%&"'(;
matches.
)*'(+"#+(7*+<$#(+B&03+&5+$+4&&3+>&&A=+(7*+<$#(+17&1&<$(*+17"%+"'+(7*+1&&A"*8+/(+"#+(7*+#%<&(17*#+&5+"'A+&:(#"3*+(7*+
Warm up and put on all your gear before your first match; do not forget your headgear. Know the technique for every position
<"'*#8+!"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#+?&#*#+#($'3"'4+&'+?&:'(+K*2&=+<&&A"'4+"'(&+(7*+<$'3+&5+7"#+30*$)#=+B7"17+B"<<+'*2*0+
blows his whistle, explode while performing your favorite move. Slam your opponent to the mat, while maintaining control of him
>*+7"#+0*$<"(98+!"#$%%&"'()*'(+"#+<&#"'4+>9+&'*+%&"'(8+/(C#+4*(("'4+(&+(7*+#(&0*+(B&+)"':(*#+$5(*0+"(+1<&#*#8+!"#$%;
Cradle
him with his back on the mat as the referee begins counting. Run to shake your opponents hand immediately after the refer
%&"'()*'(+"#+'&(+>*"'4+$><*+(&+$3*J:$(*<9+3*5"'*+D3"#$%%&"'()*'(G+5&0+$'+*##$9+$##"4'*3+>9+)9+(*$17*0+&'+(7*+
with his hand. See victory, as the referee raises your arm in front of the enthusiastic crowd. Smile because you know you deserved
)*$'"'4+&5+3"#$%%&"'()*'(8+
Watch the tape of your match, so that you can learn from your mistakes. Wake up early the next day, and return to practice to
Finish the 50 pushups that that your coach tells your team to complete, even though you despise of the exercise. Understand that h
loudly, to make you the next leader of the ICJA wrestling team.
41
04 04
HereHere
is a Picture
is a Picture
of Me
of Me
Courtney
Courtney
Rosenfield
Rosenfield
ʣ“ʱʡ ʣ“ʱʡ
An Honest
An Honest
Thought
Thought
Abigail
Abigail
Turok
Turok
Balancing
Balancing
myself
myself
with with
my left
myfoot
left inches
foot inches
fromfrom
I walk
I walk
out into
out the
intostreet
the street
to stand
to stand
in theinmiddle
the middle
of of
the baseline
the baseline
the rain
the rain
my right
my right
food food
a fewa spaces
few spaces
behind
behind
I justI need
just need
to seetohow
see how
it feels
it feels
to feel
to all
feelofall
this
of this
the racket
the racket
gripped
gripped
in myinhand
my hand
pain pain
I am Iinam
theinserve
the serve
position,
position,
readyready
to gently
to gently
throwthrow
I wander
I wander
around
around
see all
seethese
all these
people
people
in chains
in chains
the ball
the in
ball
theinair
the air
WithWith
their their
maskmask
secure
secure
I wonder
I wonder
whatwhat
they they
will will
and explode,
and explode,
smashing
smashing
the ball
the on
ballthe
onopposite
the opposite
gain gain
courtcourt
I eyeImy
eyeopponent,
my opponent,
searching
searching
for afor
weakness.
a weakness.WithWith
handshands
held held
out toout
thetoworld
the world
I stand
I stand
exposed
exposed
On adjacent
On adjacent
courts,
courts,
otherother
girls girls
all sixteen
all sixteen
and andTo the
Tosticks
the sticks
and stones
and stones
of theofsupposedly
the supposedly
com-comolderolder
posedposed
are mentally
are mentally
preparing
preparing
and beginning
and beginning
their their I askIthe
asksky
thewhy
sky why
thesethese
people
people
are soare
opposed
so opposed
matches,
matches,
To the
Tohuman
the human
feelings
feelings
that are
thatproposed
are proposed
nerves
nerves
taking
taking
over over
the body
the body
and mind.
and mind.
While
While
I am Ionly
am only
fourteen
fourteen
at myatfirst
my tournament,
first tournament,
I sit down
I sit down
somewhere
somewhere
on a on
beach
a beach
I notice
I notice
my mommy
my mommy
on the
onupper
the upper
level,level,
And And
I try Itotry
remember
to remember
to practice
to practice
whatwhat
I preach
I preach
watching
watching
me anxiously,
me anxiously,
hoping
hoping
and wishing
and wishing
for for
So I open
So I open
myself
myself
up toup
thetoworld
the world
and try
andtotry
reach
to reach
me tome
destroy
to destroy
my opponent.
my opponent.
Out to
Out
anyone
to anyone
willing
willing
to teach
to teach
My father
My father
nearby,
nearby,
watching
watching
the professional
the professional
tennis
tennis
match
match
on the
ontelevision.
the television.
I am Iaware
am aware
of myofopponent’s
my opponent’s
strengths
strengths
and and
weaknesses,
weaknesses,
and what
and what
I must
I must
do todo
achieve
to achieve
the victory.
the victory.
Challenging
Challenging
myself
myself
in theintournament
the tournament
by playby playing up
inganupage
angroup,
age group,
I stillI prevail.
still prevail.
I come
I come
out with
out with
the win.
the win.
Wearing
Wearing
my tennis
my tennis
outfit,
outfit,
a pink
a pink
tennis
tennis
shirt shirt
and and
a white
a white
and pink
and pink
skirt skirt
alongalong
with with
blue blue
and white
and white
NikeNike
tennistennis
shoes.
shoes.
AfterAfter
hitting
hitting
the first
the winner,
first winner,
a clear
a clear
shot shot
to theto the
rightright
side line
side line
I think
I think
to myself,
to myself,
I willI decimate
will decimate
this enemy.
this enemy.
42
14
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left: Marni Rosen
Top Right: Rivka Polisky
Bottom Right: Alex Miller
43
24
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left: Desktop, Bayla Neren
Top Right: Music, Orli Friedman
Bottom Left: Chuck Close, Rachel Harris
Bottom Right: Sunny Days, Jessica Weil
44
34
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top
Jacob
Weigner
TopLeft:
Left:Untitled,
Untitled,
Jacob
Weigner
Top
Savta’s
Sweetie,
Marni
Rosen
TopRight:
Right:
Savta’s
Sweetie,
Marni
Bottom
Rosen Right: Shark, Hannah Emalfarb
Bottom Right: Shark, Hannah Emalfarb
45
44
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left:
Top Left: Remember
Remember Me,
Me, Yardena PressYardena Pressner
ner
Bottom
Left:OlymTop
Right:
Tal Tovy
pics,
(?)
Bottom Right:
Jacob Weigner
46
54
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left:
Aliza Grant
Top Right:
Aliza Katz
Bottom Left:
Rivka Polisky
Bottom Right:
Aliza Jaffe
47
14
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left: Jenna Katz
Top Right: Sammy Shefler
Bottom Left: Fallon Levin
Bottom Right: Ronit Miller
48
14
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left: Sara Kaha
Top Right: Marni Rosen
Bottom Left: Bayla Neren Bottom Right: Aliza Katzin
49
14
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left: Chaia Wiznitzer
Top Right: Yonina Sakols
Bottom Left: Ilana Lupovitch
Bottom Right: Orli Friedman
50
14
ʣ“ʱʡ
ARTWORK
Top Left:
Ariella Matanky
Top Right:
Ronit Miller
Bottom Left:
Elana Brocha
Bottom Right:
Shayna Jacoby
51
64
ʣ“ʱʡ
PHOTOGRAPHY
Merav Stein
Merav Stein
Ronit Miller
Jackie Stelzer
52
74
ʣ“ʱʡ
PHOTOGRAPHY
Eliana Borochov
Nathaniel Borochov
Yair Sakols
Rachel Harris
53
84
ʣ“ʱʡ
PHOTOGRAPHY
End of artwork
(make sure art
ends on a left
page)
Eliana Borochov
Rita Gordon
Yair Sakols
54
94
ʣ“ʱʡ
Creativity and Optimism
Rene Magritte
Time Transfixed
55
05
ʣ“ʱʡ
The Meaning of Optimism
Rachel Harris
We received an e-mail from a college graduate out of work the other day asking for a statement
in "The Meaning of Optimism." It is presumably our duty to comply with such a request, and it is
certainly our pleasure.
Surely the board knows what optimism is. It is the sunny side of the street. It is the "believe" in
unbelievable. It is the cancer patient's step out of bed each morning, the daffodil in March, dawn.
Optimism is holding your head high, regardless of the negativity pushing it down. It is the persistence of Jean-Dominique Bauby's blinking eye, the freedom songs of the slaves in Egypt and in the
South, Oliver's plea for "some more." Optimism is the diving catch in a losing game. It is the idea of
the eternal optimist that can never be suppressed, the rainbow after a forty-day flood. It's the tablespoon of sugar after a teaspoon of medicine. Optimism is a request from a college graduate, with no
experience, looking for work in the middle of an economic crisis wanting to know what optimism is.
How to Sing in the Shower
Jaclyn Stelzer
When you turn on the shower try not to get too ecstatic, even though it's your favorite and most
relaxing part of the day. Tell yourself to make sure you have all of the soaps you need. Try not to
scald yourself.
Think of the song that will not stop playing in your head. Find the right key. Remember how that
song begins and how it ends, so that you won't feel like an idiot when you forget the next line.
Grab a shampoo or conditioner bottle and grip it tightly. Use it as a microphone when you begin
to sing.
Start your song with the opening verse and remember the way the artist sings it.
Realize that your door is locked and no one can stop you from singing. Hope you can hit that
major high note in the third verse. Forgive yourself if you don't because no one is judging you.
Smell those fruity and herbal soaps. Wash them out and continue singing simultaneously.
Feel the extremely hot water roll down the small of your back, while you scream the chorus at the
top of your lungs for all of the neighbors to hear.
Continue on to the next song, as if you are a human CD player. Wonder why you are obsessed
with that song
Watch your feet move on the foamy tub as you start to break out in dance. Watch the water pressure increase.
Hold the final note to sound like a rock star. Wonder what you can do to become one.
Open the next song. Listen to your scats, note changes, and guitar solos. Play the air-guitar and
jump up and down like McGagger.
56
15
ʣ“ʱʡ
Make sure that you are taking a very long shower because that is what you usually do. Open the
conditioner. Squeeze a palm-full and run your fingers through your silky hair.
Don't forget body wash. Run out of body wash and make an angry face. Get over it and begin the
next song.
Listen for the applause in your head and occasionally in the hallway.
Turn off the water. Step out of the shower and realize that your fame is over. Grab a towel, look
in the mirror, and brush your hair. Leave the bathroom
Cutting Steak with a Plastic Knife
Rachel Harris
The backyard gate was locked to keep Jake The Dog inside even though he lies around most of
the time. Smoke from the grill rose above the house blocking my view of the summer sun. The BBQ
essentials were scattered across the picnic table because no one was concerned with the appearance.
Only the plastic cutlery was out because the fancier forks and knives would unintentionally get
thrown out. I could hear my cousins and brothers excited shouts as the water sprayed them from a
broken sprinkler. Walking into the yard, I tried to maneuver past my chained bike, but could barely
make it past the twisted spokes poking. As a result of a car accident the day before, my bike was
wrecked. My dad and cousin sat lazily on the dirty lawn chairs next to my uncle in his dignified
chair, roasting in the heat. The sounds of the game and the sweet scent of cigar filled me with the
much needed joy of a summer afternoon as I stepped out of a hectic day and into a family tradition.
Like most summer days, I rode my bike to chemistry where I sat in a frosty classroom with no
windows. When the hour hand finally hit 1 o’clock, I ran down the six flights of stairs to my bike,
which sat chained to the rack waiting to carry me four miles in the heat. The tire was bent from hitting into the side of a Camry on my way to the beach the day before. Besides my inability to ride
straight, I was frustrated about homework, the temperature outside and the fact that I had to baby-sit
instead of joining my friends at the lake. To make my day worse, I got a call from a teammate telling
me there was basketball practice at school that night. Basketball was the last thing on my mind although I went to practice because I had an obligation to my team.
After a long day of mixing bases and acids, riding miles on a lopsided bike and picking my cousins up from camp, a piece of barbequed steak was all I needed to improve my day. “Hey little Rach,”
my dad said as I walked past the humming air- conditioner, “Havin’ a good day?” His greeting filled
me with the concerns I had been feeling all day. To answer his question I shook my head slowly and
made my way over to my plate of potatoes. Picking up on my gloom, my cousin passed me my fa-
57
25
ʣ“ʱʡ
vorite pasta salad, and my uncle gave me a piece of spicy steak. I could not help but smile at their
kindness and at the relief of completing another demanding day. Just the taste of meat and the feeling of the late day sun on my back made up for all the troubles I went through just minutes before.
A juicy hamburger and a margarine covered potato is a staple at our summer barbeques, but to
me it is more than just the food in the tin pans. All winter I look forward to the July afternoon dinners in my uncle’s backyard. The laid back atmosphere at our barbeques and the knowledge of being
together as a family is enough to get me through any tough situation. My memories of the dog sleeping under the table and the drenched little kids eating only tiny bites of their hotdog fill me with the
constant happiness I feel on those evenings sitting next to my family.
The Meaning of Friendship
Merav Stein
I received an assignment from my seminar teacher last week asking for two paragraphs based on
E.B. White’s “The Meaning of Democracy.” I chose to write a statement on friendship, as I must
fulfill my assignment and I would like to acknowledge all of my friends who have made my life,
thus far, spectacular.
Surely, my seminar teacher knows what friendship is, seeing as she is the same teacher who
taught me Ralph Waldo Emerson’s short essay “Friendship.” To me, friendship is the ten-page telephone bill tracking the hour-long, late-night phone calls. It is the fudgy chocolate birthday brownies,
and the Dunkin’ Donuts orange colada just because. Friendship is sweet coconut milk, surrounded
by a protective outer shell. It is the once-in-a-lifetime offer to spend you summer testing race cars
for Ferrari in Italy. Friendship is an addicting online computer game. Friendship is the first flakes of
snow that land on your gloved palm. It is the old, worn book that has been read at least a thousand
times, yet each read is beloved. Friendship is riding your bike again for the first time in many years,
and you still remember how to balance yourself. Friendship is Bananagrams and Taboo played all of
Shabbat. Friendship is the smile of the knowing eyes. Friendship is my umbilical cord to life.
58
35
ʣ“ʱʡ
Guilty Sestina
Hanah Brasch
Fingers move quickly on the black
And the white. Playing his life
For entertainment. His anger, the notes
My music.
Their
Songs, become mine.
Effortlessly playing the piece that is mine
Written by him to be his black
When he felt trapped there.
When gone was his life.
A chord of anger, a scale of frustration—his
music.
His cries heard through my notes.
Too painful to write physical notes
His deafness—mine.
Telling his story with music.
My keys are black and play black
The keyboard wailing: “Will life
Go on? They’re
His black
My music.
The pages are seen, but the sound of music
Gone. Their
Composed black
Are notes
Becoming mine
Simoulatneously destroying and creating a life.
Life
Is music
Is mine
Was their
Notes
That were black.
His deafness; there was pain there
My played notes
Are eternally his black.
Too crippling, yet they’re
Still inspring. The notes
Stilllinger taunting his life
Sustaining mine
59
35
ʣ“ʱʡ
Poetry Sestina
Guilty
HannahBrasch
Dimbert
Hanah
I wonder:
His black
Fingers
move quickly on the black
Whatthe
is awhite.
poem,Playing
besideshis life
My music.
And
What
we
can
glue
together,
For entertainment. His anger, the notes
Bitsmusic.
and pieces, all throbbing to the tune of life, The pages are seen, but the sound of music
My
Yet
something
feeble; we must breathe life in Gone. Their
Their
So the readers
black
Songs,
becomehave
mine.something that they can take-ComposedBreathe
No, this is a soul.
Are notes Hannah Dimbert
Becoming mine
Effortlessly playing the piece that is mine
I’d forgotten
how and
to breathe
poetry,
But whatbyishim
a person
Simoulatneously
destroying
creating
a life.
Written
to be without
his blackhis soulThose
days
where
the
words
keep
coming
(only ahe
human,
merely)
When
felt trapped
there.
A
force,
not
a
flowa
geyser.
Life
When
goneiswas
his life.
And what
a soul,
Is music (A soul)
A
chord
of anger, a scale of frustration—his
Save
poetry?
Is mine Today I’m in drought and famine
music.
Was their And as much as I seek,
His cries heard through my notes.
Notes
There will be no words to be found
That were Only
black.letters- bonesToo painful to write physical notes
His deafness—mine.
I must form them,
His deafness;
there
was pain there
Telling his story with music.
Give
shape,
My
played
notes
My
keys
are
black
and
play
black
Song
And breathe.
Are eternally his black.
The
keyboard
wailing: “Will life
Hannah
Dimbert
Go on? They’re
A hand that reaches up and down,
Inside
to me and
at strings,
Too
crippling,
yetplucks
they’re
A note,
maybe,The
double
Still
inspring.
notesto echo my heartbeat.
Stilllinger
taunting
his life
The shattering
majesty
of a thousand pieces,
Sustaining
mine
Resounding,
out and rippling backMoments like these, they
Make the songs of our lives.
60
45
ʣ“ʱʡ
REALITY
The Gleaners
Jean-Francois Millet
61
55
ʣ“ʱʡ
Human Sands
Chanan Bell
In the sands of time, time stands still
In the competitive world we lose our will
Who’s going to come save us from a resigned fate
Who cares, it’s already too late
The heavy weights are already lifted
The sands of time are already sifted
And all that’s been left from the tiny holes
Are the bits and pieces of a fragmented soul
To come early, who would be so bold
To buy the slave’s freedom before he’s sold
To give a poor man the shirt off his back
Because he realizes there are people who lack
The ability to care what happens anymore
Because inside their head, their conscience is sore
And unwilling to get through it and cope
Because we took a file and cut through their
hope
That a man is a man merely because he’s a man
And not because he’s educated and can afford a
tan
In the winter while others may freeze and starve
While wishing to sail the next barge
Out of this wretched human condition
Playing social Darwinism in a new rendition
Starring all the our human features we threw
down a fissure
And anyone else is no more than a hopeless
wisher
Porte des Morte
Meytal Chernoff
All buildings have stories; walls simply cannot make themselves heard so their stories go untold.
My story began in France many years ago. A man gathered wood from a local forest and built a
home for himself and his family. For years I watched the family grow, two little girls, a curly haired
blonde boy, and the woodcutter and his wife, the Laroches. Their lives were simple, but they were
happy and so was I. Then came the fire. It began as a small blaze in the forest, probably caused by
careless village boys, but soon it grew and surrounded the family and all were burnt in their beds.
The very next day the villagers came to see what could be salvaged from the wreckage. My frame
still stood so they took it apart and rebuilt it as a barn closer to the town. However, nothing was the
same after the fire, at night I could hear the family’s screams as the wind found cracks in my framework; it was as if they continued to burn.
I did not realize the significance of those voices for several more years. A few of the village boys
62
65
ʣ“ʱʡ
snuck inside at night, seeking ghosts and trouble. They climbed to the loft, but the ladder fell trapping them. The oldest boy, Ryan, decided to find a way down, but slipped and fell to the floor never
to rise again. The other boys screamed for help, and at dawn the farmer found them and the body.
The next night was a full moon and in its light I watched a tiny ghostly figure pace the hayloft. Ryan
had returned. His figure was accompanied by the cries of the Laroches making for a strange and eerie symphony.
Years passed and more people died inside my walls. An old man fell from a rickety ladder, a
cocky youth slapped his horse after a ride causing the horse to kick back, and still more fires. After
each fire, my visitors became less and less frequent. They blamed me for the deaths and pain; superstitious people, they believed I had been cursed by a witch or something much worse. The Laroches
became a town legend, their good name sullied with tales of secret occult practices and devil worship. I was a trap, set to drag them all to their dooms, and yet none would dare tear me down. Their
fear ran stronger than their hatred.
The area around me became overgrown and even the animals avoided taking shelter inside. Over
time I was abandoned to the woods. Throughout the years the voices continued. Each night the figures and voices of the past rose up and converged inside my walls. All the dead who I had known
dwelled within my walls. I heard their ghostly wails and saw them walking, eyes staring emptily
ahead searching but never finding. Nothing changed for fifty years until the storm. Lightning and
thunder crashed down from the sky, noise increased to a crescendo as the thunder roared; flood waters raced through the village while roofs caught fire from the lightening. Each strike illuminated the
people’s faces making them seem like grotesque masks contorted with pure terror. They all ran in
search of a safe place, but instead they found me. All the village’s survivors crammed themselves
into my walls. That would be their fatal mistake and as a final clap of thunder was heard, lightening
struck the floor through my unthatched roof, and every one of the people were burnt. Time past and
the boards that covered my frame began to fall away and I was an empty frame once more.
The village remained abandoned, but the towns that surrounded it whispered of divine retribution for unforgivable sins. They gave me a new name, Porte des Morts, the Door of the Dead. In a
way it was fitting, for now the screams were louder than ever before, and the specters passed
through each other in order to complete their movements back and forth within the house. Never did
they interact with each other, but to me they screamed and cried and begged, as if I could reverse
time or ease their sufferings. However, in another way the name did not suit me at all. None of the
shadow figures ever used the door. They were trapped eternally inside.
Many more years past and the people forgot my village had ever existed; and Porte des Morts
became the stuff of scary stories used to frighten naughty children. One day, a man was walking
through the woods and stumbled upon me. He flashed several bright lights from what I later heard
63
him call
camera;
thenthen
he was
gone.
I received
weeksofofpeace
peace
with
specters
himacall
a camera;
he was
gone.
I receivedseveral
several more
more weeks
with
mymy
specters
be- before the
came.
When
they
did,
I was
apartand
andpackaged.
packaged.
I don’t
know
foretrucks
the trucks
came.
When
they
did,
I wascarefully
carefullytaken
taken apart
I don’t
know
howhow
long Ilong
remained
shutshut
away
butbut
during
that
weresilent.
silent.I Ihad
hadmixed
mixed
feelings
about
I remained
away
during
thattime
timethe
thevoices
voices were
feelings
about
75
ʣ“ʱʡ but they
their departures;
the tortured
cries
of of
thethedead
notmake
makefor
forgood
good
company
their departures;
the tortured
cries
deadand
anddying
dying do not
company
but they
were better
thancall
complete
solitude.
him
a camera;
then
he was gone. I received several more weeks of peace with my specters bewere better
than
complete
solitude.
fore
the
trucks
came.
When
theyfrom
did,
Ithe
was
carefully
taken
and
packaged.
I don’t
know
how
WhenWhen
I wasI finally
removed
from
the
crates,
IIhad
no
idea
where
was,
I only
knew
I was
was finally
removed
crates,
had
noapart
idea
where
I Iwas,
I only
knew
thatthat
I was
long I remained shut away but during that time the voices were silent. I had mixed feelings about
no longer
intheir
rural
France.
TheThe
noise
wastheworse
than
any
of my
ghosts,
cars
swept
no longer
indepartures;
rural
France.
noise
worse
any
ghosts,
asas
cars
swept
by by
me.me.
TheThe
the tortured
cries ofwas
dead
andthan
dying
do notmy
make
for good
company
but they
men rebuilt
me enforcing
mymy
frame
to to
ensure
knockme
medown,
down,
they
know
were
better
than complete
solitude.
men rebuilt
me enforcing
frame
ensurenothing
nothing would
would knock
they
diddid
notnot
know
my my
Idid
wasthey
finally
removed
from
the
crates, I could
had
no idea
where
I was,
I only
that
history;
if they
did they
would
know
that
nothing
knock
me
down.
Iknew
still
live
by
road,
history;
ifWhen
they
would
know
that
nothing
could
knock
me
down.
I still
live
byI was
thatthat
road,
and and
no longer in rural France. The noise was worse than any of my ghosts, as cars swept by me. The
the voices
continue
tomehaunt
me.my
However,
during
thewould
day
I see
seeme
thedown,
living;
small
children
in my
the voices
continue
to haunt
me.
However,
during
dayknock
the
living;
small
children
playplay
in my
men rebuilt
enforcing
frame
to ensure
nothingthe
they
did not
know my
frameframe
and smile
atif me
with
loving
parents.
The
first
day
visited
history;
they
did they
would
know
that nothing
could
knock
down.
Ichild
still visited
live
by that
road,
and
and
smile
at walking
me
walking
with
loving
parents.
The
firstmeday
aachild
waswas
thethe
firstfirst
timetime
I I
the
continue
haunt
me.Laroche
However,
during
the day
I seefamily’s
the living;retreating
small
children
playand
in and
my
saw a saw
ghost
in voices
theinday.
Theto
little
Laroche
girl
smiled
at
family’s
retreating
backs
I swear
a ghost
the
day.
The
little
girl
smiled
at the
backs
I swear
that that
frame and smile at me walking with loving parents. The first day a child visited was the first time I
that night
her
cries
were
aday.
little
softer.
that night
cries
were
a The
little
softer.
saw her
a ghost
in the
little
Laroche girl smiled at the family’s retreating backs and I swear that
that night her cries were a little softer.
David’s
Lament
David’s
Lament
David’s
Lament
Zach Zach
Millunchick
Millunchick
Zach Millunchick
Journey
Journey
Journey
Jessica
Weil
Jessica
WeilWeil
Jessica
She
notices
the blooming,
pink peony
amidst
a field
of colorful
She
notices
theblooming,
blooming,
pink
peony
amidst
a flowers,
field
o
She
notices
the
pink
peony
amidst
a field
of colo
She
stops
and smiles
to watchpink
the sunset
asamidst
the clock
strikes six,
She
notices
the
blooming,
peony
a
field
She
stops
and desk
smiles
watch
the
sunset exciting
as clock
the clock
She
stops
and
totowatch
the
strikes
She
at herflowers,
worksmiles
daydreaming
and sunset
awaitingasanthe
adventur
of sits
colorful
She
sits
at
her
work
desk
daydreaming
She
at
her
work
daydreaming
andand
awaiting
an exca
She
hasstops
never
left
her
town,
but she
already
traveled
theawaiting
world.
She
and
smiles
todesk
watch
thehas
sunset
as the
With
a
wet
paintbrush
in
one
hand,
she
moves
toward
the
blank
canvas,
She
has
never
left
her
town,
but
she
has
already
travel
She strikes
never
the
clock
six,left her town, but she has already traveled
Her
journey
has
just
begun.
With a wet paintbrush in one hand, she moves toward
Oh. Realizations
aren’t and
easy, and
Oh. Realizations
aren’t
easy,
Oh. Realizations
aren’t
easy,
and
How they come is even harder:
How they
is even
harder:
How come
they
come
even
harder:
The tears
weisshed
reflect
our fears,
the
Mighty
hearts
that
wandered
The tears
we
shed
reflect
our
fears,
The tears we shed reflect our fears,here
Have
given
Have closed here
up shop,
She
sitsa at
herpaintbrush
work desk daydreaming
With
wet
in one hand,and
sheawaiting
moves toward the b
the Mighty
hearts
thatup,that
wandered
the Mighty
hearts
wandered
here
Have been brought to a screeching stop.
Her
journey
has
just
begun.
an
exciting
adventure,
Her journey has just begun.
Have Have
givengiven
up, Have
closed
up up
shop,
up, Have
closed
shop,
Have
Fallen.
She has never left her town, but she has already
But The
Mighty
doanot
succumb
Have Have
been been
brought
to a to
screeching
stop.
brought
screeching
stop.
traveled the world.
Even
to
pain
that
does
not
come
undone.
Have Have
Fallen.
With a wet paintbrush in one hand, she moves toward
Fallen.
Oh, How many countless, faceless young hearts
the blank canvas,
But The
do not
succumb
ButMighty
The
Mighty
do
Have
Fallen,
andnot
justsuccumb
shattered down to parts,
Her journey has just begun.
Even to
pain
not
come
undone.
theydoes
are not
of those
they
call
Mighty.
Even
toButthat
pain
that
does
not
come
undone.
So while
the mightyfaceless
may fall, fallen--no;
Oh, How
many
countless,
young
Oh, How
many
countless,
faceless
younghearts
hearts
Down that road is for the feeble to go.
Have Have
Fallen,
and
just
shattered
down
to
parts,
Fallen,
andisjust
And absent
truthshattered
in David’sdown
lamentto parts,
But they
are
not
of
those
they
call
Mighty.
When
our mighty
hearts.
But they
arecrying
not offorthose
they call
Mighty.
So while
the mighty
maymay
fall,fall,
fallen--no;
So while
the mighty
fallen--no;
DownDown
that road
is foris the
feeble
to to
go.go.
that road
for the
feeble
And absent
is truth
in David’s
lament
And absent
is truth
in David’s
lament
WhenWhen
crying
for
our
mighty
hearts.
64
crying for our mighty hearts.
85
ʣ“ʱʡ
A Short-lived Joy
Sara Lis
Read under the shielding shade of the tree.
Siblings together, through flowers we’ve
pranced,
Squished our toes in the sand next to the sea.
Oh! how I will long for these days of bliss,
But I must move on and childhood dismiss.
Like rainbows in the distance it has passed.
Beautiful and perfect at first
But impossible to grasp,
It can’t last.
After it’s gone, for its beauty you thirst.
This is my childhood fleeting from my eyes,
That radiates innocence upon the world.
Nothing to hide, there’s no need for disguise.
Thus, in sheer happiness and joy I have twirled.
With no cares in the world, through life I have
danced,
The Sad Truth
Matthew Silberman
The simple but panicked thought which immediately popped into Jeremy Forts’s head was
“Rain.” He grabbed the book which sat next to him and stuffed it inside his gossamer, tattered
jacket, trying to keep it as safe as possible. The thought of losing the last remnant of his once vast
collection of books reminded him of the hurricane which tore his happiness away from him, along
with all of his property and dignity. That had been a while ago, and it seemed to Jeremy that back
then, he was a different man. At the time, he lived alone, except, of course, for Greta, his old, weak
dog. He had a decent job; he paid the bills, supported himself, treated himself to something a little
more fancy every once in a while. He lived a good life. But once the hurricane came through… Jeremy grunted in pain as the traumatic memories rushed back, and tried to suppress them. He looked
around, taking in his surroundings as if for the first time; although he saw the same sights each day,
he never really looked at them closely.
The first thing Jeremy saw was an infinite assortment of colors: the deep, grimy brown of dirt
mixed with water, the dirty, uncared for yellows and whites of taxis rushing past, the occasional polished black of a limousine, the tan and grey of the old buildings towering over him. He heard vendors yelling at street corners, feet stomping on the pavement, car horns honking obnoxiously yet
65
95
ʣ“ʱʡ
somewhat rhythmically. The people passing by turned their heads away in disgust; the sight of the
broken, helpless man in tattered clothes only sped them faster toward their destination, their haven
from the relentless downpour. Jeremy took out the book again, looking at the cover. It was called
The Sad Truth, and was written by a man named Robert Elis. He read the description on the back, or
at least as much as remained after years of wear and tear. “…Elis teaches us that it is very difficult,
almost impossible to escape from the prejudices given to us by our situation; no matter where we go
or what we do, we will always be viewed the same way in the end.” “How ironic,” Jeremy always
repeated to himself, “that this is the one book I still own?” It seemed to have been written specifically for him, because he was and is always viewed as the dirty, good-for-nothing homeless person.
But anyway, something about Elis’ writing had always appealed to Jeremy; in fact, at one point, he
owned many other books by Robert Elis. But that was before the hurricane struck.
Once again, the memories of the disaster flooded back. After the hurricane, everything was lost:
his home, his books, and Greta, who could barely attempt running away, let alone escaping safely.
Jeremy was evacuated from the area struck by the torrents, and when he finally returned, he saw
nothing but wreckage. He eventually returned to work, but nothing was the same anymore. Although
he had had a cozy little house built with the small amount of insurance money he received, he never
felt comfortable anymore. Jeremy could never think straight, and was fired from his job, leaving him
out of work and out of hope. He resorted to gambling to fill the cavity in his heart once occupied by
happiness, and that, of course, also was in vain. And so, he ended up homeless, hopeless, and lonelier than ever.
People hurried past, and the rain kept plummeting from the sky. It was the first rain in a
while, and as the crusty, dried mud on Jeremy’s coat was exposed to the moisture, it liquefied again,
gently sliding off of the jacket’s thin material. “Today is going to be a good day. I just know it,” Jeremy murmured in a weak, dry voice. Of course, he repeated this same thing every day, but today he
said it with a certain air of determination which, since he lost his home and money, became a
stranger to him – that is, until today. Jeremy slowly stood up, shaking off the crumbs from yesterday’s pitiful dinner: old, stale bread from a nearby restaurant’s dumpster. Passersby glanced nervously at Jeremy as he got up, as if he was some lifeless being which rose from the dust. His body
sore, Jeremy hobbled over to a fast food restaurant nearby. His dark, old boots left behind a trail of
dirt as he walked directly to the bathroom. Waiting until no one was left in the room, Jeremy
splashed water from the sink onto his face and hair. He watched as a stream of muck fell from his
unwashed, crusty skin. Then Jeremy rubbed soap on his face and hands, trying to make himself
somewhat presentable; although not very effective, it was the best he could do. Then he walked into
the coffee shop next door, ordering a simple black coffee with what little money he had collected the
day before. He sat down at a small table next to one with a group of people who seemed to be argu-
66
06
ʣ“ʱʡ
ing over something. He noticed that they all had a book next to them, and guessed that this was a
meeting for a book club. When he looked more closely, Jeremy realized that the book that they were
discussing was __1__, the very book which he himself owned. He was, of course, interested at once,
and listened in on the argument. “…I disagree. A person is who he is; there’s no escaping that! You
can’t change your identity!” One person maintained, his voice increasing in volume with each word.
A dark-haired woman answered back just as strongly. “That’s not true! We can’t take away someone’s ability to change!” The argument went on, and one by one, the other people put down the
woman and her opinion.
“Um…” Jeremy said shyly, trying to get the attention of the people at the next table. No one
heard him, so he said more loudly, “Excuse me!” At once, everyone turned to him. A man from the
group smiled, and responded, “Oh, I’m so sorry. We’ll keep it down.”
“No, that’s not it…” Jeremy said. “Can I…” his voice trailed off. “Contribute?”
Another person in the book club laughed, and replied, “Sure. You read this book too?”
“Yeah. It’s great. I just love how Elis analyzes the topic. But…I also think that his view is…
well, wrong. What she –” he pointed to the woman with dark hair “– said is right. Saying someone
can never escape a stereotype is like saying the way someone is viewed when he’s a child is the way
he’ll always be viewed!”
The dark-haired woman smiled. “See? At least someone here has some sense!”
Another woman who appeared to be the head of the group announced, “Okay, guys, I think
that’s enough for today. We had an interesting discussion. Remember! One month from today, we’re
discussing Anarchy, also by Robert Elis. So make sure you read it in time!”
Everybody got up from the table, but the woman with dark hair stayed behind, sitting down next
to Jeremy. Jeremy, shocked, jumped up from his chair, and when he did, his coffee spilled over.
“Ugh. That’s not good.” He croaked, frustrated, pulling napkin after napkin out of the dispenser on
the table. He frantically tried to wipe up the mess. The woman laughed, helping in the effort. “Oh.
Uh, thanks.” Jeremy said awkwardly, sitting back down.
“Oh, just returning the favor,” the woman answered. “Thanks for the support before.” Jeremy
smiled. “By the way, I’m Jane.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jeremy.”
“Well, nice to meet you too, Jeremy. Maybe I’ll see you sometime.” She got up to leave, then
turned back to face Jeremy. “Hey – do you want to join the book club? It’s great. We meet here
every month. You should come to the next meeting! The next one is April 6th, 9 A.M. sharp. We’re
discussing Robert Elis’s Anarchy. It’s supposed to be a great book. Have you heard of it?”
“Heard of it? I’ve read it dozens of times! I’m a huge fan of Elis’s!”
“That’s perfect, then! I’ll see you in a month!” And so, for the next four weeks, Jeremy saved up
67
16
ʣ“ʱʡ
money to buy a copy of Anarchy, which he luckily found near the place he slept at a little booth
which was selling old, cheap books. When he opened the cover of his new book, reading the first
page for the first time in years, he felt like he was being reunited with an old friend. He couldn’t
read the book fast enough; his eyes were transfixed on every word, he sucked in all the information
he could from Elis’ analytical text. And when Jeremy finally finished the book, he put it down carefully on the ground next to him, satisfied. Being able to read again made him remember that his life
wasn’t always so bad.
When April 6th finally arrived, Jeremy woke up in a good mood, excited to finally do something
productive; something exciting. In a way, he was excited to finally just do something. He got up,
picked up his new book, washed up in a little shop’s bathroom, and practically ran all the way to the
coffee shop. He arrived, and to his dismay, saw Jane and the rest of the group on their way out.
“Hey, what happened?” He asked, pleading on the inside that he wasn’t late, that he didn’t wait a
whole month just be miss the opportunity to do something normal once again.
“Oh, you must’ve slept in. Meeting’s over!” Jane teased.
“No way. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this!” Jeremy said, disappointed, but in a
way, comforted simply by the sight of Jane. There was something about her that he liked; he couldn’t place his finger on it though. “Ugh. What am I thinking? I’ve only talked to her once!” He
scolded himself, dismissing any feelings for Jane. But still…
Jane interrupted Jeremy’s thoughts. “What, a month? Anyway, it’s not like this is the end of the
world. Big deal! You missed one meeting. You can still come to the next one.”
“Yeah, but…whatever. I’m going to get some coffee.” Jeremy stated.
“You know what? I think I will too,” Jane declared.
“Well, I guess great minds do think alike.” With a laugh, they walked over to the cash register
and got their drinks. Sitting down at a booth, they smiled at each other. Suddenly Jeremy was glad
he took extra care to clean up his hair and beard this morning. He realized that he wanted to look
nice for the meeting, but especially for Jane.
“So, do you still want to discuss the book?” Jane asked.
“No, no, it’s fine. Let’s talk about…I don’t know. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
Jane smiled. “Putting me on the hot spot here, eh? Hm…well, I was born in the suburbs. Two
older brothers, no sisters. They were typical brothers: always rowdy, uncivilized…the usual. And of
course now that they’re big, important executives, they deny it. But anyway, from the time I was
young, I was always called interesting. Inquisitive. I always wanted to know more, understand more,
absorb more ideas. And I loved books. Honestly, I could come home one day with a bag full of library books and I would be finished with the whole pile that day. I just stuffed as much information
as I could into my brain. I don’t even know why, but I was just so interested in knowledge.”
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26
ʣ“ʱʡ
“I feel like you’re describing me!” Jeremy smiled.
Jane laughed, and said, “Okay, now you’re just trying to be agreeable.”
“No! I mean it! Give me any book and I’ll have it finished within two hours. No joke.”
“Okay, I’ll hold you to it.” They laughed, and Jane continued her story. “When I got to college, I
focused mainly on writing; now that I had all this information, I wanted to be able to share it. And
here I am, a magazine editor living in the city.”
Jeremy nodded. “Wow. That’s a pretty good life you’ve got there.”
“Why, thank you. And now I’ll let you talk. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
Jeremy paused. Somehow he never thought that she would ask him that question. She couldn’t
know the truth; she couldn’t know that every day, he struggled just to have a basic meal. That his
bathroom was in a fast food restaurant. That his house was a sidewalk, that the extent of his possessions was two books, one outfit, boots, and a thin jacket. “Oh. I’m a…teacher. At a small school,
right at the edge of town. I teach Language Arts.”
“Really? That’s great.”
“Yeah. I love the kids. Actually, most of them come from underprivileged families, so they’ve
really got it tough. I’m just glad to give them an opportunity to learn.”
“How sweet. It’s really amazing what you do. So how did you get to the city?”
Jeremy continued, weaving a fake story of his life, avoiding the mention of the many disasters
which he had faced in his life. Finally, they left the coffee shop, and each went on their own way.
Jane and Jeremy began to make plans with each other more often; however, the fact that he was lying to Jane always remained at the back of his head when he was with her. But she couldn’t know
that he was homeless. Jeremy tried to cover up his lie, but as always, the truth is uncovered somehow.
It happened on a Monday. For two whole months, Jane and Jeremy had been seeing each other.
All the money which Jeremy got was used to buy Jane nice little presents. His living conditions were
worse than ever, but he knew it was worth it once he saw the appreciation and happiness in Jane’s
eyes. Today the two of them had decided to go sightseeing around the city. At one point, they
paused, and Jane said, “Hey. I just realized something.” Jeremy nodded, signaling to Jane to continue. “You never showed me your school! The one you teach at!”
Jeremy froze. His smile fell to a nervous expression; he knew this would happen eventually. Of
course, the school didn’t exist. It never did. All Jeremy could choke out was, “It…isn’t…”
“What’s that?”
“I-I’m…sorry.”
“For what? What happened?”
“There…is no school.” Jeremy finally stammered.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I was lying. I don’t have a job.”
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36
ʣ“ʱʡ
“Oh, no, I’m so-”
“No. No. I haven’t been telling the truth. Jane, I’m jobless. I’m out of money. I…I’m homeless…and there was nothing happy in my life until I met you. Until I joined the book club. That was
the first time in a while that I actually felt…like a person.”
“Oh, Jeremy…” Jane hugged Jeremy, a sad look on her face. “I can help you. Don’t worry-”
“No! I didn’t want this! No! This is what I’ve been trying to avoid!” He backed away from Jane,
a wild, pained look in his eyes. “I don’t need any help!”
“No, Jeremy, I’ll…I’ll get you something to eat. I’ll get you clothes. Really!”
“Let me do this myself! I don’t need your help!” Tears came to Jeremy’s eyes. Tears of embarrassment, of regret. He continued to back away, then turned and ran away from the one person who
gave him happiness, and the one person who took it away when he became just another homeless
person, just another person in need, who couldn’t help themselves. “Elis was right!” He yelled as he
ran. “Elis was right!”
Jane stood still, watching as Jeremy ran. And as she did, she realized something. No, Elis wasn’t
right. Because Jane didn’t see Jeremy as a homeless person; she saw him as a kindhearted, intelligent, understanding man. She saw him as someone worth knowing. Jane realized that truly, a person
can’t be judged simply by their situation; everyone has a story, and until you know that story, you
can’t fully know who that person is.
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46
ʣ“ʱʡ
The Meaning of Hope
Aliza Jaffe
I received an assignment from our Seminar teacher last week asking for a statement on “The
Meaning of Hope.” Being a student in this class, I am required to fulfill this assignment, and I shall
fulfill it with pleasure.
Surely the teacher knows what hope is. It is her anticipation before her students’ hands rise after
she asks a question. It is the phrase L'hiyot am chofshi b'artzenu, “to be a free nation in our land”, in
Hatikvah and the dove’s olive branch.
Hope is Plan C. It is the homemade strawberry-peanut butter milk shake. It is the thumping
hearts of children eager to be picked for a team. Hope is waiting for him to call. It is the little patch
of greenery amid melting snow and that one warm day in January. Hope is patience and saying
“maybe” frequently; it is filling in the bubble next to “undecided major” on the PSAT. It is the absence of an umbrella on a cloudy day. Hope is a student turning in to her teacher a second draft on
the meaning of hope.
What Is the Meaning of Procrastination?
Jason Silberman
I recently received an interesting assignment from my seminar teacher. The assignment was to
write an interpretation of a word, parallel in format to that of E.B. White’s, “The Meaning of Democracy.” I chose to write about Procrastination. As a student looking to do my best in school, it is
obviously my duty to complete this assignment, and I am particularly excited to do so.
Surely my seminar teacher knows what Procrastination is, being that she has been a teacher at
Ida Crown for many years. Procrastination is the early morning showers while the smell of coffee
fills the air. It is the just in just five more minutes. It is “House” and “The Office”. Procrastination is
letting your body slowly digest dinner before you get up from the table. It is the lie-to-yourself-somuch-you-think-it’s-true feeling. It is Facebook and YouTube. Procrastination is halftime and the 7th
inning stretch. It is 11:59:59 and the feeling of relaxation and guilt. It is chocolate cake and banana
crème pie. It is an action—or lack of action—which is universal. It is the living for the moment, moment. Procrastination is waiting until Thursday night to complete my seminar assignment on the
meaning of procrastination.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
The Empty Dock
Aliza Grant
Holding myself up, my hands stationed like slanted pillars behind my back, head cocked to the side,
Feet dangling, gently tapping the green blue water sending ripples in every direction.
I am sitting on the edge of the dock,
in the background the cement steps, escorted by moss, lead up to the lawn of the house in which I
spend those few summer weeks, the best,
A haven.
I am seemingly aloof and relaxed, months from sixteen,
aware of the lake wind,
threatening to blow me over as it tauntingly spirals my hair around my face.
I am challenging temperature,
wrapped up in my zebra patterned towel and a swimsuit
wet hair shooting drops of water into the air at every cold gust.
What was I thinking, exhilarated,
after jumping out of the water, propping myself into position, more aware than I appeared,
as my mother snapped the photo from the motor boat I had just vacated?
The look on her face wistful for the moment,
before the photograph had placed me in a different time zone.
She will clutch the camera for fear of it falling in the lake
Her eyes not on the picture, but on me
left on the pier in my towel
slowly, but surely,
becoming a black speck as the boat speeds away with her in it.
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66
66
Finding it: Truth
Benji Richter
Finding it: Truth
Benji Richter
ʣ“ʱʡ
Why do we bite
Why do we bite
Into the Banana before it is unpeeled?
Into the Banana before it is unpeeled?
Is it ignorance, inexperience?Is it ignorance, inexperience?
Or the inability to tell the difference.
Or the inability to tell the difference.
It is a super-human ideal; It is a super-human ideal;
A transient fairytale,
A transient fairytale,
That tasting the banana
That tasting the banana
With the peel is immediate, and
With
thethe
permanence
peel is immediate, and the permanence
of
of
The banana will slowly rot The banana will slowly rot
Away,
Away,
But when one winnows and sifts
But when
through
onethe
winnows and sifts through the
weeds of disgust,
weeds of disgust,
A discovery is made.
A discovery is made.
The peel preserves the banana;
The
thepeel
banana
preserves
the the banana; the banana the
peel: A
peel: A
Dull pearl-Dull pearl-The banana within
The banana within
The peel is unripe. It brings aThe
squint
peeland
is unripe.
an
It brings a squint and an
“Eww”
“Eww”
To a baby’s face,
To a baby’s face,
But when a Man;
But when a Man;
White-bearded in a long-coatWhite-bearded in a long-coat
peels,
peels,
The banana is sweet and
The banana is sweet and
Wise.
Wise.
73
74
76
ʣ“ʱʡ
Accomplishments
Emanuel Leutze
Washington Crossing the Delaware
75
86
ʣ“ʱʡ
Inspiration
86
ʣ“ʱʡ
Rebecca Turok
Inspiration
Rebecca
Turok
While
reading
a book with my younger sister, I came across the word “inspiration.” My little sister
turned to me and asked me what the word meant. It was my duty to answer her.
While
a book
with
myinspiration
younger sister,
I came across the word “inspiration.” My little sister
Butreading
surely she
knew
what
meant.
turned
to
me
and
asked
me
what
the
word
meant.
It was my
to answerinher.
Inspiration is the signatures on the Mayflower Compact.
It isduty
the “dream”
Martin Luther King
But
surely
she
knew
what
inspiration
meant.
Junior’s “I Have a Dream” speech. It is Beethoven’s sonata that he never heard, Robin Hood’s arInspiration
the signatures
Mayflower Compact.
is the ho,”
“dream”
in Martin
Luther
King
row soaringisthrough
the sky.onItthe
is Christopher
Columbus’sIt “land
Woody
Guthrie’s
“This
land
Junior’s
“I
Have
a
Dream”
speech.
It
is
Beethoven’s
sonata
that
he
never
heard,
Robin
Hood’s
aris your land, this land is my land.” Inspiration is the mysterious smile behind Leonardo DaVinci’s
row soaring
the sky. It islearning
Christopher
“land
Woody signing
Guthrie’s
“This
land
Mona
Lisa. through
It is kindergarteners
how Columbus’s
to hold a pencil
andho,”
presidents
bills.
It is
Freis yourDouglass’s
land, this land
is myand
land.”
Inspiration
is the Gettysburg
mysterious Address.
smile behind
DaVinci’s
derick
freedom
Abraham
Lincoln’s
It isLeonardo
Neil Armstrong’s
first
Mona
It is kindergarteners
learning
how atonation
hold awhat
pencil
andcould
presidents
bills. ItInspiis Freleap onLisa.
the moon
and the president
who asked
they
do forsigning
their country.
derick
Douglass’s
freedom
and
Abraham
Lincoln’s
Gettysburg
Address.
It
is
Neil
Armstrong’s
first
ration is the fuel of the Earth, the food of leaders, the reason why the human species is not extinct
leap
on
the
moon
and
the
president
who
asked
a
nation
what
they
could
do
for
their
country.
Inspitoday. It is the key to balancing on a surf board and to taking the first strides in a marathon.
ration
fuelgirl,
of the
the foodafternoon,
of leaders,struggling
the reasontowhy
the human
not
extinct
It isisathe
little
on aEarth,
lazy Sunday
understand
the species
meaningisof
a new
today. Inspiration
It is the key
surf behind
board and
taking
the first
strides
in a marathon.
word.
is to
thebalancing
setting ofon
thea sun
the to
backs
of two
sisters
crouching
over a worn out
It is a little girl, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, struggling to understand the meaning of a new
book.
word. Inspiration is the setting of the sun behind the backs of two sisters crouching over a worn out
book.
Sunset
Hannah Dimbert
Sunset
Hannah
On anDimbert
ordinary morning, in an anonymous city, another day began.
A butterfly flapped its wings, and the sun rose.
On an ordinary
in across
an anonymous
city, another
began.through the grey sky, pushing
Busses
shuttled morning,
passengers
the grey streets.
Planesday
streaked
A butterfly
its wings,
and around
the sunlumps
rose. of grey-black snow and shivered. Nobody nothe clouds
aside.flapped
Pedestrians
stepped
shuttled
passengers
the grey
streets.
Planes most
streaked
the begun
grey sky,
pushing
ticedBusses
that grey
ran rampant
and across
unexcused.
Grey,
the ugliest,
drabthrough
color, had
to appear
the
clouds
aside.
Pedestrians
stepped
around
lumps
of
grey-black
snow
and
shivered.
Nobody
noeverywhere and to cover everything, like a weed growing unchecked; it shared the sky with buildticed
that
grey
ran
rampant
and
unexcused.
Grey,
the
ugliest,
most
drab
color,
had
begun
to
appear
ings and airplanes and clouds and clouds of pollution. The sun never shone.
everywhere
and to
coverthe
everything,
likethe
a weed
growing
sharedstirred.
the sky
with
buildSomewhere,
below
sea or above
mountains,
theunchecked;
spirit of theitEarth
She
yawned,
ings
and
airplanes
and
clouds
and
clouds
of
pollution.
The
sun
never
shone.
and stretched, and the great cedars stood tall. Flowers unfurled and she opened her vivid and timebelow
the the
seafish
or above
thesun
mountains,
spiritEarth's
of the Earth
yawned,
lessSomewhere,
eyes. The tides
pulled
and the
pulled thethe
moon.
leavesstirred.
becameShe
open
and
and stretched, and the great cedars stood tall. Flowers unfurled and she opened her vivid and timeaware.
less“My
eyes.children,”
The tides Earth
pulledsmiled,
the fish“today
and the
sun pulled
the moon.
became
open and
begins
the spring.”
The Earth's
streamsleaves
pushed
their waters
through
aware.
ice, the mice scurried out of holes, and the grass laughed. Springtime, the season of joy and content“My children,” Earth smiled, “today begins the spring.” The streams pushed their waters through
ice, the mice scurried out of holes, and the grass laughed. Springtime, the season of joy and content-
76
96
ʣ“ʱʡ
ment, had begun.
Only the people failed to understand the spring. They stayed indoors, and lit fires. Nobody
searched for the first wildflowers, or the early croaks of frogs. Instead they polluted the air, and the
water, and the ground itself, with their grey poisons.
Earth was pained by this, and cried. Even this rain was acidic, tainted by the humans. Earth
screamed, but people had lost the ability to hear her voice. With the invention of grey, they had
ceased to listen. They failed to appreciate the spring; really, they had ruined it. With an obscured sun
and a sickly atmosphere, springtime, despite its initial joy, was choking.
“I must find someone to speak for me, to help me,” Earth decided. She searched for wise people,
seeking the type who grew small plants, and who smiled, and who, above all things, hated the color
grey. When she thought she had found one, she would send a message- a peal of thunder, or a hummingbird. Though she searched for a long while, Earth found no speakers. Men shot down her birds
and roasted them, and nobody had trembled at the thunder in a long time.
Another long search, and Earth was able to find a young girl who sat under the umbrella tree.
This was an extraordinary tree. It had been a magical one, atop a grassy hilltop, in days past. Now it
struggled to survive amid grey concrete and metal. It had done quite well, spreading its leaves in an
enormous canopy and letting them droop down until they formed walls.
This girl, Earth's messenger, spread these branches apart and stepped into the canopy. She found
herself in a large, circular room. Grey light was filtered down with a green tinge. Stunned, she sat
quietly and absorbed the beauty.
Time passed, but she did not notice, and soon enough the little girl fell asleep.
“My wonderful little girl,” Earth called out to her. “I need your help.”
Somehow, the little girl who had grown up in a time of grey heard and understood Earth's voice.
Now Earth had become frustrated with all of the grey, and of being ignored. She had long been
searching for somebody to help her save herself. By now, though, it was almost too late.
“My child, I need your help.”
The little girl understood. “What must I do?”
Earth drew on ancient, cryptic wisdom. “You must find the brightest type of fire, which has
burned since before I was born. Find this and bring it to me, and I will recover.”
The little girl was daunted, but she set out on this quest. “What is the brightest type of fire?” She
asked herself. She found no answer.
So the little girl went to the president of a large country. She told him, “I am trying to save
Earth. She told me I need to find the brightest type of fire. Can you help me?”
The man smiled, amused. “Earth does not speak, little girl, and does not need to be saved. Earth
belongs to us. I refuse to help you with such a silly mission.”
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07
ʣ“ʱʡ
The girl was deeply hurt but knew better than to argue about Earth's needs. “Please, sir, at least
help with the riddle...”
The president complied. “The brightest fire? Simple. The brightest fire is loyalty. When a man is
loyal, his strength is endless and becomes imbued in that which he is loyal to.”
“Are you loyal to Earth?” the little girl asked of him.
“I don't think about that. Loyalty is for people. Earth needs nothing; she's fine. And you didn't
speak with Earth. Earth does not speak, much less convey riddles. You're just confused,” he told her
confidently.
The little girl was indeed confused. “Perhaps this is not a quest from Earth,” she thought to herself. “Or perhaps this is pointless. If nobody gives Earth what she needs, how could I find it?”
Still, though, she resolved to continue. Loyalty seemed a fine answer, but she wanted to ask
somebody else.
She traveled a long while and met a professor. He saw that she was weary and gave her warm tea
while she asked her question.
“Love” was his answer. “Without a doubt.” He understood that Earth needed help, but said he
had none to give. “I do not love. I simply understand it.”
The little girl wondered, “How does love help Earth?”
She asked the professor, and he told her that love changes all things.
“Can you try?” she asked him. But he just smiled sadly. Again she wondered, “If nobody gives
Earth what she needs, how can I find it?”
“You love Earth,” he told her. “Maybe that will be enough.”
The girl was sad to leave the professor. But she set on, and came across a scientist typing furiously, entering figures into a computer.
“Can you tell me what the brightest type of fire, that has been burning forever, is?”
The scientist looked at her sharply before returning to his keyboard. “The sun. It has been burning for nearly forever, yet its light is bright enough to sustain all life.”
“Oh!” the girl exclaimed. “Earth needs the sun.”
“What do you mean? Of course Earth needs the sun. The sun is almost part of Earth.”
“But Earth told me she needs...”
“Earth told you? How can Earth speak? It can't. You're confused, or deluded. Anyways, as a scientist, I should know- the sun is absolutely fine.” With each word, he put more and more force into
his typing.
“What about the pollution?”
“It is not a problem. We are monitoring it.”
The little girl was wrenched by a sudden longing to see the sunlight, untainted by grey. “What
does the sun feel like?” she asked the man. “Without the pollution? Do you remember?”
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17
ʣ“ʱʡ
His face turned stiff and grey. “I do not know,” he said. “I do not remember any time without
pollution.” The man fell silent for a moment and his keystrokes slowed, then stopped.
“Are you sad?”
But he had already returned to typing and did not answer. The girl turned and left. The scientist
did not understand.
She traveled back and returned to the umbrella tree.
She opened the green canopy and she sat down under the tree. It seemed smaller, now, and it
occurred to her that, in all her time searching, she had grown and changed somewhat. Earth's needs
had become pressing to her, and she desperately wanted to help. She had gone from being a helpful
young girl to a devoted young woman. She wondered what had happened, and when, but put her
wondering aside for Earth's more pressing needs.
Reviewing her answer one last time, she knew what could help Earth.
“Earth,” she said, “I have found three answers to your riddle, and I think you need them all. You
need loyalty, which makes everything stronger, and love, which changes all things in beautiful ways.
With these, you will be able to recover your life-source, the sun.”
Earth smiled bitterly. “My child, you have succeeded. Yet..”
“Yet what?”
“Yet it is too late. There is no hope of recovery. To recover the sun, I must destroy everything.”
“What about loyalty, and love? What about this quest? What about these answers? What about
me?”
“Loyalty and love only exist when there is somebody to give them. Only you love me. Only you
have been loyal, searching for ways to help me. I'm sorry, my child, but I am defeated. I must destroy everything and begin anew. Once again will I see the sun.”
The woman fought an overpowering longing to experience the sunlight. “Why did you send
me?” Anger flowed through her, at the people who had destroyed her Earth and at the Earth who
was going to destroy them.
“Ask yourself.” Earth drew her the umbrella tree's canopy close and, before the woman could
protest, she sealed it off. She summoned her energy and broke through those ugly layers of grey that
were piled up upon her.
And she kept safe, within a once-magical tree, a powerful young woman who had once been a
little girl. She would serve a purpose yet.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
Ode to the Pencil in my Hand
Ben Auerbach
When writing,
One must choose
A subject to rant
About. Whether it be about
The sun, or trees,
Or just about the piece of paper
In front of them.
In my case,
However,
I cannot write about
Such things without
Giving acknowledgement
To the object that gives me
The me the opportunity
To do so.
This is my pencil
That I hold in my fearful
Hand. When I hold you pencil,
I feel the courage to explore
The deep wonders of the
World. You my are savior
When I am in a state of
Dire need for safety.
You are always within
Reach. You complete the
Work that an absolute dread
And turn it into a masterpiece.
When my fingers cradle you in
Them they say,
"You are in command.
What ever you shall desire,
We shall achieve."
And then they follow you
As you guide them along
The page. Many would think
That you, Pencil, are just
A slave to the holder's will.
But it is I who is indebted
To you. For you let me jot
Down my feelings and views
Of society right onto this
Page. For you are the reason
I am able to right this ode.
Because of this I can say,
Thank you. However,
It does no justice
To the gracious act that you
Accomplish for me
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37
ʣ“ʱʡ
Confidence
Miriam Mosbacher
Surely everyone knows what confidence is. It is the “chin up, shoulders back” on a dimly lit
street. It’s the pep talk and the adrenaline rush during pre-game warm-ups. It is the courage to canter
over a horse jump and the uncontrollable smirk. Confidence is the ignition for taking chances. It is
the push to speak before a demanding crowd, the final line said with a lasting ring. Confidence is the
urge to belt out a song without practicing. Confidence is trusting your instincts. It’s the firm handshake and proud poise. It is knowing that everything will be all
alright,
right,even
evenwhen
whenfailing
failinglast
lasttime.
time.
Confidence is the running start off the diving board.
The Next Step
Sabina Hanani
Balancing my aspirations and reality.
Schoolwork and television,
family verses teachers.
Who I hope to become, and who
I will become.
All these thoughts and questions are
overflowing my mind at this very moment.
In a sea of hopeful teenagers waiting feverishly
for the next chapter to begin,
there I am, poised, anxious,
but imitating confidence,
my hands, steady at the sides,
with nothing but a stage beneath my feet.
Ready to challenge any obstacle
that may conflict with my dreams.
I am covered in white from head to toe.
Underneath, is a simple black dress
representing the countless hours my mother
spent on this day.
There she stands, tears streaming down her face,
thinking how old I must look with all this makeup
on,
and reflecting on what the future will bring for
me.
Beside her, hiding his big brown teary eyes behind
a silver lens, stands my father,
wearing a gray suit that must have taken seconds
to pick out,
constantly reminding me about the future,
but always dreading the next step I take.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
The Meaning of Triumph
Confidence
Jessica Weil
Miriam
Mosbacher
Surely
knows
what confidence
is. Itinisseminar
the “chinclass
up, from
shoulders
back” on
dimly lit
About
twoeveryone
weeks ago,
I received
an assignment
my teacher
Ms.a Goldstreet.
It’s
the
pep
talk
and
the
adrenaline
rush
during
pre-game
warm-ups.
It
is
the
courage
to canter
stein, asking for a statement on the meaning of an intangible feeling of choice. I contemplated
about
over
horsetojump
thefor
uncontrollable
smirk. Confidence
is the
ignitionexperience
for taking chances.
It is
what atopic
writeand
about
my paper. I wanted
to write about
a personal
but one that
the
push
to speak
a demanding
crowd,
the final
line said withI adecided
lasting to
ring.
Confidence
is the
others
could
relatebefore
to as well.
After much
thought
and deliberation,
write
about “The
urge
to
belt
out
a
song
without
practicing.
Confidence
is
trusting
your
instincts.
It’s
the
firm
handMeaning of Triumph.”
shake
and proud
poise.
It iswhat
knowing
that is.
everything
will be
even when
failing
lastafter
time.
Surely
anyone
knows
triumph
It is the smile
onalright,
a high school
student’s
face
Confidence
is
the
running
start
off
the
diving
board.
receiving her hard- earned diploma. It is the “Yes!” in “Yes we can!” Triumph is the feeling after
landing a perfect triple- pirouette in ballet class, it is the “100%” marked in red ink, on a white piece
of paper,
The
Nextamidst
Step numbers, letters, and scratch-work. Triumphis the feeling that comes with a first
Sabina
Hanani
paycheck
earned from a “real” job, it is the hi-fives shared after the White Sox win the World Series.
Triumph is the basketball that falls through a hoop as the ending buzzer sounds. It is the last touches
I am covered
white
from
headof
to an
toe.applauding
Balancing
my aspirations
andcanvas
reality.
of a paintbrush
to a colorful
that is finally complete,
the in
bow
taken
in front
Underneath,
is
a
simple
black
dress
Schoolwork
and
television,
audience as the curtain closes. Triumph is finally reaching the ending sentence of a seminar class
representing the countless hours my mother
family
verses
teachers.
assignment
that
is due tomorrow.
spent on this day.
Who I hope to become, and who
There she stands, tears streaming down her face,
I will become.
thinking how old I must look with all this makeup
All these thoughts and questions are
on,
overflowing my mind at this very moment.
In a sea of hopeful teenagers waiting feverishly and reflecting on what the future will bring for
me.
for the next chapter to begin,
Beside her, hiding his big brown teary eyes behind
there I am, poised, anxious,
a silver lens, stands my father,
but imitating confidence,
wearing a gray suit that must have taken seconds
my hands, steady at the sides,
to pick out,
with nothing but a stage beneath my feet.
constantly reminding me about the future,
Ready to challenge any obstacle
but always dreading the next step I take.
that may conflict with my dreams.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
Faith
Marc Chagall
The Praying Jew
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57
ʣ“ʱʡ
The Blue Siddur
Joshua Cooper
“Hurry up,” shouted a low and impatient voice from the bottom of the staircase, “We’re going to
be late.” Typically, my father was not strict about me going to synagogue-I was only twelve; however,
tonight was Yom Kippur, and each year my father made certain that my mother and I attended with
him and arrived on time. I suppose the only reason my father persisted in making sure our family continued to carry the heavy burden of orthodoxy was mainly because of my grandfather. My grandfather
was a Holocaust survivor, and after the war he became a very religious man. I suppose that as his oldest and only son, my father felt he had an obligation to keep religion alive in the family. As the echo
of my father’s words repeatedly drummed their way through the doorway of my bedroom, I quickly
threw on my freshly pressed suit jacket and made my way down the stairs. As I hopped off the last
step, my father tossed me a Kipah. “Let’s go,” he snapped as he began to open the front door, “We
have to go pick up my parents first, and I don’t want us all to be late.” After my mother complimented
me on how good I looked in my new suit and kissed my forehead, the three of us grabbed our jackets
and left the house.
I suppose I did not mind walking instead of driving. It was fairly nice out and the cool breeze felt
pleasant against my face. After walking several blocks, we arrived at my grandparent’s house. After
slowly opening the large wooden front door, my grandmother, already wearing her dress and jacket,
greeted us each with a big warm hug. It had been a while since I had been in my grandparent’s home,
but each time I was there, I was able to identify the distinct aroma that filled the air. Responding to the
heavy footsteps coming down the staircase, I quickly turned my head toward the stairs. There he was
with a wide, wrinkled smile. “Hi everyone,” said my grandfather joyfully. “You all ready to go?” As
he grabbed his coat from the staircase railing, he suddenly stopped. “Shoot,” he said, “I forgot my
Siddur upstairs.” As my grandfather turned back towards the staircase, my father gently grabbed his
arm. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” said my father. “Sam will run upstairs and get it for you.” As the
words left his mouth, my father was already giving me a push towards the stairs. “But Dad,” I argued,
“there will be plenty of siddurs at synagogue.” “No,” said my father. “My father needs his siddur, now
please just go and get it.” With everyone quietly standing there in the hallway, I did not want to start
arguing with my father, so I did as he said. “Thanks Sammy,” said my grandfather as I climbed the
steps. “It’s the blue book on the bookshelf in my bedroom.”
It was unusually dark in his room, and as I entered, a small ray of light caught my eye from the
corner by the nightstand. It was my grandfather’s habit to purposely leave his bedside lamp on, so that
before he went to sleep he could read one of the many thick books that he kept on the massive bookshelf next to his bed. Luckily for me, the lamp shined enough light on the shelf, so that I could distin-
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67
ʣ“ʱʡ
guish between the different books that rested on it.
I began to run my fingers on the ridged edges of the books, glancing at each one, trying to
find this blue siddur that was so important to my grandfather. Finally, after what seemed to be a lifetime, my eye caught a very decrepit, small, blue book. As I yanked the tiny book from the shelf, I
felt the feeble binding crush in my hand. I quickly repositioned my hand in order not to further
damage the book.
I walked out of the bedroom into the well-lit hallway and carefully opened the blue book to the
first page. The faint handwriting was barely legible but the words stopped me in my
tracks. “September 1943. May God bless the one who possesses this book and watch over him at all
times.” It was signed by Avraham Ruptfer, my great grandfather.
“Where is that kid?” demanded my father from downstairs. I quickly closed the book and
darted down the stairs. I handed the siddur to my grandfather and he seemed relieved to have it in
his hands. We then all headed out the door and began our walk to the synagogue. I knew my grandfather had been imprisoned in Auschwitz during the war, but my father always told me that my
grandfather did not like to speak about his experience; however, tonight was different. After reading
those words on the first page, I felt obligated to ask my grandfather about the mysterious story behind the blue siddur.
We walked a little further down the block when I finally formed a question to ask about this puzzling book that he cared about so deeply. As I made my way to my grandfather’s side, my hands
began to shake. For the first time, I was actually scared to speak to him, but I knew that if I did not
ask now, I would never discover the story behind my grandfather’s blue siddur.
Slowly, I took a deep breath and looked up at my grandfather. “Papa,” I said. “Why does that
blue siddur mean so much to you? Why do you need it? And what does that writing mean on the
first page?”
My father, listening, quickly stopped walking and turned around towards me. “Samuel!” he
barked, “leave it alone!”
“Relax, David,” said my grandfather. “I think it’s about time the boy heard the story. He is
almost a man, you know.” My grandfather tightly gripped the small book in his hand, cleared his
throat, and began his story.
“It was 1944 and under the guidance of German SS officials, Hungarian police began rounding
up hundreds of thousands of Jews from each of the small Hungarian towns. Most were immediately
deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau where, upon arrival, they were brutally murdered by the SS in gas
chambers or crematories. My family, unfortunately unable to escape before our town was
“liquefied,” and was taken to Auschwitz- Birkenau.
“My mother, father, and I were all taken by train to the camp.” explained my grandfather.
85
77
ʣ“ʱʡ
“Once we arrived at the camp, we were immediately stripped of all of our belongings and stood
shivering in a mile long line. The scene was complete chaos. At the front of the line we could see
that there was some sort of separation going on, and after overhearing a conversation between two
old Jewish women in front of us, we discovered that the SS were separating the ‘Valid’ from the
‘Invalid.’ ‘Moshe,’
saidwas
my father.
‘Take this
will protect
you.’
Moments
laterthe
I was
separated
‘Invalid.’
As our turn
approaching,
mysiddur.
father Itquickly
turned
to me
and thrust
hidden
siddurfrom
at
‘Moshe,’
said saw
my father.
‘TakeThey
this were
siddur.
It will protect
you.’ Moments
I was separated
myme.
parents
and never
them again.
‘Invalids’
and immediately
sent to later
the crematory.”
from
my“For
parents
and never
saw them
They said
weremy
‘Invalids’
and immediately
sent
to book
the cre
the two
years until
I wasagain.
liberated,”
grandfather,
“I prayed with
this
every
matory.”
chance I got. My father, before giving me the book, had written on the front page a small blessing for
theI believe
two years
until
was liberated,”
saidgrandfather
my grandfather,
“I prayed
with
book every
me,“For
which
truly
didI save
my life.” My
then became
silent
asthis
he brought
his story
chance
I
got.
My
father,
before
giving
me
the
book,
had
written
on
the
front
page
a
small
blessing
to a close.
for
believeattruly
did save mymy
life.”
My grandfather
then became
silent
as from
he brought
his
me, which
As we Iarrived
the synagogue,
mother
and grandmother
wiped the
tears
their cheeks.
story
to
a
close.
While we were walking through the front door my grandfather quietly called me over. “Sammy,” he
As“Iwewould
arrived
thetosynagogue,
mysiddur
mother
and grandmother
wiped
tears and
fromnow
their
cheeks.it is ti
likeatyou
pray with my
tonight.
God has blessed
methe
enough
I believe
began
While
we
were
walking
through
the
front
door
my
grandfather
quietly
called
me
over.
“Sammy,”
he
me to pass his blessing on.”
began “I would like you to pray with my siddur tonight. God has blessed me enough and now I believe it is time to pass his blessing on.”
Moonlight on the Ocean--Seen From a Rooftop in Georgia
Zach Millunchick
Moses’ face shines-Reflecting the full glory of God-Shockingly bright in the darkness.
Then, clouded becomes God’s face,
But still Moses’ shines,
Refusing to relinquish His glory.
Then, it seems, God’s glory has dimmed
Till it becomes a sliver of what it once was.
But that weakness lies in the observer
Not in the observed.
And when it seems gone forever,
Slowly the full grace of God is again revealed
And Moses shines.
Slowly though, the shining face draws away,
Receding slowly from its observer.
But surely that light will return
For a couple more nights at least.
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87
ʣ“ʱʡ
How to
How
toDiscover
DiscoverYour
YourTalents
Talents
Eliana Block
Eliana
Block
When you’re in bed trying to fall asleep, although you want to, don’t close your eyes. Rummage through your
and get in
to bed
work.trying
Let your
heart
take control
of your
fight the
urgeyour
to sleep.
art supplies
When you’re
to fall
asleep,
although
youhands
want and
to, don’t
close
eyes.Know
Rum-you
can’t
sleep:
It
is
not
time
for
sleep.
Taste
the
urgency
of
your
words
as
they
leave
your
lips
towards
God.fight
Pray
mage through your art supplies and get to work. Let your heart take control of your hands and
that
that
family
will
be
comforted.
Continue
writing
and
drawing
late
into
the
night.
Create
artwork
that
will
the urge to sleep. Know you can’t sleep: It is not time for sleep. Taste the urgency of your words
console
only
the lips
family
in pain,God.
but yourself
as that
well.family
Draw awill
world
multiple
fractures
with a
as
they not
leave
your
towards
Pray that
becontaining
comforted.
Continue
writing
pair
of
hands
embracing
it.
Inscribe
your
creation,
“As
your
world
seems
to
crumble,
we
hold
it
together.
and drawing late into the night. Create artwork that will console not only the family in pain, but We
are your crutch,
weDraw
are your
aid, we
are your friends
and fractures
family.” Recognize
that
never
yourself
as well.
a world
containing
multiple
with a pair
ofaccomplishment
hands embracing
it. felt
so
bittersweet.
Offer
on
a
piece
of
paper
your
heart
to
the
two
little
girls
and
wait
for
their
reactions.
Tell
them
Inscribe your creation, “As your world seems to crumble, we hold it together. We are your crutch,
howare
sorry
youaid,
are we
for are
theiryour
loss.friends
Remindand
themfamily.”
that youRecognize
can empathize.
two hours sobbing
theso
girls’
we
your
that After
accomplishment
neverinfelt
bathroom,
return
to
class.
Discover
you
are
talented.
bittersweet. Offer on a piece of paper your heart to the two little girls and wait for their reactions.
Tell them how sorry you are for their loss. Remind them that you can empathize. After two hours
sobbing in the girls’ bathroom, return to class. Discover you are talented.
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97
ʣ“ʱʡ
Divine
Crescendo
97
Zach Millunchick
Divine Crescendo
Zach
Millunchick
The blinding
light of the heavens shines
As the angels raise their voices in heavenly praise.
The
blinding
of the heavens
shines
A single
voicelight
comprised
of an infinity
As
the
angels
raise
their
voices
in
heavenly praise.
In a register that no human can comprehend-A single voice comprised of an infinity
In
a register
no human
can birth;
comprehend-They
sing forthat
death
along with
They rejoice in failure along with success;
They
death along
birth;
They sing
exaltfor
unrequited
lovewith
along
with the discovThey
ery rejoice in failure along with success;
They exalt unrequited love along with the discovery
ʣ“ʱʡ
Of a soul mate
Because they grasp that which we can’t.
Of a soul mate
Because
thatreach
which
we can’t.
But
whenthey
theirgrasp
voices
a divine
crescendo,
The ultimate Divinity orders silence
ButHe
when
reach athat
divine
So
cantheir
hear voices
those voices
don’tcrescendo,
underThe
ultimate
Divinity
orders
silence
stand-So He
can hearvoices
those of
voices
that don’t underThe
imperfect
humans
stand-- humanity is their perfection.
Whose
The imperfect voices of humans
Whose humanity is their perfection.
Ever Since I Died
Moshe Brimm
Ever Since I Died
Moshe
As IBrimm
walk down the dark, long, moonlit alley, I think to myself that it is a beautiful night, to everyone except me. To me it is a lonely dark night filled with no happiness. Loneliness had become
walk down theonly
dark,
long,He
moonlit
alley, I think
to myselfI go.
thatHe
it issees
a beautiful
to evemy As
bestI friend-no-my
friend.
accompanies
me wherever
the samenight,
faceless
ryone
except
me.
To
me
it
is
a
lonely
dark
night
filled
with
no
happiness.
Loneliness
had
become
people I do. I never do see people’s faces anymore. Let alone a smile. Walking through the streets I
my
friend-no-my
friend.
He accompanies
mefor
wherever
I go.
He sees
sameIt’s
faceless
see best
people’s
heads are only
always
looking
down, looking
something
that’s
neverthethere.
as if their
people
I
do.
I
never
do
see
people’s
faces
anymore.
Let
alone
a
smile.
Walking
through
the
streets I
souls have been taken from them and not me.
see people’s
heads
are
always
looking
down,
looking
for
something
that’s
never
there.
It’s
as
if their
I continue walking, and I walk through someone’s wooden gate followed by my lonesomesouls
have
been Itaken
and not
me.
ness. Of
course
didn’tfrom
openthem
the gate,
I am
not able to. I have not been able to touch anything since
I continue
walking,
and Iburnt
walkbody
through
gate The
followed
by myI lonesomeI walked
away from
my badly
stillsomeone’s
lying underwooden
the covers.
only thing
can touch is
ness.
Of
course
I
didn’t
open
the
gate,
I
am
not
able
to.
I
have
not
been
able
to
touch
anything
since
another one like me. But I have never seen another one like me before. Sometimes I feel like I’m
Ithe
walked
away
from
my
badly
burnt
body
still
lying
under
the
covers.
The
only
thing
I
can
touch
is
only one like me in this universe.
anotherOn
onethe
likeday
me.
But
I
have
never
seen
another
one
like
me
before.
Sometimes
I
feel
like
I’m
I died, my new habits became natural to me. I found myself tired in the mornings
the
likeatmenight;
in this
universe.
and only
wideone
awake
I have
no need to eat, and I roam the long moonlit alleys looking for a
On the used
day Itodied,
mydanger
new habits
me. Ia found
in theAfter
mornings
friend. Alleys
mean
to me,became
but theynatural
are nottoeven
simplemyself
threat tired
anymore.
I
and
awake at
I have
noskin,
needall
to eat,
and crusted
I roam the
longBut
moonlit
looking
a
diedwide
I remember
thenight;
feeling
of my
hot and
black.
when alleys
I walked
awayfor
it was
friend.
usedwhite.
to mean
danger
to me,
they areinnot
even and
a simple
threat anymore.
I I
smoothAlleys
and milky
I miss
seeing
mybut
reflection
mirrors
rain puddles.
But mostAfter
of all,
died
I
remember
the
feeling
of
my
skin,
all
hot
and
crusted
black.
But
when
I
walked
away
it
was
miss people. People cannot see me, and it pains me. Occasionally, they look up, straight into my
smooth and milky white. I miss seeing my reflection in mirrors and rain puddles. But most of all, I
miss people. People cannot see me, and it pains me. Occasionally, they look up, straight into my
88
08
ʣ?“ʱʡ
??
eyes, and I this cold icy feeling runs down my spine. And they, they feel nothing. Not even the content feeling of knowing that your eyes will meet a smile.
I continue walking down the long narrow alley the lamps have already been burning for hours.
I look back on my life for a second and see all the things I miss. I miss my family, my friends, and
my loved ones. Family was always the one important thing to me. I was the only son in my family. I
haven’t seen my family since they perished in the fire with me. I don’t know why I was the only
one who walked away glowing that night, perhaps I had some unfinished business on this world.
Maybe to meet someone who needs me.
I continue walking down the alley in my own atmosphere of nostalgia and wonderment. I
stare down at the cobblestones just like everyone does when they pass me, never making eye contact. As I walk, I keep count of all the bricks I pass until I walk straight into something solid. It hurt.
My brain takes a few minutes to process what has just happened. I quickly refocus my eyes and stare
at the white thing that I had just slammed heads with. I can see her head is sore as well. She is in as
much shock as I; slowly she lifts her pale translucent face to see the cause of her joyous pain. She
raises her lonely pearl eyes strait
into
mine…
andand
smiles.
straight
into
mine…
smiles.
Yair Sakols
The Meaning of Faith
We received an email from the Vatican asking for a statement on “The Meaning of Faith.” It is
apparently our responsibility to fulfill such a request, and it is unquestionably our pleasure. Certainly, the Vatican knows what faith is: It is the daily bedside readings to the lifeless. It is the flickering candle. It is the one against the many. It is the praying atheist, a pack of cigarettes in a buried
man’s pocket.
Faith is the vitality of a survivor, and pleading guilty or the Fifth. It is the single mom and the
recovering junkie, the lone nail in a plaster wall, and the door-less closet.
Faith is going for two in a tie game. It is the idea that can never be proved, yet a notion that no
other reason can be had. It is from concentrate and from artificial ingredients. Faith is single ply and
single stitch. It is the swallowing of a pill, the injection of a needle, hair loss and chemotherapy.
Faith is a request from the Vatican, on Christmas Eve, wanting to know what faith is.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
The Light at the End of a Tunnel
Maor Rudick
I am an optimistic soul trying to put light in the dark.
I wonder why our dreams get caught in a battle of love and hate.
I hear the lap of waves colliding with the breath of millions.
My eyes rest upon a winding road of people, jumping, screaming,
each one a character in my book of life.
I want to see the words from my mouth become a reality,
A vision full of excitement without stress.
I pretend I am a wall of rubber, unable to be harmed, but beautiful enough to envy.
There are feelings of pain that wrap their tendrils around my heart,
Quickly banished by the love so abundantly handed out.
Finger to finger we touch, careful not to let go, for our small worlds will crumble if we do.
Worries surround my core, desperate to be voiced.
The belief that G-d created a cure before a curse suppresses them.
I understand that pain precedes happiness,
and perfection is a hazy vision never achieved.
My mind releases torrents of words,
sometimes with no barrier to suppress the wave.
I dream for a happily ever after,
the possibility of an existent form of perfection for life.
I try the roller coaster of life, thriving on my strengths and banishing my faults.
Hope lays in the silver lining,
whirled around so everyone can see and approve.
I am
trying
to put
lightlight
in the
am an
anoptimistic
optimisticsoul
soul
trying
to put
indark
the dark
90
28
ʣ“ʱʡ
In Praise of Clouds
Benji Richter
He wears an awesome facade of white,
and happiness
but inside
he is filled with tears.
tears that could cover the world,
that could destroy cities and towns,
that could
make people dance.
When his hair turns grey
he becomes honest;
showing his tears ,
and shedding his natural misery unto the world.
but then, the rumbling sobs end,
and they suddenly turn
to salty tears,
and then to mere dribbles down the side
of his face,
He starts anew:
He again becomes clear
white, again,
but there is a beautiful spectrum of color
portrayed in his smile.
It’s as if it reflects off the tears
and takes over his facade with true beauty.
He is himself again, but,
he is changed;
he is,
for the next fleeting moments,
so sure,
that he will stay white
and colorful.
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ʣ“ʱʡ
38
Eliana
Kahan
An
Empty
Room
Eliana
Kahan
ʣ“ʱʡ
An Empty Room
As I walk into my son’s room I see a desk. I try to picture him sitting at it studying; no image comes
to mind. He has never sat at that desk. It has three empty drawers and several empty shelves. The
As I walk into my son’s room I see a desk. I try to picture him sitting at it studying; no image comes
only thing in this desk is his laptop. A laptop I bought for his homework. The laptop lies closed on
to mind. He has never sat at that desk. It has three empty drawers and several empty shelves. The
his shelf. I’m sure no homework has ever been done on it. I worked hard to get him that laptop. I
only thing in this desk is his laptop. A laptop I bought for his homework. The laptop lies closed on
know I will not be rewarded. I have never even received an e-mail sent from that laptop. My son
his shelf. I’m sure no homework has ever been done on it. I worked hard to get him that laptop. I
hardly talks to me. He is out right now. Honestly I’m not sure where. He could be gone for all I
know I will not be rewarded. I have never even received an e-mail sent from that laptop. My son
know. The bed that I made this morning lies empty across from me. Its 3:00 a.m. and I don’t know
hardly talks to me. He is out right now. Honestly I’m not sure where. He could be gone for all I
where he is. His comfy down blue blanket awaits him and he is not here. I’ve lost my little boy.
know. The bed that I made this morning lies empty across from me. Its 3:00 a.m. and I don’t know
Somehow I can’t bring myself to call the police. “He’ll come home,” I tell myself. The painted baswhere he is. His comfy down blue blanket awaits him and he is not here. I’ve lost my little boy.
ketballs on his walls dance around me. I feel sick. The enormous Piston’s logo on the wall reminds
Somehow I can’t bring myself to call the police. “He’ll come home,” I tell myself. The painted basme of the first game his father took him to. I remember the happy child he was. I was at that game
ketballs on his walls dance around me. I feel sick. The enormous Piston’s logo on the wall reminds
too, but he didn’t notice. He was Daddy’s little boy. He barely spoke to me even then. Now that his
me of the first game his father took him to. I remember the happy child he was. I was at that game
father left, he’s grown even more distant. I gaze at the beautiful gold bar mitzvah invitation pinned
too, but he didn’t notice. He was Daddy’s little boy. He barely spoke to me even then. Now that his
to his wall with an outline of Jerusalem on it. It sparkles like the light that used to shine in my son's
father left, he’s grown even more distant. I gaze at the beautiful gold bar mitzvah invitation pinned
eyes. I know he'll come home.
to his wall with an outline of Jerusalem on it. It sparkles like the light that used to shine in my son's
eyes.
I know
he'll come home.
Rebecca
Turok
The Magical Water
Rebecca Turok
The Magical Water
I ducked my head under the murky waters, taking care not to allow any part of my body to
touch the walls of the strange pool as I held my breath and counted to three. I raised myself out of
I ducked my head under the murky waters, taking care not to allow any part of my body to
the water, aware of the thin sheet that clung to every part of my body and the woman who stood betouch the walls of the strange pool as I held my breath and counted to three. I raised myself out of
fore me on the pool’s ledge, watching. Her thin lips parted and a whispered word floated towards
the water, aware of the thin sheet that clung to every part of my body and the woman who stood beme as she exhaled: “Again.” I lowered myself back under the magical water. It was an enigma to
fore me on the pool’s ledge, watching. Her thin lips parted and a whispered word floated towards
me how this pool was any different from the one in which I had spent most of my summer playing.
me as she exhaled: “Again.” I lowered myself back under the magical water. It was an enigma to
But somehow this water could change me in a way that my favorite summer destination could not.
me how this pool was any different from the one in which I had spent most of my summer playing.
Somehow, this water would make me accepted by the people whose customs I had practiced for as
But somehow this water could change me in a way that my favorite summer destination could not.
long as I could remember. Lifting my head above the water, I drew in a deep breath. I could see a
Somehow, this water would make me accepted by the people whose customs I had practiced for as
few strands of dark hair floating in a corner of the pool and I wondered about their owners. Behind
long as I could remember. Lifting my head above the water, I drew in a deep breath. I could see a
me, I knew three pairs of eyes were watching my every move while waiting for their turns to subfew strands of dark hair floating in a corner of the pool and I wondered about their owners. Behind
merge themselves into the pool. I plunged back under the cloudy water for the final time. As I
me, I knew three pairs of eyes were watching my every move while waiting for their turns to submerge themselves into the pool. I plunged back under the cloudy water for the final time. As I
92
48
ʣ“ʱʡ
hoisted myself out of the warm pool, I came to a realization about myself and the reason I was going
through this process. I did not come to this pool because I wanted other people to accept me. I
came so I could accept myself. I wanted to have the title “Jew” because without Judaism, who was
I?
was I?
My mother had practiced Catholicism in her youth, but she always felt that something was
missing. When my parents met, my father introduced my mother to Judaism, a religion that provided answers to all of my mother’s questions. My parents got married and had two children before
my mother, my sister, and I went through a reformed conversion. Two years later, my family
moved to Chicago where my mother, two sisters, and I went through an orthodox conversion. I had
always felt Jewish and practiced Judaism. I went to a Jewish kindergarten and walked to a synagogue with my father every Shabbat, but I felt different after my conversion. I felt like I had been
lost and stumbling around blindly without any sense of direction before my trip to the mikveh. But
afterwards, I knew I had found my path. I was becoming the person I was made to be. There was
no other place for me.
I had never expected that one unassuming seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning could come
to define the rest of my life. On that one warm morning at the end of first grade, I became part of Gd’s chosen nation. I became a Jew.
The Painter
The Painter
Leah Edelman
Leah Edelman
We think we have it all under control; we are masters of our own fate
We
brings –we
theare
future
we have
straight
We think
thinkwe
weknow
havewhat
it alltomorrow
under control;
masters
of our
own fate
We
theknow
credit what
because
of our strength,
and abilities
to do
it all
We take
thinkallwe
tomorrow
brings –brains
the future
we have
straight
We often fail to remember how even the mighty and powerful sometimes do fall
We take all the credit because of our strength, brains and abilities to do it all
We are taken so aback when things do not proceed as planned
We have
oftentrouble
fail toaccepting
remember
howthings
evendothenotmighty
and
sometimes do fall
We
when
play out
by powerful
our own hand
We arewilltaken
so aback
whenthat
things
proceed
as planned
When
we begin
to fathom
theredo
is not
something
greater,
above your head and mine
Something
superioraccepting
to human when
beingsthings
that exists
outside
and
time
We have trouble
do not
playspace
out by
our
own hand
Yet
each
person
is
integral
and
we
cannot
disregard
another's
strife
When will we begin to fathom that there is something greater, above your head and
We are each a mere dot in this beautiful picture that the Painter calls life
Something superior to human beings that exists outside space and time
We are unable to see that bigger picture with our limited vision
Yet each
personcan,
is integral
and each
we cannot
disregard
Only
the Painter
who painted
stoke with
perfectanother’s
precision strife
While
we're
on thedot
canvas
we beautiful
will not bepicture
able to that
see our
fate calls life
We are
eachstilla mere
in this
theown
Painter
All
do is live
life that
to the
fullestpicture
and make
anour
effort
to make
it great
Wewe
arecan
unable
to see
bigger
with
limited
vision
We do not need to know what the future holds to make our lives as fulfilling as can be
Only the Painter can, who painted each stoke with perfect precision
And the Painter is smiling admiringly at His artwork that only He can see
mine
While we’re still on the canvas we will not be able to see our own fate
All we can do is live life to the fullest and make an effort to make it great
We do not need to know what the future holds to make our lives as fulfilling as can be
And the Painter is smiling admiringly at His artwork that only He can see
93
94

Dedication Editors` Note - Ida Crown Jewish Academy

Transcription

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