Nuts & Raisins 2019 by Golda Och Academy

Nuts and Raisins 2019 / Volume 46 Patchwork The Literary Magazine of Golda Och Academy 1418 Pleasant Valley Way, West Orange, NJ 07052

Editors-in-Chief Naomi Esrig ‘20 Eva Hale ‘20

Senior Advisor Sophie Goldman ‘19 Ayala Jones ‘19

Faculty Advisor Mr. Jason Langer

Editorial Board Liat Cohen ‘21 Marin Gold ‘21 Shayna Denlow ‘20 Benjamin Haase ‘21 Danielle Hodes ‘20 Hayley Lampert ‘21 Amitai Nelkin ‘21 Matthew Rothschild ‘21 Gabriel Weiss ‘20 Griffith Werwa ‘21 Contributing Authors and Artists Shira Ashkenazi ‘21 Emma Beigleman ‘21 Michelle Bilmes ‘19 Zece Brown ‘20 Emma Burke ‘21 Liat Cohen ‘21 Rafael Colton-Max ‘21 Shayne Cytrynbaum ‘25 Shayna Denlow ‘20 Naomi Esrig ‘20 Amanda Feldman ‘19 Oren Goldman ‘25 Talia Goldman ‘23 Adam Gross ‘19 Jamie Gutterman ‘19 Eva Hale ‘20 Danielle Hodes ‘20 Gabrielle Jaffee ‘24

Sabrina Joseph ‘20 Noah Kamens ‘20 Kira Kress ‘21 Ari Komorovski ‘24 Chaya Kurson ‘24 Hayley Lampert ‘21 Sam Lurie ‘19 Amitai Nelkin ‘21 Noah Randman ‘19 Abigail Rosenblat ‘22 Matthew Rothschild ‘21 Aaron Scherzer ‘22 Naomi Sessler ‘21 Zachary Siegel ‘24 Adina Solomon ‘21 Maya Soudry ‘19 Maya Taylor-Prince ‘24 Gabriel Weiss ‘20

Nuts and Raisins—Why? When the literary magazine first appeared, everyone understood the meaning behind the name. Nevertheless, time has passed, and many people are now puzzled by the title. They have begun to wonder what Nuts and Raisins is all about. They ask, Nuts & Raisins—Why? “Rozhenkes mit Mandelen,” “Almonds and Raisins,” is an old popular Yiddish folk song. It was written by Abraham Goldfaden in Eastern Europe, in the nineteenth century. This beloved lullaby covers a broad range of topics, from ancient to contemporary, and its theme is timeless. The first stanza refers to the destruction of the Temple, the second to Zion, and the third to the Industrial Revolution. In this song, a mother is singing to her infant son. She looks back towards our people’s past and dreams about her child’s future, wishing him good fortune, a life filled with sweetness, love, and success. “Almonds and Raisins,” the special treat, symbolizes these hopes. We find other symbols in nuts and raisins as well. Nuts come in a variety of shapes and sizes. They are crunchy and sometimes salty, usually light brown in color. Raisins, on the other hand, are dried grapes. They are soft, sweet, and a dark brown or golden color. Nuts and raisins are clearly very different from one another. Individually, each tastes good, but mixed together, they taste much better.

Golda Och Academy is similar to the delicious combination of nuts and raisins which has long been a festive part of Jewish Tradition. Both the students and the faculty are unique in our school. We all “march to the beat of a different drummer.’’ Like nuts and raisins, our literary magazine is an eclectic dessert for Golda Och Academy. From mature content to the whimsical, Nuts & Raisins offers students a chance to share their creativity, writing, artwork, ideas, and initiative in a variety of ways. The magazine contains poetry and prose as well as illustrations. For all these reasons, Nuts & Raisins is an appropriate title for our literary magazine. Art provides an outlet to express our chaotic thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. By putting words and images on the page, we find ways to order these ideas and gain insight about ourselves. Art, a soundless medium, contains a multitude of emotions, which are transmitted from the author to the reader, and from the artist to the viewer. As you read N uts and Raisins, take the time to reflect on the thoughts expressed by its authors and artists, and consider your perspective. We proudly present the 2019 issue of Nuts and Raisins, Patchwork.

Table of Contents Motivation, Brown A Simple Call, Kurson My City is Layered, Hale Afraid, Rothschild Airvent, Hodes Waterfront, Burke Cliche, Hale Read my Lips Feldman Coffee Jars, Hodes Stark White Sound, Lampert Down the Mississippi, Brown Flying Frights, Solomon Found Poetry, Brown Life in Twofold Scherzer Ceiling Fan, Hodes The Artist’s Heart, Nelkin Google Translated, Cytrynbaum A Tree (Of Unusually Small Proportions), Kress I Saw Myself, Rothschild IOS 37, Nelkin A Million Faces, Brown Kindness of the Sun, Goldman Loneliness, Weiss Mirror Face, Hale Placid, Taylor-Prince My Brother Benny, Ashkenazi Dark is the Knight, Lurie My Own Grandpa, Weiss The Leaves Fell in Autumn, Hale Drop Dead Gorgeous, Denlow Neshama 27 in Poland, Gross ~not a red flag~, Rosenblat Adrift, Beigelman In Days of Olde, Cytrynbaum I Took A Plane to my Happy Place, Soudry By the Light of the Moon, Goldman Oceanic, Komorovski Possibilities, Hale Ripped at the Seams and A Little Misplaced, Esrig Boston Common, Goldman Sleep Sonnet, Denlow

5 6 7 8 10 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 36 37 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 3

Spotty Reception, Goldman The Chair, Colton-Max Zebra, Randman The Sand Table, Nelkin The Star, Gross Fallen Flowers, Bilmes Why Don’t I Have That?, Cohen Widowermaker, Weiss Myself Through Tiled Eyes, Siegel Word Vomit, Lampert Your World is Crumbling, Your Cupboard is Has Burned, Esrig Thinking, Jaffee ‘Zar’s Killer Beard, Kamens The End, Nelkin

52 53 55 57 58 59 60 62 65 66 67 69 70 72

Cover Art Fabric Collage Sabrina Joseph ‘20

Motivation It starts with the motivation. The motivation to be better. Then comes the warm-up and preparation. Getting properly prepared for the feat is paramount. Finally, the main course… Running. The wind whistling past my body. Freedom. Nothing can stop me Nothing can catch up to me. My speed can only be slowed down By the genetic faults of being A white jew with foot problems and partial asthma. But even that can not stop me from being free. Zece Brown ‘20

A Simple Call The baby calls Father stays with me standing tall Everything started with a simple call It was in the middle of May She left early for work just like every day The baby cries as if she’s saying “hey” The call came at night It gave everyone a fright Now with all her might Mother was putting up a fight She had always hated father He always was a real bother But I’m his daughter Late that night she took baby She left me with father she had a plan… maybe just maybe I couldn’t take it anymore He was such a bore I was empty, I wanted more Shortly after that mother took me Father of course had a country to flee He asked me to join but I would never agree Me and father had to part A broken home meant a broken heart For now we are apart One day I would see him For one day I wouldn’t miss him One day I would be complete again That one day……………. Chaya Kurson ‘24

My City is Layered Eva Hale â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Afraid I am afraid of talking about my greatest fears, And Emotional scars, that once I do, people will see me differently, I’ll become a joke, And lose what I think are my friends. I am afraid of social situations. Specifically, big groups of people. I feel as though I’m being crushed under the pressure of being expected to contribute, But not being able to cram a word into the hollow conversation forming in front of me, I'm afraid that I’m developing an addiction to attention. and that my craving for attention could jeopardize my later happiness, And that I’ll never find love. I’m afraid that I will never produce children, or that I won’t be able to provide for my children, because I won't be successful. I'm afraid people don't like me, and they judge me when I walk past, Even though I know judgment is unavoidable. Inevitable. I'm afraid to put myself out there, Because I want to be accepted and loved. I'm afraid of confessing a liking to someone else, Because of a number of past rejections, and many years of teasing, which led to an unconfident, insecure, emotionally worn out husk of a man. I’m afraid that Wall-E is a prophecy, And humans will be too fat to walk, Planet earth will be rid of life, And organic matter will be a rare sight. I am afraid that I’m suffering from protagonist disease. I act and think as if i’m the center of attention even when i’m alone. And I'm afraid that when I think i’m alone, I’m not. As if all around my house are hiding places and or cameras for people to watch me. It’s gotten to the point that when I do something awkward, I look at specific places in my house to tell the people watching me that my actions were done on purpose. I’m Afraid of there being no answers to my questions. But I'm also scared of the answers themselves. I need someone to grab me, shake me vigorously, and tell me “I’m afraid there’s no point to guessing and worrying about these things, Because either they don’t truly affect you, or they will come in due time.” 8

They would be right, too. But since nobody has actually told me that, I won’t listen. Won’t listen to my own reassurance. I’m afraid of the future. Where am I going to end up, if anywhere? Am I going to have fun and be happy? Or am I going to hate life and spend my time depressed, and pessimistic? I’m afraid that none of this matters. That life isn’t what we think it is. That society is an ant farm, which is just waiting to be picked up and demolished on the hot, sun-stained, concrete floor. I’m afraid I won’t wake up one day, And I’ll be greeted with nothing, Nobody else to keep me company in the afterlife, no god, nobody. I guess I’m afraid of dying alone. Matthew Rothschild ‘21

Airvent We've dwelled under the same roof for so long But you've become more acquainted with the dope in your room and the windows in our houseThe ones that will Crack Open without chiming an alarmThan you have With me. The wall that separates us is a border, Most Hazardous to cross Your miles away Unreachable. I walk to your doorStill A hand nocks And there stands the ghost of a person The mouth talks The nose breaths The eyesLost And completely gone I missed out I missed out on when you were real When you were a Person A great one But you let it Take over you-the bad people and all. But you don't care do you? Or is it that you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even realize? You protect your sins more than you protect your own family. Isn't that right. Isn't that why I hear your awful friends come and go Crawling in through your cracked 10

window For a mid-night smoke They've ruined you And now you've ruined me too Your door Stays shut The music blares as your vape Drifts into my room Through the only passage Keeping us connected, The air vent. Danielle Hodes â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Waterfront Emma Burke â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21 12

Cliche I am hanging by a thread; on the precipice, about to fall into a deep, dark, pit, of my fears and insecurities. I don’t think that this thread will hold much longer. There are butterflies in my stomach; fluttering around, jumping, bouncing, trying to break free, trying to jump out and up my throat, out into the world for everyone to see. I am playing with fire; right now it dances and glimmers, fascinating and beautiful. I am the fire dancer, smiling, radiant, hoping I don’t sweat through my makeup. I am just waiting for it to burn me, for me to mess up, waiting for something to go wrong. I am on thin ice; forget about falling through, I don’t even know how to skate. I am going to collapse onto the surface, and then, into the dark, cold, icy water, where I will freeze to death. I am a bundle of nerves; all exposed, bare, public, no privacy, I am open, without skin, for the world to see. Eva Hale ‘20

Read my Lips Amanda Feldman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19

Coffee Jars None of you get me None you know me But you know how to break me And I hate that I let you With your Fake Played out words A lame attempt of manipulation and hurt All holding the strength of a plastic knife Cutting into Air. Thanks for letting me give away everything While you collect my offerings in a coffee jar Jingling away every part of me With no favors left to return Thanks for the nothing I hope you have fun Because Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m in pain And alone Danielle Hodes â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Stark White Sound Hayley Lampert â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

Down The Mississippi Two females, a woman and her little daughter, came running to me one day while I was casting out fishing nets, begging me to take me to England. At first, I was confused because England is a world away from the Mississippi River but then they explained to me that all the ports on the East coast are on the lookout for them. Apparently, the young mother is wanted for adultery and the murder of a minister. She claimed that she did not murder the minister and she offered me plenty of money to take her to England without turning her in so I thought; “Why not?” It had been three days traveling down the winding waterway and the two passengers had not once mentioned their life before the suspected murder. Not even their names. The daughter spent the majority of our days marveling at nature. Every new species of tree brought her joy. Her love for the endless expanse of nature beyond the riverbank was evident as I watched her actions. Every time we stopped at a town she would find an animal and play with it until we had to disappear. Sometimes I wondered if she was actually talking to the animals. The mother, on the other hand, was silent but kind. She sewed up my torn clothings and did all the chores around our little boat, from cooking to making the beds. Every time I looked into her intense black eyes I would see the sadness in her soul and I would wonder what happened to her and how are she and her daughter so different. I concluded that she used to be like her energetic she-devil daughter but life chipped away at her soul to the point that she could not find happiness again. Our adventure was leisurely until we reached the Gulf of Mexico where we had to stop at the town to purchase supplies before we began the long and hard part of our exhibition. It was rainy and cold outside. I worried that it was going to start hailing before we left so I wanted to make this stop as quickly as possible. I was with the mother buying groceries when the daughter came running into the market with a look of worry plastered onto her face. She leaned up to her mother's ear, and whispered something inaudible. The mother’s face quickly became paler than her daughter’s. She turned to me and said that we had to leave now. I was about to ask her why when an angry voice erupted, “Hester!” Standing at the entrance of the market was an old man with uneven shoulders and the look of everything evil you could ever have thought of all melted into one contorted face. He began to run towards at us at an old man pace. The mother --Hester-- grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the boat only to find a fire burning what was left of it. Behind us, a the man was panting but still chasing after us with vengeance. Still confused about what my life had turned into, I prepared myself to fight the old man. But then the strangest thing happened. A droplet of rain-though it looked like something else- came soaring from the sky and pierced the old man in the heart. A passer-by came running over to see what happened. She undid his shirt and looked at his chest and gasped. The letter ‘A’ was burning on his chest with a Scarlet flame. Hester peeked at the man and her reaction belonged in a far different scene. . A smile crept across her face and she whispered, “Let God punish.” After this daring tale, Hester and her daughter found a far more capable sailor to take them to England. She gave me a sizable amount of gold and left without saying goodbye. Zece Brown ‘20

Flying Frights It started out as a romantic night, First class seats, Fabulous filet mignon, Award-winning chardonnay, With grapes so crisp You could have picked them fresh off the vines in Napa. The talk was light, Like the pillowy clouds of mashed potatoes, it was relaxing. We had just ordered dessert When the smooth ride turned rough. The turbulence was vigorous, Shaking the plane in all directions. Then the cabin lights went off And I cuddled my teddy bear closer to my heart. The plane started plummeting Down, Nose first towards the ground. I was dying to taste the tiramisu, But my hope faded away when The oxygen mask crashed into my lap. With one hand, I held the rushing wind to my mouth Restraining the constant urge to scream And the other clung to my plush teddy bear. I am jolted forward, Unable to see in the pitch black cabin, A baby wails nearby, Panicked shouts sound over the loudspeaker. I shake in my seat, Bracing myself for CRASH!! and the rest blends into chaos. Even as I stood on the wing of the Boeing 747 Engulfed in darkness, Waves lapping over my feet, my fingers dug deep into the soft curly fur of my teddy bear. Adina Solomon â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

Found Poetry From Huckleberry Finn The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippoorwill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me. and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Taken from Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain “Found” by Zece Brown ‘20

Life in Twofold Aaron Scherzer â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;22

Ceiling Fan I can't remember the last time We had a meaningful conversation Where you weren't high or on drugs It seems the only time we connect Is when you’re disconnected I cherish the times of Me comforting you Waiting for the poison to leave your veins. I sometimes wonder If while you lie on your bed staring up at your ceiling fan Turning and Turning White silhouettes dancing around your room, You forget about Me Just for a moment Or longer Because I know I have. I turned seventeen a week ago And you forgot to wish me happy birthday But it’s ok, I understand I am only the bystander in your life A life centered around your closest friends And girlfriends That come and go But always come before me I know you want to do good You act like everything is ok Everything is fine And we all like to pretend that that’s true And pretend that it's not only minutes Before you slip Further and Further Away Danielle Hodes ‘20

The Artist’s Heart He kept painting

While a jackbooted heel bore down on his chest.

He kept creating While a leather-gloved hand bruised his throat. When his masterpieces were painted over And his canvas was scarred and torn blank He took out his brush. Cracking through a vulcanized past, Of Blackened plaque and thickened tar The Artist’s Heart is a pigmented proof of resilience. For most, pain and persecution Clog up their Spirit Their Souls and Hearts falter. His ignited. He hooked his Soul up to his brush Pouring pure pastels and oils He emptied his Heart until the canvases were filled. He didn’t edit or censor or correct. He didn’t revise or revisit or retract. He didn't thinkHe imagined. Amitai Nelkin ‘21

Google Translated Google Translate, Translated Google Translator Are some of them from here? Did you suddenly share a man? I love you, but I hate it. Do you know how many people there are (Saturday and Anna Bryce)? I am (not my brother) very dangerous. Your mistake is very interesting, but I don’t think you will mess it up. There are many mistakes. Go ahead, Google, my request, my job. Google Translate, Original O, Google Translate, We have something between us. With everyone you meet you have something. I love you, yet I hate you. You are the funniest person I know (save Saturday Night Live and Mel Brooks). You are the most annoying person I know (save my brother). Your errors are humorous when I want humor, yet they are annoying when I don’t want annoyances. O, Google Translate, my passion, my bane. Shayne Cytrynbaum ‘25

A Tree (Of Unusually Small Proportions) Kira Kress â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

I Saw Myself As I watered my plant today I looked out the window. I saw myself sitting in the backyard He, or I, was sitting on the pink grass In the Blue shade of the tall, wise tree. I watched as he sat there and did nothing. I don’t know why but I couldn’t avert my eyes. There was something so captivating about him. About me. I watched as two beautiful butterflies flew right by him, And I watched him get mad when they didn’t land on his finger. These two majestic, orange and blue butterflies flew right by him He thought they didn’t care about him. It seemed to piss him off. He got up. Not because he wanted to, But because he had to. He wanted to find some sunflowers, marigolds or daffodils. Something bright and fluffy. He went off searching And I continued on with my day. A day later I saw him again. He was sitting in the same place, In the blue shade of the wise, gray tree. He didn’t find his flowers, And he didn’t seem to care, But I know he did. And I know he will find those flowers some day. He was tearing up the grass beneath him, As he ignored what the tree was saying. The tree scolded him. He was telling him to leave the grass alone, He was “destroying” it, There is no reason to do that. The Tree then began to insult him, In hopes he would stop tearing away at the Pink. He did. I did. But that didn’t stop the tree, It was yelling and howling at him. I hated watching it, 25

But it wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t my problem. I stepped away from the window, Turned around and went through my door, Painted Yellow, And settled down in my purple living room next to the orange fireplace, To think about the past. Matthew Rothschild â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

IOS 37

“What were you thinking?” Out of experience, I knew they did not actually want to know. “Really, explain it to me-” still rhetorical. But he keeps asking, and goading, and soon I toe the line Of forgetting these questions want no answer of mine. He stops- I wonder if he has finished. “And one more t hing-” Out of experience, I knew it would not just be one. I don’t want to just sit and allow offensive beration. I feel heat dripping down as perspiratory precipitation. “Let me tell you one thing-” I say, but then stop. A !buzz! in my pocket, a phone notification: “Don’t burn bridges.” A second !buzz!, it reads: “Don’t make this a fight.” I sit down, and cool down, and let my anger evaporate. His insults don’t bother me- Man, IOS 37 is great!

Amitai Nelkin ‘21

A Million Faces Zece Brown â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Kindness of the Sun Sunrise. The sun begins to show its face, peeking into the day. Looking hesitantly out upon the earth. Is this place safe to show ourselves in? It slowly comes up, more and more of its bright, illuminating surface coating the land with warmth. Letting the plants sprout up, giving light to all people. Filling the earth with color. Can we live up to the kindness of the sun? Sunset. The sun leaves the day, settling back into the comfort of the night. It questions, it doubts, the day. Is that place safe to show myself in? The sun hides its face, blends into the swirl of the stars, the meteors, the galaxies. It helps no one, no other being, no other soul, in the night. And the sun asks itself, Can I live up to the kindness of the moon? Talia Goldman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;23

Loneliness What I fear isn’t the monster under my bed. I fear the monster a little closer to the heart That monster we try to ignore, The one that separates us from friends and family And pushes away their reconciliation. I fear the monster that tells me she was being cruel to me, That he’s not really my friend, just pretending. The monster that whispers that they don’t want me around. Because I’m only a bother, unwanted. The monster that tells me I’m isolated for a good reason. Worthless. This monster rejects invitations for me And stops me from sending them out. This monster eats at happiness Trapping me in a vicious cycle where it feeds me lies and I feed it right back Stopping me from reaching out. I don’t fear the monster under my bed. I fear that no one will be around to scare him away. I fear loneliness. Gabi Weiss ‘20

Mirror Face Do you ever look in the mirror and think; “Wow, I’m ugly.” So you adjust your face, try to give yourself a better angle, And convince yourself that you just saw yourself in bad lighting. Or when you turn on your phone and the camera is on And you look like a hideous creature You adjust your face, move the camera. You put on your mirror face, the one you wear that you think is prettiest, The one you automatically put on whenever your eye catches a reflective surface. You put on your mirror face, so that you can tell yourself that you’re actually a very attractive person, and the picture you just saw of yourself in the mirror is not what you really look like. You put on your mirror face to convince yourself that you don’t have a double chin, that one eye isn’t strangely smaller than the other. You suck in your stomach, but you can’t help noticing everything you need to fix. And then, mirror face turns into mirror body. You move your leg a certain way, you arch your back like so; and there. You’re beautiful. Or at least, acceptable. The problem is, now you can’t move, otherwise you’ll start noticing again all of the terrible, ugly, grotesque things about yourself that you wish you could just fix, so you wouldn’t have to have a mirror face. Eva Hale ‘20

Placid Maya Taylor-Prince â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;24

My Brother Benny Benny and I had always been close. So close, that even though we were 1 year apart, people often asked us if we were twins since we were always at each other's sides. Benny was the younger one of the two of us, but he was so much more mature and wise than I was. He was also smart. So smart that when I was in 4th grade and he was in 3rd, he got moved up a grade and joined my class. I was ecstatic at first. This meant that I would get to see my best friend all day, every day. But as the years passed I became increasingly irritated. Benny was everybody’s favorite. Our parents, our teachers, our friends. It seemed like I was always in his shadow. If I started playing soccer, he would join the team and instantly become the star player, while I was a bench warmer. If I auditioned for the school musical, he would audition too and always get the lead while I ended up playing some sort of tree or bush. I loved my brother, I really did, but as the years progressed I slowly grew to hate him. Slowly, but surely we would stop hanging out together. I was left behind. Alone. Forced to walk the hallways like a loser, and spend my lunchtimes eating in a bathroom stall. Nobody remembered poor little Ezra anymore. I was just, “Benny’s brother”. One day, in the middle of our 7th-grade year, we received news. The county carnival was just around the corner. This meant pie. Lots and lots of pie. We lived in Michigan, a state famous for its cherry pie. That meant that every carnival, every festivity had a cherry pie eating contests. Benny and I loved those because we always won. Never once had we failed to eat all 10 pies that we were given. But at this point, our relationship was so broken that I wasn’t sure whether or not we would compete together. I was stubborn, so it wasn’t like I was going to ask him. “Whatever.” I thought to myself. “I don’t need him anyway.” The carnival was not for another month. I could easily find a partner by then. So a week passed, and I still had no partner. Then another and another, and before I knew it the carnival was 2 days away. I was sitting in my room that Friday afternoon reading a book when Benny walked into my room. We hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks. For a minute or two we just sat there avoiding eye contact until he finally had the nerve to open his mouth. “Ez? Hi...um-I-I wanted to talk to you about the pie eating contest.” His voice was soft like he was scared that if he spoke any louder I would shatter. He pushed his hand through his mop of brown curls. “What about it?” I spat out. “Well, we always compete together and, well, I-I was hoping-I know things are bad between usbut...well…this has always been our tradition and I was hoping you would compete with me.” He smiled, that annoying, million dollar smile of his. It got on my nerves. “No thanks,” I said. “I wasn’t really planning on competing anyway.” Benny’s smile shattered. “B-b-but Ez, its tradition! We have to! It’s our thing!” 33

“Benny I said no.” “But Ezra please I-” At that moment I lost it. I don’t know why or what it was but I hated my brother with such a passion that just looking at him made my blood boil. “BENJAMIN I SAID NO!!!” I think I may have seen the last glimmer of hope leave his eyes as a tear slid down his cheek. As he turned to leave my room he muttered, “I miss you, Ezra.” But I was so high on anger that his words didn’t process in my brain. So instead I said, “I hate you, Benny. I hate you more than I have ever hated anybody and every day I wish you weren’t my brother.” With that, I slammed the door in his face. For the next two days, I stayed holed up in my room. When the carnival came around we went as a family but Benny and I didn’t say a word. From the side of my eye, I could see him glancing at me every few minutes. I knew he wanted to say something but I also knew he was afraid. Of me and my anger. So he stayed a safe distance away. As I was waiting in line for cotton candy I heard a voice on the loudspeaker say, “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN COME WATCH THE PIE EATING CONTEST!” So I did, because why not? I watched as the table of contestants got ready to eat. At the end of the table, I saw two little boys and suddenly I felt a pang of guilt. They were smiling and their faces were covered in pie. It reminded me of the pie contest from a few years ago where Benny and I were in that exact same position, with pie smudged all over our faces. That picture hangs on the stairwell. The two boys here were almost identical. Brothers. Like Benny and I. I felt deflated. I missed him too, but I also knew that nothing would ever be the same. We were too damaged to mend what had been broken. But I had to try. I ran over to my parents. “Mom, Dad, have you seen Benny?” I asked them. They looked at each other surprised. They knew we hadn’t been getting along in a really long time. “Um, sure honey,” my mother said. “He wasn’t feeling so well so he walked home.” “Great!” I thought. “I can catch up with him and we can talk!” So I started to run. I ran through 5 blocks before I saw him in the distance. He was crossing the street and looking down at his feet. He was so lost in his own world that he didn’t notice a huge truck approaching him. The driver was texting on his phone and didn’t notice Benny on the street. “BENNY!” I screamed. “LOOK OUT!” 34

Benny’s head shot up at the sound of my voice, but it was too late. All I could hear was the sound of tires screeching. Someone was screaming. I realized it was me. I ran faster than I ever ran before. My legs felt like rubber as they pounded on the asphalt. Benny was on the ground, in a puddle of his own blood. The truck driver was frantically on the phone with 911 telling them about the situation. I knelt beside my brother and held him in my arms. His eyes were open and he looked scared. “Ezra?” he whispered. “It’s okay Benny, I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” “Ezra.” He was crying. “It hurts, Ez.” “Just hold on buddy help is on the way.” “I can’t...Ezra....I-” His eyes began to close. “-love you.” With that I felt him go limp in my arms. I let out a roar. The tears felt like white hot pain running down my cheeks. I rested my forehead against his. “I love you too.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I’m a father now with two sons of my own. Every day I tell them that they only get one brother and they should feel blessed that they have each other. Yes, brothers can fight, but at the end of the day they should always be there for one another. I even tell them about my brother Benny, and what an amazing soul he was. My brother Benny, that left this world too soon.

Shira Ashkenazi ‘21

Dark is the Knight Sam Lurie â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19

My Own Grandpa

And to complicate the matter even though it brought me joy, I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy. My little baby then became a brother-in-law to dad, And so he became my uncle though it made me very sad. For if he were my uncle that would also made him brother Of the widow’s grown-up daughter who was of course my stepmother! --Ray Stevens, I’m My Own Grandpa

“Dad!” drawled Timmy, walking into the dining room. “Can I have, uh, an ice cream? From the ‘fridgerator?” “Freezer,” corrected Ray, turning a page of his newspaper. “And no, son. It’s four o’clock, I’m gonna make dinner soon.” Timmy stamped his foot on the ground, pouting. “I’ll still be hungry! I just wanna have a bit of ice cream! Only half a Haagen-Dazs!” Ray put his newspaper down on the table. “Son, I told you no.” “Well, I say yes!” shouted Timmy. Before Ray could even react, Timmy darted through the dining room into the kitchen. Ray cursed and dislodged himself from the table. “Timmy Blevins you better get right back here this second or I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, charging into the kitchen after his son. By the time he got to the kitchen, Timmy had already removed a pack of Haagen-Dazs from the freezer. Ray froze, staring at his son. “Timmy,” said Ray. “I’m tellin you right now to put that down. Do not have ice cream before dinner.” Timmy smirked. “And who’s gonna stop me?” he said, sliding a finger underneath the box’s tab. The top of the package flipped open.

Ray stalked forward, growling, “I am your father, Timmy, and if you don’t put that down right this second I swear. You wouldn’t even know.” “Well, I’m your uncle!” shouted Timmy triumphantly. “So I get to tell you what to do.” It took Ray a second to process what his son had just said. “You’re my uncle.” “Yep!” beamed Timmy. “See, in Mrs. Turner’s class we did a project all about fambly trees and I wrote mine startin from me and you and mom. And then I drew a box for Lena, and Lena’s married to grandpa, but she’s my sister, so her box came from mom. And you’re grandpa’s son, so I made a second box for you all the way at the bottom. And Mrs. Turner come up near me and look and she said how interesting it was that I had a nephew at so young an age and I said what’s a nephew and she told me a nephew has to listen to his uncle and I’m your uncle and you’re my nephew so you gotta listen to me. So I’m gonna take this ice cream.” Ray’s face didn’t move. “Does she know grandpa is my daddy?” “I made a second box for him too.” “And she didn’t notice that?” “She said it was weird we have so many Timmy Blevinses in our family but I don’t actually know if she did.” Ray sighed. “You know what, Tim?” “What?” “Take the ice cream. You earned it.” “That’s cuz I’m your uncle and I told you what to do, right?” “Do you want ice cream or not?” Timmy said nothing more. He was too busy unwrapping his Haagen-Dazs. After a moment’s hesitation, Ray took one too.

Gabriel Weiss ‘20

The Leaves Fell in Autumn Sunlight streams across the barren, empty field, illuminating the world, but for the pocket of shade where I sit, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;neath the trees, in the shadow of the wooden wall I do not know, and I likely never shall, what is behind the enclosure of wood adjacent to me. Overgrown vines snake up the wall, the roots are centipedes climbing through the ivy. The thicket of branches tangled on the ground too dense to walk through, the leaves are all but dead, some barely retaining their brilliant fall colors, a rare few still crimson, scarlet, and ochre Leaves around the field dance and play, the wind laughing like an old friend, talking with the trees, happy she can see them again. Eva Hale â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Drop Dead Gorgeous Shayna Denlow â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20 40

Neshama 27 in Poland Sorrow sticks to the back of my throat, My mouth tastes like a miasma of grief. The somber air coats the entire area in dread. Thousands upon thousands of graves jut out from the earth Crooked and crumbling Tortured and tearing apart at the seams. My every footstep crackles as my Boots scrape against the ground. The earth itself howling in pain as I Tread this haunted soil. Walking around Treblinka feels like a Nightmare. The air around me is cold, slicing Through me like Death’s scythe as his Pale horse’s hoof beats drown out the Sounds of silence. But my gripes are irrelevant. Mere trifles compared to the literal Hell they went through. For once in my life, My feelings cannot be properly expressed Upon this page. Nor can words do any justice To portray that field of monuments. Adam Gross ‘19

~not a red flag~ why am I glass? a meaningful possession to some to others, an item stepped on in a dark alleyway shatters with little warning one moment at the top of the world the next, on the bottom of your kitchen floor broken not thought of for more than a moment swept up with the past into your dustpan never noticed when splitting inside a tiny shatter within often goes unnoticed without a second thought, until it’s found in fragments, too paralyzed to clean up the mess that was made no wonder it is considered remarkably fragile fragments resembling grains of sand all over the place, floating back and forth with the tides In a whirlwind in the ocean, gliding aimlessly but succumbing to the harsh pull of gravity when on the surface. always confused whether it belongs to the land or the sea a constant outsider looking in afraid of disappointing one side to be in the favor of the other. causing anxiety that results in becoming a stranger To the ground and the tides unaware of when to stop sticking to people. becoming colder when alone needy of human company burning the soles of your feet Abigail Rosenblat ‘22

Adrift Emma Biegleman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

In Days of Olde ‘Twas three days ago ‘t happened to me, A runic scripted stone I see, An omphalos of omphali, ‘T made me say, “O God, O me!” Reporting to Edward, my king, It got translated, inspected, found to be lead, And this is what it read: “Mīn oferhlāford, cyng Æthelred, wȳscan for māra gold, Swā it is ēower worc, Ōthre wīsan ēow wyllan lēosan ēower hēafod, And ēow wyllan bēon dēad, Swā dōn it swā ēow can grōwan ald.” But alas in my youth, ‘Twas read wrong, It’s distance from the truth Was very long. “Far away, mini Fjords sing of how there was gold in the sea, Of orcs swatting at each other, Of Gothic houses owned by Will, a teacher who makes food, And his death, And of Spaniards and Miners swatting at each other in the Elder Tree Forests.” Shayne Cytrynbaum ‘25

I Took a Plane to My Happy Place The place that connects me to where I belong Where I finally hear my language and see my kind of people, people like me, with thick curly hair, flaunting and loving themselves While speaking a language filled with emotion, and passion Ben Gurion Airport, where I can finally find myself. From the moment the plane lands, that missing puzzle piece finally clicks into place, the bigger image of myself can be revealed Emotions that have festered inside me explode with happiness, I step outside the building that has connected me to where I belong Ben Gurion Airport is the crossroads to my place of choice, the point at which two sides of myself collide The bustling airport holds more than just rushing people or friendly tourists It holds culture, and love and opportunity while showing me the life that I have been missing and the love that I have not been receiving Because I have always turned the wrong way at the crossroad And staying on the main road is hard Maya Soudry â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

By The Light Of The Moon Talia Goldman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;23

Oceanic The Ocean is Calm Always keeping its cool I for sure love the Ocean Way more than a pool Sometimes The Ocean Gets angry and mad And makes very big waves That make everyone sad The Ocean is filled With fish of all sorts Many pretty fish live Near fancy resorts Inside the Ocean There are turtles galore Sometimes they will even Wash up on the shore The Ocean is Great Make sure not to defeat it A fish is a friend Make sure not to eat it

Ari Komorovski â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;24

Possibilities I remember a time when I was sure. When I knew who I wanted to be. When the insecurity and indecisiveness didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t slice my skin like a thousand cuts. When there were a thousand possibilities, and I liked every one of them. Perhaps I would be an astronaut, perhaps the president. Now there are a thousand possibilities, but they scare me. Now I could be a disappointment, I could be unhappy. And if I am happy, I will be a disappointment. Because my happiness does not involve driving myself crazy to be successful, my happiness involves doing what is right for myself-not everyone else. But that seems the only possibility no longer available to me. The possibilities are not gone, but they have changed. Doors closed, slammed in my face. Doors opened, threatening to suck me in. Threatening to pull each and every molecule of my body into the whirling worries that haunt my nightmares, the youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not good enoughs, and the failures, and the I expect better from yous. the report cards, the acceptance letters, the ACT scores. All of these emblematic of the greater problem-that I cannot fulfill the expectations which have been set on me, which I set on myself, which were set on me by others, in a time when I believed in those possibilities, when those doors were opened. Before I slammed them in my own face. Eva Hale â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Ripped At The Seams and A Little Misplaced Not everyone will understand you. They will question how you ended up in your current position. How you became so lost. How you are so alone even while piled with so many other beings. One lone stray. Lost and never to be found. Surrounded by ripped copies of Dickens and Twain and binders with old homework assignments never turned in and some old tefillin and a math textbook with the cover missing and a pair of socks with an illegible name written on the bottom in blue ink and a grey bar-mitzvah sweatshirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans and a sweaty gym T-shirt and a question floating in the air, people wondering, How in the world does someone misplace only one of their shoes? Naomi Esrig â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Boston Common Oren Goldman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;25

Sleep Sonnet Oh sleep, I’m sorry I never appreciated you when I was young and stupid But now I know better, so please take me back Especially now that I am wounded Life without you feels as if I’m constantly under attack Oh sleep, give me your time Let me show you how much I’ve changed I promise I will even go to bed on time Or anything else you would like in exchange Oh sleep, when I am with you I am so at peace But without you, I am lost and don’t know what to do I never fully appreciated how around you all my problems cease So please sleep, Come back and let me count your sheep Shayna Denlow ‘20

Spotty Reception Talia Goldman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;23

The Chair I remember the days I used to come back from school and sit at the chair behind my drumset, thinking I was immortal As I started to grow and mature ever so slightly that feeling faded It’s no longer a carefree hobby It's an occupation an object that takes away time I could be relaxing and replaces it with worrying because now whenever I sit behind at that chair I just see a room Empty with nothing except for my drumset, sticks and a curtain behind me, with three people there ready to criticize whatever it is I do over the next three minutes It stopped being a hobby once the worrying started Once I realized that no matter how hard I try there’s always going to be someone that can show me up someone that was given everything, and has everything to show for it knowing there's a constant pressure from practice even when all I want to do is sleep there's the recognition that I live on five hours of sleep a night because I need to balance time practicing and doing homework and then at the end of the day knowing that my brain won’t be able to shut off because my ears are ringing my head is aching and my arms are shaking but besides all that there's knowing that after everything I do after the two and a half hours of practice a day after me yelling at myself pushing myself to the limit even when Ijust want to go sleep after the seven hours of lessons a week and after all I put myself through that there's about 12 auditions waiting for me senior year that will determine the next stage of my life that will tell me whether I’m actually as good as all the dumb semi-professionals say I am I await those days that I will walk onto a campus into a room and sit in the chair I know so well behind the most coveted and prized possession of my life staring at the thing that’s been an essential part of me since my third birthday and three or four people looking at me Who are feigning interest 53

smiling because they have to Acting like I’m different or special asking me to do whatever they want with my future in their hands The haunting irony that a group of adults Who never achieved their goals and resorted to teaching are judging me the All-State, six-foot-one, Blue-eyed, white kid named Rafael Colton-Max Audition for one of their limited freshman spots in their coveted institute That’s why I don’t look at that seat the same way anymore it’s not an escape It’s a reminder of the blood, calluses, splinters, agony, and yelling that I’ve known for the past thirteen years When I look I see the kids I beat in auditions the kids who beat me in auditions the over privileged kids given everything the underprivileged kids given nothing and the decisions I have made that led me want to do this for the rest of my life To do the thing that has directly created my insomnia and competitive nature and has taken up my sundays wednesdays mondays thursdays and saturdays for as long as I remember But after all that after that train of thought that goes through my head every single day I walk and I sit at the chair and I smile Knowing that after all I’ve gone through I’m not done Rafi Colton-Max ‘21

Zebra Noah Randman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19

Distractions I can't seem to stop watching all these videos movies tv shows Polluting my brain with Song lyrics, Books, Poems, To avoid the incessant thoughts inside my head Afraid. I am afraid of the demons I will face if I allow myself to think, just for a second Of me Of you No. Stop it. Go away. The music. Turn it up. Louder, Louder. And turn down the whimpering voice inside my head, Seeking escape filling every moment of silence for every moment of reflection Should be thrown to the ground stomped and destroyed And replaced with the minutes I spend With the people I so call my “friends.” Daniele Hodes ‘20

The Sand Table Woah! I think, with an uneven smile While my eyes tilt and glance left and right. Halfway into the Pre-K class I have uncovered a wonder in the sand tableA rubber plug-

A plug!

A black rubber plug-

a black circular stopper, at the bottom of the plastic play basin. Maybe… I think, for I slantly hope Sloped walls and curved floors fill the base. They do! I angle my back toward by teacher, casting a shadow over the disaster-destined dunes. Obscuring my plot I warily place my hand on the knob of the stopper And Pull! Great speckled flecks led migrations of granules to gravitate smoothly and slide into the hourglass ravine, all going And flowing And falling. Sand particles drain and rain down onto the floor tile I smile, in awe, and in wonder At the beautiful drain. I stand on level ground as around me Drops of gold and rocks of silver, all powdered to dust,flicker and fall onto the earth“Ami!” Shouts a voice of a teacher, heavily weighed with disgust, “Straighten up that huge mess!” I evenly smile, and don’t even look up. Amitai Nelkin ‘21

The Star Starlight A burst of brilliance A spark of inspiration Its luster guides us toward victory Twinkling cheerily even in the dreary night sky Burning brightly in the darkest of ages It is the vigor instilled in a soldier’s last resort It is the artist’s yearning to never stop trying It embodies the faith of a nation, The steady heartbeat of progress and ambition Its rays smile down at me from the heavens And instill my very being with the discipline to keep trying The dedication to succeed, the passion to continue after a failure A star does not present us with gifts Nor shower us in praise for a deed barely done It gives us the strength to make a valiant effort The will to sprint faster in the next race The will to confirm our convictions no matter what others say The will to never surrender in the face of adversity It is the will Of a star Adam Gross ‘19

Fallen Flowers Michelle Bilmes â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19

Why Don’t I Have That? Why don't I have it? The bond That you automatically get when you are born. The bond that shows you, You will have somebody, Who will unconditionally always love you. The person you get advice from. And the person you tell, “I had my first kiss” And ask “Will mom be mad if I stay past curfew tonight?” Or “Cover for me, I am sneaking out to his house.” Why don't I have that? Why don't I have the siblings that tell me everything, Or even just talk to me? Maybe it's because they both left. He left when I was 8 for boarding school, And she, when I was 12 for college. They couldn't have controlled leaving, But we haven't formed the bond yet. So we just sort of drifted away. And away, And away. And now, I am used to being an only child. I am used to it just being me, mom and dad. And when they come home for a week, It's fun at first, Then it's just annoying. He walks around in his underwear Watching tv, and we exchange at most 20 words, And they are all him fighting me. And she, She doesn't talk to me. She is skinny and beautiful and smart Which means I am below her. Because if I ask her for advice, She will say: “Just study” Or “Maybe you shouldn't eat that” And if I dare tell her about a guy in my life, Or wish were in my life. She will cover her ears and ignore me,

Cause she “Doesn't like emotions” And she won't share her own with me either. All I know about her love life is that she dated a guy in high school. And the only reason I know that, Is because my mom told me. And she barely told her. So I don't text them, And they don't text me And we make awkward small talk when we see each other. And when friends talk about how they went to dinner with their brother last night, Or even had a fight with their sister. I try and think about the last time I did that with either of them, And just nod and laugh, And pretend I have that with my siblings, And the things they are saying right now isn't the most foreign thing to me. Because in reality. I tell my mom when I kiss a guy. And ask her for advice. But still all I am thinking about, Is how I want to take out my phone And text them. But maybe one day I will be able to like everybody says. But for now, I just don't have that. Liat Cohen ‘21

Widowermaker “I was the same as anyone else. Happy, stupid. A little drunk. I stepped onto the altar and was about to say ‘I do’ when he took the shot.” “He?” asked the detective. “They call him... the Widowermaker.” James took a sip of his brandy. Good stuff. He looked at the detective sitting across from him in the eye, as if daring him to interrupt his drink. The sounds of the seedy bar they sat in barely permeated the bubble of tension the pair sat in. The taste of the brandy lingered on James’ tongue before he cleared his throat to continue. “I had only heard the same vague rumors everyone else had,” continued James. “Brides disappearing at the altar. Never seen since. People who attend the weddings all have different stories. Some said the bride was fed up and ran away. One person said she had had a heart attack, and was carried away in an ambulance right then and there. Every wedding, every bride, different stories. No attendant can ever agree with another. Of course, there was no footage online, so it wasn’t widely believed or reported on. Just occasionally popped up on fringe wedding forums.” The detective scribbled something down and looked at James. “Why don’t we return to your experience with this... Widowermaker?” James took another sip. God, he needed it. If only Elizabeth were here. “The moment he pulled the trigger, Elizabeth collapsed. A bullet through her heart. Right there in front of the crowd. Of course, I’m the only one who remembers it like that.” James sipped his brandy again. Tears filled his eyes. He blamed the brandy. “But listen to me, detective. I saw him. He stood there, right in the middle of the aisle. Wore a suit. Had something white stuffed in one of his eyes. I don’t know for sure. It could have been cotton, it could have been a bad glass eye. But I do know he was missing an eye.” “An eye?” said the detective. “An eye,” said James. The sound of a pen scribbling across a page echoed into James’ ears. The detective leaned back when he was done. “Anything else?” he said.

“What do you mean, anything else?” James asked. “I mean body type. Height. Hair. Clothes. Anything else distinctive, identifiable.” James thought for a moment. “I don’t remember,” he said. The detective sighed. “Of course not.” “I’m sorry,” said James. “It was a long time ago.” The detective smiled weakly. “It’s fine. I’ve been tracking disappearances at weddings for years now. I was lucky to even get that detail.” James frowned. “Years? I wasn’t even aware The Wedding Killer was active that long.” The detective shook his head. “Not many people are.” He looked in one direction, and then the other, then leaned across the table to whisper to James. “I was a maître d' at one of the first weddings he struck at. Needed to pay the bills for law school, so I got a part-time job catering. I gave him mini hot dogs. He gave me a tip. I asked his name. ‘Joe,’ he said. ‘Just Joe?’ I had asked. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. “Then he went and killed the bride. Shot her three times with an assault rifle. That was the first time I saw someone die in front of me, and it wasn’t the last.” “I’m sorry,” said James. “Don’t be,” said the detective. “It was years ago. I’ve grown up since then.” The detective returned to his seat. “Do you know where he came from? Where he went?” asked James. “You’ve been doing this for years. I only heard about him on the internet.” “I wish I could tell you. Your story was the biggest breakthrough I’ve had in months,” said the detective. The conversation didn’t provide any more important details for either of its participants from that point on. As James left the bar, somewhat satisfied he’d been able to help the detective find his wife’s killer, he rethought the new information he had learned. Nobody knows who he is. All they have is his name and a stuffed eye. 63

James shook his head, bitter tears beginning to form. If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I’d been married a long time ago. James looked at the sky. It was going to rain, soon. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe? Gabriel Weiss ‘20

Myself Through Tiled Eyes Zachary Siegel â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;24

Word Vomit Being in school, Home, Anywhere, Wishing that you could regurgitate your feelings. Your rants, Your fears, Your thoughts. Wishing you could do anything but actually say what you’re thinking. Because you fear people. You fear their heartbreaking stones that they throw at you. Wishing you could discard all of your negative thoughts. Wishing you could vomit all of your emotions down the drain. Wishing everything would change. My mind owns me. It tells me everything I need to know. It helps me with school. Sometimes it is the death of me. It causes too much pain. So much pain that sometimes I don’t want to wake up. There are no words to describe this. It’s like living in a nightmare and not being able to wake up. It’s like having a bomb in your head and being afraid of your next move, because you don’t want it to go off. It’s like feeling faint all the time, because oxygen can barely get through your arteries. It’s like having so much crap lodged in your brain that it gets hard to think about anything else other than that. IT’s like your brain being a dictator and you have to listen to it or else you get hurt. It’s like your brain physically eating its way through your body. Consuming all of your tissues and the muscles that help you function. It’s excruciating pain. Hayley Lampert ‘21

Your World Is Crumbling, Your Cupboard Has Burned When I was a kid, I thought the world was going to crumble below my feet. Of course, this didn't stop me from jumping and stomping my way through the playground because I thought, yeah, maybe the world will fall apart, but I can't let that ruin my fun. I can't let my fear mess with my enjoyment and screw with my mind. So I gave my fear a little cupboard in which to reside, in the very back of my mind, underneath a box of hair braiding tricks and lanyard patterns, on an island in the middle of a sea of knock knock jokes and Play-Doh designs and disgusting food combinations. When I was a little older, I was fearless. As the ground would fall away below my feet, I would swing higher and jump further from the decomposing molecules and disintegrating atoms that once held my head above the center of the earth. My fear stayed in that cupboard, peeking out to feel the fresh air on his face once in a blue moon when I found myself being tossed by a sea wave or falling off my Razor scooter to be burned by the hot pavement. I bloomed when I saw the sun and bled when the sun scorched my skin, and yet I feared nothing. When I was a teenager, I dug out the old cupboard. I pushed my way through my mind, through the jungle of old sitcom lines and Foxtrot comic strips and inventions for new Cheerios flavors to find an old wardrobe, nailed shut. There rested my fear. My reluctance and my doubt. It was as if I were greeting an old friend, as if I were coming home after being away for so long. His tight grip wrapped around my waist in a loving embrace. I could feel his cold grasp twisting my stomach into knots. The unease was a disease I had been lacking for so long. It was a virus I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t quite shake. A cancer spreading from limb to limb, from node to node, from cell to cell, filling up every part of my existence.

And as I searched the depths of my mind to find that wardrobe with the nails freshly pulled out and the doors newly opened, I found myself wading through swamps of old family pictures and summer camp T-shirts and overly complicated handshakes. I found myself climbing a mountain in the shape of a crayon house, with a perfectly equilateral roof and four square windows with sketched muntins through which I could see a smiling face drawn in blue, a mountain surrounded by lollipop trees and flowers the size of giants. I found myself lost in a forest of talking dolls and drawings of birds that look like airplanes with faces and pet gravestones and pre-cut apple slices with peanut butter and early morning fog and those ugly green kitchen chairs I had always hated and when I finally emerged I found that my world was finally crumbling and my cupboard had burned. And the fear remained with nowhere to go. Naomi Esrig â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Thinking Gabrielle Jaffee â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;24

‘Zar’s Killer Beard The year is 2040, and the small Golda Och Academy community is finally at the end of a tragedy. When Dennis Kozar came to town in 2016, nobody expected that in a matter of years, the mild-mannered P.E. teacher would be taken over by a maniacal menace that takes a miracle to manage. When Mr. Kozar was hired to be GOA’s newest P.E. teacher, he immediately became one of the students’ favorite teachers. Some students were drawn to his sense of humor, others his sense of style, but the one topic that was always brought up in conversation was his impressive facial hair. His beard was wondrous, and students never hesitated to ask him, “how long did it take to grow” or “why did you grow it so long,” and the charismatic teacher never failed to answer. The man and the beard became synonymous, to the extent that no student of his had ever seen Mr. Kozar without a beard, and a rumor started to swirl that he came out of the womb with a full beard. The man behind the beard rose quickly through the ranks. His first year he was simply a P.E. teacher and the assistant coach for the boys’ basketball and baseball teams, but in his second year he became head coach of the baseball team and by his third year he had already been promoted to Athletic Director. Progression at his pace was unprecedented, and the power placed into his possession filled him with promise for positions to come. The humble teacher began to think about what other promotions may be in store for him, and, in turn, his passion for his performance grew. To the man, this lifestyle was merely speculation, but the beard had planned to make it a reality. As the years passed, Mr. Kozar remained the Athletic Director, and the beard grew restless. After growing accustomed to its wearer’s continual advancement, the facial hair grew tired of remaining constant and content. The beard decided it was time to take control of the task at hand before it was too late. This is when the beard became a beast and developed its bold battle plan. At first, the beast merely waited. As Mr. Kozar ate, the beard ate too. The beast grew stronger and stronger and developed abilities more powerful than it could ever imagine. The beard learned that it could expand itself and create a void of infinite capacity, and quickly realized that it could use this new-found skill to consume its victims. The beast also gained the ability to briefly take control of his wearer’s mind, allowing him to either make Mr. Kozar oblivious to what was happening around him or to actually control his actions. By 2020, the monster was finally at full strength and ready to carry out its plan. The beast decided that it was first going to target the chain of command in the school, only consuming those who stood in Mr. Kozar’s way so that he could be promoted through the ranks and become the head of school. However, it quickly realized that it couldn’t just consume a victim because it would raise too many questions, so the beast took control of Mr. Kozar’s brain and reached out to an expert engineer. The controlled Mr. Kozar asked the engineer to make automatons of each of his victims-to-be so that as soon as it consumes its victims, the beard can release a lifelike replica and nobody would know the difference, except for the fact that the replica would resign from its job at GOA. The engineer reluctantly agreed because he didn’t fully understand what the project was for, but he said that an adult automaton would take him a year to perfect. It was difficult for the beast to wait the year necessary for the first automaton to be ready, but it forced itself to remain patient because it didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to itself. A year passed, and the beast’s first backup plan was ready. The beard’s first target was Ms. Himmelstein, head of the middle school. The evil facial hair took control of Mr. Kozar, asked 70

Ms. Himmelstein when she was available to discuss middle school sports, and scheduled the meeting in his office for a week from then knowing he could only take control of Mr. Kozar once a week. A week passed, and it was time for Mr. Kozar’s meeting with Ms. Himmelstein. Right before she entered the room, the beard took control of Mr. Kozar’s mind. The beast feigned a meeting for about 10 minutes to ensure that Ms. Himmelstein would not suspect a thing, at which point it struck. The beard expanded itself enough to be able to consume the unsuspecting Ms. Himmelstein, and she became the first victim of the beast’s brutal tirade. The beast then released the automaton replacement with the instructions to resign at the end of the day, claiming a better offer at a different school that needed to be accepted immediately or it would be taken off the table. The school was taken aback by the resignation of Ms. Himmelstein and quickly searched for someone to fill her position, and by the end of the week, they had offered it to the unknowing Mr. Kozar, who humbly accepted the promotion. The next year saw the beast continue the same routine, this time targeting Principal Stodolski. This time, however, its plan backfired as the school instead decided to choose an outside hire in Rabbi Goldberg, so the facial hair had to wait yet another year and make another attempt before earning its wearer the coveted promotion to principal. At this point, the rest of the administration suspected something was amiss, but could not place what it was. The next year was the most important for the monster. It was time to consume the head of school, Mr. Shapiro, and earn Mr. Kozar his final promotion. He executed his plan to perfection, and the administration rewarded the fast advancing Mr. Kozar with the head of school position. At this point, the beast began to develop cravings, but with no more promotions to be earned, it turned its attention to graduates. A teenage automaton took about 4 months for the engineer to create, so the beast was able to consume three victims at the end of every school year under the cover of students going to college. The beast was able to keep itself subdued until the end of each year, but its cravings continued to grow, so by 2027, the beast lowered its target age again to graduating eighth graders, whose automatons took the engineer about 2 months to make, so the beast could consume even more victims each time. By 2032, it was consuming graduating 5th graders whose automatons took the engineer just 2 weeks to build. The beast remained content with the graduating 5th graders until 2038, when it made a crucial error: the beard forgot to take control of Mr. Kozar before consuming its victims. The ex-P.E. teacher was taken aback by what he saw, and finally understood why he received all of his promotions. The shocked servant knew that the simplest way to stop the monster was to shave it off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the deed because he had not shaved his facial hair in more than 20 years and felt it was a part of him. The beast knew that his time in power was over, but it wanted to consume one last victim. The battered and beaten beast expanded itself enough to consume its original, unwitting servant, and itself in the process. In doing so, the beast ensured that it would only be defeated by itself, and made it as if the humble former P.E. teacher never even existed. Noah Kamens ‘20

The End An endless book is a purposeless bookWithout a resolution, it seems unfulfilled It seems incomplete. A life without an end- a similar scam, Now abundant, it is devalued It is worthless. Everything must end, and should end, and will end. I know this many times over and many times through But somehow, some way, by some secretive means, I can’t seem to understand it, though I convey it to you. So explain it to me. How do I live unafflicted, unafraid of death? Why should I conceal the fatal fate of the story? How can I possibly pretend that my personhood won’t soon end And that I’ll continue? I honestly know I shouldn’t pretend, but I know that I honestly do. You can’t make it through life if you focus on death, You hold your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel. You drive faster to forget where the road goes. In the back of your mind, you recall, and a fragile serenity fractures. you ignore it, however, for now and forever, and turn up the radio, so the unwelcome thought leaves. Amitai Nelkin ‘21