Issue 137 by Ami Magazine

ISSUE 137 28 Tishrei 5774/2013

Làñgüagéš

Colorful Fudge TARGET TASTE

Issue 137.indd 1

Making a Minyan DIRECTION DRAMA

Pillows 12 THINGS

9/17/13 12:10 AM

Published by Ami Magazine Editor-in-Chief: Esty Weiss News Editor: Avrohom Yaakov Tarkieltaub Production Manager: Dina Hagar Photo Editor: Eli Koenig Executive Coordinator: Zack Blumenfeld Illustrator: T. Aramada Design: Rachel Adler Layout: Shana Baila Kohn Write to us at Ami Magazine, 1575 50th St., 3rd Floor, Brooklyn, N.Y. 11219 Call us at: 718-534-8800 Fax: 718-484-7731 Email us at: esty@amimagazine.org

ISSUE 137 28 Tishrei 5774/2013 play

languages

news

fun stuďŹ&#x20AC;

disappeared

ask the rabbi

18 museum of marvels

photo pullout seven colored earth

recipe

real life

meet the milsteins

FEATURE

the complete ufo sightings of simcha perlman

12 things you may not know about pillows

28 30

HERE IS A SNEAK PEEK AT OUR NEXT EDITION! MINI CAKE DONUTS

LIPS

TARGET TASTE

12 THINGS...

PECULIAR PRISONS FEATURE

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missio

mail

Hi, Everyone,

You've all experienced it. You're involved in some kind of conversation, it ends, you leave, and BAM–it hits you just after you make your exit: the perfect, witty comment/comeback that would've shown you to be a scintillating conversationalist. Only you can't go back now and say it—it would make you seem pretty silly. So you turn the line over and over in your mind in regret, wishing you would have thought of it earlier—but it's too late.

I just wasted ﬁve lines describing something I could've used one phrase for: L'Esprit d’Escalier. That French phrase needed lines of explanation—because there's no word for it in English! There are an estimated one million words in the English language, yet there are no word equivalents for some great words in other languages. Take zeg (Georgian), for instance. It means the day after tomorrow. Wouldn't that be a useful word to have in English? Or wei-wu-wei (Chinese): the decision to do nothing, for a particular reason (I see what you're doing, I'm wei-wu-weing it). Zhaghzhagh (Persian): teeth chattering from cold or anger is pretty useful too, as are pana po’o (Hawaiin): scratching your head trying to remember something you've forgotten, or vybafnout (Czech): jumping out to say boo. There are so many wonderful languages in the world—check out the feature for some interesting language info. There are also many wonderful ways to end this letter which I'll think of after it's sent to print. L'Esprit de Escalairs? Totally.

Waiting to hear from you,

Dear Aim!, My family loves your magazine. We've been getting it from issue 4, not even skipping one. I love "Mexican Ransom" and adore "Hoﬀman's Hotel." Do not end it. I love it! The whole thing is Aim!azingg. We had to cancel 2 magazines to get awesome Aim! It is sooooooo worth it! I never wrote a letter before, but I have to! You're too awesome! My mother has a crate full of old Aims! Issues 4-134. How can we get 1-3? Maybe you can republish them? I hope so!

To my dearest Aim!, I would like to thank you and all the wonderful creative staff in the Aim! for making my Shabbos every week! My father buys it every week (and when he forgets it my Shabbos is really different!) I was just curious about one thing. The boy who poses for the play, his center bottom tooth is missing since the first issue. Every week we check if it started growing already. I would love if you could write about him or interview him. He makes the play so much more exciting!! Another thing I like about the Aim! is that it brings up such original features. I got so much smarter about things since the Aim! came out. Thank you and kudos! A grateful reader Grateful reader, we're letting you in on a trade secret here. The little boy posed for all the pictures a long time ago—all on the same day. Our amazing graphic artists paint his costume on every week on their computers! So his teeth won't be doing any growing... We're so happy that you enjoy the many original features of Aim! and that it's making you smarter–though we can tell from your letter that you're plenty smart already! Keep in touch! —Esty

Hoffman's Hotel, Mexican Ransom and Aim! fan, Age 8. Fan, we're all sad to see the Hoffmans go, but what's coming in its place next week is worth it! We're glad you decided to write us your first letter—we hope it's the first of many! 1 Aim! =2 magazines? High praise indeed! Contact our office for back issues. Thanks for writing! — Esty

Dear Aim!, You are Aim!-azing, but I have one question. In "Mexican Ransom" the letter that Mr. Berkman got, what do the letters represent? Your Biggest Fan Biggest fan, hidden in the letter is a message to Mr. Berkman. The ﬁrst letter of each word spells it out...Go back and read it now. —Esty

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s w ne ator navig

By Chaim Boruch Tauber

A LICENSE TO PLATE?

CANADA

USA SC

MEXICO

as a matter

of fact

• In some states, many of the license plates are made by inmates in prison. I wonder how many of them will get into prison because of a computerized license plate…. • The three basic sizes of plates in the world are: 20.5 inches by 4.5 inches in most of the European nations and its former territories; 14.5 inches by 5.3 inches in Australia and Paciﬁc Rim countries; and 12 inches by 6 inches in the Americas.

ust because this is my column doesn’t mean I get to write in it whatever I wish. Had it been up to me I’d just fill the page with random letters, numbers and punctuation marks in 20 seconds fl at and call it a day. But I can’t do that (or so I’m told, I’ve never actually tried it). Similarly, just because you have a car doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want (and you especially shouldn’t try writing an article while driving a car). Another thing cars have in common with literary works is that they both find the need to use licenses—on a car they appear as plates and in writing they appear poetically (see what I did there? That’s poetic license at work!). In a way, writers who choose to not make use of their poetic license are like car owners who don’t have a license on their vehicle: It looks nice but it won’t get you places…. So where am I driving with all this? All the way to the states of California and South Carolina, where there is a push to introduce computerized license plates. The plates won’t look much different from current plates and the computer screen will display the same random numbers and letters as do the current plates. But

there’ll be other features as well (no, not Tetris, but I like the way you think…). The license plates will have the capacity to pay tolls (the money, however, will come out of your—not the license plate’s—bank account). Additionally, if the driver doesn’t renew his/her license on time it will read “EXPIRED” instead of the regular plate numbers; if the car is stolen it will read “STOLEN.” The plate might also be able to alert other commuters if that car had been associated with a kidnapping. Okay, so besides thieves and kidnappers who doesn’t love this idea? Many people in California are afraid that the government would be able to use this program to illegally track the driving history of citizens and that it could lead to the violation of privacy rights. Other Californians are concerned that if electronic plates become the norm the government will allow private companies to purchase advertising space on top or beneath the plate numbers (heh, I can see an overturned car in a ditch, the letters on the plate reading “CRASHED” and underneath that an ad: “You Should Have Switched to Geico!”).

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tween news

HOMESICK NEED NOT APPLY…

bizarre news TRAPPE THE

willfully, trapped in a capsule, lifted by some 370 helium balloons.

TRAPPED

The plan was to launch from Canada, sail across the Atlantic, and land in Iceland. Or Morocco; it was all up to whether the weather had booked him tickets to the north or south. In the end his attempt went bust about 12 hours after launching, as he was stranded on a remote part of Canada’s province of Newfoundland (I guess we know how that province got its name).

Titles. In the olden days it was all the rage—one thing we learn from history is that Alexander the Great had hired a way better PR ﬁrm than Ivan the Terrible. (For example, I’m known in some circles as, “Chaim Boruch the Guy Who Makes Up Random Nicknames for People While Writing his “News Navigator” Column. You like it? Thanks! I totally made it up myself!)

Jonathan is no stranger to lonely balloon ﬂights, which is why he’s earned the title of Jonathan the… the… John the Withdrawn—how about that?

So why am I naming Jonathan Trappe “Trappe the Trapped”? Because of his recent attempt to cross the Atlantic (the ocean, not the city),

How much would you pay for a ticket to Mars? Actually, that’s a trick question. Tickets are free. Anyone (over 18) can win a free trip to Mars. The catch? Mars is really, really far away. Also? It’s a one-way ticket. The point is to start a colony there. The Mars One Foundation committee has already received over 200,000 applications. By 2015 the applicants will be narrowed down to about 40 and then they will be further narrowed down to four. The ﬁnal four will be put through a seven-year training program, invented by a group of people who’ve actually never been to Mars. The colony is set to launch by 2023 (if they can raise $6 billion ﬁrst)!

jewish news

CITY OF GOLD; COINS Whoever coined the phrase “City of Gold” in reference to Jerusalem may as well have coined it “The City of Gold Coins,” because people (mostly of archeological persuasion) are digging up ancient gold coins faster than gnomes can burry them.

coined it “Gold City”?) in what’s been described as a “breathtaking, once ina-lifetime discovery.” The coins contain the image of a menorah and are still in good condition (good enough condition that you wouldn’t turn them down if you were oﬀered some).

Thirty six beautiful gold coins were discovered at a recent excavation site in the Old City (shouldn’t they have

Like many other discoveries, the coins seem to date back to times of the Byzantine Empire (that’s a fancy

name for Eastern Rome), a time when —apparently—it was cooler to bury gold coins in backyards than it was to spend them. So far, attempts to locate the original owners have been as successful as the states of California and South Carolina have been at getting electronic license plates on their vehicles… (See what I just did? That, my friends, is called “poetic license…”).

5 Issue 137.indd 5

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ion direct a

dram

Making a Minyan BY ELI KATZ

Hershele Ostropoler

Mottel

Scene 1 (In a market.) HERSHELE Mottel, get a minyan together for me. MOTTEL (Slapping Hershele on the back.) LOL. Good joke, Hershele. HERSHELE pronto.

Huh? I need a minyan,

MOTTEL Ha! You’re killing me, Hershele, you’re killing me! HERSHELE I’m serious! I’ve got yahrtzeit today. I may be a badchan, but I'm not joking now. MOTTEL (Sobering up.) Hello? Look around. We’re in a market, not a shul. HERSHELE I am looking around and you know what I see? A bunch of perfect minyan candidates. Hey, you over there, can you join our minyan? SHMELKA Who has yahrtzeit? HERSHELE

It is the yahrtzeit of my

Shmelka

Amram

Reuven

dear father.

moving.

SHMELKA Who was your father? How long is he gone? Tell me, did he leave a nice yerushah? I’m an investor and I might have the perfect place to put that money. Don't be a fool and keep it under your mattress. You have options! Listen, if you put it in stocks—

MOTTEL Listen to your friend Mottel for once. You will not be able to get a minyan in this market. Period.

MOTTEL

Can you join the minyan?

SHMELKA Concentrate! There are bonds! Commodities! Collectibles! Mutual funds! Financial derivatives! Foreign exchanges! I can be a broker for any of these for a nominal price. MOTTEL Can you join a minyan? (Shmelka starts inching away.) SHMELKA I suddenly realized I have an appointment. So sorry, I must go— but here's my business card. MOTTEL HERSHELE

I ﬁgured. Minyan? Minyan?

REUVEN I’d love to help. Just not right now. Busy day, busy day. Gotta keep

HERSHELE a minyan?

Hey, Mister, could you join

ALTER What a chaval! If only I weren’t rushing oﬀ to clean my gutters… But today is gutter day—so there. Must dash. AMRAM Don’t look at me. I’m makpid to daven only after shkiyah. It's a family minhag. So sorry. MOTTEL Minyan? Minyan? (No one responds.) I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so, Hershele. You won’t get a minyan here. HERSHELE Save the “I told you sos.” I’m going to have way more than ten people in my minyan. MOTTEL

Impossible.

HERSHELE Watch and see as I gather a large crowd to join my davening. (Screaming.) HELP! HELP! HELP!

6 Issue 137.indd 6

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a parzszhle pu

“Phew, homework assignment number two is now officially complete,” Ratzy announced with satisfaction as she stood up to stretch. “Now onto number three, then number four and finally number five.” “Five?” Yeedle asked, horrified. He was sprawled across the floor of the family study reading a book. “Poor girls, they slave drive you people.” “Tell me about it,” Ratzy sighed. “But at least I don’t come home at nine o’clock like you people do. I would never manage. “

HEEEEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP! (People begin running towards Hershele.) REUVEN What’s going on? Where’s that shouting coming from? AMRAM Over there! That man is screaming! Is he being robbed? Is he having a heart attack? Is he being robbed AND having a heart attack? Is he— REUVEN Move it to the side! You’re running too slowly.

Ratzy quickly took back the paper and sat back down. “Don’t ever touch my stuﬀ again.” Pinchy screamed louder.

“PINCHY!” Ratzy tried to grab the paper out of his hands.

Why did Ratzy call him the youngest?

a h c a l ha nge e chall

“What a magniﬁ cent Shabbos meal this is!” Rabbi Greenﬁeld smiled at everyone sitting around the table. “First of all, we have the zechus of hosting Zeidy and Bobby. I take that as a great honor.”

(A large crowd surrounds Hershele.)

"And to think, a few weeks ago she was desperate," muttered Simchy.

HERSHELE Yisgadal veyiskadash Shemei rabba… ⊙

"Simchy!" Totty said, in a warning tone. “Okay, Shevy want to bring in the mayim achronim? Actually

you’re the kallah. Pessy, please go. Meanwhile let’s chap arein another zemiros. I knew we took a boy with alle mailos, but I didn’t realize he also sings beautifully.” The men sang another song which ended just as Pessy walked back in. “Hey, who is going to bentch mezumin?” Gershy piped up. “Zeidy or the chasan?” “Hmm.” Rabbi Greenﬁeld looked thoughtful. “Hard question.” “Well who usually gets to bentch?” Shevy asked.

Who?

Answer: The most choshuve person or a guest. (Mishnah Berurah 201:3)

Issue 137.indd 7

Pinchy sat on the ﬂoor and burst into tears. “I am not the baby; Riki is.”

“I’ll take the nine o’clock over assign—Hey you better watch out! I think Pinchy just grabbed hold of your assignment number one.”

SHMELKA Details! Details!

BASED ON TALES FROM OUR GEDOLIM

“Stop it!” Ratzy yelled as she ran after him. “You’re the real youngest in the family!”

“Hey, calm down,” Yeedle said. “He is just a kid, he didn’t mean any harm, look how he’s crying. And besides it’s really not nice to call him the youngest. He didn’t do something so bad.”

“Well it’s not every day you have a chasan eating a meal with you,” the senior Rabbi Greenifield said. “Who would believe my son is up to marrying off a daughter already? How time flies.”

ALTER What’s all this commotion? (Pushing Reuven away.) Lemme see!

Pinchy grinned and quickly ran away.

Answer: People who do bad actions are considered the youngest. (Cham was considered the youngest although he was really older then Sheim.) (Rashi 10:24)

Alter

noach

7 9/17/13 12:11 AM

Làñgüagéš

According to "News Navigator" (I know! That’s my favorite part of Aim! too) from Issue #130, “As many as 90% of the 7,358 languages that have existed will be driven to extinction by the year 2050.” That’s right, languages are dropping dead like flies in a no fly zone—and it’s easy to see why. In the pan-global economy, with most US companies’ products being made in China and its call centers located in India and Pakistan, knowing a language spoken in large countries tends to be a much bigger help than knowing some obscure tongue. As a result, young people in third world countries are opting to learn languages that are more likely to get them hired. (Unless, of course, the job description specifi cally announces: “Seeking speaker of language spoken by practically no one on Earth.” But if such an ad did appear in a language barely anyone speaks, chances are they’ll have a hard time finding any applicants who understand the ad in the first place, which means they’d have to place their ad in a common language, which

brings us back to our ﬁrst point). In the past, when much of the world lived in isolation, it was ﬁne to have a unique language. Well, that was then. Today there is very little need for a country like Papua New Guinea to host over 800 unique languages (Papua New Guineans, however, disagree, each in their own, personal language). But in the rest of the world, people would rather speak Spanish than Chamicuro (native to Peru, spoken by eight people), Nepalese instead of Dumi (native to Nepal and Tibet, spoken by eight people), English instead of Chemehuevi (native to the United States, spoken by three people), and Portuguese instead of Kaixana (native to Brazil, spoken by just one person). Popular languages, like English, are causing the annihilation of languages that have run empires (into the ground by now, but still) for thousands of years. Dying languages. They’re here. They’re there. They’re everywhere. Languages are languishing all over the world, many on the brink of death. And most of the time they await their death not knowing of its imminence… because they’re languages for crying out loud and they don’t have a brain.

Bÿ Shàûl Mõžessoñ 8 Issue 137.indd 8

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MOST POPULAR LANGUAGES

Japanese

Native to: Japan

Punjabi

This language makes use of a range of nasal and throat noises. And if this isn’t weird enough, according to The Handbook of Morphology, some verbs have as many as 1,502,839 diﬀerent mathematical possibilities. For example, “write,” “wrote,” “writing,” and “written” are just four ways of me saying what I’m doing now; Archi has 1.5 million more possibilities (no surprise this language has so few speakers, I shudder to think what homework looks like).

German

Number of Speakers:

Native to: Pakistan and the nearby area

Native to: Germany and Central Europe

Number of Speakers:

Casual Comment: Japa-

102 million

Number of Speakers:

nese would have ranked way higher had the US not gotten its hands on atom bombs…

Casual Comment: And if you’ve

Casual Comment: German

never heard of this language you’ve offended the 1.44% of the world you can least afford to offend…

still makes it to this list, but it’s in rapid decline; no surprise, I guess…

126 million

89 million

12 Issue 137.indd 12

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Manuel Segovia one of the last two speakers of Ayapaneco.

Xhosa Location: South Africa Known Speakers:

8 million

Ayapaneco

Bizarrely Unique Feature: You can use the same word in this language, but the meaning will change based on the tone you use. Many of the consonants like “c” and “x” are made up of diﬀerent kinds of tongue clicks.

Location: Mexico

Pirahã

Known Speakers: Two Bizarrely Unique Feature: The only two speakers of this language live in the same town, on the same block too. These elderly neighbors are working together to revive this language since…never, actually—it turns out that these two individuals have been in a ﬁght for many years and refuse to speak to one another! What are they ﬁghting over? Who knows?? (Learn Ayapaneco and perhaps you’ll know…)

Nelson Mandela is a native speaker of Xhosa.

Location: Brazil Known Speakers:

About 300

A Pirahã tribesman.

Bizarrely Unique Feature: Want an easy language? This one contains just 12 letters and doesn’t have words for colors (just “light” and “dark”) and numbers (anything above ten uses the same word, which translates into “a lot”).

!Xóõ Location: Botswana Known Speakers:

2,000 to 3,500 Bizarrely Unique Feature: Otherwise written out as “Taa,” the African language of !Xóõ has five vowels and—wait for it—164 consonants! Basically, it makes use of every noise imaginable. A difficult language, perhaps? You can say that again (in 164 different ways, I suppose)!!!

Botswana

La Gomera

Silbo Gomero Location: La Gomera, Canary Island Known Speakers

20,000

Bizarrely Unique Feature: I guess it should be no surprise that this canary-like language is spoken on the Canary Islands. The language is made up entirely of song-like whistles and can be heard as far as two miles away.

13 Issue 137.indd 13

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EMBARRASSING

ADVERTISING

TRANSLATIONS

Perhaps the only thing harder than translating catchy slogans into diﬀerent languages is to stop laughing after reading some of them. Read on….

KFC The Slogan:

“Finger-licking good” Translated into Chinese becomes:

“We’ll eat your fingers off”

Coors The Slogan:

“Turn it loose” Translated into Spanish becomes:

“Get a stomach virus”

Pepsi The Slogan:

“Come alive with Pepsi” Translated into Chinese becomes:

“Pepsi will bring your ancestors back from the dead”

The Greatest Polyglots Timothy Doner: Timothy was featured in "News Navigator" a few months back, after demonstrating his ability to speak 23 diﬀerent languages, including some very diﬃcult ones (Hebrew and Yiddish being two of them, which tells us everything we need to know about his ethnicity). The wacky part? Timothy is only 16 years old!

Hans Conon von der Gabelentz: Linguists, that is, people who study languages, end up knowing many of them pretty well. Hans (1807-1874) spoke over 30 of them and worked on another 50. If you thought that was boring—it gets worse! He also wrote entire dictionaries on numerous unique languages! And I thought just saying his name was a mouthful….

Sir John Bowring: So, who is the greatest polyglot who ever lived (and died)? According to Sir John Bowring, well, the answer would be “John Bowring.”

1 2

Sir John, the British governor in Hong Kong in the 1800s, claims to have been ﬂuent in 100 languages and understood an additional 200!!! Too bad he made that very statement in just one language: English. While he is known to have spoken many a language, the exact number is not known.

Emil Krebs:

Green Giant The Slogan:

“Jolly Green Giant” Translated into Arabic becomes:

“Scary Green Monster”

Emil is believed to have served as a German interpreter in China during World War I (not that it helped Germany much, anyway). Krebs left behind a library of 120 languages and is believed to have understood them all. Poor guy, he was only ﬂuent in like 68 of them. ⊙

14 Issue 137.indd 14

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et targt e

tas

ingredients Customize the colors to match your party scheme!

1 BAG (12 OUNCES) WHITE VANILLA BAKING CHIPS (2 CUPS) 16 OUNCES VANILLA FROSTING GREEN, BLUE, YELLOW AND RED GEL FOOD COLORS OR COLORS OF YOUR CHOICE

1 2 3

Line an 8-inch square pan with foil and spray the foil with cooking spray. In a microwavable bowl, microwave the chips uncovered on high for 1 minute. Remove and pour the frosting over chips. For colored fudge add a drop of gel food coloring. Microwave for another 30 seconds. Stir. If mixture can't be stirred smooth, microwave for another 15 seconds. Repeat if necessary. Refrigerate. Cut into pieces when set. (Note: You can make many diﬀerent types of fudge using this recipe as a base. Try peanut butter chips and chocolate frosting for yummy fudge too!)

BY SARAH STERN

colorful

fudge

15 Issue 137.indd 15

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quick facts THE SEVEN COLORED EARTHS ARE

80,730 SQUARE FEET (7,500 SQ. METERS)

IN SIZE.

OPEN TO TOURISTS

SINCE THE 1960S,

TODAY A FENCE PROTECTS THE DUNES. TANZANIA MOZAMBIQUE MADAGASCAR

MAURITIUS

SEVEN COLORED EARTHS What is strange about the Seven Colored Earths, a group of sand dunes in Mauritius? Let us count the ways…

Issue 137.indd 16

First there’s the sand itself, present in seven vibrant colors: Red, brown, violet, green, blue, purple and yellow. (Yes,

it makes for really cool sand art, available in gift-shops on site!)

It happened over the sands of time: The hues are a result of the breakdown of volcanic rock, the diﬀerent tem-

9/17/13 12:12 AM

p p n t W d

peratures at which the rock cooled, plus reactions with iron and aluminum. We get that. So that's not the truly weird thing about these dunes. What's even odder is that these sand dunes have not washed away, even

Issue 137.indd 17

though Mauritius often has torrential downpours. (Good news for Mauritians as they rely on it to bring in tourist money.) But thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not either the strangest thing about the Seven Colored Earths. Grab a ďŹ stful of sand

and mix it in your hands. Now let the sand settle. Super-duper strange: the sand is in a stripy pattern! No matter how well you mix it, the sand always spontaneously settles in striped layers!

9/17/13 12:12 AM

brain teasers 1

How is seasickness like an auction?

fun stuff chess challenge It’s white’s turn, checkmate in two moves. D

7 6

Always keep this—no one wants it.

If you were pushed down a ﬂight of stairs, what would you fall against?

1 A

Answers: 1) One is the eﬀects of a sail and the other is a sale of eﬀects. 2) You would fall against your will. 3) Your temper.

18 Issue 137.indd 18

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ASK THE

RABBI DEAR ANONYMOUS, I am sorry that you are dealing with this pain. We naturally look to our parents for warmth and sweetness. That's why when they hurt our feelings, it is so devastating. If a stranger would yell at us, we might feel bad for a minute and then brush it oﬀ. But with our parents, it is completely diﬀerent. Even when we get older, we still want to be able to go to our parents for love and support. When that kind of connection is lacking, it is very hard to get over it.

Let me try to help you deal with your situation a little bit better. First of all, I notice that you say that your father sometimes does speak nicely, but that the times when he screams at you have made you unable to take any pleasure in that. That's understandable. If you've been hurt before, then you start to build up defenses. You don't want to be hurt again. So, the easiest thing to do is to sort of close up that place in your heart that wants to have warm feelings for your father. If you don't even want that connection, then you won't be as hurt the next time he screams at you. The only problem with that is that you see that it doesn't really work. You still want that connection, and that's why you feel like crying when you see your friends who do have that kind of relationship with their fathers. So we are back to where we started.

y father screams a lot at me and my brothers and sisters. This makes me so upset that when he speaks nicely to me, I feel very cold inside. Obviously, we don't have a good relationship. I'm not even sure I'm interested in a relationship. Still, when I see my friends are so close to their fathers I feel like crying. What can I do?

SIGNED, ANONYMOUS

You want to have warm feelings toward your father, but you don't feel like being hurt by him when he screams at you. That's the real dilemma. How do we address this? What I am going to suggest to you may be very, very diﬃcult for you. It may be the hardest thing you've ever done. But this is what I think will help you. Can you get the courage to talk with your father? Can you tell him your problem? I think there is something that you may not realize and that is that as much as a child yearns to be close to his or her father, a father desires even more to be close to his children. Can you say something like this? "Tatty (or whatever you call your father), I need to tell you something that is very diﬃcult for me. I am afraid to even tell you this because I don't know how you will react, but I can't not tell you because I need you to know." At this point, you will have your father's complete attention. Actually, he will probably think you want to confess to him that you did something wrong. You might need to calm him down by saying, "Don't worry, I am not in trouble. I just have something very important to discuss with you." At this point, you also want to make sure that he can focus on you, so don't go up to him while he is just about to walk out the door or when there are a lot of other things happening at home. Maybe wait until Shab-

bos afternoon. Maybe ask him if you can take a walk together or go sit in a park. Tell him you need to be sure he can concentrate without distractions. When you are in that kind of setting, you can tell him something like this: "Tatty, I love you and I want so much to be close to you. I want us to have a warm relationship. I have to tell you something and I pray that I am being respectful when I say this. Sometimes it seems like you get angry and you scream at me. It hurts me so much when you scream at me. It makes me scared of you. Then, later, in the times when you are being nice, it is hard for me to feel that niceness because I still remember the hurt. I want to be close to you, but my heart is confused. I only want to have good feelings about you and to feel safe and secure around you. I know that you are my father and you will still need to discipline me. I accept that. But I don't know how to deal with the screaming. Can you help me?" I believe that if you are very honest and very respectful, and you do not sound at all like you're whining, then your words will have a profound impact on your father. I wish you success.

RST

Rabbi Shais Taub, a noted author and counselor, can be contacted through Aim!.

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9/17/13 12:12 AM

IT TOTALLY ROCKS.

Rock-paper-scissors isn’t just a fun way to settle disagreements—there are actually international tournaments of the “sport”! The most recent one was held in London in 2012 to coincide with the Olympics. Just two years earlier, the record for the largest rock-paper-scissors tournament ever was set with a whopping 6,500 people battling it out with their ﬁngers in Louisville, Kentucky.

BIG

SMALL

Mommy, he’s pushing me! Monaco isn’t just the second smallest country in the world (after Vatican City), it also has the least elbow space for its residents! This teensy weensy country, the size of Manhattan’s Central Park, is the most densely populated country in the world, with over 32,000 people sharing 0.76 square miles (1.96 sq. km.)! (What makes it even more squishy: the need to accommodate the overblown egos of its royal family, the Grimaldi clan.)

Why did the badger cross the road? Because he could! The Netherlands has more than 600 tunnels and bridges to allow badgers, boars, and deer to cross highways safely. The largest one, an “ecoduct” viaduct, is 2,625 feet (800 meters) long and 164 feet (50 meters) wide. It stretches over a highway, railway line, river and golf course!

BY ELI KATZ

PANTS

OF THE EAST Everything depends on your perspective. A 74-story building in Suzhou, China, is nearing completion. Unfortunately, its designers saw things diﬀerently than the public. The building was supposed to be named Gate to the East and look like—yes, a gate. Check out why it’s been nicknamed Pants of the East.

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ARGUING WITH YOUR SIBLINGS OVER WHO SAID WHAT FIRST? The newly developed Kapture wristband will record all your conversations. Tap it to store the last minute of any convo, making such arguments moot. Further uses: The next time your little cutie says something funny, TAP. Now it’s saved for life.

BUNKER M-42 Nine floors below the lowest floor in Grand Central Station in New York City is Bunker M-42, a secret bunker used during World War II. Hitler wanted to target this station, and armed soldiers hung out here, fingers on the trigger. The exact location of the bunker is still a secret and does not appear on any maps. Another secret Grand Central Station fact: A secret track was reserved for VIPs as a clandestine way to enter the city.

FLYING FISH

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE JOKE ABOUT THE ROOF? Never mind, it's over your head.

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a fish?! The Exocoetidae, commonly called flying fish, have the amazing ability to use their torpedo shape to gather enough underwater speed to break the surface and glide for long distances with their outstretched fins. While a typical flight is 164 feet (50 meters), one species can even “fly” an amazing 1,312 feet (400 meters)!

M-M-M-MYSTERY Ever played the humming trick on a poor substitute? Cruel, cruel, cruel! You should be sent to Taos. The Taos Hum is a lowpitched sound heard in Taos, Mexico and many places worldwide, especially in the USA, UK and Northern Europe. Described as sounding like a far-oﬀ engine, it’s been driving listeners bananas. A mission by Congress to Taos to discover the cause of the “humming” was unsuccessful.

GASP! Yikes! four flowers! Tremble, tremble! HAVE A PESKY ITCH ON YOUR CHIN? Careful! Don’t give it a good scratch in a forward motion in Belgium, France, Northern Italy or Tunisia. It means “Get lost!” This could save your life: Don’t give a thumbs-up in the Middle East and parts of Africa—it’s very oﬀensive. Oh, and don’t give a Russian an even number of ﬂowers unless you’re looking to make enemies (that symbolizes death).

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AS TOLD TO SHIFFY FRIEDMAN

GETTING THERE IS HALF THE FUN

wonder if there’s anyone in the world who loathes the sound of an alarm clock as much as I do. I mean, it's hard to imagine anyone feeling as much passionate hate towards a rectangular piece of plastic as me. Even when I owned a Hello Kitty clock at age 12 and the sound it made was a tweet, it took little time for me to hate that dream-killer, mouthless kitty face and all. (On the bright side, it did manage to cure my obsession with that kitten.)

The intense hatred I felt towards my alarm clock wavered only once a year: on the morning my sister Dina and I joined a group tour to Six Flags Amusement Park in New Jersey. At daybreak on that morning, the ring of the alarm did not herald another long day sitting in a drab uniform at a splintered desk at school, listening to teachers drone on and on while ﬁghting with my drooping eyelids. It wasn’t a reminder that I had to jump out of bed and hit the books because last night’s licorice supply had exhausted before I was done reading 46 sides of notes. On that special morning, the alarm’s ring was the sweetest sound of all. It meant we were inching ever closer to our favorite Chol Hamoed outing, closer to the snaking lines that landed us on roller coasters and pirate ships and the zaniest attractions that had us giggle in delight while we squeezed each other’s hands until they were numb. While my parents took the younger kids to the local rides, we were privileged to spend a day in a real park, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground in our favorite coasters, our hearts in our hands. Weeks before the scheduled trip date, we’d make sure to drop oﬀ our deposit

at the home of the woman who arranged the annual excursion. Money safely handed over, we’d now allow our imaginations to wander. Each night, when we’d lie in bed in the soft glow of our bedside lamp, we’d share our excitement for the upcoming trip and plan our route through the park. “Batman ﬁrst,” I’d say, because I loved to feel the air on my shoeless feet as the roller coaster brought us crashing down in one swoop. “And then we’ll do the Nitro, okay?” It was lines like these that peppered our conversation all Tishrei, as we trudged to school through crunchy leaves and later as we hung the stars and banners all over our sukkah walls, going through pack after pack of thumbtacks in the chilly autumn air. The day before the trip, the excitement was too much to bear. We’d head over to the supermarket, treasured lists in hand. Rolls, check. Smoked cheese, check. Drinks, check. Lots and lots of snacks and candy, check, check, check. “Early to bed,” my mother would remind us just as the sky would start to turn into a pudding of pink. On that night, we listened. Because even before the sun would reappear, my father, awakened by our rushing 'round the house, would be driving us down the still-dark streets in the direction of the bus stop, his car and the milk truck pretty much the only ones on the road. As was his ritual, he’d always manage to locate the truck delivering straight-fromthe-oven baked goods to the bakeries around town. He’d park the car, approach the truck driver, and ask to buy some warm cheese Danishes. When I close my eyes tight, I can still smell

the heavenly aroma that exploded into the air when I opened the paper bag. As if by script, we followed this routine year after year. Until the year I was 15. On Monday evening, the night before our long-awaited trip day, I took the alarm clock into my hands. “Time to set it,” I said to Dina. “For when?” She thought for a moment. “The bus is scheduled to leave at seven. We need an hour. Six?” I turned the dial carefully. Then we scooted under our covers, thrilling roller-coaster images running rampant in our minds. Only roller-coaster lovers can relate to the rush of pleasure we felt then. And only they can grasp our devastation by what happened next, when the script skidded oﬀ its straight path, just like that. One minute, it was 9:10 p.m. on Monday evening. The next, it was 6:50 a.m. on Tuesday morning. I don’t know what caused me to wake up at that moment, but as soon as I did, I realized something was amiss: The sun’s rays were already dancing in our

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REALLIFE real tweens

“IT’S TUESDAY MORNING,” I YELLED LOUDER THIS TIME. “AND IT’S SIX FIFTY!” I wanted to stretch out fl at, right there on the city sidewalk and cry. What a flop! The blood was pumping like thunder in my ears. I could barely hear. But it wasn’t loud enough for me to miss Dina’s reaction. She was gurgling weirdly. Was my sister losing it right there on a street corner at 7 a.m.? bedroom! “Dina!” I yelled across the room. She awoke with a start, her hair a mop of curls. She opened one eye lazily, then turned over to her left side. “It’s Tuesday morning,” I yelled louder this time. “And it’s SIX FIFTY!” She shot out of bed and looked at me in confusion. What now? “Let’s run for it,” Dina said, her voice still scratchy. “You’re sure?” I said, even as I was already splashing water on my face and eyes. I heard a muffled “Sure,” as she squeezed her head through a T-shirt hole. My feet were already in my shoes before I could count to ten. “You grab the freezer stuff,” I commanded, “I’ll get the bags. We’ll daven on the bus.” And then we ran. I allowed myself a peek at my watch when we got to the corner. “It’s six fifty-nine!” I cried.

We were five blocks away. “Faster!” We spanned block after block, our breaths coming in gasps. I felt my chest would explode, as one command hammered through my brain: Run, run, run. By the time we reached the street corner of the designated stop, my knees could pump no longer. I had to take a break. I looked at a pale-faced Dina and she looked at a pale-faced me. Her chest rose. She let out a puff of air. “Do you see the bus, Shiff y?” she asked between breaths, squinting. “Do you?” I retorted. The block was empty! There were no excited teens holding bags full of food, no idling bus sending puffs of exhaust into the air. We were too late. We should’ve known. I slumped to the ground. The day that was never long enough to accommodate our fun plans had now turned into one endless vacant tunnel.

When I turned around to face her, I saw that she was laughing. Giggles tumbled out of her throat, one after the next. You know what happens when your partner in trauma cackles like that. Before I knew it, we were a choir. It was an interesting sort of fun to sit on a street corner with my closest sister at seven in the morning, laughing our undesired circumstances in the face—it was not anything like the fun we’d have had had the alarm clock done its job that morning. But I was okay with that, totally cool about the change in schedule. The haunted houses and 100-foot roller coasters wouldn’t see us this time, but thanks to a broken alarm clock, we’d seen laughter right here, on the grey asphalt, while the bus was bumping down the road miles away. It's years later, and all my trips to amusement parks have kind of meshed into one big mush in my brain but one trip stands out: the one that wasn't. And that memory still makes me laugh. Funny how the things you think will bring you grief sometimes turn out to be the source of unexpected joy. ⊙

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Recap

Yael is invited to have dinner with the Sommers to discuss the case.

AFTER

throwing most of the contents of her wardrobe on the floor and on the bed, and trying each item on, Yael decided on what she had thought would be suitable in the first place: a simple Shabbos dress, not too dressy, the kind she’d wear when she wasn’t going anywhere major. After all, it was a weekday dinner, and she didn’t want to come across as too fancy. On the other hand, she didn’t want to come across as if she had made no effort. She was sure Leora Sommers was an elegant woman and didn’t want to look like a redneck next to her. “Okay,” Yael said, looking at her watch, “if I leave now I could walk. If I see it’s getting late I’ll hop on a bus.” She pocketed the fl ash drive, her cell phone and the diary. After some deliberation she decided to leave the iPad out of her bag. It made her bag quite bulky and heavy, and she didn’t need it. She put it carefully in her desk drawer, the desk on which her laptop sat. She went back into her bedroom and surveyed the tornado of clothes that she had left. Then she looked at her watch again. “I don’t have time to tidy up,” she told herself. “I’ll do it when I come home.” The thought of coming home late to this mess was too much for her to bear, so she quickly hung her clothes up, shoving her sweaters and t-shirts into her drawers without folding them. At least the room looked tidy now, if nothing else. She was ready to leave.

She locked up her apartment carefully, and went downstairs to the street. It was a fine mild evening and the stars were out. As Yael lived right opposite a large park, there was less light pollution from street lighting and the night sky was like a black velvety soft throw overhead, a throw punctuated with tiny holes through which light shone. She breathed in the warm, relatively clean air that was oxygenated by all the trees and plants of the park, and sent up a prayer of thanks for the beauty of Hashem’s work and that she was young, healthy and able to enjoy it this way. “I’m so lucky,” she told herself, “I’ve got my own apartment, I’m self employed at a job I love, even if I’m not that brilliant at it, and to top it all, I’m on my way to meet the most famous detective couple in London, Colin and Leora Sommers! And they’re going to help me find the disappeared girls, I just know they will! I’m just so excited and happy!” Swinging her shoulder bag, she strode along towards the bus stop. * * * “Can we have our usual table by the window please?” Leora asked the smiling waitress. “This restaurant is a little dark, no doubt for elegance reasons, but we personally prefer to read the menu without resorting to a fl ashlight!” She smiled as she said it, but the message got across. However, she knew, as she had known on the

many previous occasions she and Colin had eaten there, that nothing would change. This place went for dark and moody atmospheric lighting which sometimes meant they literally had to use their phones as ﬂ ashlights to read the menus. However, the street lighting outside, and the proximity of the table to the window meant that they could just about see without resorting to extreme measures. “If we sit here, we’ll be able to spot when Yael Reed comes by, too,” Colin said, as they sat opposite each other. “We have an uninterrupted view of the street from here, and no doubt we’ll notice a young girl wandering about, looking at the names on the storefronts in search of this place. Then we can wave her in.” “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Leora agreed, “meanwhile, let’s order a starter, I’m starved.” The waitress brought them cut up veggies and a dish of dip, and then small pieces of toasted bread with a spicy tomato and onion topping. As they decided not to wash for bread and were a bit doubtful about the brachah on it anyway, they just scraped oﬀ the topping and shared that between themselves. They ordered buffalo wings for two and a jug of water while they waited for Yael. “The question really is,” Colin began as he munched on a carrot stick dipped in the creamy dressing, “why no one has thought to consult us till now. If we weren’t so inundated any-

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CHAPTER 26

Watch your step. You could be next.

“A local Jewish case and no one brought us in? I find that weird.”

way, I could be quite insulted. A local Jewish case and no one brought us in? I find that weird.” “Yes it is,” Leora agreed, crunching on a stick of cucumber without the dressing. “Unless, of course, there’s some kind of cover up. After the initial calls to the police from all three sets of parents, from what I’ve gleaned, the police told them the girls were old enough to go missing without being investigated, and then everything went quiet. One set of parents divorced, I believe, the first set, and left for destinations unknown abroad, two different places from what I gather. The second set of parents consists of a very, very traumatized mother and a father I can’t seem to find out much about. He comes home from work and shuts himself away from the world, physically and emotionally. He’s of no support whatever to his wife or other kids. Although who knows what he’s going through under his shut-down personality. That’s the Brands. The most recent set, the Hillmans, are also a weird lot. Father away all week, and when he comes home everyone seems rather scared of him. Bit of a tyrant maybe? This girl, Malky Hillman, is overweight and spotty with very low self-esteem, but wasn't

always this way. Not that that has anything to do with it, of course, but just saying, she’s not Miss Popularity at school. No one really misses her much. Such a shame. And of course her disappearance is so recent that the parents are still waiting for her to show up again. But it has all the hallmarks of the other two disappearances so somehow I don’t think she will. Just show up again, I mean.” Their buﬀalo wings arrived. Leora glanced at her watch. It was twenty past eight. “Weird that she’s late,” she commented. “She seemed so excited to meet us, almost that she couldn’t wait. Why, after all that, would she be late now? It’s bordering on rude.” “Not bordering on, it IS rude,” Colin said, sounding annoyed. “You’re so impatient, Colin!” Leora laughed, “she could just be stuck in traﬃc, maybe something broke down on Golders Green Road and the bus is just sitting there.” “Then why didn’t she call?” Colin grumbled. “Maybe because she doesn’t know our cell phone numbers?” Leora suggested with a cynically raised eyebrow. “But we do know hers, as it’s the only number we have for her. Hang on.” She pulled her cell out of her handbag and looked up the num-

ber. “Here we are.” She dialed it, shook her head so her coppery wig wasn’t in the way of her ears, and waited. “That’s strange,” she said. “What is?” “Well,” Leora said, “it didn’t even go to voicemail as I would have expected in the worst case scenario. It was completely switched oﬀ. Some computerised voice basically telling me to get lost.” “When would that happen?” Colin asked. “Even if I switch my cell phone oﬀ people get voicemail if they dial it.” “Yes,” Leora said. “But if it has been totally disconnected from the network, or damaged beyond repair, or something... Oh my, she’s been in some kind of accident! And here we were thinking she was so rude being late! Colin, we have her address! Let’s go and trace where she started out from, and where she might be now. Quick!” Dinner forgotten, they got up, paid for what they had eaten, and ran from the restaurant. The waitress called after them “Was everything okay? Was there something wrong with the starter? I’m so sorry...” To be continued...

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Recap:

R 181 PTTEE HA CH MAN APNEUR

The situation on the ground is getting desperate; Faigy, Meir and Miri each are trying to come up with plans to solve the Malky mashal and nimshal problem.

Y DI NA BC

Dear Darling Diary, Meir wrote this poem and slipped it to me during dinner: Ode to a Yeshivah Bochur by the name of Michael Rosen, How lucky for you that you have been chosen! I almost choked on my fried ﬁsh. I mean, he tries, he really does….but a Poet he is not. I mean, where is the pathos, the horror, the pain? I would have written it something like… His heart is true, but his sorrow will soon be deep Michael Rosen, knowing not his fate, is innocently asleep. But I guess we can’t all be multi-talented. So anyway, that’s his name, Malky’s new shidduch, and guess what, he’s local, too. No foreign Russian shidduch this time. (Or was it Detroit? I always get those two countries mixed up.) And Meir and I came up with a plan. It’s desperate. It’s crazy. But then, we sometimes do crazy, desperate things when we are crazy and desperate. I am beginning to feel guilty for us taking turns taking the shidduch notepad all the time to get the information that we need. I mean, it’s like stealing , isn’t it, even if it’s for a good cause? And lying, too, when Mommy asks me if I’ve seen it and I say I’ll look for it and then run up and get it. I am ﬁlled with mixed-up

feelings regarding my actions especially since its right after Yom Kippur and I feel like maybe I’m starting oﬀ the year on the wrong foot. I told Meir about how I feel and I got a little teary-eyed explaining myself, about how something that is wrong will never create a right, and how if you do something wrong, no matter the reason, you create bad energy that gets released into the world and how can I sleep knowing that my actions might have done something horrible, like upset the delicate balance in a rain forest, or killed all the butterﬂies or made the cook in school decide to make goulash on pizza day or something?

I m f d s

And he twisted his mouth in this wry kind of way and asked me how I felt about stealing his pencils all the time and what kind of repercussions that would have on the universe and that’s when I realized that we need to get serious and get down to work and stop chitchatting.

Anyway. I will ponder my feelings later. For right now I have tons and tons of writing and drawing to do as per the plan. The new plan. The plan that will keep us mashal and nimshal free! In other news, waiting to hear back from play tryouts . I would prefer the main main part, but decided after much soulsearching that I will settle for the second main. All my love,

Faigy

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DD, The new plan is simple and sweet and is probably not even illegal in most states, which is a bonus. The plan is the opposite of subliminal messaging; it’s in-your-face-messaging. (A term which I coined and which I plan on copywriting when this is all successful and over.) We will find out Michael Rosen’s exact address, and then we will inundate him (Faigy’s word: It’s a fancy way of saying that we will throw a bunch of stuff at him, which is the phrase that I used and she said it “lacked elegance” and that she is now a writer and knows about stuff like that, so I said, maybe I’m really the writer since it’s my pencil that you’re using and she was all, are we making a plan or not, and don’t we have to get on with it and not just sit here and chatter) with all sorts of ways that let him know how awesome Malky is. Examples:

Draw up ﬂiers about how awesome Malky is. Write letters about how awesome Malky is. Take out ads about how awesome Malky is. It will be an inundation of Malky awesomeness of epic proportions. Faigy is going to do the ﬂiers and posters and I will take care of the ads and we’ll think about what else we can do. I had an idea to bring Miri in on the whole thing. She’s a baby, sure, but she is just as annoyed at Malky as we are because she can’t make heads or tails out of her mushalim and now thinks that she’s a princess and is going crazy because none of us are treating her like one. We can use another ally. Faigy said that it was a bad idea because what if she tells Malky? And I thought that we can bribe her not to tell Malky, but now I’m thinking: Is that

something that is really not okay to do? How far are we willing to go with this whole plan? Does the end justify the means always? I’m remembering when I stretched the truth about how I broke my braces. Its kept me from eating steak and on some days I wonder if life with so many limitations is worth living, but I guess I’d rather live the saddest, steak-free existence ever if it means that I won’t have to lie. It hurt my stomach, lying, and truth is, it didn’t even work out in the end. Maybe it’s how it works; maybe if someone tells a lie then at the end of the day the whole thing always collapses. So, no steak. And no Miri. (Between the two, I’d rather steak. Mmmm, steak. Ode to steak. Your juicy goodness is so amazing and soft/ Why does the very thought of you make my braces fall oﬀ ?)

Meir

Dear Diary,

I am nervous about the upcoming shidduch. To take my mind off of it, I wrote up a list of good mishalim from Mishalim and Nimshalim that have ties to confi dence and read them, confidently, to my siblings and student s. The Cat and the Bird, page 5 Once Upon a Picnic, page 45 Love and Pain, page 74 Bursting Free, page 110 But I’m wonder ing now if that’s considered an untruth, speaking all confidently about confidence when really inside I am quaking with lack of it. Are your insides always supposed to reflect your outsides? If I am not confident, am I supposed to be acting on that lack of confidence?

Diary! Is telling a mashal a little bit like a lie? I think so. Because other wise I am a princess, and they say I am not. I hate lies. 

Miri

I need to speak to Rebbet zin Temima Maarav i about this. I’m sure that she’ll have the perfect answer for me. In mashal and nimshal form, of course! And is there a better way to answer my question than that? No, there is not! At least…that’s what I think…

Malky

To be continued... 27

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Dear Sir or Madam at the Community News, I, too, was a skeptic. I, too, scoffed. I, too, mocked. And occasionally indulged in scoffing and mocking simultaneously as well. But! I mock and scoff —separately or otherwise—no longer. Because I am now a Believer. Because how can I doubt the evidence of my own two eyes? I can’t, that’s how. Because my two eyes have never let me down before and they are not about to start now. Or my name isn’t Simcha Perlman. (Which, for clarification, it is.) The sighting occurred on the twentyfifth of September, 2013, at 5:58:28, as Shloimy Gordon and I were walking home from school. It was getting dark, and I was looking down at my feet because I was demonstrating how aerodynamic and awesome my new shoes are because they are aerodynamic and awesome, when I saw a kind of a twinkle reflecting off of them from somewhere above us. Quick as a shot I looked up, squinting into the darkening sky to see what was causing it— and There It Was. It was round. It was bright. It lit up the sky and for an instant I could see the whole, round, metallic, alien-looking structure as it hovered overhead— —and then it was over in a fl ash and I was left here on Earth, gasping, saying to Shloimy—did you see it? Did you see it? Tell me that you saw it! And of course he didn’t because A . he’s annoying and B. his eyes are not as keen as mine. (Few eyes are.) You have to be quick with these things. You have to have the reflexes of a ninja. If you see something at the corner of your eye, you can’t discount it; you need to immediately trace in back to its source. I did. I quickly looked up and there it was: my very first UFO. It’s interesting how calm I am about the whole thing. I know that a lot of people in my situation would have panicked, or lost it. They might have

run down the street screaming stuff like, “We’re being invaded! Help! Aliens!” And maybe they'd light their hair on fire or have some other sign of nervous breakdown, like trading your gummy bears at recess for carrot sticks. But I didn’t lose it. I was not even vaguely tempted to lift a single match to my head or exchange empty calories for nutritious ones. I remained calm and cool and collected. Because I knew that I would need a cool head if I was to fulfill my destiny and share my findings with the world. And so, Community News, here is my letter with my Discovery. Fellow readers of The Community News, know this: We are not alone.

keep us safe; and it's people like you who would keep us ignorant and helpless in the face of a full-scale invasion, Mr. S. G. sir. It’s people like you who would have us discount the evidence of our own eyes in favor of random people who write nasty letters to random newspapers just to be mean and random. As for me, I wrote to the president and also the mayor and my school principal. I am stockpiling water and other necessities, such as gummy bears, in my basement. I will be ready, Mr. S. G., for the invasion of Earth. Will you? Sincerely,

Simcha Perlman

Sincerely,

Simcha Perlman

Dear Community News,

I am writing in response to S. G.’s response to my response to his response to my letter. Regarding, and I quote, his statement that “a young boy’s vivid imagination has no place

I am the writer of the UFO letter and I’m writing in response to the response to my letter from S. G. in which he claims that I am, and I quote, “full of baloney” and “belong in a loony bin.” First of all, Mr. S. G., you weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw. And now that I have had further time to reﬂect on what I did see, I can remember even more. The round, metallic, otherworldly ship that ﬂew in our Earthly skies had windows. And I can remember catching a glimpse of the occupants within: big eyes. Bug eyes. Green skin. Ominous, I think. I felt a cold wind blow over me and I shivered. It felt like a warning. Like the aliens on the ship looked down and saw me and felt bad for their evil ways and wanted to warn us that they were the forerunners of the coming attack on our world. So it's people like me who want to

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made this disgusted face.

in an upstanding neighborhood periodical,” and “where is the invasion you promised us? Hmm? Hmmmm?” With regards to both of those statements, I will break you down with cold, clear, pinpoint logic, as always. You see, there will be no invasion because last night I had a dream, and in my dream, the aliens came. I guess that’s how they communicate in their world: through dreams. Cool, huh? Anyway, they told me that they changed their minds and will not invade the Earth because A . I am an awesome kid with awesome shoes and B. they realized that they would have to deal with millions of slaves that are just like you, S. G.—annoying—and they realized it wouldn’t be worth it. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what they meant, because they only spoke in a series of beeps and boops. But they pointed a lot at me and my shoes and made a delighted sort of thumbsup sign, and then at your letter and

So there you go. Invasion cancelled, thanks to me. What do you have to say now? You can get my address through this paper if you want to send ﬂowers or something. (Something being gummy bears. Flowers being for girls.) Sincerely,

Simcha Perlman Dear Community News, I notice that last week you didn’t print my response to S. G.’s response to my response to his response to my response to his response to my letter. Which is fine, because I don’t believe any longer that this paper was the right venue for my tell-all. Because a paper that would print letters from just anyone, especially nasty and ignorant anyones like him, is not the paper for me. I had thought that a fine publication like the Community News that has daily news reported for an entire five-block radius would have

higher standards than that. I guess that I was wrong. I will wait, instead, for the response that will be coming from the president and mayor. (My school principal already responded. He wants me to set up a meeting with the school psychologist and talk about my experience, but I saw right through that. I told him, in a very, very respectful way that the psychologist will—just like everyone else—have to wait for when my bestselling book comes out.) Anyway, Community News, you do not have to hide the identity of your inferior letter writer any longer. I figured out who S. G. is, because he told me so in school today, and with friends like you, Shloimy Gordon, it’s a wonder that I don’t just call upon my aliens to invade Earth and do with all of you as they please and see if I care. Also, I think that I can tell the difference between a UFO and a flashlight, thank you very much. So it was not a fl ashlight. You did not shine a fl ashlight at my feet in order to see my shoes better and then shine it up at the sky when you saw me looking up to see what I was looking at. Don’t make me tell my aliens on you. Sincerely,

Simcha Perlman

By Dina Neuman

The Complete

UFO Sightings of Simcha Perlman

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The pillows found in the tombs of ancient Egyptians were obviously not there for the comfort of the deceased. I mean, just how comfy could a wooden or stone pillow be? The ancient Egyptians believed that these pillows would provide support to a corpse’s head, keep the guy’s blood circulating, and, of course, most importantly: keep demons away.

Sweet Dreams! Pillows were actually considered an art form at one point in history. Once sophisticated dyes and fancy sewing techniques came on the scene, people used them to create highly decorated pillows that were prized commodities in China and Persia and later, in Medieval Europe.

Aaahh! This is the life...

Talk about living a “cushy” life: The ﬁrst people to use pillows were the nobles who lived in the early civilizations of Mesopotamia thousands of years ago. They were considered a real status symbol: The more pillows one owned, the wealthier he was. Pillows were also used to keep bugs and insects out of people's hair, mouth, nose and ears while sleeping—kind of ironic when you consider fact #4.

You might lose sleep after you hear about what’s lurking under your head every night: Apparently, up to a third of the weight of your pillow could be made up of bugs, dead skin and dust mites and their feces. Yuck! That’s not all: Pillows, and the stuﬀ y bedroom air that surrounds them, are ideal breeding grounds for viruses and other lovely bugs. Experts recommend putting pillows in the washing machine every one to three months.

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3 THINGS YOU MAY ... T U O B A W O N K T O N

PILLOWS BY RACHELI SOFE

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It doesn’t sound so comfy to sleep on one of these, but traditional Chinese pillows were hard boxes made of stone, wood, metal or porcelain. Traditionally, straw was used as the filler for pillows in the US until not too long ago. Today, pillows are comprised of a filler made from foam, synthetic fills, feathers, or down, foam and latex.

The shitou zhentou (Chinese for rock pillow) was a dream come true for some of the ancient Chinese. Made from jade, these pillows were believed to translate energy from the stone to the human brain. The stone pillows supposedly cured headaches and depression; they even were believed to make people smarter! They were expensive and rare, and so were more common among royalty.

Remember to pack this along in your trunk when you leave for camp this summer: “Hugvie,” created by a Japanese inventor, is a huggable robotic pillow that has its own heartbeat to match a caller's voice. Homesick no longer, you’ll just slide a phone into Hugvie’s pocket and you can “hug” your darling siblings, whom you'll no doubt miss so much!

If you want to ruffle a few feathers you can take up this sport: pillow fighting. Contestants armed with fluff y pillows and dressed like athletes compete every year in the Pillow Fight World Cup, the first of which took place on May 17, 2011, in Brooklyn, NY.

11 The largest pillow ever measured 17.12 m wide and 17.12 m long (56 ft 2.01 in) and was created by Comfy Angel D.O.O. in Prilep, Macedonia, on 23 May, 2013. The massive pillow weighed in at 6,905 kg (15,222.92 lb) and took up much of the main town square.

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Tired of that long bus ride every morning? Make the most of your commute to school by catching some zzzzs. Just slip on the “Ostrich Pillow,” a sac-like round pillow with a hole for your nose and mouth. It comes with two holes on the top for your hands if what you crave is a dark, warm spot for a cozy nap. True, you might look like you are wearing a scary elephant costume, but on the plus side you won’t end up sharing a seat with a preschooler.

For a “smooth awakening” look no further: The Glo Pillow doubles as a cushion and an alarm clock! Invented in 2008 by a pair of students, this modern-day marvel has built-in LEDs that brighten gradually over the space of 40 minutes. This supposedly pulls you slowly from a deep sleep and leaves you feeling wide awake, unlike, its creators claim, a traditional alarm clock that can shock the body and interrupt any stage of the sleep cycle.

Just sleep on it... This might start a new trend at your local cheder (sorry girls, this one is for boys only!). You can now sleep at your desk in comfort and style—using the Pillow Tie: That’s right, it's a necktie that contains an infl atable pillow! This invention looks just like a normal tie when defl ated but contains a discreet air bag that can be blown-up in less than a breath and can be defl ated in seconds. Inventors of the Pillow Tie sell their product using the slogan: “Because most functions that require a necktie... deserve to be slept through.”

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Oops. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re blushing. A page was mistakenly omitted from Mexican Ransom last week. Was it a plot by the bad guys that kept it off? Maybe. As Daniel Hagar says, nothing about Mexican Ransom is simple. Read this page and then go back and read the Sukkos comic pages again. Ohhhhh...

The next day, at the White House.

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