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Facing dyslexia ■ Last bird in the nest ■ Routine acts of kindness ■
Nu is made possible in part by a grant from The Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment of the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest
May 30, 2013
INSIDE
MAY 30, 2013 ROBIN FRIEDMAN
Special Projects Editor
ANDREW SILOW-CARROLL Editor-in-Chief
RICK KESTENBAUM
COO/General Manager
DAYNA NADEL
Graphic Designer
ABBY METH KANTER Managing Editor
PATRICIA R. ROGERS
Publication Operations Director
TEEN BOARD Kineret Brokman, 16, attends Golda Och Academy. Her passion for writing began with poetry and now wants to expand to other forms of writing. She is very excited to be a part of Nu and connecting writing to Judaism. Besides writing, Kineret likes to sing/dance/act, run cross country, and bake. She loves eating pretzels with nutella, and hates horror movies. Desi Brower, 13, attends Heritage Middle School. She loves soccer, basketball, school, and spending time with her friends.
Mack Brower, 15, attends Livingston High School. He loves to play basketball, and his favorite team is the New Jersey Nets. He enjoys cooking, playing the baritone saxophone, and hanging out with friends.
Facing dyslexia with help from others
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Doing good for a change
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The only constant in life is change
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The last bird in the nest
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Tearing down the wall
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Take control of your stress
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In the line of fire
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My big fat Jewish seder
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Last year in Jerusalem
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Learning to love volleyball
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Fire and ice
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Teetering on the edge
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Peace, darkness, storm, the summer sunset
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The best in the universe
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First year second semester haiku blues
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I want to be
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Amanda Glatt, 16, attends Livingston High School. She has had a passion for writing from a very young age. She loves reading and has a special affinity for espionage thrillers. She enjoys hanging out at the mall, catching a movie with friends, and shows such as Glee and House. Abby Ingber, 15, attends Watchung Hills Regional High School. She is the youngest of three sisters and wants to follow in her sister Stephanie’s footsteps by writing for Nu. She enjoys soccer, the outdoors, and her friends. Elana Marlowe, 17, attends Golda Och Academy. She enjoys playing tennis and basketball, cooking, traveling, reading and writing. She also loves to volunteer at Friendship Circle.
Rachel DeChiara, 18, attends Newark Academy and will attend Dartmouth University in the fall. She enjoys writing on the sofa in her living room, where the sun doesn’t cause too much of a glare on her laptop. When not publishing novels, she enjoys singing with her school chorus, attending NFTY-GER events, and munching on her favorite snack: Mallomars.
Shannon Stocks, 19, attends Boston University. Ever since she could form sentences on a sheet of paper, she has written short stories and, even before that, she dictated stories to her mom at the kitchen table. But it was not until she grew older and needed a way to express herself more clearly that she discovered the therapeutic act of writing poetry. She was able to polish this passion through creative writing courses. She enjoys staying active within her Jewish youth group, USY, baking with friends, learning sign language, and playing with her dog.
Eliana Glatt, 19, attends Princeton University. She enjoys jotting down poems whenever she can. She likes watching TV shows about hospital drama and mysteries such as House and Bones. She also likes to cook, listen to music, chew gum constantly, speak in weird accents, and text her friends.
cover & interior designed by dayna nadel, graphic designer
If you would like to join Nu, contact Robin Friedman at
rfriedman@njjewishnews.com 2 nu may 2013
Sarah Ferrier, 15, attends Randolph High School.
To life
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Let’s celebrate chai. Many of you are approaching 18 — chai. I’m 81 — very chai! Life isn’t a rehearsal. Act now. Today. Not later. Don’t hesitate. Don’t wait. Births and birthdays, partake. Happy times with family and friends. Before it gets too late. Not to mention what’s always waiting on our plates. Aches, yes. Pains, too. Just stick to your journeys. Make it great. Have goals. Be passionate. Life can be bittersweet. But it is still special, wonderful, precious. Don’t waste it.
Milly Iris
Mother, grandmother, great-grandmother
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An incredible team I’ve got a great idea. WHEN YOU HEAR that reassuring statement from Milly Iris, you know something wonderful is on its way. A peerless planner and first-class visionary, Milly Iris was, and is, a creative force behind the abundant generosity of her husband, Herb Iris. Together, the two role models not only made a difference, but inspired those around them just by example. Milly Iris continues to honor Herb Iris’ memory by continuing the important work that he was passionate about. Herb Iris was a builder — and by that we don’t mean just his day job as a real estate developer. Mr. Iris was a builder of Jewish community, whether as a legendary fund-raiser for United Jewish Communities of MetroWest NJ; as a devoted supporter of his family’s congregation, Temple Sharey Tefilo-Israel; or a tireless worker behind his family’s many philanthropic endeavors. Those who know Milly Iris always come away feeling amazed by her rare blend of big-picture vision and magnifying-glass attention to detail. Simply put, Milly knows how to get things done. Milly and Herb Iris, in short, were an incredible team. They knew that to build Jewish community, you had to begin with its youngest members, giving them the solid foundation from which Jewish commitment and responsibility will grow. The Iris family’s legacy lives on in The Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment of the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest. The fund’s mission is to focus on programs, like the Iris Teen Tzedakah Program, that invite young people as partners in building Jewish community. Nu is a recipient of the endowment’s generosity, but more importantly the magazine is a beneficiary of Milly and Herb Iris’ dream for the future. It is a fitting legacy that the Iris Endowment supports passionate Jewish teen writers, who dedicate their time and considerable talent to sharing their thoughts and ideas for their generation and our community. Instead of retiring from the scene, Milly Iris knew her husband would want her to keep going, keep doing good, keep giving, keep making a difference. Little wonder that Milly Iris and her family continue to memorialize Herb Iris by investing in the future of young people so that they learn the responsibility, and the art, of giving back. For Milly and Herb Iris, giving back will always be a way of life. nu
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Facing dyslexia with help from others
s a child faced with dyslexia, I had to overcome obstacles in school. If it had not been for art, I don’t know what I would have done. My art was my thoughts. I knew I was different than other kids. They read more quickly than I did. Learning was second nature to them. But I couldn’t do that, so I drew pictures and they started to pile up. They were my escape, a way I could relax. When my parents found out that I had dyslexia, they were not surprised. They knew I would have to find a place that I could fit in. My parents told me about a school where there were only 100 kids, and who faced what I had to face. So I went one day and made an instant connection with the school and the other students. I knew I was going to do well at Orchard Friends School. Finally, I felt confident in school. My learning improved over time; test after test I just kept getting better. When I started to stress, I stopped to draw. My concentration with drawing and with school work started to get worse as tests got harder. So, my parents talked to a doctor who recommended some medications to help me with my studies. When I started the medication, I was uncertain about the whole situation. But when I got to school, my studies started to click again! And my homework just got easier. After the fourth year,
Jeremy Iris-Williams my parents could see a change in me. My work wasn’t challenging enough for me. It was clear to me that I had to change schools. Luckily, the Lewis School was right for me. There were only 170 kids, and the teachers found a way to teach their students much differently than at public schools. At the Lewis School, teaching was like a science. I was at Lewis for seven years. My knowledge was mine to own. Years passed and work got harder. Sometimes I would struggle with concentration. Finally, it was time to talk to my doctor again about my medication; after a week of taking my new medicine, my concentration was starting to get stronger, and I could do two to three hours of work with no sweat. But I always had this feeling of being different. I couldn’t ever describe it. Even after taking my medicine it never went away. But I had to struggle through this phase. That’s when I stepped into the class of Mrs. Reinmann. She became my advocate and friend. She was amazing; my feelings of confidence skyrocketed! Everything she taught me clicked. I was doing essay after essay. Once a week topics changed, and I could finish before many of the other kids were done with their essays. I couldn’t believe the things I could do in her class. Spelling became a 4 nu may 2013
Illustration by Jeremy Iris-Williams
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breeze; I could study for three days and succeed in her class. I became a stronger person inside. With her as a teacher, I became more confident in my art. I started building sculptures, and became an excellent spray painter. After a long day of work, I would go in the backyard and spray paint until night. After that year of school, I completed five spray paintings and just kept going. I was in a school show and donated a wall sculpture to the Garden State Discovery Museum. After finishing my year with Mrs. Reinmann, I couldn’t ask for more. I learned so much in her class to help me be successful in college. I became a stronger person inside and out. Thanks to Mrs. Reinmann I have the foundation to be a successful writer. I also need to thank my parents for being tireless advocates. Because of them, dyslexia is no longer an obstacle that I cannot overcome. Now nu I’m ready to face the challenges of college. Jeremy Iris-Williams, 18, attends Camden County College.
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Doing gooD for a change
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ou step out of the ringing door of Starbucks and notice a boy on crutches approaching the entrance, so you stretch out your fingers to hold back the door from closing. Once you begin walking down the street, you spot the bus just rolling up to the curb. You bolt toward it, so the driver stretches out its stop so you can step on. A young girl uses that extra time to pick up a crumpled dollar on the floor before stepping off onto the sidewalk, and drops the extra cash into the Styrofoam cup of a nearby homeless man. The man smiles for the first time that day, and decides to slake his thirst with a cup of coffee from the bake sale that — guess what? — you are running. Of course, good deeds may not always get returned to us in this way; yet one must never underestimate the value of an act of kindness. As William James once said, “Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.” I hold this as a life lesson, but recently it has come to my attention that some students are more apprehensive to start serving their community. While some have been raised with community service as a norm, others have been unable to find their niche within the volunteering community and therefore have been less motivated to find time to volunteer. Why spend hours of precious time volunteering — why do good? There will always be a need for volunteers, and there are many types of community service to become involved
Shannon Stocks in. Volunteering can mean participating in a walk against cancer or multiple sclerosis, preparing and serving meals to the hungry, building houses for the homeless, packaging meals for the hospitalized, cuddling rescued kittens at the local animal shelter, setting up a holiday party for mentally disabled residents, or even just playing bingo with some folks at the nearby elderly home. No matter the project, you may be putting yourself in a new experience, taking on responsibilities, forming plans and setting goals, working with others as a team, and discovering passions along the way. Last summer I participated in Boston University Community Service Center’s First Year Student Project, a weeklong program preceding fall semester which engages its volunteers in community service. My issue area was homelessness and housing. Though I had never before painted the inside of a house, I spent hours with my newfound friends dipping my roller into primer and slap-
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ping the sticky substance to the wall of a church which would soon house many homeless families. Through stepping out of my comfort zone of abilities, I found that I could take on this new experience. I’d like to encourage you to do the same. Never be afraid to meet new people. I have found that those who involve themselves in the community are some of the nicest, most open, and accepting people I know. Recently, I attended Boston University’s Alternative Spring Break program. I spent a week in Washington, DC, volunteering at food banks. The students who attended this program with me were from all different states, with multicultural backgrounds (we spoke 17 languages among the 15 of us!), and various past experiences. Yet, our passion for service transcended any of these differences. We immediately felt comfortable sharing even the most embarrassing of stories with each other — we even knew who clogged the toilet! Working within the area of hunger and public health, we also became increasingly aware of the situations of those less fortunate than us. Any of the victims we learned about or any of the people who we packaged boxes for in the food banks were just that — people. They may have had different experiences than us, but, as our group had learned, there are so many other ways to identify with those around us. Community service requires a great deal of leadership, allows for problem solving and the sharing of ideas, shows your concern for relevant global issues, and provides an inspiring example for other potential volunteers. So enrich your education, uncover new skills, and increase confidence in yourself as a devoted worker. Step out of your comfort zone, meet new people, and find your passion. Who knows? Perhaps one day you will need a door opened or a bus to stop, and your good deeds will come back your nu way.
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THE ONLY CONSTANT IN LIFE IS
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If you would like to join Nu, contact Robin Friedman at
rfriedman@njjewishnews.com
6 nu may 2013
hange is scary. And I am in the thick of it. With only weeks left until graduation, I am beginning to confront utter confusion. Sure, I know where I will be spending my next four years. I was fortunate enough to be admitted early decision to my top choice college. However, in my endless hours of college applications and SAT prep I never considered this phase: the time when I have to actually think about moving on. I’m confident that I will stay in touch with close friends. I have already come to terms with certain truths: with knowledge that friendships fade as time goes on, I am comfortable with the fact that I will not talk to certain people as often, or even at all, a year from now. But there are certain elements of my day-to-day life that won’t be as easy to lose. I recently finished my last musical at Newark Academy, an annual event that helped to define my seven years at the school. It is extremely difficult to put an end to this sort of tradition. At my Passover seder, I realized that I would not be celebrating the High Holy Days and other holidays with my family next year. Holiday dinners with my aunt, uncle, and cousins have been a staple in my upbringing. Going to a school nearly six hours away by car, it is unlikely that I will come home for any religious celebrations. Like everyone else, I’ll miss my mother’s cooking, but more than anything I will miss my nightly time around the dinner table with my parents. Our conversations there can be about any number of things, but having this time to finish my day with my parents (and my brother, when he is home from college) has always been extremely important to me. I wish I had a concrete solution to this problem I am facing. I wish that I had the same ineffable excitement for college as many of my classmates do. I am excited, for the classes, the campus, the activities, and most of all, the people. There’s just a grey cloud partially covering that. Fortunately, I have time to get more comfortable with the changes ahead of me. I hope to embrace these changes in the coming months, and with all this in mind, I really want to cherish the time I have nu left in high school.
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The last bird in the nest Abby Ingber
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ver since my middle sister, Stephanie, left for Wisconsin to attend college, my life at home has changed. Three years earlier, my oldest sister, Julie, had gone off to college. With both my sisters away at college, I have noticed a major difference in my home, as well as in my relationship with them. Being the only child at home may seem like a dream come true, but in reality I am lonely and feel like I receive more attention than I really want. For the first 14 years of my life, I grew up around older sisters who always had my parents’ attention. Now being my parents’ only child at home, their focus has completely shifted to me. Missing my sisters is also a huge change; I used to see them every day. The house is quiet without them; it used to be loud and chaotic. But let’s not forget some of the advantages. Even though all the attention can be too much at times, it can also be nice; my parents are always available to drive me around, and my house is always an open house for my friends. And quiet is never a bad thing when I am tired and not in the mood for talking. While I feel lonely, I am still lucky to be constantly in contact with my sisters. I actually talk to them more now, through video chat, and on my phone.
Our relationships have also evolved. When my sisters were home, I felt younger and less experienced. I always felt like a baby. Now that I am in high school, I am able to relate to them much more than I was before. I have the advantage of asking them for advice and guidance, academically as well as socially. In the past I never relied on them for advice, simply because it seemed like they were way past my age. I am now able to comfortably and freely share my problems with my sisters, and vice versa. The relationship changes have made my life much easier due to the fact that I have two people to look up to for everything. Although I miss my sisters incredibly, we have grown closer through time and can relate better with each nu other.
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TEARING DOWN THE WALL
“I love the fact that there’s no pressure at the JTEENMW Learning Community. This flexibility allows me to learn a tremendous amount about my own Jewish journey.” - Jacob Turteltaub, with his dad, James Jacob is a student at Livingston High School who takes advantage of as many opportunities offered by The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life as he can.
The JTEENMW Learning Community is the unique Jewish educational experience for every MetroWest teen.
www.jteenmw.org New programs starting throughout the year! To learn more contact: Shmulie Greene at (973) 929-2975 or sgreene@thepartnershipnj.org
Courtney Cooperman
ifference is usually associated with distance: to be dissimilar, something must be far away. Yet only seven miles from my house in Short Hills is the city of Irvington, which appears to be as different from Short Hills as possible. The first time I visited Irvington I was volunteering with Bridges Outreach, an organization that distributes bagged meals and clothing in impoverished urban areas. I was surprised by the complete contrast between my familiar surroundings and this city, so nearby. Each time I gave out lunches or sorted through clothing, I only considered the differences between my life and the lives of the recipients. Stores, architecture, demographics, greenery: only 15 minutes away and everything was entirely opposite. Each time I visited Irvington, I reflected on the changes that occurred across the seven miles we had driven. But recently I’ve been reflecting on the similarities beneath these contrasts, contrasts that are ultimately superficial. Difference is linked to absence of shared experience and inability to connect. But this January, while serving hot chocolate and soup with Bridges, I met an 11-year-old girl who I could relate to. Although our common interests were relatively trivial, they formed a basis for conversation that created a friendship. When I stopped to give a few cups of hot chocolate to one family, I asked the oldest child, a girl who looked slightly younger than me, about her interests. We began an in-depth conversation about iCarly, Victorious, and Big Time Rush: the same shows I watched when I was 11 or 12. We talked for a long time, and even when it was time to go, I was s t i l l talking. I asked her about school; she’s busy studying for the same standardized tests I took in elementary school, preparing in the same ways for the same exam. Just because our lifestyles are different in many ways doesn’t mean we share no common experiences. She visits the Livingston Mall with her family, she reads some of my favorite books from elementary school, we play the same Wii games. Eventually, she wanted to hear about my life, even requesting to meet the rest of my family, my dog, and my friends. Both of us were upset when I had to go home, but I told her I would be back in a few weeks. When I volunteered with Bridges again in early March, my friend had been eagerly awaiting my return. We continued our conversation where it had left off, and again I had to leave reluctantly. I know that both my friend and I will be overjoyed the next time we see each other. When I volunteer for Bridges with my temple, we call it tikun olam, or “repairing the world.” But this experience certainly goes beyond tikun olam in its traditional sense. Saying that the conversations with my friend are a way of helping those in need entirely contradicts the basis of our friendship. Our connection erased my identity as the hot-chocolate distributer and hers as the recipient. Even the simplest of conversations destroyed this wall between us: a wall between urban and suburban, a wall between people living with nu different circumstances. Courtney Cooperman, 15, attends Newark Academy.
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TAke cONTROl OF yOuR
stress Amanda Glatt
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he French test in two days. The upcoming physics final. AP Exams. The SAT. And the much anticipated, much dreaded college applications. So. Much. Stress. We’re just teenagers. Why are we expected to be able to manage all of this? Every single one of us high school students feels overwhelmed at one point; that feeling of drowning under all the assignments and standardized tests. On top of all that, we always have the nagging thought of college at the back of our minds. So are teachers and administrators just sadistic? No. We’re dealt this much stress because we will always have this much stress, whether it’s in college or in our future jobs, and we might as well start learning how to deal with it now. First lesson: Stress is a fact of life. As much as we dream of that future filled with careless days spent on the beach getting a tan, it’s just that…a dream. The sooner we realize this, the quicker we can get a handle on everything in our lives. Second lesson: Some stress is good stress. We need some challenge or burden in our lives to motivate us, or else what will? In fact, whether we know it or not, we like some of the stress in our lives. The stress of learning how to drive, for example. And though we’re constantly pressured about graduating and going to college, we can’t wait to enter that new chapter of our lives. So what can we do about the bad stress? Here are some tips: *When you get home from school, plan out
what you’re going to do that afternoon. Decide which homework assignments you’re going to complete that night and which ones you’re going to save for the next night to make room for a test for which you want to study. *On that same note, plan out your weekend.
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This is key to managing stress. If you have an essay due Friday and a test on the next Monday, start the essay early in the week and hold off on the test until the weekend. We’re always afraid to start studying for tests the weekend before, but there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s more beneficial than studying for a test you’re not going to have for another week. Just remember: never wait until the night before. *Every day that you can, you should dedicate an hour to yourself. Not for school or family, but for you. This is perhaps the most crucial tip to taking control of the stress in your life. Catch up on a TV show, read a couple chapters in a book, or watch a mindless B-grade movie. This is less about the activities themselves than about the fact that you are putting aside all the stress and just taking time to relax. Time for yourself. Take a walk or a nap or embark on that workout you’ve always wanted. Just clear your head and realize that there are more important things in the world than the upcoming AP European History exam, namely you. This one hour of freedom will do more for your grades and test scores than another hour of studying or cramming. Learn these lessons and follow these tips. I promise you that all that stress won’t seem so scary anymore. That feeling of being pushed to the limit will abate. You will appreciate the finer things in life, and these finer things do not include homework and tests. They include hanging out with your friends at the movies, taking a walk on a beautiful spring day, and just devoting an hour every day to you and your needs. Stress shouldn’t control you. You should nu control your stress.
an Brokm nevet s Photo
esy K court
IN THE LINE OF FIRE Kineret Brokman
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magine being a mother of three children, sending them off to school every day, and worrying whether they will even come home. All of a sudden, sirens go off and you have 15 seconds to run to the closest bomb shelter and take cover. All you can think about are your children and if they will make it to the bomb shelter in time. You hope they will still be alive after
the rocket hits. Suddenly, though not at all a surprise, the rocket crashes and the first thing that you hope is that it did not hit anywhere close to your children. As you leave the bomb shelter, you hear that the rocket has hit near the school, yet luckily, everyone is safe. This scenario is reality for people who live in the town of Sderot, an Israeli town right outside the Gaza strip. Since 2001, thousands of rockets have been fired into Israel from Gaza, transforming life in nearby Sderot. People in Sderot expect these attacks and have learned to adapt to them, and cope. On my trip to Israel with the program Write On for Israel, I and 40 U.S. students visited Sderot. Our transportation to the town was a bulletproof bus; any tourist group that visits needs to use such transportation. After we stepped off the bus, we saw little buildings every few feet along the side of the road that looked like bus stops. We soon learned all of these bus stops also function as bomb shelters. We passed an elementary school with a beautiful playground. We were surprised to learn that all the equipment was designed to 10 nu may 2013
be used as bomb shelters as well. If sirens sounded while children were playing, they could run to one of the metal tubes on the playground to take shelter. As we looked more closely at the school building, we were able to see a stain that a rocket attack left on the concrete. At the end of our tour, we were brought to the Sderot Media Center, where all the rockets that have landed in Sderot are kept. Each rocket was marked with the time and date of its landing. For the first time, I understood the damage the rockets can cause, and most importantly, the people they affect. I talked with one man who explained that he has lived in Sderot for most of his life. “We live our lives under constant terror,� he said, adding that he cannot even count the number of times he has had to run to a bomb shelter. At any moment, the people of Sderot need to expect the worst. My visit to Sderot helped me understand Israel, and the constant terror its nu people face, every day.
MY BIG FAT JEWISH [ ] SEDER not that there’s any other kind
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assover is the main time of year when my whole family gets together. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and others trickle into my aunt’s house and say their hellos. The smell of brisket and matza ball soup is in the air, inviting everyone’s mouths to water. The repeated complaints of hunger, mostly from the younger generation, make the craving for shulchan orech (the main meal) very apparent. And so we tackle the first challenge of the evening: seating. Although it may not seem this way, seating is an extremely crucial component of the night. The first seat we choose will most definitely not be the one we end up in. The women need to sit in a place where they can easily access the kitchen to serve all
Adina Gitomer the courses, couples need to sit next to each other, and everyone else has unspoken criteria that automatically makes your first choice unacceptable. An unfortunate family member (usually me) ends up at the long table that inconveniently extends into the hallway, with no room to push back his chair. The scene is quite frantic. In time, however, everyone gets settled in, the wine is poured, and the Haggadot are opened. Throughout the readings and prayers, there is a tug-of-war of sorts. The grandfathers on one end basically go at their own pace in Hebrew, making it difficult for the others to know where they are. On the other side, the younger, slightly more alert crowd likes to read some of the English excerpts and sing as many songs as possible. For the most part, one side will yield to the other and it is very clear to whom
you should focus your attention. But other times, there is little communication between the ends and everything just happens at once like an unrehearsed a cappella group. This year, my cousin asked, “Are we at two different seders?” Luckily, we manage to come together on at least the most important parts, such as shulchan orech and, my solo, the ma nishtana. Finally the meal comes and a new surge of energy spreads over the table. This particular step of the required 15 seems to be a fan favorite. First the gefilte fish is served, followed by the soup, meats, kugels, and desserts. Plates are loaded and reloaded. At this point, everyone is more relaxed and conversations erupt everywhere. By the end of the night, we are all uncomfortable with our nearly bursting stomachs, but finally at ease with everything else. At least until cleanup. nu Adina Gitomer, 16, attends Newark Academy.
Last year in Jerusalem WHY WAS THIS YEAR’S SEDER DIFFERENT THAN THE ONE BEFORE? Because last year I was lucky to celebrate Passover in Jerusalem. Celebrating Passover there is a totally different experience from celebrating it in the United States. In Jerusalem, on the day before Passover, I woke up to the smell of smoke. Of course, this worried me a little bit. When I went outside, I saw people making a bonfire and burning their hametz — leavened bread — in a garbage can. I had never seen this at home. In America, shopping for Passover items can be a little difficult. However, in a Supersol (a grocery store chain in Israel), everything is marked
to show what is kosher for Passover. The rest of the shelves are covered with paper. The most amazing thing to me, though, was the ability to eat in restaurants on Passover and have really great food. Many restaurants, even pizza places, switched over to serve kosher for Passover food. My family went to a pasta restaurant, and the noodles tasted just like regular pasta. In general, the atmosphere in Israel during Passover is very different than in America. Everyone on the streets, even people we did not know, said hag sameach. The public buses in Jerusalem had signs that said “Happy Passover” and even on the toothpaste, there were Passover advertisements. nu Passover in Israel is unique, easy, and tasty!
Elana Marlowe
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LEARNING TO LOVE VOLLEYBALL Ariella Shua
T
he first time I seriously played volleyball was at my camp, Ramah in the Berkshires. For two hours every day, in the hot sun, everyone on chug (sport) volleyball practiced and practiced. Twice during the summer, we played another Ramah camp, Palmer. Palmer Day was serious, and we all wanted to win. With volleyball, it was no different. As one of the worst on the team, I hardly played, but when I did, it was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Winning was awesome; losing was very upsetting. Like everything else, chug was sometimes enjoyable, sometimes annoying. This year, in my freshman year of high school, I out for the volleyball decided to go team. I wasn’t great in camp, but I enjoyed it. And I wasn’t awful like I used to be. Plus, my school isn’t big, so I thought I wouldn’t have tough competition. I tried out, and made it (yes, it was pretty much a walk on).
Our schedules changed every week, ending at different times on different days. Just like in camp, it was sometimes fun, sometimes not. And I was surprised to find that, in the talent department, my school had some pretty good players; I was nowhere near the best. But what I started to notice was that the volleyball team, and volleyball in general, were kind of disrespected at our school. People would say it wasn’t a “real” sport, like basketball, where a lot of running and “hard work” was involved. They said volleyball was easy, and anyone could play. Sometimes I ignored it; sometimes I fought back. The way I saw it, volleyball was just the same as any other sport. It might not be as physically draining, but didn’t learning technique and skills count for something? It didn’t help that our team lost almost
every game, until the last two. What people don’t realize is that volleyball isn’t about the running and sweating. It is about control. Knowing not only to smash the ball hard, but to smash it just hard enough. And I think most of the teasers never really watched a serious game, where we gave our all. Because if they did, they would notice what volleyball is a sport deserving nu of the same respect as any other. Ariella Shua, 14, attends Rae Kushner Yeshiva High School.
Michal Laub
I
t is the beginning of the third overtime period in Game 3 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals between the firstseeded New York Rangers and the seventh-seeded Washington Capitals. I am sitting on my couch, paralyzed with anxiety, as I watch Alexander Ovechkin, captain of the Capitals, suck on a packet labeled “energy.” He is literally eating energy so that he can continue to play his beloved game after 100 consecutive minutes of ice hockey. This is only a minor testament to the dedication of players around the National Hockey League. After five periods of hockey, the time on the clock starts nearing 1 a.m. Their bodies are dead-tired, but the fire in their eyes is
burning bright as ever. The passion. The desire. The hard work of an 82-game grind. But they keep going. Because it’s not just a game. Fourteen minutes and 54 seconds into the third and final overtime, Ranger forward Marian Gaborik snipes the game-winning goal past Washington goaltender Braden Holtby on a feed from Brad Richards from behind the net. The players on the Rangers’ bench raise their arms in sheer happiness and start skating at a walk-like pace, the fastest they can move at this point, to congratulate their teammates and to begin the celebration. Meanwhile, the heads of the Washington Capitals players drop in disappoint-
12 nu may 2013
ment, anger, and frustration, with the trail of a visible tear glistening down Ovechkin’s face. Though overjoyed with the outcome, a Ranger fan can only feel bad for the Capitals and their now futile effort. This is hockey. Just like the players, the fans go through the ups and downs, the emotions. They go through the heartbreaks and victories too, passionately cheering on their team along the way. And when the ultimate prize, Lord Stanley’s Cup, is won, the team and the fans share it. Because with their time and dedication, they won it together. So don’t tell a hockey player it’s just a game? Well, don’t tell that to a fan either. nu Michal Laub, 16, attends Maayanot Yeshiva High School for Girls.
this country and show America how important it is to me by protecting it.” It was like he had rehearsed it, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had come up with the idea a couple weeks before and ever since then been practicing how to convince them to let him go. I sat at the end of the table, shocked by the news. I watched the scene between him and my parents like a tennis match, looking from my parents to Randy to see their comebacks. “How,” I thought, “Can my brother, the boy who always likes to have fun, want to fight in the army?!” We never would have guessed that when military officials tested him for physical fitness, he got an above-average score. We would have never contemplated even the remote possibility of seeing him dressed in his uniform and his golden hair shaved Emily Knopf off, replaced by a matching hat. Never, ever, would we have imagined him going to Afghanistan. paint. We sat down; I could feel myself shake with lay on my stomach, my elbows supporting my Randy visited home whenever he could. We dread as the silver metal bar was pulled down, lockheavy head, my thin, navy-striped cotton shirt would pick him up at the airport and I would jump ing us inside. the only thing that separates my skin from into his newly muscled arms. He would tell us about Randy smiled with a relaxed expression and coming into direct contact with the torn and the friends in his unit and all the things they did sunk back into the colorful seat. I could hear the uncomfortable beige surface of the old couch. while they were off duty, and all the amazing advengears turning and our seat slowly began to ascend Tears cascade from my glazed eyes, the tures he had. Even when he was home, it was only up to the clear blue sky. As we climbed higher, my salt water creating a trail down my colorless for less than two weeks, and then he would be off fear slowly subsided; I realized that there was really cheeks and chapped lips, and making a tiny again. nothing to be afraid of. I was amazed as we slowly puddle on the couch. My ruffled hair is an annoyWe skyped and chatted whenever we could find descended back to ground level and then up again. ance; it comes into my eyes and I push it away, wishtime, early in the morning, or extremely late at Randy could see my smile, and satisfied with himing that I had a rubber band to tie it all back. night. He would never act frightened during a live self, muttered, “I knew you would like it!” I lift my wet face up to the small picture that chat. He would always smile casually and talk to us I was happy, and when the Ferris wheel ride was hangs crookedly in a rusty brass frame on the wall like he was at a fun summer camp and having an over, I suggested we go again. with the word “family” inscribed into it. I wipe the amazing time, not in a war zone. I smile to myself now, thinking of how Randy tears from my moistened eyes, and look at the phoWhen they came, I was in the living room made me overcome my silly fear of Ferris tograph: a little girl plays in a plastic sandbox, her reading a book. There was a brisk knock at wheels. He was always doing crazy stuff chubby toddler legs in bright pink shorts with sparthe door. My mom went to the door and my like that as a teen: when Mom and kly purple sandals on her miniature feet. dad followed behind her. The door creaked Dad weren’t home we would make Over her curly brown pigtails she wears a plaid open to reveal two men in uniform, their crazy desserts in the blender, pouring sun hat and on her little shirt is a pink smiley face white hats glowing beneath the porch light in anything from chocolate to canned that matches her rosy cheeks and humongous blue and the gold buttons down the middle of tuna to make a disgusting treat and eyes. A lanky eight year old kneels behind her, his their shirts reflecting the light. cleaning up before they got home. He green shirt wet from swimming, his dark bathing My heart stopped. taught me to skateboard, strapping suit dripping onto the grass, and his golden bangs As the words slipped out of their me in elbow and knee pads and catching the sunlight and falling into his blue eyes. mouths, my book fell to the ground. My buckling a helmet tightly on my There is a big gap where his two front teeth world went into slow motion and I felt like head, then pushing me down should be, but his smile is still bright, his dimples are I couldn’t breathe. My mom fell to her the empty street until after dents in his oval face as he leans close to the baby. knees and cried into her hands and my thousands of falls I managed to They’re happy. father’s eyes burst, exploding with tears stop myself. Who would have that thought that the little as he shook his head in disbelief. Of course we had fights: he The officers stood at the doorgirl’s curls would turn into straight dark hair, that way, their faces expressionless and didn’t want me in his room and her chubby frame would grow to be freakishly taller no more words to say but, “We didn’t want me to talk to his than everyone else in her grade, and that her scrawny wish good luck to you and your friends. I didn’t like his annoying older brother would become a tall, muscular 19 year son, hopefully everything will rock music pounding in my ears old. Who would have even considered the possibilgo okay.” and vibrating the floor while I ity that when he turned 18 he would tell his parents They made it sound as though played with my Barbie dolls or and younger sister that he wanted to join the U.S. he was on vacation and that his when he hogged the computer military. Illustration by Jeremy Iris-Williams plane was delayed in coming for hours at a time. We argued over I let my mind wander and don’t stop the few home. Then with an awkward whose turn it was to do the dishes tears that spill from my damp eyes. All the memosalute, with no acknowledgment of the terrible or the laundry, who had to take out the garbage, ries of Randy creep into my conscious and I replay words, they walked down the stairs and into the and most of the time, who started one of those arguthem. darkness of the evening, leaving us. ments in the first place. I can still remember the day we went to the carThe door was closed behind them, and I ran It was a warm day in May when he told us. We nival like it was yesterday. It was a sunny summer to my parents. We encircled each other, our tears were sitting around the kitchen table eating spaday and the wind blew through my long mahogany and whimpers blending into one sound of agony. ghetti and meatballs, which we ate every Tuesday hair and pulled on my thin pink t-shirt as we walked Randy, my brother, my parent’s only son, was MIA, night. He put down his utensils and cleared his past the endless rows of games and breathed in the missing in action. voice, “Mom, Dad, Anna,” we all looked at him, “I intoxicating scents of hot dogs and cotton candy. The doubt and worry of not knowing where he know this is going to sound crazy, but,” he coughed, Children ran around us squealing with joy and is, not knowing if he’s dead or almost dead, is like “After I graduate next month, I want to join the miltheir parents chased after them. A giant Ferris wheel a rock that sits on the edge of a cliff, not stable, but itary.” loomed over all the other rides. The seats looked not falling. My mom’s eyes popped wide with disbelief and unsafe as they treacherously swayed back and forth. I need to know that he’s okay; I need to know my dad almost choked on his pasta, his face redder Randy saw my fearful expression; “come on,” he that he will come home. I need my brother because said, a smile creeping onto his face, “We’re going.” than the tomato sauce. he is the most important thing in the world to me. “What!” I yelled, my eyes growing wide with “You what!?” my parents said in unison, their When I was little I would do anything to get a fright, “No, we can’t!” eyes locked, then focused on him, “Why?” new shirt or a fabulous Barbie doll. Last year for my “We’re going, Anna,” he declared, locking his “Are you insane! You’re only 18!” my dad said, 12th birthday, I asked for a new bike. blue eyes with mine, “You can’t be afraid of a Ferris his expression angry and confused, “You’re just a But all I need right now is for Randy to come wheel!” child! You could be killed!” home safely. He grabbed me by the hand and dragged me Randy wasn’t alarmed; as though he’d been nu I’ll never ask for anything else. through the crowd of people. The ticket taker waved expecting them. He smiled coolly and calmly. “This his hand toward a bright orange seat with chipped is what I really want to do. I want to contribute to Emily Knopf, 13, attends Yavneh Academy.
short story
Teetering on the edge
I
13 nu may 2013
POETRY
the summer sunset
darkness
peace
peace of the mind peace of the heart peace for all peace for none there can be no peace for hate consumes it to obtain peace you must banish hate that is the first step towards peace
the home of fear mysterious to most hidden from all comfort to lost souls is the place where the betrayed lie and those who betray are imprisoned in a fortress of deception
storm
rain pounds on the rooftops and bolts of lightning cross the sky while thunder rolls over the earth it is peaceful and calm tranquility
casting streaks of breathtaking colors across the sky its rays beaming down on the earth spreading one final wave of warmth as the sun slowly sets cherish it for no summer sunset is ever the same once it’s gone it will never be the same
David Zughaft, 17, attends Rae Kushner Yeshiva High School.
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Iris Teen Tzedakah Program What Is The Iris Teen Tzedakah Program? It is an opportunity to make a real difference in our local community and around the world through charitable giving based on what we learn together. We will explore how our Jewish community responds to Jewish and other people in need locally, globally, and in Israel. During this two-year program, you will work together with your teen peers and various organizations that can change our community and change the world.
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Who do I contact for more information? Rabbi Shmuel Greene, Director of Teen Initiatives at The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life, 973-929-2975, sgreene@thepartnershipnj.org. Supported by the Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment. A collaborative project of The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life and the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest.