Pegasus 2017

Literature and Art Magazine

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Hard Rock Nate Baranoff Photoshop

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Pegasus 2017 | Beyond

Yeshivah of Flatbush Joel Braverman High School Al and Sonny Gindi Campus 1609 Avenue J, Brooklyn, NY 11230 | www.flatbush.org

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Urbanpops Bella Douek Canon Rebel

Rabbi Dr. Raymond Harari Head of School

Rabbi Joseph Beyda Principal

Jill W. Sanders Associate Principal | Director of Admissions

Sari Bacon Associate Principal

Esther Hidary Assistant Principal

David Galpert Assistant Administrator

Rabbi Dr. David Eliach Principal Emeritus

Mr. Robert Frastai President

Jaclyn Pahuskin English Faculty Pegasus Advisor

Therese Berkowitz Arts Faculty Pegasus Advisor / Design

Jason Novetsky Arts Faculty

Carolina Cohen Arts Faculty / Design

Mica Bloom English Department Chairperson

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Dedication Ms. Jill Sanders

Ms. Sanders, When we walked through the doors on our very first day, we saw your welcoming smile. You were with us from the beginning to calm our nerves and to encourage us to make the most of the next four years. Inspiring us to get involved, you saw, and continue to see, the promise in each and every one of us. You have been more than just a “principal”. You have been a mother, friend, and confidante to all who have sought your infinite wisdom. With your warmth, we have been able to feel completely at home. If there was a problem, we knew that we could depend on you for guidance, always having the antidote to whatever was ailing us.

Your appreciation for the arts has allowed Pegasus to flourish and grow as an invaluable outlet for our creativity and self-expression. Without your support, this publication would probably not exist in its current form. We value your opinion and have often sought your much needed advice and encouragement. We chose to dedicate this year’s Pegasus to you because of your ability to go above and beyond your job description. You have helped students who felt as foreign as an alien to become comfortable in their own skin. Just as pioneers venture into a realm of infinite possibilities, you gave us the same confidence to achieve what we ourselves could not see possible.

For 34 years you have been the light that has guided and molded us through these sometimes confusing halls. Your unwavering dedication to your students gave us a voice and a vision for our futures. And it is for all of these reasons that we are forever grateful.

Pegasus Staff 2017

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Writing 2 5 7 7 9 9 10 13 13 13 15 15 15 17 19 19 20

In the Know / Estelle Saad Essay Cognizance Corrupted / Brenda Tawil Poetry A New Yorker’s Lament / Danielle Duchan Poetry The Usual / Esther Levy Poetry Fire in My Soul / Sarah Dagmy Poetry Fourteener / Gregory Pinkhasov Poetry The Age of Storytelling / Isaac Levi Essay An Ode to My Love / Nathan Marcus Poetry The Mountain’s Calling / Leah Krym Poetry New York City / Lorraine Levy Poetry Our Flag / Robert Adler Poetry Rain / Sarah Dagmy Poetry The World’s Old Dark Age / Rose Sternberg Poetry The Idiot Box / Mr. Adam Hofstetter Poetry The River / Nissim Mishan Poetry Skiing / Leah Krym Poetry Uninvent the Toaster / Josef Kusayev Essay Art

3 4 6 6 6 8 12 14 16 18 21 22 23

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Smell of Her Cooking / Aida Hasson A Hazy World / Sammy Burekhovich Sunrise / Samantha Chabot Up / Samantha Chabot Y / Samantha Chabot Reflections / Deborah Coopersmith Branching Out / Daliah Ben-Ari The Art of Brooklyn / Morris Mamiye Asia / Nava Saad Ballerina / Fernanda Mosseri Stare / Nava Saad Simple Pleasures / Daliah Ben-Ari No Love / Trina Sultan

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Writing 27 29 31 33 35 37 39 41 41 41

Powerless / Diana Hoffstein Poetry Ode to the Victims / Adina Kameo One Friday Afternoon / David Azrak Essay A Mother’s Touch / Danielle Duchan Poetry Walking in the Dark / Shlomie Katash Poetry Harold the Swimming Fish / Edna Plushnick Poetry Glass / Shlomie Katash Poetry A Memory is Faded / Marsha Zakay Poetry Hope / Noam Weinstock Poetry Liberation / Leah Krym Poetry Art

26 28 30 32 34 36 38 40 42 43

Arizona Sky / Deborah Coopersmith Diamond / Deborah Coopersmith Bright / Samantha Chabot Countdown / Fernanda Mosseri Earthquake / Deborah Coopersmith Life of a Grandfather / Aida Hasson Light as Air / Deborah Coopersmith Flatbush Daily Grind / Avi Nahmias Metro / Nava Saad Streaks / Fernanda Mosseri

Writing 47 49 51 53 55 57 59 60 60 61 63 65 67

Curiosity / Estelle Saad Poetry The Face / Florence Deutsch Poetry Blueberries or Tacos? / Hymie Bildirici Essay Beach Days / Yael Frechter Poetry The Eternal Struggle / Robert Adler Poetry If Only it Were True / Mimi Guindi Poetry Dear Brain / Joseph Hasbani Poetry Life / Leah Krym Poetry Blind / Noam Weinstock Poetry This I Believe / Rachel Kamkheji Essay Ode to Sleep / Moses Bakst Poetry Rubik’s Cube / Avraham Tessone Essay Unhealed Wound / Kal Abed Poetry Art

46 46 46 48 50 52 54 56 58 60 62 64 66

Cosmic Rays / Daliah Ben-Ari Design / Samantha Chabot Infinity / Deborah Coopersmith In Another World / Daliah Ben-Ari Fear the Nightmarez / Ezra Abramson The Rollercoaster / Madelyne Deutsch Bunchem’s / Fernanda Mosseri When Imagination Takes Hold / Sarah Cohen Stars Can’t Shine Without Darkness / Jane Zakay The End / Sara Shtaynberger City of Dreams / Rahel Shamailova That Way / Meyer Kassin Squishy Trap / Samantha Chabot

Writing 71 72 75 75 77 79 81 83 84 87 87 89 91

Whiplash / Brenda Tawil Poetry A Test? / Aida Hasson Poetry Emptiness / Jojo Aini Poetry Fine? / Marsha Zakay Poetry My Dear Father / Jared Sutton Poetry Drowning in the Ocean / Jojo Aini Poetry Invisible / Marsha Zakay Poetry Pain / Yaron Sternberg Poetry Endurance / Rose Sternberg Poetry Small Understandings / Suzy Mosseri Poetry The Psychiatric Ward / Jack H. Dweck Poetry The Relief to Pain / Jane Zakay Poetry Wings / Yaron Sternberg Poetry Art

70 74 76 78 80 82 86 88 90

Burning Knowledge / Nate Baranoff Right to Bear Arms / Sarali Cohen Behind the Curtain / Sylvia Ashkenazie Trigonometry Trigger / Sondra Bukobza Planet / Samantha Chabot Fear / Maggie Gammal Smooth Sailing / Gabrielle Sharaby Words Hurt / Rachel Shasho Time for Pi / Fernanda Mosseri

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Writing 95 97 97 99 101 102 105 109 110 113 115 117 117 119

Chameleon / Estelle Saad Essay Dear Leader / Shlomie Katash Poetry Departure / Noam Weinstock Poetry The Writer Within / Diana Hoffstein Essay This or That / Florence Deutsch Poetry Being a Tangerine Again / Esther Levy Poetry Growing Up / Amanda Heskiel Essay Reappearance / Dorette Dayan Poetry Superpower / Yaron Sternberg Poetry You’ll Find it Under the Hat / Isaac Levi Essay College and Confidence / Naomi Sanders Essay The Soul is Lost / Ralph Sarway Poetry Hope / Marielle Mamiye Poetry Wearing a Mask of My Own Skin / Ms. Sari Mayer Poetry Art

94 96 98 100 104 106 106 106 106 107 107 107 107 108 112 114 116 118 X

Statue / Nava Saad Through the Looking Glass / Fernanda Mosseri Erase / Deborah Coopersmith Reflections I / Sarah Sasson The Lion King / Deborah Coopersmith Mellie / Nava Saad Khana / Nava Saad Ernest / Nava Saad Elizaveta / Nava Saad Cipora / Nava Saad Aron / Nava Saad Isaac / Nava Saad Agnes / Nava Saad Reflections II / Sarah Sasson Faces / Fernanda Mosseri Beads / Madelyne Deutsch What is a Flower? / Deborah Coopersmith The Eyes of an Optimist / Aida Hasson

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Table of Contets Art From left to right Samantha Chabot Sarah Cohen Sammy Burehkovich Avi Nahmias Deborah Coopersmith Meyer Kassin Sammy Burekovich Jane Zakay Ezra Abramson Nate Baranoff Susan Regev Nava Saad Samantha Chabot Isaac Smouha Deborah Coopersmith Bella Douek

Cover Art – Elie Feldman Earth Chapter Divider Art – Elie Feldman Blast Off Chapter Divider Art – Atara Anderson Galaxies Chapter Divider Art –Florence Deutsch Black Hole Chapter Divider Art – Sylvia Ashkenazie Who Am I Chapter Divider Art – Sylvia Ashkenazie This page from top to bottom: Sarah Cohen, Daliah Ben-Ari, Aida Hasson Rochelle Gindi, Deborah Coopersmith, Bella Douek, Rahel Shamailova, Sarah Shayo

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Top to bottom, left to right Heart Acrylic - Lillian Abed Life Vest Canon Rebel - Sarah Cohen Pineapple Illustrator - Nate Baranoff Scarf Photoshop - Susan Regev

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Beyond | Explanation of Theme For centuries, humans have remained earth bound, but questions always persisted. Is there more than just Earth? Could we survive on other planets?

Are we the only ones? There were dreamers, believers who envisioned opportunity and possibility in outer space.

Exploration into the vast distances have brought us closer to developing ourselves. Without asking the difficult questions, we may never find out who we truly are, why we are here, or what we are meant to become in this limitless world.

Human beings have been exploring since the beginning of time. We have always searched for something greater: navigating the seas, discovering new lands, invading the skies, and exploring space. Each exploration has been more difficult, but also more exciting. In 1962, President John F. Kennedy said “We choose to go to the moon...because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept.”

Probing into outer space must have been intimidating. Such a risk surely made us feel smaller instead of bigger. When men and women first ventured out into space, they noticed how tiny our planet appeared from afar.

Earth seems so significant, until we see it from another point of view; then our eyes open to other worlds and ideas that we didn’t know existed.

We realize life is like a journey into space; we look back on moments and measure the importance of every step we have taken in our lives. We each have doubts about who we are, what we are, and where we are going. Like an astronaut about to embark on his own journey, we question the status quo, think about the possibilities of what we can do and take risks.

When a writer or an artist sees a blank page, he faces what seems like complete emptiness. So too, when people look up at the cold, black, dark sky they seem to be staring into oblivion. Only when we pay close attention, do we appreciate the billions of stars that light up the darkness. It’s all the same sky but each of us focuses on a different aspect. A blank page. A black sky.

Both of which show promise in the eye of a dreamer. We, as writers, artists, explorers, and dreamers, strive to uncover the secrets that lie beyond. Just as scientists continue to challenge the status quo, artists and writers confront themselves and those around them with the questions of life.

Pegasus 2017 invites you to join us on what President John F. Kennedy once called “the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.”

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Lines on Lines Daliah Ben-Ari Canon Rebel, Photoshop

Philosophy of Publication/Colophon Jaclyn Pahuskin and Therese Berkowitz Pegasus is a magazine that represents the literary and artistic talent of our students at the Yeshivah of Flatbush. Writers, philosophers, dreamers, painters, photographers, idealists, leaders, sculptors, poets, readers and designers walk through our hallways every single day.

This publication celebrates the diversity, beauty and talent that our students possess.

Pegasus 2017 was printed by Advanced Copy Center on Avenue J in Brooklyn, NY. The 119 page, 7.25”x9” book was printed on 70# laser paper. The cover was printed on 100# gloss coated cover stock. Pegasus 2017 was created using Adobe InDesign CC 2017.1.

The font family used was Myriad. This is a school funded publication.

There were 150 copies printed.

Thank you to all the contributors this year.

To participate in next year’s publication, please email Pegasus@flatbush.org or talk to Ms. Pahuskin to get involved.

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Contributors Editors Atara Anderson Florence Deutsch Diana Hoffstein Naomi Sanders Brenda Tawil Jane Zakay

Writers Kal Abed Robert Adler Jojo Aini David Azrak Moses Bakst Daliah Ben-Ari Hymie Bildirici Sarah Dagmy Dorette Dayan Florence Deutsch Danielle Duchan Jack H. Dweck Yael Frechter Mimi Guindi Joseph Hasbani Aida Hasson Amanda Heskiel Mr. Adam Hofstetter Diana Hoffstein Adina Kameo Shlomie Katash Rachel Kamkheji Leah Krym Josef Kusayev Isaac Levi Esther Levy Lorraine Levy

The Color of Pomegranates Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel

Angry Zebra Isaac Smouha Resourced Image, Photoshop

Weirdly Beautiful Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

Marielle Mamiye Nathan Marcus Ms. Sari Mayer Nissim Mishan Suzy Mosseri Gregory Pinkhasov Edna Plushnick Estelle Saad Naomi Sanders Ralph Sarway Rose Sternberg Yaron Sternberg Jared Sutton Brenda Tawil Avraham Tessone Noam Weinstock Jane Zakay Marsha Zakay

Artists Lillian Abed Ezra Abramson Sylvia Ashkenazie Nate Baranoff Daliah Ben-Ari Sondra Bukobza Sammy Burekhovich Samantha Chabot Sarah Cohen Sarali Cohen Deborah Coopersmith Madelyne Deutsch Maggie Gammal Aida Hasson Meyer Kassin Morris Mamiye Fernanda Mosseri Avi Nahmias Susan Regev Nava Saad Sarah Sasson Rahel Shamailova Gabrielle Sharaby Rachel Shasho Sara Shtaynberger Trina Sultan Jane Zakay Beyond | Pegasus 2017

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In the Know Estelle Saad Each morning I sit down to eat my breakfast and devour the newspaper. As I read about what is happening around me and in the world at large, I escape from my life and problems. For a short time I take myself out of the picture, get absorbed by what I am perusing, and focus on what is occurring elsewhere.

It started off as a practicality- I was tired of being in the dark and being oblivious to reality. After a few months, thumbing through the news every morning became an enjoyable habit. My father is a history buff and follows the news religiously; he was ecstatic about my new fascination. We send each other articles that we think the other would enjoy and often have debates about what we read. It has taken our relationship to a more sophisticated level, and I think he respects me a lot more for it.

As I read, I think about controversial incidents and terrible problems that face our country and laugh at humorous stories. I scrutinize each article as if it were a Dickensian serial, following up each day for the next installment. Thinking of events as just small parts in a bigger picture makes bad news more palatable for me. I take pride in being in the know and having a solid understanding of our world.

The news is something we all share, a common ground. Reading current events cultivates my sense of empathy and makes me appreciate my life. As a more reserved person, it has become an inroad to conversation and gives me something to add to discussions.

In a similar fashion, I appreciate history class. I find it vital to be conscious of the past in order to draw comparisons to happenings and to learn from mistakes. History is simply old news that was so impactful that we still study it today. Thinking about how current news is future history is thrilling. Following it makes me feel a part of it.

My fascination with the news led me to take a journalism class. The media is influential in making people aware, which is something of which I want to be a part.

I enjoyed the class so much that I decided to join the school’s newspaper, and worked my way up to senior editor. I even was chosen to be the moderator in our school’s mock presidential debate.

Reading the news has brought joy into countless aspects of my life. It allows me to step back and look at the gestalt of the day, and has planted a seed of desire for knowledge inside me. It has made me realize that we are all connected and affected by the same things that are beyond our control, and that we are all in this together. I hope to add my voice to the narrative of the human condition and inform the uninformed.

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Smell of Her Cooking Aida Hasson Cannon Rebel, Photoshop

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A Hazy World Sammy Burekhovich Photoshop

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Cognizance Corrupted Brenda Tawil In a catastrophic evolution of philosophy The world faded into a tranquil gray As turnstiles triggered the slightest of Dynamic tension that stimulated the Conventional vibrations of assembly Lines, and manufacturing belts, and oblivion.

So I become a mechanism, Operating no longer on Stardust and ardency and rivers Of aspirations and rivalry But on gears and petroleum, Withholding fears and my Splintering faith in redemption.

Misconceptions of capabilities Spurred the reassignment of What once only we could implicate; In spite of our opulence we are Greed and sin and thieving, Defined by petty immorality and A piteous lack of regimentation.

Perhaps in this moment I Fail to construe my Own sense of relativity, of My spirit and my vessel of Flesh with society, And in the next I Will merely exist, among the Redundancy of technology And the invariability of people Who are simply mortal.

No longer did the eidolon of Civilization, or what once was Earth and lungs and limbs And breaths and words and beauty and us, Adhere to gravitational law, As it had been anchored, And when it melted into the Atmosphere we were ousted from Our souls, but embraced By the pioneers Of this 21st century.

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Y / Sunrise / Up Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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A New Yorker’s Lament Danielle Duchan

The Usual Esther Levy

It seems like I’m always on the subway, in this transient, in-between state.

Neither here nor there, home or away.

Surrounded by strangers as the stops whiz by.

But where to go? What to do?

Where to find rest for my wandering heart?

When I get home from school that’s it.

I’m tired and cranky when it hits I have bio, gemera, history, and lit

Prospect Park seems like a prospect, a place to rest my feet.

But it isn’t truly home, merely a step along the way.

My feet are aching, I’m so tired.

I’m so done with being stuck in between, so done with being another sardine in this sea, so done with the shakes, the jolts, the fear of being knocked over.

But this is what I’ve got in this city of dreams.

This is my lot in this life.

Aching feet, pounding head, restless mind.

Endlessly searching to find my kind.

Piles and piles high.

Not in the mood to solve for pi Maybe if I just go and lie...

To my procrastination thoughts I say bye!

In the shower I hop I gotta work non-stop Till the table I drop Mid essay about Arizonans corn crop I wake up at two When I wake up at five I’m super blue I wish I was able to brew Coffee that would help me get through Oh well, school I gotta go to.

So I’ll put in my earbuds, sit back, and try to contemplate.

My fate, where I’m going, and who I want to be.

I’ll find the right place eventually, hopefully.

Until then, enjoy the ride.

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Reflections Deborah Coopersmith

Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Fire in my Soul Sarah Dagmy I caught a firefly in a jar Never wanting to let it go I was captivated by such a phenomenal small creature A creation of God that carries the sun when there is darkness I made a promise to keep it safe Vowing we will be friends forever Although once I awoke the next day and picked up the jar My friend was gone And its exotic unique light that used to flash was gone And so was my friend

Fourteener Gregory Pinkhasov The ball is hit into the field Driven by the impact of the bat, the ball flies Dropping onto the field, the ball rolls down the grass Powered by the hitter’s strength, the little sphere is shot in the air The swing slices the ball’s path as it quickly shifts its direction Lined is the ball straight into the green where no one stands Laced into the air the ball lands onto open field The ball soars then falls and begins to bounce Muscled by the hitter the ball jets into the air of the outfield The red and white moves through the air until only gravity brings it to an abrupt stop Just a speck of white rushing down against a clear blue sky The hard ball drops down quickly chased by the diving fielders Crushed up in the air all eyes turn to follow its journey onto the grass The batter bats the ball for a single into left field

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The Age of Storytelling Isaac Levi Every Sunday, between nine and eleven in the morning, I used to walk up the narrow, carpeted staircase, breathing shallow breaths, trying not to breathe in the dusty, ancient smell that had been there for what seemed like forever. There were always fourteen stairs, but going up the stairs always felt like they took a while to climb – like the only way to reach my grandparents’ kitchen was to travel fifty years back in time. My grandparents’ flat really did give off an antiquated vibe, with its decayed-yellow sofa cushions, the refrigerator that looked like a Picasso original made of dirt and stains, black and white tile flooring that you find in retro-style home décor magazines, and the smell of potatoes frying in oil.

Breakfast on East 17th between Avenue U and Avenue V was always a hearty meal of eggs, deep-fried potatoes, toast, smoked salmon, and the strongest black coffee I could ever taste, but it was always felt slow and old, like the meaning and magic of being with my grandparents was aging with them.

Breakfasts on Sundays were the one time a week I spent with my grandparents – Savta Miriam and Saba Heric, we called them – and it was just enough time for me. My Saba and Savta were deaf since the day I was born, and so forming a deeper relationship with them was always strained, and honestly too much of a hassle for a millennial like myself.

I loved my grandparents just enough to be respectful of them, and tolerate spending my Sunday mornings traveling fifty years back in time. I could’ve learned Sign Language, I could’ve learned to communicate better with the people who had helped bring my soul into the world, and I could’ve avoided the ignorance and arrogance that so emanated when I spoke about old people. Old people, grandparents, and any great-aunts or uncles were just the most draining people to me, and their stories of immigration, narrow escapes

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from Nazi soldiers, and true-love tales were better on screen and frankly, when directed

by Spielberg.

My dad would try and translate my Saba’s stories of what it was like during the Holocaust, and how Israel was the one place all Jews could turn to. The stories, always coming from my Saba’s hands and my dad’s mouth, were always fragmented, always complained about something, and always told of Israel in its youngest years. I never bothered to ask my grandpa his full story, I never liked to hear about the hard labor that was so necessary to survive in Israel, and I never cared enough about how he ended up in America. My father always suggested that I travel back in time with my grandpa, and actually learn all about his life to get an appreciation of the man he was. My response had been a hard “no,” until my Saba became permanently blind and the concept of losing two of the meager five senses hit me, and pity overcame me.

Deciding to finally walk with my grandpa through his life story was a step in the right direction for me at the time, and I wasn’t all too excited about it. But, like all things good for you but hard to do, once I began to finally listen, I didn’t want to stop. Hearing about how my Saba survived the Holocaust even with his hearing disability instead of being killed on the spot, learning about how Saba babysat Savta for years before he fell in love with her decades later, and finding out that my last name was a mistake made at Ellis Island, opened my heart and widened the scope of my mind. Over an entire box of cookies, three coffee breaks, and non-stop translation, I was unjustly gifted with perspective, appreciation, and love. Each thought my Saba signed to me welded the bond between us, and humbled me so that I felt guilt.

The guilt I felt for disparaging my Saba, for disparaging all of the Jewish people’s ancestry, weighed me down like a ton of bricks and made it hard for me to breathe. I even took

some solace in the fact that I finally knew what it was like to have trouble breathing; I clung to any thoughts that would console me and from having placed myself and my generation on a pedestal of glory. To think that I had actually placed Eyal Golan, the creators of Viber, and the directors behind Hollywood, above those who had chased freedom from Germany to Israel, had turned the swamps into arable land, and had sold pens to make a living for their future children in America, made me weak. My Saba was a man who had done and seen it all, and I refused to listen to or see any of it for the longest time.

I won’t say that after hearing Saba’s story, I immediately began visiting him every day of every week. I would be a fool to say that bad habits die quickly, and my generational self-absorption most certainly did not. To make sure that my new-found appreciation and respect for the elderly would not fade fast, I decided I needed to listen to more stories, and have more encounters and conversations with elderly people so that I could learn to appreciate the foundations of my Jewish heritage right from the sources themselves.

Joining Witness Theater, a drama-therapy program that pairs students with Holocaust survivors – and a weekly commitment of over six hours – was tough for me to push myself to commit to, but I kept my Saba in mind. I can honestly say that while six hours of dark, emotional storytelling may sound painful, Witness Theater managed to capture my heart wholly.

It was the details that got to me more than the general stories themselves; the way a survivor would tell of how the hay felt when they slept in barns, or what it was like to feel their stomach begin to burn away the fat off of their starving bodies, were images I could not get out of my head. The more I listened, the more appreciative I became of the life I was currently living, and of my ancestors who lived on through massacre, hunger, and poverty.

To say that I loved walking in their shoes was

an understatement; I began to crave more stories, and yearned for deeper connections. Over a long, emotional year, what had deterred me from walking up my Saba’s steps before was now what pulled me in.

Storytelling, an art, and the oldest form of education, seems to be universal among the elderly. I never tried to understand why until I finally sat down to listen, letting my mind and body imagine, rather than watching it on a big screen. My experiences with my Saba and Witness Theater had helped me realize that storytelling – by allowing the listener to transform the words and vocal fluctuations into mental images and physical stimulation – was so popular among the elderly because it did their stories the justice that a book, movie or song never could. Stories, like my Saba’s staircase, are methods of time-travel; they carry forth the purest memories and emotions, and elevate the listener to experience just as the storyteller had long ago.

Every Sunday, between nine and eleven in the morning, I now walk up the narrow, carpeted staircase, breathing regularly, taking in the dusty, ancient smell that has been there for what seems like forever. Now, the staircase seems too short; like to travel back in time with my Saba should take longer. Today, I love and appreciate my heritage, my ancestors, and the foundations of my people so much, and I so desperately try to cling to the novelty and intensity of that feeling on the level I had felt it that very first time. Breakfast on East 17th between Avenue U and Avenue V is still a hearty meal of eggs, deep-fried potatoes, toast, smoked salmon, and the strongest black coffee I could ever taste, but now it feels high-speed and fleeting, like the meaning and magic of being with my Saba and Savta is aging with them, and I have only just begun to appreciate it all.

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Branching Out Daliah Ben-Ari

Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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An Ode To My Love Nathan Marcus

The Mountain’s Calling Leah Krym

Ever since I laid my eyes on you three years ago I knew that you were the one for me There is no one I’d rather be with This is an ode to my love

A vast lofty mountain Covered in snow, beckons Secluded calmness

I am with you every single day of my life And you show me what life really is about I always miss you on the weekends And I can’t wait to see you when I return I’ll never forget all I have learned from you It has been such a good time You truly are so special to me I wish we can stay together forever But next year when I am off to college I am going to have to let you go My love for you is incomprehensible I will miss you when I am gone This is an ode to Flatbush

New York City Lorraine Levy On the Busy city street The only thing standing Still is the bright white light from the Lamp post

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The Art of Brooklyn Morris Mamiye Photoshop

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Our Flag Robert Adler

Rain Sarah Dagmy

Into the valley of death, rode the six-hundred.

Your flag is now raised.

You have answered our country’s cries.

For over this arid hill, Lies the symbol of this nation Climbing from tempest Till the bitter end.

Our nation persevered And here her flag lies.

Rain Washes away Pain, fears, tears Bringing new Beginnings

The World’s Old Dark Age Rose Sternberg People say the world is old That’s what I’ve been told They say it’s filled with madness Soaked and drowned in sadness And yet I see the light That shines through the thickness of tonight Sending up a flare To lead me out of this nightmare.

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Asia Nava Saad Adobe Draw

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The Idiot Box Mr. Hofstetter Leg warmers and shoulder pads, Pegged jeans, neon, other fads: People always focus on the fashion, But when it comes to the ’80s, my passion Was watching cheesy sit-coms on TV. We had only four channels, but they were free.

When people sit and reminisce About the ‘80s they say this: Big hair, glam rock, MTV We Are The World and Mr. T Were icons of the era. True— Like Ronald Reagan and Mary Lou.

I’d park my Big Wheel behind the house And park myself upon the couch.

With no remote, no on-demand, I’d turn the dial with my hand To watch whatever show was on.

If I was late, the show was gone.

I’d sit and watch for hours on end And quote the lines with all my friends.

We worried about Russia and nuclear doom, But all the while, in my living room Buck Rogers, Magnum P.I., And MacGyver were unable to die.

I watched the Duke Boys and L.A. Law, And that was hardly all I saw.

Knight Rider, The A-Team, and CHiPs, And love on Captain Stubing’s ship.

A bit too old to watch cartoons, So I watched Alf and Silver Spoons, Family Ties and Diff’rent Strokes, The Cosby Show and other folks, Charles In Charge, Mr. Belvedere …

All my favorites were right here.

Growing Pains and Punky Brewster, The Golden Girls, Three’s Company, Webster, Who’s the Boss, Night Court, and Cheers: These were the shows I watched for years.

Perfect Strangers, The Facts of Life: Half an hour solved their strife.

Nowadays it’s all “reality,” Contests, celebrities—so much banality.

I know the shows of my youth were cheesy But I’ll take them over Kim and Yeezy.

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Ballerina Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel

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The River Nissim Mishan Next to a valley and mountains there stood a smooth running river On one side of the river the golden foothill slopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan mountains, but on the valley side the water is lined with trees, willows fresh and green with every spring, carrying in their lower leaf junctures the debris of the winter’s flooding During the summer nights you can hear the deer, rabbits, and moose drinking from the river, as if they had never drunk before In front of the low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore there is an ash pile made by many fires; the limb is worn smooth by men who have sat on it The river never stops flowing, through frigid winters, and scorching summers the river is always flowing and spreading life to others

Skiing Leah Krym I wait on the trail for the skiers to pass before plunging into the snowy bluff.

Soon I am flying above the clouds faster and faster.

All I see is powder.

The skis are a part of me.

I’m weightless, riding on air.

Now I feel myself slowing down, I take in my surroundings.

Back to reality.

Other skiers, chairlifts, pine.

Earth | Pegasus 2017

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Uninvent the Toaster Josef Kusayev There’s a lot of bad in the world. From guns and drugs to poverty and violence, there are many compelling candidates for complete elimination. However, the problem with uninventing such an object or idea like that is that within a very short time span of uninventing it, something else equally or possibly more horrendous may appear. So, the question is: what would have a certain benefit to society, but at the same time not get an immediate and more pernicious replacement? At the same time it would need to be subtle yet substantially helpful; something that would improve people’s lives without people noticing. It can’t be cigarettes or sweet, sugary drinks – I would be put down in history as the “One Who Ended Pleasure.” It also can’t be the removal of something nearly inconsequential to our daily lives, such as the elimination of the concept of loose screws – nobody would notice an irregular inconvenience that suddenly ceases to occur.

Furthermore, what I choose to uninvent can’t be anything too dramatic and life changing for most of the world’s population. The uninvention of a well-known grievance of humanity, such as any widespread philosophy or a dangerous ideology is sure to have ramifications beyond my comprehension and planning. Even the eradication of a household pest, such as mosquitoes, can throw the entire ecosystem out of whack.

It would need to be a stand-alone object that does not affect anything else, at least not majorly. So, what is it that at the same time proves to be a nuisance, whose removal would benefit all of society, but not be very noticeable? Toasters.

Yes, toasters.

Toasters are truly the bane of human existence. There is nothing worse than waking up in the morning, ready for a good day, only to find your toast brutally incinerated by malevolent toasters. And if you try, so much as try, to keep the temperature of the toaster low enough not to burn it, then the bread might simply turn back into dough.

But on a serious note, toasters do cause many casualties. In 2007 alone, toasters caused over 87 times as many casualties as sharks! Even more importantly, the toaster is very inefficient and slow. In today’s day and age, efficiency is key – to weather our fastpaced society, we can’t afford to waste precious time on our toasters.

Ever since the 1970s, progress on improving the toaster technology simply ceased.

Tracking the development of the toaster from its invention in 1893 and its adaptation to commercial and residential in the mid-1920s, we see that innovation in the toaster enjoyed steady linear growth until the middle of the 20th century and randomly came to an unexpected halt around the 1960s. Any toaster enthusiast will tell you that the best models, with the best features, have been out of production for half a century.

They would recommend scouring antique shops if you really want a decent toaster.

But why go through the trouble? Would it not be simpler to just uninvent the thing and leave our warm bread needs to the ovens? Imagine the appeal of the fresh, warm aroma of freshly baked bread. Now, replace it with the horrible burning smell of burnt toast, left in only a few seconds too late. Imagine the crying children receiving a

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meager portion of scorched bread and butter for breakfast. Imagine the elderly octogenarians in their dilapidated nursing homes, only able to look forward to a nutritious breakfast. Instead of their beloved bread and butter, they get burnt-cinderblock and butter. Their teeth crunch on the hard “toast”, trying to salvage a tiny morsel of uncorrupted bread.

You might think that I am absolutely crazy for not wanting to uninvent something all of society considers detestable, such as the internet or the atomic bomb. But these areas are filled with much discourse and controversy, from the social scientists who praise the benefits of mankind’s digital connectivity to the highly-esteemed historians who claim many more lives would have been lost had it not been for the nuclear deterrent. The list goes on and on. But what is worse than the toaster – something that all agree is at best a convenience, and at worst a disappointing afterthought of 20th century technology?

The minority can definitely do without the cause of great evil to the silent majority.

Toasters have been around far too long. We must actively seek their end. The elimination of toasters would provide all of society with an undeniable benefit by being subtle enough not to generate any equally useless inventions and helping society conserve its valuable time.

Stare Nava Saad Pencil

Earth | Pegasus 2017

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Simple Pleasures Daliah Ben-Ari IPhone 6, Photoshop

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No Love Trina Sultan Resourced Image, Photoshop

Earth | Pegasus 2017

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Arizona Sky Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Powerless Diana Hoffstein They say life is like a roller coaster.

Too many twists and turns to count.

You can’t control what will be next.

All you can do is wait for the text.

For the page turn, For your chance to hold the wheel, For a way out of the seat belt, For those feelings to never be felt.

To no longer feel lost in a crowded room, Filled with strangers with blank faces.

The questions avoided like cancers.

Nobody seems to have any answers.

They need to grasp hold of something.

A handle to keep them from slipping, A rope to pull them up from this pit, There’s nothing to hold but they can’t quit.

They continue to pretend to know where they are, To keep them from losing their sanity, Their need for control which they suppress, They never admit that they are powerless.

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Diamond Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Ode to the Victims Adina Kameo Ode to the victims, Those who have been hurt Through words, Through actions.

Ode to the victims, Those who keep going Who block them out Who ignore the hatred The jealousy.

Ode to the victims, Who are looked down upon But yet Keep their heads up And hide behind the pain Who know their beauty Their worth.

Ode to the victims The victims of bullying.

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Bright Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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One Friday Afternoon David Azrak I arrived at the notion that silence could placate adults at a fairly young age; whenever a teacher scolded a student, I frustratingly thought to myself, “just keep quiet” as they locked antlers like battling bucks. And it worked. Whenever conflict arose, I would keep quiet, no matter what my thoughts. And that was how my life could and would be calmly dictated. That would be my mantra, my philosophy, my life statement, because it worked so well. Quiet, cool, and content with nary a feather ruffled. That had been me, and for all intents and purposes, that’s what I would be. And that was true, to a certain extent, for a certain time. Until the topic of gay marriage was brought up one Friday afternoon at school.

That Friday had played out in the same normality that had preceded every other; this particular one would be different. The topic of gay marriage was leisurely brought up during our afternoon Talmud class in regards to a recent ruling by the Supreme Court.

I heard people in my class shout in a sort of mob fueled zeal, “it’s a sin!” and my usually tempered personality somehow left me. I shouted back with such legitimate and unknown passion, such unbridled fury, and such unrelenting force at the hurtful bigotry that played out right before my very eyes to the point that I surprised even myself. The entire ordeal transformed into less of a moment of self-aggrandizing gallantry and more one of obligation, the nature of this untapped fervor being truly foreign to me. And then the bell rang. The debate continued well into the hallway in a somewhat comedic fashion, the staircase doing its absolute best to divide us as I continued to exchange (what some would consider at least) “pleasantries” with my classmates. The following class allowed me the time to mull over what had just transpired and the opaque, red tone emanating from my cheeks had, somewhat, subsided. But this animalistic, almost primal reaction that this argument induced was, seemingly enough, diametrically opposed to my principle philosophy of the past 16 years. That one argument revealed, more so for myself rather than for others, that within me harbored an explosive, opinionated side that had resided in a relatively dormant state. But it took me some time to figure out precisely why. As a student interested extensively in history and literature, I have always been drawn to hearing the other side, the side of the voiceless, the side of the unrepresented and unheard. Where would the next Atticus Finch arise? Where would the next Nelson Mandela or Martin Luther King Jr. arise and give voice to those with none? Who would hear them? I always thought, who would be the one to defend the quiet, little boy, sitting in the corner of his classroom truly and vehemently believing that hardly anybody cared for his existence? That could be me I thought. That could be me in my own tiny, little way. This brief debate placed me in an uncomfortable position within my social space for some time afterward but it gave me a vital point of reference. I learned that, yes, I could crawl back into my proverbial, homey little shell and continue being the quiet, contemplative person I’d always been; but I also learned that I could render those philosophies moot, that I could emerge whenever I pleased and express my opinions, my grievances, and my solutions. In that sense, it was reassuring in nature; I could be myself and quietly meld into the background while still being able to shatter that innocuous temperament I had created for myself when and if I ever pleased. I came to realize that my voice, when needed, could echo not only my thoughts, but those of the voiceless as well. For now, I happily wait in the wings.

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Countdown Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Fourteener: “A Mother’s Touch” Danielle Duchan Her hand gently caresses her baby’s cheek.

Silky, smooth against the child’s skin.

He cries, screams, but is hushed by his mother’s tender touch.

Warmth emanates from the child, sinking into his mother’s hand.

Her hand is cool against her baby’s heat.

Her hand shields him with love and protection.

He begins to settle in her arms, calmed by her caress.

She smoothes her hand over his chubby cheek.

She feels the tiny bones and sinews underneath, barely developed.

He curves his rosy cheek into her hand, attracted by its refreshing coolness.

It is dry against his cheek, wicking away his tears.

His tiny cheek fits perfectly under her hand.

Its curve perfectly suits the cup of her small palm.

She runs her hand over his cheek, leaving him with the memory of her warmth and love.

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Earthquake Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Walking in the Dark Shlomie Katash I wait for the sun to leave the sky Before stepping onto the road.

Now I am walking in the dark thinking about the day, Checking for cracks, obstacles I feel the solitude pounding on my heart Tonight I will take a long walk.

But for now I try to imagine what this must look like to the birds above, a lone man walking alone in the dark.

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Life of a Grandfather Aida Hasson Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Harold the Swimming Fish Edna Plushnick When I came home from school On the first day of third grade Harold was there A gift from my father He was a goldfish like no other goldfish His eyes were as big as a golf ball And he had a burnt black tail He was my first responsibility And I didn’t take it lightly I fed him the moment I woke up And the moment I came home He was a new member of my family He always swam On rainy days, bad days, and sleepy days He just swam I stood at his bowl Watching him swim from one end to the next And I told him about my day My problems and the exciting things that happened to me I told him and he listened Keep swimming he told me Even when he died And his bowl stood there Now empty I kept swimming

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Light as Air Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Glass Shlomie Katash There are many definitions to “happiness” Some see it as achievements Some see it as family Some see it as glory So I wonder what “happiness” would be if it took a physical form Would it be a peak of a mountain, Since happiness may be difficult to get to, with many challenges?

No, I believe it to be the exact opposite.

I believe that “happiness” Would take the form of glass Because even though you don’t usually notice it, It’s still definitely there.

You merely have to change your point of view slightly, And then that glass will sparkle when it reflects the light.

So no matter what you may see “happiness” as Even if you see it as achievements Even if you see it as family Even if you see it as glory “Happiness” is always there You just haven’t realized it

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Flatbush Daily Grind Avi Nahmias Canon Rebel, Resourced Image, Photoshop

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A Memory is Faded Marsha Zakay

Liberation Leah Krym

A memory is faded When time has awaited Some say

I can’t believe that this is happening Hallucination It all seems to be blackening They beckon with supplies and food Yelling, screaming, everyone is frightened This freedom seems a bit crude But what, can it be?

It is the American troops I see After all we suffered, is this rescue real What if they can heal?

This will be my last appeal

I say that memories are kept And are not washed away

Hope Noam Weinstock I fall Out of the light No one’s here to catch me Then you stick out your hand and I’m Flying

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Metro Nava Saad Pencil

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Streaks Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel

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Top to bottom

Cosmic Rays Daliah Ben-Ari Canon Rebel

Design Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

Infinity Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Curiosity Estelle Saad Aren’t you curious about how your future will be?

Throughout it many things will peak your interest, we guarantee The world is vast, there’s so much to learn and see To go far and find success all you need is a little curiosity Curiosity is the lust of the mind, Thomas Hobbes once said When we explore our interests, innovations may lie ahead As we age our curiosity sophisticates And new information we accumulate We must remember how to employ our inquisitiveness And ensure that following our morals is always our first order of business Make sure to explore and excel in your studies After all, the risk-takers are the ones we come to study If you follow your trail of thought and stick to your foundations Maybe one day you’ll be making innovations!

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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In Another World Daliah Ben-Ari Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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The Face Florence Deutsch Golden silk surrounds, A dusting of a star’s ashes across a golden plane, High, noble and sound.

A cocoon is unpanned, Two caterpillars emerge, wiggling and shimmering, Sapphire iridescent gems sparkle beneath. branches of black silk, long and curled Embroidered on a kilt Beware the black holes You may trip on your way to the eclipse, Two oranges underneath, Crimson at the tips With an indentation at the end of this, For that was where it was picked off the tree.

A ski slope curves, Two gaping holes inside the mountain.

A jump from the slope, Two plush crimson feather beds.

With curves from wear, And a cherub’s mountain peak, Rises and falls every day, without tear.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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Fear the Nightmarez Ezra Abramson Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Blueberries or Tacos?

Hymie Bildirici Well I’ve been riding the subway from 96th Street until Coney Island-Stillwell Avenue, and I tend to notice the qualities of individuals on the train. My phone is dead, and when the only thing in front of me are the strangers in front of me, I tend to think. I tend to notice the extremes of personalities on the train. I notice the well dressed, brown-shoed, and put together folk. I also notice the tattered, tie-dye shirted near homeless people. The extremism within myself might contribute to that. I think it is natural to look for outliers within a group. The natural longing to belong is in contrast to the idea of outliers and I think this is why outliers are so fascinating. Nobody wants to be average, I think.

Blueberries or tacos. When looking at other people, and judging them without any social interaction, I tend to create dialogue with them. What could they be thinking about? Where are they going? Why? This causes me to look within myself and wonder what am I thinking about. I’m thinking about what others are thinking on a hot, steamy and crammed train. Do others do this as well? When they look at me do they create preconceived notions of who I am as a person? I know I do this to others. It’s unfair, but I do it. I do it to the well-dressed individual; I do it to the homeless man who caused a shift in the people on the train to the opposite side of where he sits. I feel bad too, though.

Blueberries or tacos. I notice the people who get off the train and who remain as we approach the last stops. I look at them as survivors. They are the ones who stuck through the whole train ride. They become my brothers.

When they leave, it feels like watching a doctor put down your childhood pet.

This goes along with the simulated dialogue with these strangers. We built a connection, though they don’t know it. The last stop bell dings. The train is going the other way. Cycle. Blueberries or tacos.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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The Rollercoaster Madelyne Deutsch Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Beach Days Yael Frechter On the beach, the world is quiet the only sound to be heard is the crash of the waves hitting the shore.

When you walk, the glittering sand is hot it feels like stepping on a burning grill.

The sun shines from above brightening the day illuminating the world spreading joy on the beach there’s no better place to be.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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Bunchems Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel, Phostoshop

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The Eternal Struggle Robert Adler Life is not a gift, It must be a struggle, For those who want to live, let them fight, The eternal struggle of life.

Life is a war, Men shall die, Men will pay, Hear the shrieking cry.

But they shall run on, Conquer all, Live to fight, Without break at all.

The world is a battlefield, You fight till the last breath, And for those who cannot fight on, Their breath shall run out.

Life is never free, It has its costs and its tolls, But those who choose not to fight the eternal struggle in this world, Shall face their maker in the next.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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When Imagination Takes Hold Sarah Cohen Mixed Media

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If Only it Were True Mimi Guindi The first time I spoke To him, I was twelve, Sweating, but so excited With both hands in my pockets.

August. Sun shining Beneath my heart, my breath Around me, one chance, As I sat by The fireplace, the one that’s Used all the time At night, in any weather.

The girl yelled at him, Until He sat down Next to me, Shaking But excited. I smiled, He held my hand, and looked Right into my eyes, near Bushes and firewood Growing and burning, Until we were breathing Heavily together. We Shook, the excitement Bringing our family Outside questioning us.

And when he whispered to me To do nothing, I didn’t say anything.

I squeezed his hand Even harder, then the other And set my eyes on his lips Towering over. When I looked up, His eyes met mine, And I nodded, knowing Very well what to Do. Around, Our parents chatting, Us hugging like young Love at first sight.

He kissed my hand Walking together for two blocks, Then released it so He could play basketball.

I held my breath So tight in my chest The dreams of August That, from a perspective, Someone might have thought Could possibly come true.

I looked to his eyes Filled with compassion, And asked what to sayFear in my eyes, a grin Starting at the corners Of his mouth. I squeezed His hand in mine,

Blast Off | Pegasus 2017

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Stars Can’t Shine Without Darkness Jane Zakay Canon Rebel

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Dear Brain Joseph Hasbani Dear Brain, Are you busy In the place of thoughts and actions Do you watch over my thoughts Like a mother to her child?

Or have you left that to me To manage myself?

If you are there, Why do you sometimes let me down?

Did you let me go, Like an uncaring parent?

Or was it time for me to be independent, Like a bird freed from its cage?

If you are controlling me, tell me this, why do you freeze on me, like an old computer?

Why do those who study and those that don’t end up in the same place?

Why have you failed me during important moments, and succeeded during others?

Have I done something to change you?

My brain, If you decide to help me, Will I become invincible?

Or will you freeze?

Earth | Pegasus 2017

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The End Sara Shtaynberger Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Life Leah Krym

Blind Noam Weinstock

Life Short, a gift Working, loving, changing Don’t take it for granted Complex

Dear Dreams, You make me see what I imagine In the dark corners of my mind You make me feel the pain I hide In the darkness, I’m alone with you Shielded from the light

Pegasus 2017 | Galaxies

This I Believe Rachel Khamkheji I believe that every person should appreciate the smallest things, even the ones that might not seem so important.

When I was two years old, I was fighting over a fork with my older sister, Yafit, and the fork poked me in my right eye. I was rushed to the hospital and went through many operations. The results weren’t great; I was seeing blurry.

Several months later, I began to feel extreme irritation and my parents became very concerned. I went to a well known eye doctor in Boston to find the cause.

The doctor said that my eye was infected and if the infection wasn’t cured within the next week or so, my eye would have to be removed. Luckily, the infection was taken care of and my eye did not have to be removed. Unfortunately, however, I became legally blind in my right eye.

When I was growing up, I was bullied. I would walk through the grocery store and people wouldn’t take their eyes off of me. There were some moments in my life where I’ve been embarrassed publicly and told that my eye looked “scary” or “not normal.” These comments really affected me and there were moments where I would sit and cry.

Then I realized that it’s time for a solution. I was 15 at the time and began to wear colored contacts so I could at least match the color of my other eye. It looks slightly red and not exactly perfect, but it did decrease the hateful comments and teasing.

Today, I continue to live life positively. I look at life as though I can see through both eyes. The harsh comments I’ve received didn’t stop me from becoming who I am today. With only half my vision, I’m able to do what many others do: I ride bicycles and even drive cars.

My past has taught me so much; I learned that not everything in life should be taken for granted. I hope every person is thankful and appreciates what others might not have because, after all, appreciation is key to a positive and healthy life.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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City of dreams Rahel Shamailova Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Ode to Sleep Moses Bakst Ah, sleep, if only I could get more.

Staying up all night worrying about my score On a test, on a quiz, or a long essay“I’ll be in bed by ten,” is what I would say.

Sleep, sleep, I can barely even think I find myself drifting every time my eyes blink.

If I close them for a minute, that minute becomes an hour Falling asleep at my desk, staying awake takes all of my power.

Pilots, pilots, pilots on a plane Would the pilot still be a pilot if the pilot was on a train?

What if the train was also a plane?

Would the pilot be more or just a pilot plain?

I need to wake up, get back to working On my test, on my quiz, or my long essay“I’ll be in bed by ten,” is what I did say.

I’m getting off track, I have so much to do I realize there’s some quiz I need to study for, too.

I say this is it, time to end.

I’ll wake up in the morning, and get it done then At this hour I’m not expected to even be awake!

I’m starting to drift away again; I catch myself before it’s too late.

The clock says twelve, that is just great, Time to continue even on this new day On my test, on my quiz, or on my long essay“I’ll be in bed by one,” would have made more sense to say.

As the clock strikes one, I’m finally done I close the computer, Shut off the lights, I run up the stairs, and dash to my bed.

I’m finally able to rest my tired head As I drift away, I remember one final thing I didn’t do One final test, or quiz, or long essay“I’ll be in bed soon,” is what I wish I could say As I finally fall asleep, ending the day.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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That Way Meyer Kassin Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Rubik’s Cube Avraham Tessone

I had always coveted the ability to be adept at solving a Rubik’s Cube. When I was young I would pick it up for a moment or two, making arbitrary moves that I hoped would bring me closer to the solution. Yet, every time I set out to solve the cube I would be thwarted by its convoluted nature, consisting of numerous elaborate algorithms. As I matured, my once modest desire transformed into an inexorable obsession as I ventured to solve the cube during every moment of my free time. While others would fixatedly watch a TV show or play a video game, I would memorize algorithms, which would bring me one step closer to ultimately solving the puzzle. What fueled my developing obsession was the fact that I couldn’t bear to glance at the Rubik’s Cube in its unsolved state. After hours of laborious effort, I managed to complete the puzzle and end my once relentless obsession.

Now that I was able to solve the cube at will, it has become a hobby or pastime that I turn to during stressful times. After coming home from a strenuous day of school, I find the cube unsolved and have the impulse to rectify it. Once my hands clench the formerly intimidating cube they begin to work almost automatically. The rapid movements make the distinct colors appear as a whirlwind of iridescent colors that blend into one. With each move bringing the cube one step closer to perfection, the tension I felt a few minutes earlier begins to subside. Finally, the cube is returned to its natural state and I bask in a brief moment of ecstasy. Then I set the cube down knowing that there is no limit to how many times I can decipher the cube, as if anew.

Today, when I look at the Rubik’s Cube I see more than just a previously perplexing puzzle.

I envision its distinct contrasting colors as the different academic dispositions of my mind.

There is the mathematical and scientific side which constantly searches for a precise or absolute answer; however, there is also the arts and humanities side of my mind that pursues the various perspectives that an issue can encompass.

Over the course of the past few years I have attempted to balance these dualistic outlooks, hoping to ascertain the perfect combination.

Throughout my first few years in high school, I considered my scientific or mathematical ability to be superior over my aptitude in the arts. Due to this belief, I focused on courses such as AP Calculus and AP Biology. However, towards the end of my junior year I began to take an interest towards more open-ended courses. Consequently, I have proceeded to take courses such as AP Literature and AP Art History in my senior year which emphasize the versatility of a subject, rather than strictly the facts.

It is only recently that I have arrived at the conclusion that in order to become a complete individual I must have a vast knowledge of a varied array of subjects, instead of just the ones I am proficient in. This knowledge, in turn, will allow for my intellect to reach its maximum potential. It is with this outlook that I begin the next stage of my life, one in which I intend to acquire more knowledge than I have thus far.

I hope that both my scientific and humanities identities continue to blend together just like how the colors on a Rubik’s Cube blend together and lose their distinctness during the rapid movements of the cube.

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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Squishy Trap Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Unhealed Wound Kal Abed These battle scars don’t look like they are fading no matter how much you try no matter how much you fail you will always be left with a scar no matter how painful, it will never go away They ain’t ever gonna change These scars will never go away nor be removed you will have to fight through them with everything you have and one day you will pass through it

Galaxies | Pegasus 2017

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Black Hole | Pegasus 2017

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Burning Knowledge Nate Baranoff Photoshop

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Whiplash Brenda Tawil Suddenly, Down plummets the sky, Hurtling into the sea, And dragging the Earth Along for descent As the galaxy Erupts Into a fine, powdered vapor And the wisps blow away with the wind Into the frigid, Stygian vacancy.

And all that lingers is you, Alone, afraid, in awe, Wondering, questioning how something So infinitely insurmountable Could be so infinitely destroyed.

This is the affliction of the living.

Suddenly, your anguish Does not seem of much significance In contrast to the end Of the universe.

Black Hole | Pegasus 2017

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A test?

Aida Hasson Did you just say we have a test?

Oh no, this is is something I can not address For if I do I will be obsessed With studying, I must confess We had one just last week - I can attest Can’t I just undress And go to bed without the stress?

On this test I need success For I haven’t been doing well in this class - I am a mess I am not blessed With endless knowledge pouring from my chest I really don’t have time for this - surely you jest You must cancel it lest I have a breakdown and travel far into the northwest To escape your terrible unkindness It makes me feel unexpressed Depressed Distressed Oppressed I’m going to need to buy an armrest For my exhausted body - we need to readdress This whole system and what possessed These teachers to torture us. I protest!

Maybe someone needs to suggest A new system of retest I think I’ll write an anapest To calm myself of this unrest I’m not seeing any progress In myself by taking these exams of processed Information.

Their overestimation Of our abilities are cruel. It’s an invasion Of numbers words and equations Attacking my brain and giving me an abrasion In my head like an infestation Of bugs crawling around causing an unnecessary vibration I need a better explanation Of this material for this devastation

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Of a test. Maybe I can use some flirtation To get someone to give me a donation To bribe someone to give me a vacation I need more circulation Of blood, I think I’m losing it from all of these terms like deforestation Migration Croatian How many days can I do this for? I think there needs to be better communication Between everyone in this incorporation I need to fold an origami tessellation Before I die of suffocation We need to stop with this glorification Of the modification To the testing system. I will make a renunciation To the school before I start seeing a constellation Spinning around my head from this condemnation This is dehumanization!

I’d rather excommunication Than this abomination I need a translation Of this material. This is such inconsideration What do you want from me? A really weird English word to get your sensitization?

Fine here it goes - floccinaucinihilipilification.

What even is its pronunciation?

I wouldn’t know because of your misinformation Please have patience, We will have this test in good time, don’t be a Satan.

Congratulations For making our time wasted.

“I need your documentation”, The airport security will say as I leave, because of this test, in utter frustration My heart is racing From this endless difficult test situation We need to have an investigation On this system. I will make a dissuasion To convince you why on this fateful occasion We do not deserve to be tested on these calculations.

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Right to Bear Arms Sarali Cohen Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Emptiness Jojo Aini Emptiness The feeling of sheer nothingness Of utter vacancy Lingers inside It subtly nags at you Slowly sucks you in Until you join it Until you disappear Why do you exist?

If only to fade away Where is your purpose.

Fine?

Marsha Zakay It is getting harder To finally realize That I am not fine

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Behind the Curtain Sylvia Ashkenazie Paper Structure, Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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My Dear Father Jared Sutton O’ my dear father you will be missed I feel lost and can’t find my way back You left and I don’t know why I think of you in day I think of you in night But still I feel empty So I ask father, why did you leave ?

Now all we have are memories But they aren’t like you father They wither with time but you never did And so I hope God has you in his keeping.

Because your picture frame will soon be gone I’m sorry, father, but it pains me too much So I ask again father, why did you leave

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Trigonometry Trigger Sondra Bukobza Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Drowning in the Ocean Jojo Aini Holding your breath to keep the water from penetrating your lungs.

The sound of waves crashing above you begins to diminish as you sink further down.

Panic explodes inside your brain knowing this is the last sight you will ever see.

A million thoughts flood into your brain.

The most frightful being, “Why do I deserve this?�

You flail underneath the violent waves But are unable to propel yourself towards the ball of light slowly disappearing from sight.

Unable to suppress the ever-increasing urge, your body breathes in the liquid that surrounds you Your killer burns deep inside your chest and you hate it.

You abhor water for keeping you alive all this time just to kill you in the end.

Suddenly you are filled with a divine sense of calming.

You realize the end of this life is only the start of a new, better one.

The Ocean wraps its arms around you and takes you in.

Falling deeper into the depths of the elixir of life you finally accept your fate.

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Planet Samantha Chabot Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Invisible Marsha Zakay Sometimes I wonder Do people notice me Or am I invisible A wall flower That everyone ignores Sometimes I wonder Am I a burden Unpleasant to look at Annoying to speak to Is that why I’m alone Or am I just insecure Sometimes I wonder Does anybody care About the girl in the shadows Hiding over there Or maybe I’m not there after all

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Fear Maggie Gammal Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Pain Yaron Sternberg From a young age, I dealt with such pains, I had a dream, to break free of my chains.

But as I grew older I learned one thing, There is nothing in this universe for me to offer or bring.

I began to write, Every day and night, To release the stress.

I was making progress.

I wrote about my parents, and how we might converse, But in reality, every third word is a curse.

I wrote about my siblings, our relationship lacking respect, In each and every fight, a parent we would reflect.

I wrote about friends that didn’t exist, Yet each of their names, I cut into my wrist.

So I am sick of being yelled at, mistreated, abused, I could do so much more if I wasn’t misused.

So now when I walk, I put on a smile, In my talk, there is no special style.

I have conformed, so no one will know.

The hidden truth I refuse to show.

If they found out, my life would be worse, So I simply stand in place, while I survive with remorse.

So I remain average, utterly complacent.

I am a dead seed, great trees are adjacent.

Your biggest flaw, Was that you never saw, My jokes are to cope, My smile holds fake hope.

Under the surface of a regular child, Was a good little kid left in the dangerous wild.

I put on a mask, Then gulp the poison flask.

All will be alarmed, Upset that I self harmed.

But the truest truth is, There is nothing in this world I will miss.

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Endurance Rose Sternberg He’s left me I no longer know what to do He was the light that led me He kindled me, heaps of ashes that I was, Into fire But now that flame has burnt out And I don’t know where to go I try to find a way to live without you Or to live for you To be your heart when yours is finished beating I try to move on Knowing you would want me to It feels unbearable But I must bear it We must endure what’s unbearable and bear it Because we must go on We can’t give up I can never give up And while I cannot imagine a life That does not have you in it Or enjoying a life that you are not a part of Because we rise and fall together And yet you are not here to accompany me on the journey You are not here to show the way And see my better self in the eyes of one who loves me It’s unfair that you’re gone The good suffer For you have done so much good Saved so many lives And yet you’ve felt so much pain You were a hero You were meant to live Because we still need you And heroes endure because we need them

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The evil flourish And no one is here to stop them Because you are gone And no one else has the courage To endure the suffering You taught me to fight that evil Taught me there is more to living than not dying Showed me life through your beautiful bright eyes Showed the joy of meeting And the sorrow of parting as well Because in each there is some of the other But now there is only sorrow Because all that is mortal passes away And now I stand before you brother Saying my final goodbye Feeling as though I am missing a part of myself But I’m not I’m alone Because wherever we are we are as one So I say my goodbyes for now Knowing that I will see you again And that’s what matters That’s what is getting me through this life Knowing that we will be reunited in the next So for now my brother Hail and Farewell

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Smooth Sailing Gabrielle Sharaby Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Small Understandings Suzy Mosseri I understand where I stand now Not in your sights or anyone else’s Somewhere where I don’t want to be But it’s your words Your actions That have put me here So here I shall be Just the hollow shell With no will And no hope

The Psychiatric Ward Jack H. Dweck Years of isolation ‘I ain’t mad’ He lied to himself They visited every week Years of sorrow ‘I gotta go’ He pulled the trigger They were coming Years of pain ‘No more hell’ He lay without quivering He didn’t see Their faces

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Words Hurt Rachel Shasho Resourced Images, Photoshop

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The Relief to Pain Jane Zakay Affliction runs through blood of those in grief Impulse runs foul, a want wholly for gin.

A clot of misery develops skin It throbs in agony, tears for relief No pressure is found; its life was so brief The bones had been very brittle, so thin It shall never begin to bare a grin The darkness below shows death in tea leaf Your intuition deceitfully weak For now, all good possessed has gone oblique

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Time for Pi Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel

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Wings Yaron Sternberg God created man He lent him a pair of wings An opportunity to try and join him in the heavens Man wanted to join his creator So he jumped, but it could not be enough The inability only made him want it more So he began to starve himself But his legs grew weak He ate again He shaved and extracted his nails Though the difference was infinitesimal The child felt he was closer to his father But as he looked up, he became aware of just how far away he was In a moment of anguish, he looked to his wings He held them in his hands Felt their weight With certainty, he sunk his teeth into these wings And tore them right off His legs were in shape, but not too heavy in muscle With a running start, he prepared to jump His leap had never been so high He looked up The worst possible pain At his peak, he was inches away His full potential was simply inadequate He fell back down to the ground and waited But his wings did not grow again Thus, man gave up on reaching his creator

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Statue Nava Saad Pencil

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Chameleon Estelle Saad I used to be a chameleon- to those I was comfortable with, I showed my true colors, my insight and outgoing personality; but with mere acquaintances and strangers I faded into the background. I used to live in fear that everything I did was being scrutinized. I was so concerned about the tyranny of the masses that I allowed it to take control of my every move. It took a lot of strength to overcome the emotional insecurity rooted in my deep sensitivity.

I have a lot to say, yet often I held my tongue. I was too timid, and thought I could never fare well in an argument because of the bad experiences I had. I stuttered whenever I spoke, overwrought that I would say something vapid. I was determined to get over this problem, so in tenth grade, I took a public speaking course. I remember getting up, shaking, to deliver a speech to my class about (ironically) communicating with strangers. My cue cards were damp from my sweating palms and my heart was knocking frantically against my chest. I looked up slowly, fearfully, uncomfortably, and saw everyone’s eyes on me. I understood then that I should relax and simply try to appear as confident as possible, to leave a positive impression on those who were judging me anyway. I took a deep breath and then another and began to speak, and I actually enjoyed myself. By the end of the class, my audience voted me the winner of “The Breakthrough Award.�

This was just the beginning, and I began looking for other outlets for my newfound speaking interest. I applied, was accepted and proudly joined a program called Witness Theater, which is a small group of senior students that meets weekly with Holocaust survivors to hear their stories, to script their ideas and to perform in a play based on their harrowing experiences. I was not sure I belonged because of my difficulty with small talk, not to mention performing in a play. At the first session I soon realized that many of the survivors were as nervous as I was, and that I had an opportunity to make them feel at ease. I confidently walked up to an elderly lady and introduced myself.

With every meeting I became more comfortable and vocal. Now, I am flourishing in the program, learning so much from how others speak about the darkness they faced and the light they followed.

I have worked hard to be more confident and less concerned about what others think.

I now comfortably speak in front of others, happily and freely expressing my opinions. I take joy and pride in communicating effectively, and it has come to bring me a sense of joie de vivre.

Now that my voice has been unleashed, I plan to become a voice for those who are still too shy to speak.

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Through the Looking Glass Fernanda Mosseri Canon Rebel

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Dear Leader Shlomie Katash Dear Leader, Do you care about those you rule over, Or are only your own needs important?

Do you care that people don’t agree with you, Or do you decide what’s right and wrong?

Do you care that people despise you, Or are they worthless to you?

My leader, no matter what you believe, The people all have needs you must fulfill.

My leader, no matter what you do, The people will always resist you.

My leader, no matter what you falsely proclaim, The people will never believe you.

No matter how great he may be No matter how powerful he may be No matter how rich he may be A leader is nothing without his people.

Departure Noam Weinstock Stay here my friend For if you leave I’ll be a lone mourner Waiting to grieve.

Stay here my friend For when you are gone I’ll be the conductor Without his baton.

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Erase Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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The Writer Within Diana Hoffstein It is painful to bear an untold story within you. As the only girl after three boisterous brothers, my stories were often left untold. This conditioned me to be cautious as my brothers led me to believe that my opinions were invalid.

For as long as I can remember, my voice has been drowned out by the noise of my family members around the dinner table. One night when I was about eight, I was so frustrated with not being acknowledged that I decided to write everything down. I needed to find some way to be heard beyond the deafening loudness. As soon as I put my pen on the page, my voice flowed through the ink.

A simple journal entry started my journey. At first, I remained quiet and shy and would find myself hiding behind my writing. However, as I started writing more creatively, my voice became an echo of who I was becoming. While a lot of the girls around me were choreographing their steps, I was choreographing my words. As I grew into myself, my writing grew along with me.

By the time I reached high school, I stopped using writing as a shield and started using it as an instrument. The thing about writing is that once you put it down in ink, it’s permanent. People can forget what you say but written words last forever and I wanted to have my words to be everlasting. I begged the school newspaper advisor to let me join the paper even though I was a grade younger than most of the staff. When he finally said yes, I was ecstatic but also nervous. I had jitters writing my very first article, but once I saw my own words published, I felt a sense of pride.

Writing and sharing my words boosted my confidence in my own opinions. My family seemed to notice. Perhaps it was the way I now carried myself. Suddenly, when my brothers discussed politics or current events, they started asking for my opinion. I had earned their respect through my reading and writing. The positive change in how they interacted with me further enhanced a self-assurance that I never knew I possessed.

Writing has taught me not only self-expression, but also how to connect with others.

This year I am participating in a program called Witness Theater. Every Wednesday a select group of seniors meet with Holocaust survivors and share the stories that make us who we are. The people in charge of the program have made it a rule to write a weekly blog about our Wednesday experiences. Something that started as a short summary of events flourished into a series of poems. These poems and journal entries will become the basis of the script that we use at an end of the year performance. Writing in this case is connecting me to the stories of the past. One of my brothers is a writer and our shared passion for literature and the written word has forged a unique bond between us. We may not have much in common and have a significant eight year age gap, but discussing novels, articles, writing styles, and authors has made us closer.

I now make it a point to have my voice heard; all I had to do was pick up a pen and write, and I relish the blank pages ahead.

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Reflections I Sarah Sasson Paint

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This or That Florence Deutsch The weight is too much to bear, it lays upon my shoulders, I feel as though I am seeing through a fog, all so unclear.

My heart zig-zags across my chest, Rising and falling, Rising and falling.

My mouth becomes the Sahara, I feel the grittiness of the decision, I swallow and try to regain my composure.

Thoroughly weighing each option, Each decision, It’s on a scale.

The options dance around my mind’s eye, Already envisioning reactions, Eyes of Amber and Charcoal laugh.

What should I get?

This or That.

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Being a Tangerine Again Esther Levy My mom used to say you could go there too Follow what I’ve been running from my whole life? No thanks.

I think, she’s having trouble remembering I’m a different hue.

Most of my life I’ve been thinking of the ranks The triangle. The hierarchy.

It all continuously clanks.

So when I decide to answer, putting aside my fight against the patriarchy—I’m snarky Claiming I’d rather eat kale than bother going there, She says, I’m full of malarkey.

When I think of Rory Gilmore—I sharply inhale, Since my feelings of longing are nothing I want to broadcast.

But, I’ll still find myself thinking about that ship that has sailed…

I thought I could plan out my life in contrast.

Do the different. Be the polar opposite. Claim the other.

But any small form of introspection leaves me feeling aghast.

I’m still trying to discover, to uncover, to rediscover Who I am when she’s not there. Who I am when I’m just me.

When I’m through with being in a cast.

When I’m still on that boat, when I’m floating in the sea.

With the wind and the water—It’s hard to see the colors.

And the salt water just makes a tangerine look less than savory.

This is a mistake of so many mothers Similarities are often mistaken for sameness It’s hard to not make one feel so much like part of a category of “others.”

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My mom is like a waitress It’s easy to see she’s trying so hard to help But it’s hard for me to go on nameless I’m not just the smaller fruit on the shelf I shouldn’t have to feel like I have to feel like I’m in between I know that I’m comfortable being my tangerine self.

We toured that school when I was sixteen And now it’s easy for me to glean why I was so cross I mean, I too sometimes get fascinated by things like guanine.

But everyone is sorted. Some are green algae. Some are moss.

Here or there. There’s no middle.

I can’t help feeling at a loss.

So I grab a pen and begin to scribble The urgency of it all is frightening But at least I know that I can’t dribble All my writing and writing seems to prove enlightening I finish my journal. I’m no longer a machine.

Gotta continue with my metaphorical teeth whitening.

I’m a tangerine.

I could care less about alkene.

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The Lion King Deborah Coopersmith Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Growing up Amanda Heskiel Had I been a good daughter? Had I made my mother proud? Had I taken her lessons to heart? These were the questions running through my mind as I sat home worried and alone on that evening three years ago.

My mother had been rushed to the hospital suffering shortness of breath. Diagnosed with a life-threatening blood clot that was reaching her heart, she was taken immediately for open-heart surgery. With each agonizing moment my terror grew with the realization that my life might be about to change forever.

However, in the chaos of fear, I realized that I was not only afraid for myself and for my mother. My thoughts had extended out beyond my own needs to the others in my life: my sisters; how would they handle this? How would I care for their needs if the situation worsened? Who would cheer up the children with cancer in the hospital, if not my mother?

In that moment I knew that yes, I had been a good daughter. I had internalized my mother’s lesson that a good life meant extending the circle of caring beyond my own needs.

That was when I bargained with God. My mother’s work was far from done and mine was only beginning. We both needed the blessing of time. Until that moment, like most kids my age, I had found it easy to run through life without pausing to think about what that life meant. My mother’s plight woke me out of this daze. Living was doing. No longer would I allow insecurities to dictate my actions or the desire for perfection to stop me from trying. As Ben Franklin famously said, “Well done is better than well said.”

As my mother healed, my commitments grew. Determined to make my mother proud and my own life count, I threw myself into action, committed to being a force for good and a catalyst for change, and in the process

my own life is enriched.

Making a difference began with volunteering at Students with Disabilities. Singing and dancing with children, bringing fun into lives that are challenging, has taught me about perseverance. Working with a charity called Zichron Menachem, I donate my own hair to children who’ve lost their hair to cancer and recruit others to do the same, in the process learning about the true meaning of beauty. “Cooking for a Cause,” allows me not only to help feed others but also reminds me to be grateful for what I have. With each new service I perform in my community, I am paying it forward, reminded that life is precious, joy is contagious and each person I encounter has something to teach.

Determined to spread the circle of caring has meant developing my leadership skills so that I may inspire others to do. Heading several school clubs, I am able to motivate others to excel. As President of the Political Activism Club, I inspire students who believe their voices don’t count. After our student ambassadors returned from a trip to Washington to lobby Representatives, the sense of empowerment and purpose was contagious.

As my joy for doing grows and my fear of failure diminishes, I even took the plunge outside of school and community groups and into the business world - managing strategic relationships and designing projects as Chief Relations Officer of a technology startup.

Over the past three years, growing up has meant growing out, extending myself beyond my comfort areas. I have embraced the fact that I don’t have to be perfect to make a difference. Even being perfectly imperfect, when I make the lives of others better then I am indeed becoming the daughter who makes my mother proud.

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Survivors Nava Saad Acrylic Paint

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Reflections II Sarah Sasson Paint

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Reappearance Dorette Dayan I had lost the sound.

Not feeling its disappearance.

I spent that time confound.

Then suddenly- a reappearance.

My insides no longer felt like an abyss.

Instantly kicked in my adherence.

I began to reminisce Thanks to the angelic voice I heard before, Which brought me back to bliss.

The voice was mesmerizing.

It took only a mere hum For me to begin realizing.

I remember the drum, I remember the song.

Now I can see the person I’ve become.

I feel like Louis Armstrong.

I, once again, feel like I belong

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Superpower Yaron Sternberg I am so sick of my superpower, I never asked for it, and am destroyed when people pray for it, as if it could bring good, as if my struggle were some kind of ideal or blessing; I just want to be heard, to be seen, to be felt, to gain the same tangible humanity everyone else experiences: a sense of being normal; I walk amongst you, breathe your air, speak your language, yet you mock my existence, playing God although I know you are just as mortal as I am; I cry for this crime of murder, silent, and unnoticed, as the criminal no longer feels guilt from the crime he has committed again and again, as the bystanders watch silently without shame, as if it were justified;

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I am in so much pain from a daily realization that things will not improve, but there is no silver lining, as the world is unfair, and will leave behind those who do not catch up; I exist yet I do not, a paradox for my fellow rhetoric admirers, or a sick call for my sports fans, depressing comedy for my comedian brothers, please, anyone, let me join you; I will remain invisible but not accept my fate, because I will be remembered for something, the last thing I dothe next day at his funeral every student, and teacher, recalled the classes they had with the boy, the place he sat, his looks, even the pitch of his voice, as if a spell had been broken, and his superpower finally lost.

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Faces Fernanda Mosseri IPhone Image, Photoshop

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You’ll Find It Under the Hat Isaac Levi It was that feeling you get speeding down on a roller coaster – the kind where your heart drops down into your gut and your lungs cramp up. The saleswoman said it looked good on me, that the color did wonders for my pale complexion, and my heart kind of agreed with her, even though I didn’t want it to. I didn’t really want to have to always cover my head, I didn’t want to be ashamed of myself; it was suffocating. So my mom bought four more colors in the same style, and she kissed me and said that they would help and they would cover what made me different. I could feel like just anyone else, and my Alopecia would be tightly tucked under my hat.

I’m eighteen now and I understand that I look different, and I understand that being different comes with a price. I was diagnosed with the autoimmune disease when I was around ten years old, and was also told I had the worse of the two types. The big term the doctors used –Alopecia Universalis – was eating the hair off of my arms, legs, nose, eyelashes, and eyebrows. Luckily, I had a couple of good friends who stuck by me as I slowly shed my hair, but other kids at school took their opportunity, and I quickly became the archetypal reject that I often watched suffer on big-screens. Mean Girls, Carrie, Beauty and the Beast; from the time I was five I had been watching discrimination as a pastime and never once acknowledged how wrong it was. It was always someone else, so it never hit home – until I was in Gretchen’s shoes, was numbed with Carrie’s fear, and I became a beast.

For a very long time, I suffocated my difference. I wore long sleeves, long pants, and always made sure to cover my head all the way past my eyebrows– or lack thereof. The four colors my mom had bought me in the hat store turned to twenty. If I couldn’t take pride in showing off my differences, I at least could find some happiness in how I concealed it, right? I asked myself that question every single time I covered myself. I wish I could say that there was a single defining moment that helped me realize that what I was doing was wrong, because I want to know why I finally began to appreciate differences and celebrate diversity.

Usually, hat-wearers come to realize how difficult the upkeep can be, or how important it is to not cultivate eternal “hat hair”. My time eating, sleeping, and living under the constraints of my hat was the lowest part of my life, but it helped me realize that my efforts to hide made me stick out like a sore thumb, and called hordes of attention to my insecurity. Differences are what make a person unique, and such deviations do not only come in the four colors of race, gender, religion and ethnicity. Diversity pours through my preference for corny jokes, how long I can remain optimistic, the flavors and spices I prefer on my steak, and my time wearing my hat. Today, I love my hat; it is an expression of who I am, and I wear it to showcase the selflove and acceptance I have managed to grow. Today, I love all hats, whether they be scarves, gloves, long pants or brick walls. Like a lost toy, you can find diversity everywhere – just look under the hat.

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Beads Madelyne Deutsch Photoshop

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College and Confidence Naomi Sanders Entering ninth grade had its usual challenges – more classes, higher expectations, new classmates – but my experience included unusual ones as well. Not only had I just grown out of that awkward chubby stage, but also I was the principal’s granddaughter and I felt that other students were judging me unfairly or assuming that they couldn’t trust me because of her position. Social anxiety dominated my psyche and hindered my ability to appreciate who I was. Eventually I made friends, but self-critical thoughts would still seep into my mind without my noticing.

On the outside, I projected a confident persona, but I needed others to believe in me before I could believe in myself. I thought I had everyone fooled when I joined the school play and choir, and dressed in trendier clothes. In reality, I never felt like I was good enough and dismissed friends’ and teachers’ words of praise. I felt that I wasn’t beautiful, talented or loveable, and I used others’ opinions to guide and validate my actions. I didn’t know how to feel truly happy, so I tried to be the person that someone else could want and love.

There came a point during my sophomore year when I noticed the power my thoughts had over me. I was on the phone with a friend when I made a self-deprecating joke; instead of laughing at my insecurities with me, my friend firmly told me that she was tired of hearing me put myself down and hung up. I spent a lot of time reflecting and asking myself why I felt the need to belittle myself instead of choosing to see my own value.

It took a lot of effort to change the way I thought; I would try to catch myself in a negative thought process, stop it, and reframe it in a positive way.

As my outlook shifted, I gained the confidence to step out of my comfort zone. I joined the gymnastics team as a junior, having no athletic skills

whatsoever. Working out improved my body image, even in a leotard that showed every curve. My positive attitude only grew because I enjoyed what I was doing and was achieving my goals. I was chosen as co-captain of the team due to my enthusiasm and resilience, and became captain this year.

After practice, I often heard my teammates claim that they looked so fat in their uniform or that they were so ugly they would never get a boyfriend. It was all too familiar. Statements like those perpetrated a destructive logic, the same logic that had previously held me back from seeing my worth. I tried to reason with one of the girls and she said, “You’re not going to get me to change my mind.”

A few months later, I created the Wellness Commission, in an effort to reach students, like my friend, who need a little help learning to love themselves. We meet bi-weekly to discuss body image, confidence, self-exploration, self-love, stress, depression and staying healthy. We also speak on a group chat and send photos, videos, and messages in relation to that week’s topic. I try to influence the members to broaden their perspective on issues or situations. I also have learned from my peers that positivity is contagious and that having the right mindset and support empowers you.

It has become a mission of mine to make sure that no one goes through these challenges alone. One of the most valuable compliments I’ve ever received was when a friend told me that since he met me, he’s become more positive. I remember it as the moment I understood that I was powerful and could inspire and influence the people around me to recognize and appreciate their individuality.

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What is a Flower? Deborah Coopersmith Paper Structure, Canon Rebel, Photshop

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The Soul is Lost Ralph Sarway A person is gone When a soul is lost Many cry Some say It is the end I say it is a new beginning

Hope Marielle Mamiye I would come home, sad and depressed and my father would tell me not to be in a rut If you are alive there is hope for a better day the life you are living is always worth breathing if there is nothing good left in the destiny of a person he or she will die that is hard to believe, I exclaimed I know it is said my father but hope is my way of life and it should be yours too.

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The Eyes of an Optimist Aida Hasson Canon Rebel

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Wearing a Mask of My Own Skin Ms. Mayer Sometimes I feel like Alice I don’t know who I am I barely know my name When I close my eyes my face is a blur I’ve lost my sense of identity I’d retrace my steps but I’m not sure I’ve ever found it Are you always the same person or does your identity bend and shape along with the sun and the wind?

If the answer is the former what is it about me that makes me ME Is it something inside that even I cannot see?

If who I am changes with every passing season how can I trust my own thoughts or voice?

I say I hate fakers but now I’ve become one pretending to be me.

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‫בית הספר התיכון של הישיבה דפלטבוש על שם מר יואל ברברמן‬

‫‪Yeshivah of Flatbush Joel Braverman High School‬‬