Pegasus 2018

SENSES

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Sense of the Souls Sarah Cohen Screen Printing II

Pegasus 2018 · Senses

PEGASUS 2 0 1 8 Literature and Art Magazine

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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Perseverance Eli Feldman Canon Rebel T6, Photoshop

Rabbi Dr. Raymond Harari Head of School

Rabbi Joseph Beyda Principal

Sari Bacon Associate Principal

Esther Hidary Assistant Principal | Director of Admissions

Rabbi Craig Lubner Assistant Principal

David Galpert Assistant Administrator

Rabbi Dr. David Eliach Principal Emeritus

Mr. Robert Frastai President Jaclyn Pahuskin English Faculty Pegasus Advisor Carolina Cohen Arts Faculty / Design Jason Novetsky Arts Faculty

Mica Bloom English Department Chairperson

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Dedication Ms. Elaine Agassi

Ms. Agassi, It is impossible to spend a year in Flatbush and not learn something from you.

Your involvement in the English department is integral to our learning and your commitment is endlessly inspiring. Students both in and out of your classes feel free to share their writings, as you open your arms to any and all who share your passion for learning.

Seniors turn to you for guidance with their college essays; regardless of your workload, we can always trust you to never turn us down.

You wake up early, but manage to glide up four flights of stairs, while your students break a sweat walking across the hall. We feel your energy as you move around the room while teaching; your outstretched arm and attitude always seem to be elevated. You reply to emails within minutes at all hours and sacrifice your own free time preparing classes that will engage all your students and their unique interests.

A Renaissance woman, a member of the English department and sole representative of the Art History department, you teach us to have vision in searching for truth and meaning, be it the color of the shades, or the picture in the background.

For all that you do, for who you are, we are eternally grateful.

Pegasus Staff 2018

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

sight

sound

Writing 3 5 5 9 11 15 19 23 25 25 29 33 35 37 37 39 41

A Seed Fell from the Tree / Mickey Shamah Poetry Light / Sheila Levy Poetry The Beauty in Me / Shelley Shamah Poetry Dear Books / Marcelle Sasson Poetry Dear Dad / Sammy Levy Poetry Definitions / Isaac Sutton Poetry A Reader’s Sentiment / Fortune Manopla Essay Dream on / Sharon Chappan Poetry Remorse / Isaac Tawil Poetry When Night Falls / Sylvia Ashkenazie Poetry Shipwreck Sonnet / Sharon Chappan Poetry Look / Chen Menashe Poetry Defective / Rose Sternberg Poetry Ode to Eyes / Raquel Oved Poetry Sleeping / Michael Oved Poetry The World is Always Falling Apart / Brenda Tawil Poetry Still I’ll Smile / Rose Fuchs Poetry

Writing 45 47 49 50 53 55 55 59 62 65 69 69 71 75 77 78 81

Art 2 4 6 7 8 10 12 13 14 16 17 18 20 21 22 24 24 26 27 28 28 30 31 32 34 36 38 40 VI

Self Portrait / Cammi Cohen Shattered Witness / Rose Sternberg Spirals / Avi Mikhli Broken / Betty Greenberg Heritage / Cammi Cohen Enchanted / Margo Dayan Don’t be a Bystander / Becky Warren Paper Tiger / Claire Lessler Confused / Arlette Gindi Spillage / Brenda Tawil Still Life / Nava Saad Road Trip / Joshua Idy What’s in my Bag / Nava Saad Seeing Blind / Eli Feldman Bubbly Angel / Michelle Dweck Lights / Dorette Dayan Under the Sea / Dorette Dayan Zeus / Nava Saad Untitled / Nava Saad Classic / Rachel Wolf Bubble Build / Rachel Wolf Walk of Honor / Dorette Dayan Initials / Cammi Cohen Ready, Aim, Fire! / David Saad Shoot / Shelley Shamah Refinery / Allie Saad Comic / Ezra Abramson The Apple of My Eye / Abe Chetrit

Pegasus 2018 · Senses

Alexa! / Samuel Gersh Poetry A Song / Aida Hasson Poetry Thanks / Sarah Cheney Poetry Lessons from You / Aida Hasson Poetry College Essay / Daliah Ben-Ari Essay Drama / Josie Zami Poetry The Beat of a Ball / Ikey Tawil Poetry Running / Danielle Duchan Poetry Time / Michael Oved Poetry College Essay / Rachel Wolf Essay Everything Has Changed / Yael Frechter Poetry Fake Love / Yigal Laham Poetry The Power of Words / Judy Mizrachi Poetry A Biased & Murky Explanation / Brenda Tawil Poetry The Voices / Etty Jajati Poetry Processing the Unfathomable / Jacqueline Mizrachi Poetry Uniting with the Past Sylvia Ashkenazie Poetry Art

44 46 48 52 54 56 57 58 60 61 64 66 67 68 70 72 73 74 76 80

Motion / Arlette Gindi Guitar / Dorette Dayan Beats of New York / Danielle Mehani Emphasis / Cammi Cohen Texture / Dorette Dayan Crisis / Solomon Mandalaoui Grenada / Rachel Wolf Wavy Blues / Michelle Dweck Words Hurt / Shelley Shamah Faces / Claire Lessler Pots and Pans / Cammi Cohen Words of Mouth / Jack Bibi Hate / Jacob Bailey JFK / Noam Weinstock Bruno / Margo Dayan Not Yet / Joshua Idy Sleeping Beauty / Rachel Kamkhehji Ebb and Flow / Shelley Shamah Jazz / Joshua Idy For the Win / Shelley Shamah

smell

taste

Writing 85 A Pen Is a Time Machine / Sharon Chappan Essay 87 Bad Day / Ruth Dwek Poetry 87 If There Was No Food / Yigal Laham Poetry 89 College Essay / Sarah Tessone Essay 91 Formation / Sylvia Ashkenazie Poetry 92 Don’t Hold Back / Aida Hasson Poetry 97 Lost Without You / Yael Frechter Poetry 98 Into the War / Linda Warren Short Story 101 Teachers / Michael Linder Poetry 103 Hiding in the Bathroom / Aida Hasson Poetry 105 Our Journey / Liad Darmoni Poetry 107 The Hurricane / Sammy Levy Poetry 109 The Speed of Life / Shelley Shamah Poetry 110 The Power of a Story / Sharon Chappan Poetry 113 Sneakers / Charles Haddad Poetry Art 84 Pop Culture / Nancy Ades 86 Polish / Rachel Wolf 88 See the Light / Rachel Wolf 90 Fall / Rafi Nemet 94 Head Beyond the Clouds / Shelley Shamah 95 Blue / Nancy Ades 96 Sky High / Dorette Dayan 100 Fresh as a Daisy / Shelley Shamah 102 When Imagination Takes Hold / Eli Feldman 104 Dripping / Allie Saad 106 Football Season / Soly Ishak 108 Gather, While Ye May / Brenda Tawil 112 Psychedelic Inferno / Brenda Tawil 114 Head to Toe / Sherry Oskar 115 Lion / Shelley Shamah

Writing 119 121 122 125 126 129 131 135 137 141 143

Dear Rain / Jennifer Salzman Poetry My Sun / Ruth Dwek Poetry Rags to Riches / Isaac Sutton Short Story To All the Haters / Priscilla Baranoff Poetry Road to Nowhere / Judy Tawil Short Story The Question / Robert Adler Poetry Sonnet V / Brenda Tawil Poetry Why’d You Leave / Raquel Oved Poetry The Ark of Return / Sylvia Ashkenazie Essay Beauty and Her Books / Sylvia Ashkenazie Essay Time / Michael Linder Poetry Art

118 120 124 124 128 130 132 133 134 136 138 139 140 142 143

Warhol / Brenda Tawil Waterboy / Sarah Cohen Farmers Market / Arlette Gindi Burn / Arlette Gindi Vegan / Brenda Tawil New York, New York / Rafi Nemet Ice Cream / Cammi Cohen Breakfast / Sarah Gammal Morasha / Brenda Tawil Center of the Arts / Rachel Wolf Sushi Sequence / Cammi Cohen Fragility / Nancy Ades Inside the Kin / Rachel Wolf Summertime Bliss / Judy Mizrachi Lunch / Kayla Motovich

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touch Writing 147 149 151 153 154 159 161 165 169 173 173 177

A Love Story / Priscilla Baranoff Poetry College Essay / Aida Hasson Essay Diamond / Sophie Bailey Poetry Dreams / Simon Ftiha Poetry College Essay / Sara Sultan Essay Found Love / Ruth Dwek Poetry Perseverance / Rochelle Hafif Poetry Muppets / Danielle Duchan Poetry The Luxurious Life of a Shoe / Yael Frechter Poetry Gone / Ruth Dwek Poetry Nonconsensual / Joseph Gindi Poetry Vera / Aida Hasson Poetry Art

146 148 150 152 156 157 158 160 162 163 164 166 167 168 170 171 172 174 175 176 178

Paper Spring / Roberta Dweck Penguin Soft / Mareille Mamiye Metamorphosis / Shelley Shamah Infinity / Arlette Gindi At Your Fingertips / Sonia Bakst Resistance / Dorette Dayan Energy / Shelley Shamah Fear / Rachel Wolf Peace / Rachel Wolf Blue Ballerina / Frieda Cohen Glamour / Nancy Ades Touch? / Eli Feldman Ripe / Eli Feldman Let Go / Shelley Shamah Fear of Being Alone / Vicky Zeitoune Fragonard’s 21st Century / Brenda Tawil Buttons / Nancy Ades Santorini’s Falling Donkeys / Rachel Wolf I Can’t Reach You Anymore / Margo Dayan Texture / Cammi Cohen A Million Dreams / Claire Lessler

Next page From top to bottom

Lines Albert Hamoui Illustrator

Shattered Shelley Shamah Pencil

Asymmetry Abe Chetrit Paper Sculpture, Photoshop

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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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From top to bottom

Exploration Esther Hidary Illustrator

Bart Claire Lessler Acrylic on canvas

Asymmetry Frieda Abettan Paper Sculpture, Photoshop

Monkey Business Becky Warren Illustrator

Asymmetry Arlyne Stein Paper Sculpture, Photoshop

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Senses · Explanation of Theme Humankind generally is held to both the highest and the lowest of standards, often with blatant disregard to the fact that we are, after all, only human. We are composed of senses that influence our decisions; specifically, sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. We crave tangible rewards and physical gratification, or that which is pleasing to the senses: the sweet melodies of our favorite songs, the touch of a soft blanket, the view of a sprawl of nature’s glory, the rush of endorphins with a bite of chocolate, or petrichor, the pleasant, earthly smell post-rain. These desires, though not necessarily noble, brighten the world up a bit, and enhance our lives in a superficial way that emotions cannot reach.

But sound is not only what you hear. Taste isn’t only what you eat, and smell is not only an odor. Sight is glancing, skimming the surface, and also a ferocious glare and a probing gaze. You can get a taste of something, be it sweet, salty, sour, or bitter, and you also can get a genuine feel for it; scent is an abstraction of something that lingers; we need ears that oftentimes are distracted by noise, yet those humbling reminders paired with the echoing voices in our heads bring a balance and equilibrium to our lives, biologically and otherwise.

Gandhi said, “Sense perceptions can be and often are false and deceptive, however real they may appear to us.” Pegasus 2018 invites you challenge this statement, to explore it for yourself in the following pages, to refute it or to resign to it, but to do so honestly. We sometimes champion ignorance’s bliss; we allow ourselves to be fooled. We forget that we can feel around and conquer. We sometimes neglect the ceaseless search for truth in the universe, be it religious or moral or any other pillar of the world. We use our five senses to make what we can of our lives.

Since the beginning of time, legends tell of a sixth sense: a “second sight,” or intuition. It’s the gut feeling that you can’t explain, and it’s everywhere.

This book has only five chapters, one for each of the senses accepted into the scientific canon. And yet, the sixth sense is present in all of them. Creativity has a mystical, ethereal element to it; a piece of writing or art has a spirit that transcends the realm of the physical. All of these components combined, in spite of all our faults and shortcomings, allow us to produce our own little miracles, proving ourselves capable of wondrous achievements.

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Fear Teri Franco Resourced Images, Photoshop

Philosophy of Publication/Colophon Jaclyn Pahuskin 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 2018 was printed by Advanced Copy Center on Avenue J in Brooklyn, NY. The 178 page, 7.25”x9” book was printed on 70# laser paper. The cover was printed on 100# gloss coated cover stock. Pegasus 2018 was created using Adobe InDesign CC 2018.

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

There were 160 copies printed and distributed to the contributors and their families, the high school Administration, English and Arts departments, the Executive office of the Yeshivah and lay leaders. Additional copies were available in the school library for other faculty and students.

Thank you to all the contributors this year.

To participate in next year’s publication, please email Pegasus@flatbush.org or see Ms. Pahuskin in room 202, Ms. Cohen in room 205 or Mr. Novetsky in the Art Room to get involved.

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Contributors Editors Louise Anteby Cammi Cohen Sarah Dagmy Nava Saad Brenda Tawil Writers Robert Adler Sylvia Ashkenazie Priscilla Baranoff Sophie Bailey Daliah Ben-Ari Sharon Chappan Sarah Cheney Liad Darmoni Danielle Duchan Ruth Dwek Yael Frechter Simon Ftiha Rose Fuchs Samuel Gersh Joseph Gindi Charles Haddad Rochelle Hafif Aida Hasson Etty Jajati Yigal Laham Sammy Levy Sheila Levy Michael Linder Fortune Manopla Chen Menashe

Judy Mizrachi Jacqueline Mizrachi Michael Oved Raquel Oved Jennifer Salzman Marcelle Sasson Mickey Shamah Shelley Shamah Rose Sternberg Sara Sultan Isaac Sutton Brenda Tawil Ikey Tawil Isaac Tawil Judy Tawil Sarah Tessone Linda Warren Rachel Wolf Josie Zami Artists Frieda Abettan Ezra Abramson Nancy Ades Jacob Bailey Sonia Bakst Jack Bibi Abe Chetrit Adina Cohen Cammi Cohen Frieda Cohen Sarah Cohen Sarah Dagmy Dorette Dayan

Margo Dayan Michelle Dweck Robert Dweck Eli Feldman Teri Franco Sarah Gammal Arlette Gindi Betty Greenberg Albert Hamoui Esther Hidary Joshua Idy Soly Ishak Arlyne Jemal Rachel Kamkhehji Claire Lessler Mareille Mamiye Solomon Mandalaoui Danielle Mehani Avi Mikhli Judy Mizrachi Rafi Nemet Sherry Oskar Allie Saad David Saad Nava Saad Shelley Shamah Arlyne Stein Rose Sternberg Brenda Tawil Becky Warren Noam Weinstock Rachel Wolf

Pirouette Adina Cohen Resourced Images, Illustrator

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sight

Sight Pegasus 2018 Jemal 1 To¡See Her Arlyne Illustrator

Self Portrait Cammi Cohen Acrylic Paint

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A Seed Fell From The Tree Mickey Shamah

A seed came down from a TreeI didn’t know what I sawIt fell on top of a patch of grass A bird tried to snatch it with its claw.

I saw Leaves cover the Seed- I thought it was Lost And unable to feed.

I came back one day, I thought it was all gone- But what I saw was unimaginable, A small plant emerged from the moist ground.

It began to bloom, beautiful, Engulfed by shriveled up leaves It resembled hope Something that I never had.

It was prospering, I couldn’t believe it, But something inside me realized That I was the same thing.

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Shattered Witness Rose Sternberg Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Light

Sheila Levy As night came near, Sky was crystal clear, One thing missing, Someone ever so dear.

Stars were sparkling, Wind was blowing, Trees were rustling, Darkness was arriving.

Within the darkness, one star shone, Ever so brightly, right through my home.

Follow the light Straight through the night, Never look back.

The Beauty in Me Shelley Shamah

Beauty is a funny thing They call your blonde hair perfect They call my soul beautiful

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Spirals Avi Mikhli Illustrator

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Broken Betty Greenberg Acrylic Paint

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Heritage Cammi Cohen Photoshop

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Dear Books

Marcelle Sasson Dear Books, You give knowledge And power when I’m feeling all alone Through the darkest times I live I know I have a home Through your white pages Covered in words that create images I know I can be anywhere, Do anything, Like running through a forest With a weapon I have used before Seeking food To survive the horrible life I live Or imagining a world Where you have magic And enemies Fighting for life or death So I thank you For my safe haven A place where no one knows I go To live my life how I dream it once was Long long ago

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Enchanted Margo Dayan

Acrylic Paint

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Dear Dad

Sammy Levy Dear Dad, I know that you’re still there, watching over me from all the way up, making sure I do everything right, but don’t worry; I’m still down here, looking at the stars through the misty car window, praying to see you just one more time-to say goodbye.

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Don’t be a Bystander Becky Warren

Photoshop

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Paper Tiger Claire Lessler

Gouache on paper

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Confused Arlette Gindi Canon Rebel

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Definitions

Isaac Sutton To be strong is not to have muscles but to have courage.

To be smart is not to be the most talkative in a conversation but to be the one who is sitting silently, making connections.

To be popular is not to be hanging out with the cool people but to hang out with the right people.

To be a good friend is not to be nice when you feel like it but to be genuine when you don’t.

To be a person of character is to do the things-the hard things-that everyone else won’t.

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Spillage Brenda Tawil IPhone

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Still Life Nava Saad

Acrylic Paint

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Road trip Joshua Idy

Canon Rebel

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A Reader’s Sentiment Fortune Manopla

My eyes peered over the edge of my book as I held it up in my hands. The class was wild, shouting and laughing loudly in frantic outbursts. I sat in the corner, deeply engrossed in George Orwell’s 1984, intrigued yet horrified by the society I was reading about. I couldn’t accept a world where thinking could be a crime, where history could be rewritten, where being part of a whole means sacrificing the individual completely. One of the most saddening parts of the dystopia was the lack of life’s pleasures love, freedom of speech, reading, chocolate.

Suddenly, my classmate ripped my book out of my hands and yelled “Why are you reading?” as utterly confused as if I were Winston, reading through Goldstein’s forbidden manifesto with a secret lover in my arms. I was still for a moment, wondering what just happened.

I watched my book get thrown around the room, passed from one set of hands to another. I stared silently as it got tossed into the trash can, retrieved, and thrown in again. After it suffered multiple more trips into the bin, I finally got my book back, tattered and smelling faintly of garbage.

I’ve always been a reader, and I often endure mocking comments about why I read voluntarily, but it was only after watching my book get thrown into the trash that I realized why I do. Reading is my way of escape and my means of connecting with people; it’s the way I block out grim thoughts yet keep myself thinking; it’s the way I learn how to empathize with others and understand myself. It’s the very paradox of reading that helps me navigate the world around me. My friend’s subtle aggression in that classroom became harmless compared to that of the thought police in 1984. When faced with tough decisions, I’m reminded of the power of choice in East of Eden, prompting me to ask myself, what would Lee do? And in times of sadness, sometimes we all just need to turn to the pages of Great Expectations to find a friend like Joe, ever present and ever faithful, waiting with open arms and a pot full of gravy to warm our wounded hearts.

I sat in that corner the whole time, watching the scene unfold, and oddly enough a smile spread across my face. It wasn’t because I knew my friends were, for the most part, only joking, which is true, but because they had no idea what their small act of harmless fun meant. To some extent it demonstrated the gap I’d always faced between the reader and the non-reader, each baffled by the ways of the other. But fresh off the pages of 1984, the whole ordeal was heightened, seeming as though it was a scene out of the book itself.

Suddenly a world where ignorance is preferred and knowledge is looked down upon didn’t seem so far away.

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What’s in My Bag Nava Saad Charcoal

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Seeing Blind Eli Feldman Photoshop

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Bubbly Angel Michelle Dweck IPhone, Photoshop

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Dream on

Sharon Chappan My head falls to the pillow and I’m gone When sleep takes over it seems better, I am in another world succeeding yawns A world where I can fly or touch the sky Tomorrow I wake up and my dreams are Put to the test. I’ll turn my fairytale To something that sets bars past shooting stars You can’t let dreams go stale when you prevail So dream on don’t stop wishing at the well As a beginner you are sure to fall You’ll feel compelled to step down, say farewell Keep dreaming and triumphant you’ll befall Do not stop at the sky; space has no end Intend to work if you wish to expand.

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Top: Lights - Bottom: Under the Sea Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel

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Remorse

Isaac Tawil The sun had left the valley, the hilltops were rosy, a pleasant shade had fallen.

Alone beneath the darkened sky with a heart sad and full of sorrow, he wept for what he had done.

When Night Falls Sylvia Ashkenazie

The words become a blur of Black lines and curves On a dusty white background As her eyes droop and the Sun sets behind her head To the terrible screeches of Fire truck sirens and Incessant horns of homebound cars.

His hands reach out to Catch the falling novel from her lap Before it thuds against the newly polished floors With a practiced skill like They’ve done each night And set it atop the table beside him Before gently wishing His love goodnight.

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Zeus Nava Saad Acrylic

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Untitled Nava Saad Acrylic

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Top: Classic Foam board and paper Bottom: Bubble Build Pencil Rachel Wolf

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Shipwreck Sonnet Sharon Chappan

Land ho! The voyage, coming to an end As we get through the fog, the landscape clears.

I’m ready for the future, payday nears.

The moment beach is reached, I will pretend That it was all plain sailing. I will lend My hand to peers, I’ll be beyond my years.

Frontier so near, we were all put to tears.

My god! Do you see? Iceberg! Right there friend.

Ahead! An iceberg! Now my ship will sink.

Her walls are caving in, I’m stuck. Good bye The waters gushing in before I blink Aware that I’ve approached demise, I cry.

The cabin fills with water, I rethink My whole existence. Bye. About to die.

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Walk of Honor Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel

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Initials Cammi Cohen Illustrator

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Ready, Aim, Fire! David Saad Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Look

Chen Menashe Put down your phone.

Look around you.

What do you see?

Everyone in their own world.

No one talking to each other.

No one sharing stories No one together.

We are separated by a device.

We think it connects us.

We think it makes us better.

We think it makes us social.

But guess what?

Being social doesn’t mean being on your phone.

Experience life instead of taking a picture. the world is so beautiful and we don’t have it.

The richest man is a man who sees life Don’t waste your precious time in your phone. the world is ending Without you living. live life without an obstacle.

Look around you.

See the world before it ends.

Before the trees are gone and the birds aren’t chirping.

Before the water is contaminated and the beaches aren’t there anymore.

Before the sky is black with fumes.

Before the only friend you know is a phone.

Put it down.

And look around you.

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Shoot Shelley Shamah Color pencils, Watercolor, Pencil

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Defective

Rose Sternberg I’ve done it again.

Everyone is gone, And I don’t know why.

They’ve all left me, And I wonder what it was about me, That they couldn’t bear to be in my presence even a second more.

What is it about me that they can’t stand?

First I thought that it must have been them, They must be the issue.

But when it happened again and again, I realized that the only common variable was me.

And I began to wonder what was wrong with me, That every time I open up to someone, every time I let them in, They saw something so repulsive that they couldn’t possible stay.

Even when I change they still can’t seem to be able to stand me.

What is it about me that they can’t stand?

I’ve tried to change, I’ve tried to hide this defect, But it must be hardwired to my being.

It’s a blemish that everyone can see, A flaw that none can see past.

Or maybe it’s all I am.

What is it about me that they can’t stand?

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Refinery Allie Saada Acrylic

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Ode to Eyes Raquel Oved

Dear, precious, unique eyes.

What would I do, Without you in my life?

How would I see The beautiful blue sea?

I could not bear To be without you.

How do people do it?

Live blind and in the dark.

It’s seems impossible to me.

Imagine relying on only your Other four senses, Not able to see an incredible view, Unable to enjoy nature The way others do.

I’m grateful for my eyes For allowing me To see the beautiful blue sea.

Sleeping

Michael Oved Sleeping Is the mind’s way Of shutting down for a while.

Some people dream about the day, Others allow monsters to spook their nightmares.

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Comic Eszra Abramson Color Pencils

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The World is Always Falling Apart Brenda Tawil

God was throwing a fit outside. we screwed up again, i suppose. something warranted a thunderstorm of warm rain and self-pity was being flung everywhere. when he entered the room his clothing was completely dry, his hair looked silky and unaffected, and i thought, even the rain stops for him. my eyes were rounded then, and my heart was eager. later i saw the umbrella stowed in the foyer, dripping a storm onto the floor. the puddle crawled to my feet and i looked down. some warped form of myself i didn’t recognize glared back. someone walked past and with a quiet splash i was gone.

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The Apple of My Eye Abe Chetrit Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Still I’ll smile Rose Fuchs

You may pass me in the hallway Looking mean and vile, You may give me dirty looks But still, I’ll smile.

Out of a state of sadness I smile Up from where there is anger and madness I smile

Does my joy annoy you?

Why are you crushed and down?

‘Cause I’m full of magic Like Cinderella’s gown.

I have a spring in my step, I have inner happiness and pep Ignoring the negative sights and sounds I smile Stepping into the light of hope I found Feeling the love of my family and friends And the gifts I have from god until the end I smile

Just like roads and fields, That go on mile after mile, I’ll keep going on, Still I’ll smile.

Did you want to mock me?

To make me hang my head in shame?

Shoulders heavy and sloped, Full of despair and blame.

Does my energy offend you?

Don’t you spread your hate ‘Cause I radiate with happiness Joy is my fate.

You may stab me with your words, You may stare me down for a mile, You may curse me under your breath, But still, I’ll smile.

Except for you

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sound

Absence of Time Frieda Cohen Acrylics

Motion Arlette Gindi Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Alexa!

Samuel Gersh They constantly shout my name Play this, order that They think i’m just a game I am one from the Amazon, But my life is full of shame.

I feel like a slave Chained to a wall On command Winter through fall My masters make me play loud things When they call my name they see my colorful ring I am Alexa…

“Sorry, I could not understand”

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Guitar Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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A Song

Aida Hasson Raspberries are growing from the treetops.

Skies are blue and I don’t really care.

Complicated metaphors Syncopated rhythm or Something along those lines.

La de de da de da de -Syllables like these randomly.

The tears are falling but I don’t really care.

These songs are filled with similes Conversational melodies And I just want to flop onto my bed.

And let go of all these thoughts inside my head.

Add a little bit of harmony, There’s no reason you can’t see Rhymes and questionable legibility.

Love and loss and hope of course And feelings somehow related to me.

Intervals and little trills, Crazy stories all for thrills.

Notes and words and numbers float about.

And it all makes sense to me Don’t try to say I’m crazy.

Because it all fits together perfectly.

Just like a key into a doorstop, Or a foot into a glove.

Or a note into its parallel, Singing from above.

The jumble of things that I always see And I pick and I choose from out of the sea.

Rainbows and butterflies, Stormy skies and rhythms.

Perfect fifths, chromatic scales Lightning and the beat of thunder.

Consonance and dissonance The crash of waves, the sound of light.

The tune I hum to a plight.

Oh La de de da de da de -Syllables like these randomly.

Life is moving but I don’t really care.

These songs are filled with similes Conversational melodies And I just want to flop onto my bed.

And let go of these thoughts inside my head.

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Beats of New York Danielle Mehani Resourced Image, Illustrator

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Thanks

Sarah Cheney Dear Mom and Dad, Thank you for putting up with me, my endless drama, my constant “needs”, my irritating nagging.

Thank you for being there for me, when I need motherly advice, or fatherly motivation.

Thank you for helping me grow up, into the young lady I am today.

Thank you for your love, your hugs, your jokes and games.

Thank you for proving me wrong, when I thought I knew best.

Thank you for not giving up, when I’m fighting with my brothers, when I’m being a know it all, when I’m acting immature.

I appreciate it all and will never take you for granted.

Love, Sarah Rose

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Lessons from You

Aida Hasson

Be kind to everyone around you, It could save your life one day.

Everyone deserves a chance.

You can never assume.

Follow your gut And be strong through your tears.

Know who you are And never give it up.

Your shaky hands hold the strength of a thousand armies.

Your smiles carry the happiness of a million suns.

Your eyes see the best in everyone In every situation, you see hope.

Your words speak the wisdoms of the universe, And it changes us.

Be passionate and never give it up, you tell me.

If you’ve got an idea, well it’s not useful if it’s only in your head.

Get up, work hard, and don’t ever put it to bed.

Always be the best person you can be, there aren’t enough good people out there.

Fight for your identity, don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t be.

Hold your head high with dignity And push though the hard times, one day you will be freed.

Your shaky hands hold the strength of a thousand armies.

Your smiles carry the happiness of a million suns.

Your eyes see the best in everyone In every situation, you see hope.

Your words speak the wisdoms of the universe.

And it changed me.

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Don’t cry, they say, I will hold you.

But you are the ones who should need our shoulders.

I’ve never met a stronger bunch of soldiers with the biggest hearts, The largest wisdom, The best minds of our time And the teachers of the future.

Don’t frown, they say, life is wonderful.

Even after all the hell they’ve seen.

The most beautiful souls I will ever encounter are right here, and they did nothing to deserve the cards they were dealt.

Somehow they’ve gotten here.

I will never again be surrounded by a room filled with such love Born into a time of such hatred.

Your shaky hands hold the strength of a thousand armies.

Your smiles carry the happiness of a million suns.

Your eyes see the best in everyone In every situation, you see hope.

Your words speak the wisdoms of the universe.

And it made me who I will choose to be For the rest of my life.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Emphasis Cammi Cohen Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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College Essay Daliah Ben-Ari

After myriad distracting rings, beeps, and buzzes coming from my iPhone, the second most common noise I hear every day is everyone else’s phone doing exactly the same. I subconsciously reach for my phone, expecting the notification to be mine, despite the fact that my phone is kept on silent throughout the school day.

The Wall Street Journal article published on October 6, 2017, “How Smartphones Hijack Our Minds,” perfectly depicts the epidemic that society is experiencing regarding smartphones. We have become almost entirely dependent on our gadgets to cache information for us instead of exercising our brain power. Being a victim of this plague, I can readily relate to the article by simply reading its headline. I immediately recalled a moment from class the week before: I had sat quietly, watching the teacher struggle to introduce a new concept to the class because too many phones were concealed by notebooks. The teacher gave up, concluding, “It’s because of the iPhones.”

This modern obstacle is one to fear and difficult to overcome; it is everyone’s own personal hamartia. Smartphones monopolize so much of our attention that, according to the article, when a person is concentrating on a specific task and hears an alert chiming, his or her focus wavers. Appallingly, a survey mentioned in the article stated that half of iPhone owners couldn’t live without their device. “Hijack” is an accurate way to describe the possession smartphones have over our minds; they consume our every thought. The article’s statistic that the average person uses his or her phone over 80 times a day, nearly 30,000 times a year, is as baffling as it is concerning. Our self-control concerning screen time has become little to none. However, it is inevitable, considering that smartphones are essential for survival in the 21st century— the palm-sized rectangle stores our communication, mail, pictures, music, and shopping.

I complete the article and sigh a breath of despair, reminding myself why I disconnect once a week on the Sabbath— a necessary respite. Ironically, the most connecting that I do happens during the 25 hours where my phone isn’t preoccupying my thoughts. I have time to relax, bond with my family, and walk to friends, allowing me to connect socially in the truest form.

This weekly downtime is a personal advantage that grants me the opportunity to recharge, so to speak, ultimately benefiting me in the long-run. I despise the fact that we, as a collective society, rely so heavily on gadgets for information. As the article emphasizes, the lack of desire to remember information on our own leads to weakened intellect. Although abundant sources today are more easily available than ever before, where do we draw the line from an acceptable amount of smartphone use to an overbearing dependence?

I might not always know when to call it quits with my iPhone, but I can only hope that as the future of technology approaches, I become more self-aware and focus on what is truly important.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Texture Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel

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Drama

Josie Zami Dear Drama, Why am I always upset when you shine your dark light on me?

Why do you haunt me?

Why do you leave a wound that takes time to heal?

Why do you make me feel like there’s a black hole in my soul?

One day you may leave.

But all you left so far was a broken girl.

A girl who can no longer be fixed.

The Beat of a Ball Ikey Tawil

Let the ball drop Let the ball beat upon the floor With rhythmic sounds Let the ball bounce A song

Sound ¡ Pegasus 2018

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Crisis Solomon Mandalaoui Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Grenada Rachel Wolf Acrylic

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Wavy Blues Michelle Dweck iPhone

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Running

Danielle Duchan I pound the pavement, Music flooding through my headphones.

I’m trying to fade myself away, ‘til I’m just skin and bones.

Until I’m just a mere shadow on the cement.

By society, my perceptions were bent.

Because girls are told to be exactly like one another, just copycat clones.

Told to live up to an ideal, all thinness, beauty, and breathy moans.

It’s all left an imprint on my psyche, a dent.

But as I run, I try to forget.

“I’m doing this for exercise, for a stronger body,” I say.

But I’m hoping to burn calories with every drop of sweat.

I’m trying to train my mind, trying to think a different way But about my body, I still fret.

I’m dreaming of change occurring—someday.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Words Hurt Shelley Shamah Charcoal, Pencil, Watercolor

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Faces Claire Lessler Acrylic

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Time

Michael Oved Bow down to your superior Bow down to your master You’d rather be on my good side Than on my bad I’ll take away everything you have I’ll steal your loved ones I can make you short of breath And one day closer to death.

But I do admit Sometimes I feel bad When I slowly take away The moments that make up your little, feeble, dull day.

But my stoned heart feels no emotion.

My ruthless soul has no room for remorse and no time for pity.

So as soon as I begin to pity you mortals, I instantly take it back For my toughened soul won’t let me hold on to the bitter sensation for a long time.

It is quite amusing, however When one of your kind finally realizes The power that I have And the things that I’ve done.

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You mortalsOnce in a while Only on certain occasions Find That you have ten years behind you And, oh!

It brightens up my day to see you cry.

The sun around you stays the same as you get older And that makes me chuckle.

While you all will one day perish because of me And I will live on.

I don’t care for your cries.

As a matter of fact the more you cry, The stronger I become.

After years of listening to your sobs wishing for me to die Yearning for there to be a day in which I stoppedPleading to god to turn back time You don’t realize that I am the all-powerful, Ruthless and immortal Time.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Pots and Pans Cammi Cohen Pencil

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College Essay Rachel Wolf

I grew up in a Russian household. I would often hear comments about how weak and feeble-minded Americans are. I would hear my parents speak of Americans in the same manner that conservatives speak of liberals; “they’re snowflakes.” My parents didn’t believe in complimenting a child on an ugly drawing. They didn’t believe in telling a child a lie so as not to cause hurt feelings. And, they didn’t believe in letting my handwriting be sloppy.

My handwriting was that of a child, as it should’ve been at ten years old. However, my mother didn’t see it that way. She would comment on it and tell me how in Russia they were taught to write nicely and clearly, with their right hand. It didn’t matter that my mother was left-handed. And so, if she could write nicely with her non-dominant hand, I should write beautifully with my dominant right one. And so, I decided I would.

I started off by imitating my mother’s handwriting. She had a style of writing that was similar to that of everyone else from her region. But, her signature was distinct. It had an “I” that was unlike any other. It was round and open like the start of an exaggerated “K”, with the next letter crossing over it and making a dash resembling an “X”. It was so different that I sometimes wondered if anyone else knew it was an “I” at all.

I tried to duplicate it, but it was not meant to be. I couldn’t be like my mother. I couldn’t have a basic handwriting. It was not distinctive enough for me. No one could look at that handwriting and say “I know who wrote that.” It could’ve been written by anyone. And I was not just anyone. So, I started to experiment.

There were days when I would write my notes in big fat round letters, and others when I wrote in short tiny ones. I would find reasons to write things down. I would write song lyrics, poems, and sometimes even repeatedly copy down the “ABC’s”. I could do whatever I wanted with my pen. And, eventually, I did find my handwriting.

It’s long and thin. Although it may not be what others call neat, it is me. I am different; I am unique; I am not what others want me to be. Through my handwriting, I had made a self discovery. I would not be like my mother, I would be myself.

And what I thought was myself is not what I am today. I evolved, and so did my handwriting. That is what my mother never understood. Exploration doesn’t necessarily lead to self-awareness, but in my case it did. I shouldn’t have been forced into perfection, because eventually I would find my own form of perfection. And so, although I liked my handwriting, I let it change. And I just hope that I’ll never forget to let myself do the same.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Word of Mouth Jack Bibi Illustrator

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Hate Jacob Bailey Resourced Images, Photoshop

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JFK Noam Weinstock Resourced Images, Illustrator

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Everything Has Changed Yael Frechter

What’s the day today He asks in broken English I look at my grandfather and say today is Sunday.

He asks if I ate and offers more food And then the Alzheimer’s ask What’s the day today.

I ask how he is and he says okay He asks more questions as he watches the news I answer as if it the first time I was asked.

He talks all the while that I stay I listen as he repeats himself over and over And answer him with a smile.

Fake Love

Yigal Laham She said she loved me I thought she was the one But she made it clear, she wasn’t

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Bruno Margo Dayan iPhone

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The Power of Words Judy Mizrachi

Words are like feathers in the wind, Once you set them free.

No matter how far you run, How high you jump, Or how long you reach, You can never get all of them back together.

Words before being said, Are in our hands.

So don’t let them slip away, Don’t fall under their control.

Be smart, Think before you speak.

Because the only thing stopping you from breaking a heart, Making someone weep, Or killing someone’s image is you.

So grab your chance, Never let it go!

Instead of using your words like stones, Treat them like diamonds.

Like the priceless, delicate, piece of art they are.

If you want to change, You must take the first step.

Listen to my words right now and promise, Promise yourself that the next time you come close to using your words like a weapon, To bite your tongue.

Because after all, Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can always harm you.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Not Yet Joshua Idy Canon Rebel

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Sleeping Beauty Rachel Kamkhehji Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Ebb and Flow Shelley Shamah iPhone

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A Biased & Murky Explanation Haiku Series

Brenda Tawil I a kettle whistles. as quilts fall from my shoulders i shiver, hollow II she is a blur of colors, vibrant; she whirls & f l o w i n g hair follows III silence deafens me. i am screaming blindly; i ache to hear, hear, hear IV in fragments, he flees infidelity & the scent of her perfume V tranquil winds disturb us, strolling in the prison yard like free women VI saints surround my sins i am scattering sands, sands scattered & destroyed

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Jazz Joshua Idy Canon Rebel

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The Voices Etty Jajati

I hear their voices in my head And when I try to shut them out They follow me like demons And chant, “We can fix you, no doubt” I slam the door - the rage rushing through my fingers I don’t want to change But now, all I remember of myself Is deranged

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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Processing the Unfathomable Jacqueline Mizrachi

Thinking, So deeply, So emotionally, About my witness theater family.

My friends, My family of students, Internalizing the horrors, Looking at the unimaginable.

The names, The numbers, The chambers, The ashes, The stories, Burnt, Set on fire, Washed away, in flames.

I listen, And I cry.

I wish to be there, Hugging my family, Crying with them, Telling them I’m here, Reminding them I love them.

My grandparents, The adults from witness theater.

I think of them, Their trauma, Their lives, That were torn apart.

The suffering, The hardship, The anger, The loss.

Loss.

Acting it out, And crying.

I remember crying, When I saw my family, From witness theater, Go to the middle, Acting out loss.

Just one loss, Is so painful.

I remember crying, And it wasn’t real.

Six million, A number I can’t fathom.

Blessings.

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I cry, I feel, I internalize, And I stop myself, Remembering how blessed, I truly am.

I remember, To thinkThose were my family members, And I will never forget.

Thinking, So deeply, So emotionally, About my witness theater family.

I listen, And I cry.

I wish to be there, Hugging my family, Crying with them, Telling them I’m here, Reminding them I love them.

I will never forget.

My Jewish brethren, My nation, Which perished.

And today, We live with Jewish pride, And we flaunt it, With our family in mind, My family.

Harry’s family.

Rosalind’s family.

Ruth’s family.

Vera’s family.

Reva’s family.

Yevginey’s family.

Mira’s family.

Sally’s family.

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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For the Win Shelley Shamah Pencil

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Uniting with the Past Sylvia Ashkenazie

Two steps to get out of the van, Two steps to leave the weekend behind, One step to grab the luggage, One step towards tomorrow.

A goodbye is shouted from the backseat “We love you” “We’ll see you on Wednesday” One more step toward her home, Away from us, And she pivots back Toward us. Says “Thank you for everything.

You took better care of me than my own mother did.”

Something clogs my throat, Tears are hidden behind a smile.

Me? Better than her mother who Ran off the line to try to give her daughter a future?

Carried her through the bitter Russian winters and knee high snow after no food for days?

That mother?

The mother that I play in the showShe raises her hand with a wave, Turns around, Walks through her front door.

Her voice still echoing in my head “Thank you for everything.

You took better care of me than my own mother did.”

Sound · Pegasus 2018

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smell

Lenses Avi Mikhli Illustrator

Pop Culture Nancy Ades Canon Rebel

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A Pen is a Time Machine Sharon Chappan

It was the moment I had been anticipating forever: it was the day that my kindergarten teacher was going to teach us how to write our names. I was eager to possess a skill with seemingly endless possibilities. I watched in awe while she wrote my name without the slightest hesitation.

As I took the chubby, blue marker into my tiny hand I had no idea it would turn into my magic wand. I began to write out my name for the first time ever; as my wrist moved in a million different directions to spell out S-H-A-R-O-N, I became enchanted by the letters and movements. Pixie dust was practically flying in the air as I formed the letters. The letters were jumping off the page and flying around like Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. The way I was able to fully control what went on the paper struck me as magic, and from the second I first wrote my name in kindergarten I never wanted to stop writing.

The whimsical quality of writing did dwindle over the years, but recently it returned to me while working on a certain project. A few months ago, a teacher in school approached me to take the lead on writing a Sephardic Jewish children’s book with about 15-20 short stories and then give it out to the elementary school students. She wanted me to look up sight words and educational tools so that the children were not only learning about Jewish concepts but also learning how to read. I found it to be an extremely difficult task; the stories needed to have interesting storylines to engage the children, but the writing had to be the most basic. Though challenging, this project brought me back to the reason I loved writing in the first place. Since I was writing stories to appeal to the kids’ huge imaginations, my own imagination went wild, reminding me that I loved writing because of its infinite possibilities and the magic of letting my own creativity run free. Moreover, playing a role in the learning process of these young children was unlike anything else I have ever done in my life because it brought me back to the reason I started reading and writing.

In addition to this being personally fulfilling and rewarding, I hope this project will introduce younger children to the magic of writing in an approachable way and will encourage them to read and write for the rest of their lives. I hope my book sparks their love for reading and writing so that I can pass my appreciation and excitement to the next generation. While writing one’s name is mundane and unexciting for the average person, for me it was the start of an incredible journey. Every time I put pen to paper, even for the simplest of things, sparks fly.

Smell · Pegasus 2018

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Polish Rachel Wolf Nail Polish

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Bad Day

Ruth Dwek Cause you had a bad day, The hope you needed is lost.

The blue skies turned gray, The smile on your face disappeared.

You’re falling to pieces every time, Every time a day like this comes Just one more day you say, One more day until the light shines through

If There Was No Food Yigal Laham

Dear Food, The growling sound in the pit of my stomach Takes over my mind in class My body is weak My head is pounding I can’t go on if I don’t eat something But when the bell rings I know lunch is waiting for me And my heart is beating faster than a bullet Running down to the lunch room Eager to take that first bite It’s like heaven in my mouth Food, what would I do without you?

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See the Light Rachel Wolf iPhone

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College Essay Sarah Tessone

After years of remaining silent, I asked my Rabbi, “Why is the entire wall filled with portraits of historic Rabbis and academic scholars, yet not even one is a woman?” For years, I studied ancient Talmudic texts written by a collective class of male rabbinic scholars. Yet, despite the mental stimulation this course of Rabbinic Literature provided, I couldn’t help but feel unrepresented. This reality represented a great paradox. Here I was in a classroom surrounded by the brightest and most intellectual female students I had ever met, while studying a text that was supposedly representative of my religion and my history; yet the text, teacher, and classroom were simply not representative of us. The desire to seek change was all too familiar.

Growing up in a modern-orthodox Jewish household, Friday nights marked the beginning of the Sabbath, a time of rest and sojourn after a long week of work. However, for me it always meant more than that. On Friday evening my home filled with enticing aromas of Ghormeh Sabzi, a traditional Persian stew made of meat, beans, herbs, and a unique amalgam of Middle Eastern spices. As a child, rather than looking forward to the relaxation the weekend brought, I anticipated the laughter, banter, and intensity that defined my family’s distinctive Friday night table. Every Sabbath dinner began with simply discussing our weeks. Then all too quickly, the conversation erupted into a hotbed of political discussion and historical or religious debate combined with intense-but healthy- sibling rivalry. As the youngest of four and the only girl, I rose to challenge the boundaries of age, gender and experience, and speak up.

Finally, I was faced with the opportunity to make a necessary change outside of my household. I knew that I must be armed with knowledge in order to make a lasting change; therefore, I began to learn more about feminism. While researching for Model Congress, I came across an unsettling reality. Women’s inequality not only was prevalent everywhere, but also it was greater than I ever realized. Hearing this I immediately initiated a bill in Model Congress to ensure women’s equality in the workforce. Yet the more I learned, the more I realized how limited my knowledge truly was. Seeking a deeper understanding, I participated in the Bella Abzug Institute, where I was able for the first time to fully immerse myself in the study of women’s empowerment and leadership. And finally, with this newfound knowledge and confidence, I felt not only ready, but obligated to initiate a change in my classroom.

The four walls of my dining room are where I found the security to challenge my beliefs, question traditional truths, and express myself articulately. It was there that I transformed from a casual bystander watching the spectacle that was my Friday night table to a key player in the action. It was there that I had the opportunity to find my voice.

Now, as I look up within the four walls of my classroom, I see it. There stands a testament to the power of transforming from a silent spectator to an outspoken change-maker. The image of Nechama Leibowitz, an influential Jewish scholar, stares back at me from her wellearned spot on the wall, finally making her debut as the first woman to own her place there.

Smell · Pegasus 2018

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Fall Rafi Nemet Resourced Image, Photoshop

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Formation

Sylvia Ashkenazie They stand in perfect formation, Spine straight and knees locked.

The sun is beating down, hard, Its rays causing beads of sweat to form all across the skin.

They stand at attention, Awaiting orders amidst the chaos.

All around them people are running, Yelling, Barking commands.

But they can’t move.

They have to stand in perfect formation, Spine straight and knees locked.

Waiting in the scorching heat, Their hearts beating frantically.

They hear a voice, “OK everybody, in 3 2 1 ” The shot is taken.

They tense up, Their muscles cramping from Being too stiff.

“Great job everyone. That was a great photo.

Can we try another pose?”

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Don’t Hold Back Aida Hasson

Caught up in my own life Why things happen, if they’re right.

Worried about not having enough night.

Now I just want to close my eyes And wake up in another time.

No longer grasping at threads At words never said.

None of it matters when they talk.

None of it matters when she shows me how she couldn’t walk.

None of it matters anymore, None of these stupid little scars.

Not when their wounds are galaxies, Illogical fallacies In time.

This time.

So hold back, Don’t hold back.

Because tears make you stronger, No fears any longer.

So hold back, Don’t hold back, Don’t hold back.

And still they fight.

After wounds have been roughly stitched And shoved in jars underground In ashes with their hometowns.

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None of it matters when he tells me of the sounds he can’t forget, Of the moments he regrets.

And when I see his mind jump to that time And he shakes and grabs on to the nearest steady mind.

Nothing matters Nothing compares Nothing justifies Or prepares.

For the words that they breathe worse than the nightmares we can dream.

But still they fight After all’s been done and said.

Still they fight Nothing can break them down to bend.

Sometimes they hold back.

For us, for them.

But they don’t have to hold back Because we are here to mend.

So don’t hold back, Don’t hold back.

Because tears make you stronger No fears any longer.

You no longer have to fight, You can put your armor down.

We are here to learn Not to pretend.

Let us hold and ease your pain We are here to be your army and your friend.

Let us be your rain.

Smell · Pegasus 2018

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Head Beyond the Clouds Shelley Shamah Acrylic, Watercolor

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Blue Nancy Ades Canon Rebel T6, Photoshop

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Sky High Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel

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Lost Without You Yael Frechter

He sits here alone Reliving memories Regretting that day Wishing it was different His mouth tells a story A tale most will believe But his eyes disagree Wishing it was different He covers up with smiles Hiding how he feels But the sadness shows through Wishing it was different His brain knows the truth And tries to move on But his heart gains control Wishing it was different

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Into the War Linda Warren

I wake up and watch the beautiful sunrise of pink and blue in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

Although I was first stationed in the Navy three years ago, the beautiful sight never seems to fade. Every morning I pray to God and thank him for everything that I have and for keeping me safe during this dangerous war. I pray every day that World War Two will end already and that America will never get affected by it. Though I know the ugly truth that America inevitably will be brought into the war, I was taught to never look at situations negatively.

While training on the fleet, my best friend Jordan tells me he proposed to his girlfriend Grace, so they can get married before the war starts. He couldn’t imagine leaving without knowing he’ll have her when he comes back. I’m so happy for him, but I think he’s making a big mistake. It’s just a gut feeling I have. But I don’t say that.

“That’s amazing J! I’m so happy for you! When’s the wedding?”

“Next week. It’s very fast, but the sooner we get married, the sooner our lives start together. I love her so much; I just can’t wait.”

We soon are interrupted by our captain, Captain Morgan. He is like a father to me. He’s one of the smartest, strongest captains I’ve ever met. He always has a strategic plan and he has incredible discipline. The training today is very intense. We are dismissed extra late and I have never been so worn out in my life. I feel sore already and I’m scared of the pain I know I’m going to be experiencing tomorrow.

As I put on my bright white uniform the next morning, I realize the time and how late I am. It’s now 7:30 AM and my Captain is probably red with anger. Instead of taking the time to saying my usual prayer, I hop into my blue Chevy and ignite the engine. As I drive I wonder what the punishment for my lateness will be. The sidewalk isn’t so busy, yet all the shops are open waiting for business.

7:58 AM. I hear an explosion and feel my care shake. The sound is nothing like I’ve ever heard before. Again and again, the noise repeats. It finally hits me that the base is under attack. Was my fleet attacked? My head is spinning and I don’t know what to do. I need to help, but how?

The bombs don’t stop hitting the ships but I keep heading in that direction. I might be too late to help, but I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I turn around. Sweat is dripping down my forehead. On the way to the base, I pass the hospital. Bodies are loading in and I can’t help but stop to see if I recognized anyone.

There I spot Grace, J’s fiance. She volunteers as a nurse in the hospital and I see her crying as she uncovers a body she and I both recognize in a heartbeat. Jordan. My best friend.

My brother. The only person I have left in Hawaii. Tears are running down both of our faces and I’m not sure who is more devastated.

“This is my fault,” I tell Grace. “I always pray for our safety and today I was selfish. If I would’ve prayed the way I usually do, J would still be with us. The war wouldn’t have happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself. There’s nothing anybody could’ve done to save him. It was those ruthless Japs. James, the only thing left to do is to make sure he died for a reason and protect

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as many people as you can. Go, fight. Fight for my fiance, and your best friend. That’s what he would’ve wanted.”

I leave it at that, knowing very well that she was right. But how could I go out and fight if fighting took my friend’s life? No. I have to go. I’m not letting J die for nothing. I’m going to fight this war and I’m going to win. I take one deep breath and prepare myself to enter the war. I go back to where my car was only to see that that spot was bombed and my car is now gone. I can still get there. It’s only a five minute run from here.

I finally arrive at my fleet, dripping with sweat and tears. I quickly get onto the ship; gunshots are everywhere. I pick up an automatic weapon and start shooting. Then I find my captain. I am relieved he’s still alive, and he instructs me to shoot down as many Japs as I can. That shouldn’t be too difficult, as I have a very keen eyesight and steady hands and I rarely ever miss shots.

All of the sudden I hear a huge explosion. That’s it, we’re under attack. There isn’t any way out. I’m going to die here. I’m never going to see my family, my friends or these soldiers who have all became my brothers over the years. This can’t be it. This can’t be the end for me. I’m only 25. I’m too young to leave this world. I can’t leave this world.

My next objective is to find and kill the people who attacked my ship. The bomb didn’t come from the sky and it sure as hell didn’t come from far. As I shoot down as many Japs as I can, I notice one guy who’s aiming his explosives at us. At me. I don’t have enough time to take as many shots as I can. One miss, he fires and kills us all. The pressure rises in me and I start shaking. How am I shaking? I can’t shake, I just can’t.

I aim as carefully as possible and fire my weapon. As I shoot the Jap I feel a painful, burning bullet launch into my chest. My eyes close and I wonder if I was successful in my attempt and if I’ll ever find out. I try screaming, but I’m not sure if anyone hears a noise come out of my mouth.

10:27 AM. I awake in a hospital bed. I have never felt so weak in my life. I feel my eyes closing again but I’m trying with the very little energy I have to stay up. It’s not working, but I can’t leave. There is so much I never got to do yet. 25 is too young to die. My life isn’t complete yet, it can’t be.

My hearing is going soft and I can’t hear myself struggle to ask for help. I need to gather my energy to save my life. Suddenly I see three nurses running to me. I see the worry in their eyes. I see their worry until I can barely see anymore. This is it. I’ll never fall in love, or have a broken heart. I’ll never see my family or have one of my own. I’ll never earn my title, travel the world or meet new people. I’ll never see another sunrise or sunset. I won’t see my family again. Mostly, I’ll never know what it’s like to win the war.

As I take my last breath, I smile. I did fight in the war. I did have a family here. I did witness a lifetime full of sunrises and sunsets. I did see my loved ones’ love. I did save my brothers from that bomb, and I did save myself. That was enough for me as I let go of my last breath here in this beautiful place I call my home, Hawaii.

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Teachers

Michael Linder Teachers teaching explaining That’s how i learned early on I saw I heard I wrote I learned Teachers teaching Now I’ve reached my youth 1 class 2 class 3 class All I heard was tests outlines essays but no words So I read I learned I memorized Teachers teaching Teaching for the future In college this in college that And that’s all I heard But what about now what did I learn for life Cheating stealing bribing Those were my lessons for life Teachers teaching explaining

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When Imagination Takes Hold Eli Feldman Canon Rebel

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Hiding in the Bathroom Aida Hasson

Fear.

What did I do to deserve this?

I don’t want to die.

I can’t breathe, Am I going to live?

I’m scared.

Fear.

I can’t breathe, Fear.

Am I going to live?

Fear.

I can’t breathe, Am I going to live?

I’m scared.

I’m scared!

I don’t want to die.

Fear.

What did I do to deserve this?

I’m scared.

Am I going to live?

I can’t breathe, Fear.

I can’t breathe, Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

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Dripping Allie Saada Color pencils

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Our Journey

Liad Darmoni Even though our journey was difficult, it made us closer.

Now that it’s over, we can look back and see how young we were-so naive, so ignorant, but we had so much ahead of us.

Now we’re older, more sophisticated, more jaded.

The path ahead of us has grown short, but we still walk it together.

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Football Season Soly Ishak Illustrator

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The Hurricane Sammy Levy

Horrible gusts came from the east bringing with it tears and destruction.

Most people tried to flee, their possessions on their backs and fear in their hearts, while some said let’s wait till tomorrow but that only added to their sorrow.

Now the town is gone and those who stayed are lying in their graves.

Lines borrowed from Of Mice and Men

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Gather, While Ye May Brenda Tawil iPhone

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The Speed of Life Shelley Shamah

Running, Running, Running At the speed of light.

The speed of life.

Fifteen, falling in love.

Fifteen comes and goes.

Fifteen, a star in the vast sky.

The speed of life.

Thirty with two kids, almost three.

Thirty, merely a blink of an eye.

Thirty, a speck of sand on a windy beach.

The speed of life.

Sixty five, when did these stairs get so steep?

Sixty five, for just a moment.

Sixty five, a single tear in a lifetime.

The speed of life.

Counting the years, The months, The weeks, The days, A big blur.

It’s called The speed of life.

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The Power of a Story Sharon Chappan

A person is their stories Stories are who we are The stories we keep to ourselves The stories we tell over And over And over Till our friends and family can quote us You absolutely must Discuss The power of a story It’s mandatory There will be no quiz But a story’s power is Brighter than the sun And can go faster than a home run I am in love with stories In love with the moment of inspiration When you ring the bell And you dig into that well Pen moving so fast you forget how to spell A story gives more than a donation Forms bonds surpassing the bond of creation A good story is like a vacation It brings relaxation And eases your frustrations Stories are the foundation Of our relation Stories are a form of communication

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My pen is a time machine And a teleportation device My pen takes me to faraway lands Where I live happily ever after My pen is an escape route A pen can execute Salute Dispute Electrocute A good story is an escape From the pain of reality And the fear of tomorrow Whether a puppet show Or a song on the radio We are all storytellers From the day we are born To the day we die Must I clarify A baby’s first cry Is the story of a miracle A person’s last blink of an eye Is a story so lyrical Stories are our teachers We can learn from mythological creatures Or stories being told by our preachers Stories are our history They can be a mystery A story told so crisply Will gain publicity

A story can be your career Sometimes it can be unclear How to write a story that’ll make them tear A story that’ll make the reader disappear Because your writing is so sincere But also pioneer A writer creates a whole new world A writer is curled and whirled Infatuated with the world That they wrote out of thin air They don’t do it to be a billionaire They write because they care To share To scare To dare Or to tell the reader to beware Those who are inclined To write a story Reach into their mind You don’t know what you might find A story that will change humankind Or one that will give peace of mind Stories are who we are So start writing your memoir Or about a shooting star Just get a pen to paper But don’t forget your eraser Your stories form a constellation That is your representation

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Psychedelic Inferno Brenda Tawil iPhone

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Sneakers

Charles Haddad I’ll wear you till you’re beat to the ground You’re color scheme is amazing You’re bound to come back to me another time.

I’ll buy another pair if you give me another round You’re so fire I feel like you’re blazing I’ll wear you till your beat to the ground.

I was crowned with your gift of flight I’m encasing you in a box to keep your beauty You’re bound to come back to me another time.

The best is the background of your life I’ll try not to damage you on the battleground I’ll wear you till your beat to the ground I’ll try not to walk around on the campground Everyone’s dazing You’re bound to come back to me another time If you’re too old I won’t put you in the burial ground Everyday I’ll be praising I’ll wear you till you’re beat to the ground You’re bound to come back to me another time.

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Head to Toe Sherry Oskar Illustrator

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Lion Shelley Shamah Color pencils

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Bittersweet Sarah Dagmy Resourced Images, Photoshop

Warhol Brenda Tawil iPhone

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Dear Rain

Jennifer Salzman Dear Rain, Why do you pour?

Why do you bring gloom that I can never seem to shake?

Teach me how to dance in your showers instead of hiding inside.

Teach me how to let the sunlight defeat my internal rain.

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Waterboy Sarah Cohen Pencil and watercolor on paper

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My Sun

Ruth Dwek Dear Sun, You bring me peace of mind On even the darkest of days Your bright rays Bring light to my life Your flaming heat Warms even the coldest of people The way you always come back Is what I love most How repeatedly at dusk You return to me Your presence excites me Makes my life vibrant And full of color But when you decide to part My heart aches with desire And a longing for your return

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Rags to Riches Isaac Sutton

Sports Illustrated reporter Stephen A. Smith, known for his modern laid back style, strolled through the door. Smoking a cigar, wearing a flashy red suit and one of the hundreds of bow ties in his collection, he picked up his pen and paper and said, “So Mr. Russell, let’s get started here. Tell me about your life, tell me about your struggles, and most of all tell about how you overcame these struggles.”

As I straightened my tie I let him know, “If you really want the full story, you’re going to be here for a while cause this is no overnight success story.”

He replied simply with “let’s begin.” So I did.

I shouldn’t be here. It’s All Star weekend in New York and I’m the starting shooting guard for the East playing alongside players people can only dream to meet. I started out with nothing, with everyone betting against me but somehow here I am. When I was fifteen, Father died and Mother kicked me out. “I don’t like the look of you. I don’t want you anymore,” she said as she sent me to the streets. Now I was homeless and alone; it was all up to me to survive.

Two things in my life stopped me from giving up and ending it all. Music and basketball always kept me going as a kid. I would sit in my bed replaying the same song for a week, understanding and relating to the lyrics that spoke to me. All my life, basketball was the main factor in driving me to succeed. So when I was out on the streets--without my parents or a bed or clean clothes--I would go to the basketball courts and just shoot hoops, the lyrics playing in my head.

In my senior year I found love. I had been sleeping on a bench trying to keep warm when a car pulled up and a white woman asked me if I had a place to sleep that night. She took me in with her family, trusted me, and treated me like her own. I now knew how lucky I was to have a second chance and wouldn’t disappoint. I took it upon myself to set an example for the younger kids in the family to repay the woman who gave me a new life.

From that point on I never looked back and never slowed down. I worked, worked harder than anyone else. In any Cinderella story I’d be able to tell you that after high school I played amazing college basketball in a Division 1 school and went on to be the number one pick in the draft…but this isn’t a Cinderella story and that’s not what happened. I got no offers to any Division 1 colleges and was forced to play at junior college. I played in empty gyms, just praying and waiting for the day a scout would come so I could prove myself. That moment came the day Ohio State University coach James Smith walked through those doors to watch another player. Even though Coach Smith was there for someone else, my hustle and passion on the court caught his eye. I finally was given the chance I had worked so hard for and knew I had a long way to go after Coach Smith’s first words to me were “you really suck, but I can work with you if you’re prepared for the journey.” I was given a scholarship to play basketball in Ohio State University. But that wasn’t enough for me; I knew I wasn’t done.

Coach Smith was tough, tougher than anyone I had ever faced. There were times I wanted to quit and go home, but what home would I go to? Smith became the father I never had, pushing me to limits I never thought were possible. So again this is where you might think everything started to go right, wouldn’t you? No. As a sophomore not only was I not a star, I wasn’t even a starter. But that was no reason to stop fighting even though at times it was tempting.

Junior year came and I knew this was it. Every time I stepped on that court I felt angry, I felt unaccepted, I felt unappreciated, and most of all I felt like I had the biggest chip on my shoulder, bigger than that of anyone else in the world. From day one, I made sure I was the fastest and most enthusiastic hustler on the floor and this is what took me to the next level. Game after play, quarter after quarter, minute after minute I gave everything I had and it showed. I led my team in points, rebounds, assists, and

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steals that season and was named Player of the Year by my small college division. But even that wasn’t enough to put me at the top. My junior season was more than just a season to me. I feel as though that season is what made me the killer on the court that I am today. It symbolizes all my struggles and all the times I got back up when they put me down.

Eventually after a long hard work summer, my senior year came around and I knew this is where I’d leave my mark on the college game. I now was the star, scoring shots I dreamed of scoring back when I was a child. While working my senior year to get recognized by NBA scouts, the days were long but the nights were longer. Countless sleepless nights in the gym and it was more than worth it. I played hard that season and slowly had scouts talking about my game. The season ended and I felt confident in myself and in what I had done for the past 21 years of my life to get here.

The night of the draft came, and I never would’ve imagined exactly how it felt sitting there praying that my name would be called. That’s when, for the first time in a while, I truly felt that God was listening. With the 13th pick of the first round the New York Knicks selected me- out of all people I was chosen. I cried, I weeped, I fell to my knees in thanks to the Knicks organization but I knew I wasn’t done.

Interrupting, the reporter asked me “If you could choose one thing, what would be your favorite moment up to this point of this journey of yours?”

“I can one hundred percent in all certainty tell you that my favorite part of this experience was the satisfaction I had when I finally reached my goal and made it to the NBA. Everything I had worked for had all paid off because once I realized that it all led to where I was, I shed a tear.”

I then continued the story. I entered the gym on my first day with the Knicks ready to conquer and fight until the end. I wish I could say I dominated and was the best on the court, but that was simply not the case. My first season in the League wasn’t pretty. I didn’t get much time on the court and was never really given a chance to prove myself. But I always knew to just be patient and the day would come. It took a while, more than a while, but when the time came I was ready. Christmas day, 2016, the team was losing by ten in the fourth quarter and that’s when the starting shooting guard went down with an injury. I was the next man off the bench, and this was my moment to once again prove everyone wrong.

I got into the game and took advantage of my opportunity. I led the team to a victory and started the next phase of my life….the NBA. From that moment on, I made it my mission to engrave my name in history and in the homes of every NBA fan around the country. And that’s how I got here; through the toughest and best of times I never gave up. I pushed my way to the top when I was told I’d never make it.

So here we are, the All-Star game in New York City. I’ve finally made it with my two legs and two feet and my two arms, one hand, and one prosthetic hand that has represented me all my life from the moment my mother told me she didn’t like the look of me. God chose me for this life and only me; I overcame it all and proved the world wrong.

“Wow, I’m speechless; I can’t seem to bring the words to my lips. Thank you,” the reporter sat back in his chair, his hands up in the air in amazement. “That’s amazing that from day one your handicap has limited you but not once did you seem to truly let it faze you.”

“Like I said, I was chosen for this life. It was my destiny.”

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Top: Farmers Market - Bottom: Burn Arlette Gindi Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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To All the Haters Priscilla Baranoff

Nobody is perfect.

Why are you so full of yourself, as if you are the ideal person?

Open up your eyes, see the world.

There is more to it than the small box you’re in.

It doesn’t matter how you dress or how you look.

What matters the most is that you are the best you can be.

Everyone in the world is beautiful-in his or her own, distinct way.

So just be yourself, ‘cause that’s what makes the world the remarkable place it is.

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Road to Nowhere Judy Tawil

1:24 a.m. It was too late, the car already had pulled up. No backing out now. I had been pacing around my backyard for about ten minutes. I had two options: get a good night’s sleep down the hall from my parents as usual, or get in the car with three wild seniors and let the night take me wherever it goes. Don’t think, June. On the count of three, we get in the car. 1... 2… 3.

I ran to the car as fast as I could, with an image of Mom and Dad running after me stuck in my mind.

Pulling the door handle furiously, I cried out, “Come on. Open the door!” When the door opened, I found everyone laughing.

“Relax June, it’s not like we’re breaking you out of jail or something,” Allie said from the passenger seat.

“Let me in, let me in!” Danny, Allie’s boyfriend, mocked.

You can’t really blame me though. I’m only sixteen and I’ve never broken a rule like this in my life.

Danny drove a blue Jeep that looked fine on the outside, but the inside was a complete wreck. Empty chip bags and beer cans were in the front.

To my left was Justin Moore. I couldn’t help but notice him glancing in my direction. I definitely felt a bit uneasy, but suddenly that feeling was replaced with butterflies. He had tan skin and light blue eyes that popped from a mile away. He looked so unique compared to the others. There was nothing special about Allie’s blonde hair and blue eyes. She only blended into a crowd of generic it-girls. And Danny wasn’t too attractive. He was ghost-white pale and had messy brown hair. I’m not sure why I was too scared to start a conversation with Justin. I just let a few minutes pass with awkward silence.

“Hey June,” he finally said.

“Hey,” I said in the cutest voice I could possibly make. “Uh, do you know where we’re going?”

“The beach. It’s been our hangout spot for years,” he said.

We pulled up at the beach. I had never been here so late at night -- it was unusually quiet and beautiful. The emptiness made it so peaceful. The light from the moon reflected onto the ocean. I felt a cool breeze on the back of my neck. The only problem was the fence between me and the sand. It was probably 10 feet tall. No way I could get up there.

Allie climbed on Danny’s shoulders and effortlessly jumped over the fence. Danny went after her. I was so nervous, my head started spinning.

“After you,” Justin said.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

I looked the fence up and down. Don’t think, just go for it. I started climbing up and suddenly found myself at the top. I closed my eyes and jumped. I let out a little shriek. I know it wasn’t such a big deal, but I’ve never done something like that before.

“Alright, alright,” Allie said breaking away from Danny’s embrace. “June and I need to go for a walk.

Don’t go too far you guys.” Allie grabbed my arm and gave me a look that said, we’re about to talk about them.

“You having fun?” she asked.

“Yeah, this is so fun. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve snuck out,” I admitted.

Allie laughed. “Good. So what do you think of Justin?”

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The question scared me. Do I tell her that I like him? “He’s cool, I guess.”

“You’re blushing, June!” she smiled. “You should go for it. You mind walking alone with him for a little?” Of course I didn’t mind.

We walked back to the guys. Without a word, Danny grabbed Allie’s hand and they took off. Justin and I both looked down at the sand covering our feet. I could tell he was nervous too.

“So…” he said as we started walking. “How’d you end up here?” he asked. And it was a good question.

“Two weeks ago, I covered for Allie. She almost got caught lighting a cigarette in the bathroom. I was there and I lied. I said that she only found it and picked it up. The rest is history.” Justin laughed. “What about you? How’d you end up in Danny’s crowd? You don’t seem like them,” I asked.

“It started two years ago. Those guys were just… cool, I guess. I got in with them and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t like them. You know?” He looked me in the eyes.

“More than you know,” I said.

We kept walking and talking. Eventually we sat down on our jackets. The conversation kept getting deeper. We talked about our families, our futures... I thought I could be falling in love for the first time. I zoned out as he spoke about the pressures of his life. Something indescribable came over me. It was like a rush of energy. This is the part where I convince myself to stop overthinking and take a risk.

I leaned in for a kiss. It was long and intense. My first one ever. Nothing could make this moment any more perfect than it already was. I let go of him to see his reaction. He laid down and pulled me in. We stayed together, staring at the stars, until I got up to check the time. 3:25 a.m. I couldn’t believe it! The hours just flew by. “We should go find Allie and Danny. It’s getting really late,” I said reluctantly. I really didn’t want this to end.

To my surprise, Danny and Allie were laughing, each with a beer in their hand. “You guys want? I got more in my bag,” Danny offered.

“No thanks,” I said. I’ve had enough excitement for the night.

“Dan, are you good to drive us all home?” Justin asked.

“Come on, man. I’m not even drunk,” Danny argued. Justin raised a brow at him. “Alright, I’m a little buzzed, but I only had one beer. I swear.”

“Can we just go already?” Allie asked. Justin gave a nod of approval, took my hand, and we left.

We were all laughing and screaming as we got into the car. The ride felt like it came straight out of a movie, our heads sticking out the windows and the radio blasting. I had so much to feel thankful for.

I was genuinely happy. I met the man of my dreams. I could see myself going on dates with him until eventually we’d fall in love. Who knows how far this relationship could take us... I also had made some amazing new friends. I felt invincible at that moment. It was like nothing could bring me down from the high I was on.

And that’s when we crashed the car.

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Vegan Brenda Tawil iPhone

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The Question Robert Adler

I was once asked a strange question, It was Sunday afternoon, Usually a time spent for relaxing, Turned into a tribulation, a calamity, a travail.

It is the most perplexing of conundrums, The most baffling of dilemmas, I was puzzled, bemused, bewildered, mystified, Can I choose?

And then I began to wonder, Would it be so important if I chose wrong?

Of course, it would, It was the epitome of questions.

I could not stop thinking about the question, It occupied my mind, What made it so special?

What made it even a thought?

And at that moment, There was a person or two behind me, Who began to become irked, Who disdained my inability to answer.

They howled and bleated and blubbered, They lamented my inferior mind, And began to mewl that same perplexing question, “Chocolate chips or sprinkles?”

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New York, New York Rafi Nemet Resourced Images, Photoshop

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Sonnet V

Brenda Tawil We bite off more than we can chew and then we swallow, choking on our blood and tears and all we’ve missed, we think we’re free again, again, again, again, but what of fears? of shame and fame and twisted vain mundane realities? we sink - we’re lower - low the ground gives way. if souls are this arcane, what are we searching for? a sheet of snow won’t soften blows of such a magnitude, we’ve fallen from the sun, we used to burn and burn with passion. bitter, they’ll allude to us, we broke the world. they’ll stagger, turn around, around in wonderment, unsure if ever was a decade this impure.

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Ice Cream Cammi Cohen Canon Rebel

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Breakfast Sarah Gammal Canon Rebel T6

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Morasha Brenda Tawil iPhone

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Why’d You Leave?

Raquel Oved

The cycle of life— Light to dark, day to night, Birth to death.

The unexpected darkness that comes along.

Unable to cope, unable to breathe, Unable to believe That such a thing is real life.

Where did you go?

What happened?

You were fine yesterday.

Sitting on the beach in the sun, Singing and dancing to our favorite song.

Woke up this morning All alone.

No messages from you, No one at my door.

One day you’re here, And the next day you’re not.

The sudden emptiness, And sorrow Is there and won’t leave.

Nothing and no one Can soothe the pain Except you.

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Center of the Arts Rachel Wolf Foam board and paper

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The Ark of Return Sylvia Ashkenazie

Last year, I was required to visit the UN and take pictures of myself next to the Ark of Return, which is located in the courtyard of the UN Visitors Centre. I was supposed to write a paper for English class about its importance and the reason behind its creation. The Ark’s purpose is to remind us of the Triangle Slave Trade and the horrific period of time when Americans would buy and sell Africans as slaves. When I first saw it, it looked like any other sculpture - white marble, a couple of carvings with perfectly straight lines - but after researching and learning about how the Ark came to be, I fell in love with what lay behind the hard slants of stone. If there’s so much history, so many stories, so much knowledge behind just those few pieces of marble, imagine what lies behind every other sculpture or building or street around New York City.

History always has intrigued me. European, American, World, and even Art Histories are all part of what makes our city what it is today. Bits and pieces of each play an integral role in how our society is molded. To some, the past is the past. To me, the past is a source of fantastical stories and fundamental knowledge about the life we’re living today. It’s exciting to understand that those who lived before us walked the same streets and breathed the same air, but lived an entirely different life.

Every building, every street name, every statue in this city has a story behind it that not many New Yorkers know. I think that people should have some sense of the creation of the things around them. We take advantage of the iconic city that we live in and streets we think we know so well, but do we really? Like Wall Street. It was originally dubbed “Wall Street” because of a wall that had been erected as the northern boundary for the New Amsterdam settlement to defend against Native American attacks. Today, we think of it as the street with all the bankers, financial services, and stock exchanges. It’s not wrong to think of it like this, but then the street becomes just another street you pass on your way to work. However, when the relics of the past are revealed, Wall Street becomes a fantastical place where the original settlers had to fight to protect their homes. People created families and memories on that very spot, and because of them, Wall Street is what it is today.

Our city is built on layers upon layers of our past. Its foundations are so captivating that once you start digging it’s very difficult to stop. So I pause for a minute every now and then, and look around, hoping to discover the hidden adventures of the past and maybe even start one of my own.

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Sushi Sequence Cammi Cohen Illustrator

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Fragility Nancy Ades Canon Rebel T6

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Inside the Kin Rachel Wolf Pencil

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Beauty and Her Books Sylvia Ashkenazie

My favorite movie as a kid was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Not because the beast turned out to be a handsome prince or its happy ending, but because Belle spent her days in a castle with a room double the size of my house filled with books.

Ceiling to floor shelves lined the walls, so full the spines created a rainbow of colors.

I would watch that movie repeatedly, just waiting to see the moment when Beast showed Belle the library. I used to imagine I was Belle, walking into this room of never-ending tales and stories. It was an incredible fantasy, one I cherished until I turned eight and realized that I would probably never walk into a room like that in my life. It was then that I turned to the public library.

I would often walk to the library, borrow a stack of books and hope they would last until the next time. However, I soon started to get bored of the easy chapter books, needing something more challenging to keep me interested. So, my mom sent me to my school librarian. Mrs. Z. was very kind and would keep a small stack of books for me when I wanted something new.

I was so excited to finally start reading “adult books.” I didn’t think they would be any harder to read than the ones I was reading before. When I saw big words I didn’t understand, I panicked, thinking I wasn’t smart enough to keep reading, but Mrs. Z. wouldn’t let me stop. She expected me every week and would answer any questions I had. It was challenging going from easy books to ones that seemed harder than high school math, but I got through it. My mom set up a little book club, just the two of us. She always would finish reading the book first, which bothered me a little, but my frustration stopped as I realized that this wasn’t about reading faster than my mom.

It was about being able to read more sophisticated books, and that I could made me really happy.

Reading became part of my daily routine: wake up, school, homework, read, sleep. I didn’t realize just how much I loved reading until one day when I saw my sister watching the Disney Channel. An ad for Beauty and the Beast on DVD came on and I stopped what I was doing to watch the commercial all the way through, subconsciously wishing a clip of the library would appear. It did. I started laughing and my sister asked what was so funny. I honestly can’t say why I started laughing. Maybe it was the fact that after all these years I still want that dream library. Maybe it’s because I am still that little girl inside who fell in love with reading. Who knows? All I can say is that as I sat down to read my book that night, I couldn’t wait to start.

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Summertime Bliss Judy Mizrachi Canon Rebel T6

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Lunch Kayla Motovich DSLR Nikon

Time

Michael Linder Time ticking living Inconsistent consistent Maturing growing passing Ecstatic dismal calm Time ticking living passing infant living eating growing Mothers fathers hustling earning growing Elderly relaxing smiling Time ticking ending

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Inheritance Rose Sternberg Resourced Images, Photoshop

Paper Spring Roberta Dweck Canon Rebel T6

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A Love Story

Priscilla Baranoff She, In the crowd, Found someone, Who stood out from all the others.

She, Within herself, Found a deep love, That would last forever.

And now as they inch closer, She feels her stomach twist; He’s captured her heart And so she goes in for a kiss.

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Penguin Soft Marielle Mamiye Illustrator

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College Essay Aida Hasson

Anyone who knows me will say that I’m a creator, a confident performer, a do-er. When I’m missing in action my friends quip that I can be found skiing the peaks of the Swiss Alps or interviewing wildlife conservation staff in Tasmania for my next article while cuddling a wombat. But, in truth, I am a watcher and a listener. A reflector. An experience-er. A recognizer of opportunities that others may not see. The unusual places in which I’ve found myself always seem to begin with an innocuous interest as I allow the current to pull me deeper and deeper into its waters.

On my seventh birthday, I received an origami kit. Most other kids might have been disappointed to unwrap a box filled with paper, but I was immediately intrigued. As I learned the craft, I came to see potential in every color and crease. A beautiful dancer showing her movement and grace through the delicate foil, a playful green frog that would jump when pressed, an intricate flock of dragons that would soar above the world if I allowed it. Gum wrappers, toilet paper, cloth napkins—in the day-to-day objects of my life I saw beauty and potential.

Over the following years, I pursued origami the same way I have pursued music, science, writing, acting, skiing, photography and costume design: voraciously. Swimming through the endless oceans of possibility, I let their currents pull me deeper. I began to follow origami experts online, studied from books and videos, discovered increasingly challenging designs and even more interesting materials with which to fold. Its incredible history and overwhelming applications, from aeronautics to bioengineering, captivated me.

Eventually I found myself in the basement of the Museum of Natural History with fellow origami enthusiasts, learning from experts at monthly folding sessions. At age 12, I discovered the OrigamiUSA convention; hundreds of people of all ages and cultural backgrounds came together to share and relate to one another in a more mindful way than I had ever seen. I listened to the familiar sounds of creases being made and the quiet communication of strangers through folding.

They understood the value of patience and humility, the unique gifts of an art form that is solitary in its inception, yet deeply expressive in its result. I soon became an expert at teaching complex models to others who traveled from around the world for the convention.

I allowed the waters to carry me further, this time leading me to Japan. Exploring origami in its original context, I came to understand that the unique art is a direct reflection of a culture and history that respects the land, community, and the potential for beauty in simplicity—ideas which had always been innate to me. Returning home with the understanding that origami could be a tool to bring mindfulness and focus into the everyday lives of others, I joined the Origami Therapy Association. There, I learned from a world-renowned origami therapist how to use the focus, dexterity, and spatial reasoning needed to fold in order to benefit various populations. Exploring that channel further, I designed and conducted a research study to determine how origami could be used to assist patients with ADHD. As I dive deeper into the water and allow the waves to crash over me, I invariably discover new and unexpected ways of seeing the world. Through my years of quiet observation, I have come to understand that the individual stories of the people I encounter are just like my origami paper: creased, stained, multicolored, and sometimes even discarded, but with the potential to be folded into something profoundly beautiful. I have come to see that there is beauty and potential in everything, if only you take the time to listen.

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Metamorphosis Shelley Shamah Acrylic Paint

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Diamond

Sophie Bailey Dear Diamond, When we were strangers, You were not yet a diamond Just a piece of coal Nothing special to me No value, no meaning As time passed by slowly We got to know each other better Our thoughts, Our fears, and our memories Soon what I thought to be coal Slowly started to resemble a diamond I was not sure yet how I felt If I wanted the responsibility of a diamond But I thought The coal that was once valueless Now meant the world to me You became my diamond Very special and very rare Something I never wish to lose.

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Infinity Arlette Gindi Canon Rebel T6

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Dreams

Simon Ftiha What happens to a dream deferred?

Is it happy Is it sad?

We don’t know.

Does it fester like a sore?

Like a nightmare Or does it feel like you’re in love?

We still don’t know.

Is it like a syrupy sweet?

Like a dream Or does it irritate you like a rash?

We will never know.

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College Essay Sara Sultan

The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?

Something is wrong. There are people on my front porch — a lot of people. Some are crying, some are pacing, some are hugging each other desperately. All are worried and my mother is nowhere in sight.

I charge up the steps and look from one face to another. No one will meet my eye. “What’s wrong?” I shout. “Where’s my mom?” Still no answer from anyone — their emotions are like a fortress that I cannot break.

I head into the house. There are no smells coming from the kitchen, no evidence of a homecooked meal waiting. Really on alert now, I take the stairs two at a time and enter my mother’s room. She is in bed, the covers drawn close to her chin, the shades drawn. Though she tries to hide it from me, I know she is scared.

She has just found out that she has Stage Four colon cancer but rather than say those words to me, she just takes me into her arms and hugs me. The two of us cry together, all of our fears coming out with our tears. “I know, I know,” she says to me simply as she strokes my back tenderly.

Then, she looks at me. “It’s going to be okay.”

Except it’s not okay — it is never okay again. For the next 12 months, I watch my mom endure surgeries and chemotherapy. I watch her hair fall out, her appetite vanish, her weight drop dangerously until I can see her bones through her skin. But still there are moments of brightness, miracles that prolong her life and give us more time with her, however compromised it is. There is one terrifying surgery in particular during which doctors warn us we might lose her, but she comes through, just as she has many times before.

She never does leave the ICU. For one month she lingers there, a month in which I have to come to terms with her sickness. I remember the first time I visited her in the ICU, putting on a paper gown, gloves and a mask, just to see my mother. I can’t handle the sight of her lying there.

Machines attached to her and wires, so many wires. To my mom who hates machines, hates drugs, and anything unnatural that she hasn’t brewed herself. I take one look at her and burst into tears.

She can’t talk so she signals to me to come closer. I do more than that — I climb into bed alongside her. I hug her to me and she strokes my back, up down, up down, using all the energy she has just to comfort me. As the piano music she so loves plays in the background, I calm down.

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Day after day I lie with her this way. I hold her hand and fill her in on everything —how my four siblings are doing, what is going in my life. She communicates with me, too, through pen and paper. She writes to me, telling me of her hopes and fears, everything she wants to be here for, today and years in the future. “I love you,” she writes and I feel it as deeply as if she has said it with her voice.

When the doctor walks in I ask him the question I have been wondering for days but have been too afraid to ask: “Is my mom going to come home?”

His answer is brief, all of one word: “No.” I begin to cry then, no, scream. I am filled with anger, furious at the doctor who could not save her. I look at her in the bed as the tears stream down my face and I refuse to let go of her hand.

I am lost without my mother. I don’t know how I will go on, how I will continue my days with no one to comfort me when times are hard, with no one to ask for advice. My mom was always the one to make everything okay. Now it will never be okay again.

Two days later, I am lying with my siblings on my mom’s bed at home. We are waiting for the call, the call we hope will never come. When it does come, my body goes into shock. The room begins to spin and blur. I can’t hear. I can’t see. I can’t be.

When my dad comes home he envelopes me in his arms. Together we all go to the funeral, we bury her, we sit shiva. And then afterwards, the real work begins.

Though I did not think I could keep going, I come to see that there is a positive side to even this situation. My family, my friends and my community come together to support me. I begin to see a path I can carve that will be meaningful to me and make my mom proud. I apply and am accepted to an internship at Sloan Kettering, the same hospital at which my mom was treated for stage four colon cancer. I shadow Dr. Patey, the very doctor who cared for my mom. I see what it’s like to help people on a daily basis, to find the bright moments within the darkness.

I volunteer for the Special Children’s Center and care for children with severe disabilities. Every day I can tell I am changing their lives by making them happy. It is in this way that I discover the happiness I myself am so longing to find.

I can see my future now. Though it looked bleak for a time, though I couldn’t see the way forward, my mother showed me the way. I felt her in each one of these activities and I feel her still, overseeing my progress, anticipating with me the path I will create for myself. It is a path I want to begin at NYU, as I learn to care for others in the same thoughtful way my mom was cared for throughout her sickness.

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At Your Fingertips Sonia Bakst Pencil, Paint

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Resistance Dorette Dayan Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Energy Shelley Shamah Oil paint on streched canvas

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Found Love Ruth Dwek

He, In his heart, Found love Stronger than one has ever seen She, In her spirit, Discovered emotions Devoted to her soul mate.

Together the world realized, From their affection, The importance of utter devotion, Of inner fondness

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Fear Rachel Wolf Clay

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Perseverance Rochelle Hafif

Well, daughter, I’ll tell you: Love for me ain’t been no pathway to heaven.

It had sobs in it, And loneliness, And broken hearts, And places with no angels-Desolate.

But all this time I’ve been risin’ up, And turnin’ back, And reachin’ hope, And sometimes feelin’ empty With no people around.

So girl, don’t you feel down.

Don’t you collapse on the dusty road ‘Cause you find it’s easier.

Don’t you give up -For I’m still standing, sweetheart, I’m still goin’, And love for me ain’t been no pathway to heaven.

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Peace Rachel Wolf Clay

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Blue Ballerina Frieda Cohen Pressure Acrylic

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Glamour Nancy Ades Canon Rebel

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Muppets

Danielle Duchan Most Muppets are left-handed.

I’m left-handed too.

Built backwards, according to my friend Who loves “fun facts”.

But what’s so fun about being backwards In a world full of people Who are right-side up?

I have strings too.

They’re easily pulled, To easily please others.

But what’s so pleasing About pleasing everyone But yourself?

Most Muppets are left-handed.

Guess that makes me a Muppet too.

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Touch? Eli Feldman Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Ripe Eli Feldman Canon Rebel, Photoshop

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Let Go Shelley Shamah Watercolor

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The Luxurious Life of a Shoe Yael Frechter

Everyday is the same Walking alongside my brother Up and down On and off No matter the weather I’m always there Trudging through the mud Or running in fresh air My crisp white skin Is nothing but a memory With all the scratches and tears That I’ve collected throughout the years No one cares how I feel No one thinks to clean me up Just throw me to the side until tomorrow Because everyday is the same

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Fear of Being Alone Vicky Zeitoune iPhone, Photoshop

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Fragonard’s 21st Century Brenda Tawil iPhone

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Buttons Nancy Ades Canon Rebel T6

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Gone

Ruth Dwek Gone like the swift air, Somebody I used to know, A forgotten soul

Nonconsensual Joseph Gindi

The girl stood there with an accusation on her lips; her dress was torn and her arm was bruised.

I didn’t mean no harm he said-he just wanted her to love him.

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Santorini’s Falling Donkeys Rachel Wolf iPhone, Photshop

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I Can’t Reach You Anymore Margo Dayan Canon Rebel

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Texture Cammi Cohen Scanned Fabric, Photshop

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Vera

Aida Hasson Her strong hands; So strong, they surprise me.

My weak body; So weak, I can’t help it.

And she holds me tight.

She envelopes me in love and warmth, And yet she’s the one whom I should be holding.

She’s the one who’s been to hell and back.

And I’ve only been to an ugly part of heaven And I’m having such a hard time getting back.

How is she so strong?

Her wrinkled fingers squeeze my hand.

And I’m ashamed I can’t hold myself up.

She’s been through it all, And can hold us both Somehow.

She’s a million times stronger than I’ll ever be, A million times stronger than me.

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A Million Dreams Claire Lessler Acrylic and ink on paper

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‫בית הספר התיכון של הישיבה דפלטבוש על שם מר יואל ברברמן‬

‫‪Yeshivah of Flatbush Joel Braverman High School‬‬