Pegasus 2024

PEGASUS 2024

Dedicated by Laura and Joe Tawil

Rabbi Joseph Beyda Head of School

Esther Hidary

Associate Principal

Dr. Michael Atlas

Associate Principal

Jaclyn Pahuskin

English Faculty / PegasusAdvisor

Mr. Abe Hanan President

Mica Bloom English Department Chairperson

Carolina Cohen Arts Faculty / Design

Rabbi Yigal Sklarin

Associate Principal

Rabbi David Galpert

Assistant Principal

Erdos Arts Faculty

Mia

Perfect Self Debra Mizrahi Acrylic Paint, Watercolor

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.

The pubication submission policy is open to all students from 9th through 12th grade. The editors select which writing pieces are published through an analysis of the originality, creativity, purpose, appeal and connection to theme. Additionally, editors also select which art pieces are published based on the composition, contrast, techinque, visual aesthetics, as well as the connection to the theme. Work is accepted all year long and students are highly encouraged to submit to pegasus@flatbush.org weekly. Faculty and community members are encouraged to submit work, but there is a limit on how many pieces we select for the publication. Literary editors are told to edit work for gramatical and punctuation errors and not to alter the content of the piece.

Pegasus 2024 was printed by Minuteman Press on 1844 Coney Island Avenue in Brooklyn, NY. The 168 page, 7.25” x 9” book was printed on 70# laser paper. The cover was printed on 100# gloss coated cover stock. Pegasus 2024 was created using Adobe InDesign 2024. The font family used was Avenir. 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 301 or Ms. Mia Erdos in room 305 to get involved.

Bird Eddie Saff Illustrator

Art

75 Exhaustion/Paulette Dana/ Canon Rebel T3

77 Acculturation/ Sarah Chetrit/ Procreate

81 Shein/ Samantha Ryba/ Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

85 Infinite Love/ Leah Katash/ Resourced Images, Photoshop

89 Water and Ice/ Eli Gindi/ Canon Rebel T7

91 Error/ Jacqueline Tebele/ Acrylic on Canvas

93 Bird’s Eye/ Sylvia Habert/ Acrylic on Canvas, Photoshop

94 Scream/ Sophia Salem/ Acrylic on Canvas

95 Anxiety/ Annie Skaba/ Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

97 Make-up/ Randi Didia/ Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

101 The Words that Made Me/ Leah/ Katash/ Canon Rebel T7

CORAL REEF

Writing

104 Blindness/ Sarah Catton/ Poetry

108 Makeup/ Lyla Ashkenazie/ Poetry

110 Guilt/ Jenny Khabih/ Poetry

112 When I Was in Kindergarten/ Irene Cohen/ Essay

114 Snow White and the Seven Dwarves/ Sarah Madeb/ Poetry

116 The Hero of Midway/ Liam Ouanounou/ Short Story

120 Selly’s ABCs/ Selly Saad/ Poetry

122 Society’s Medicine/ Morris Mita/ Poetry

126 My Suburban Reprieve/ Samantha Ryba/ Essay

Art

105 Self Portrait/ Sophia Salem/ Watercolor

106-7 How do I Feel Today?/ Bobbi Salama/ Canon Rebel T7

109 Mondrian's Laugh/ Frieda Novick/ iPhone, Photoshop

111 Mona Simplified / Debra Mizrahi/ Illustrator

113 I’m Human/ Jacob Nussbaum/ Color Pencils

115 Influencer/ Elinor Shapir/ Illustrator

119 Portrait/ Gabriella Kopolovitz/ Emboridery on Canvas

121 Smile of Wisdom/ Marilyn Salem/ Illustrator

123 Time to Shine/ Rae Levy/ Collage

124-5 Ice Cream/ Various Artist/ White Charcoal on Black Paper

JUNGLE

Writing

130 Ruthless Beauty/ Barbara Namer/ Poetry

132 Free to Learn my True Self/ Lyla Ashkenazie/Poetry

134 I Love New York/ Sylvia Saad/ Essay

136 Oedipus the Great/ Joseph Shamayev/Poetry

138 The Wind and the Leaves/ Caroline Palacci/ Poetry

140 The Lost Hello Kitty Charm/ Sylvia Saad/ Essay

142 Sunrise/ Valerie A. Tabush/ Poetry

144 The Wheat Sifters/ Shirley Jajati/ Poetry

146 Hunger Moon/ Rivkah Lahav/ Prose Poetry

148 A World Filled with Dark/ Lizette Husney/ Poetry

Art

131 Overcoming/ Jacqueline Tebele/ Acrylic on Canvas

133 Ready/ Jacob Ebani/ Illustrator

135 Acceptance/ Rebekah Chichester/ iPhone, Photoshop

137 Album Cover Reimagined/ Jeremiah Osipov/ Photoshop

139 Anger/ Michelle Sofer/ Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

141 Album Cover Reimagined/ Gabrielle Podolski/ Photoshop

143 Protect You/ Rae Levy/ Collage

145 Spring/ Bobbi Salama/ Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

147 Let Go/ Sally Kada/ Watercolor

149 Are we going? Are we going?/ Sophia Zeitoune/ Illustrator

150 Home Geometry/ Frieda Novick/ Canon Rebel T7

Cover art and dividers

Cover/ Rachel Chaya/Photoshop

Artic, Forest, Mountain/ Rachel Chaya/Procreate

Coral Reef, Jungle/ Samantha Ryba/Procreate

EXPLANATION OF THEME HABITATS

Within the pages of this year’s Pegasus we embark on a journey through five distinct habitats, each a reflection of the landscape of the human psyche. As we delve into these habitats, the Arctic, Forest, Mountains, Coral Reef, and Jungle, we explore how art becomes a mirror of our innermost thoughts, fears, and dreams.

In the Arctic, we unravel the quiet solitude within ourselves. Here, amidst the vast expanse of icy landscapes, we capture the pains of heartbreak and loss, and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of isolation.

Venturing into the depths of the Forest, we encounter a symphony of growth, renewal, and connection. Here, among towering trees, our artists depict the tender embrace of love, the transformative power of renewal, and the mysterious allure of the unknown.

Ascending the peaks of the Mountain, we confront the challenges that test our resolve and shape our character. In this realm of perseverance and triumph, tales of overcoming adversity illustrate the spirit that propels us upward.

Beneath the waves of the Coral Reef, we are enveloped in a world of unparalleled beauty and diversity. Amidst the vibrant colors and teeming life forms, our photographers and poets capture the essence of discovery, inviting us to marvel at the wonders of the natural world.

Finally, we plunge into the depths of the Jungle, where every step is an adventure into the unknown. Here we are entangled in the journey of self-discovery, navigating the twists and turns of the human experience with courage and curiosity.

Art is more than mere decoration- it is a language of the heart, an outlet for our deepest emotions and aspirations. As we immerse ourselves in these five habitats, we reflect on the facets of our humanity and find solace, inspiration, and connection in the boundless expanse of the creative spirit.

EDITORS

Linda Benun

Rachel Chaya

WRITERS ARTISTS CONTRIBUTORS

Sophie Cattan

Sarah Chetrit

Rebekah Chichester

Sonny Cohen

Paulette Dana

Randi Didia

Jacob Ebani

Eli Gindi

Sylvia Habert

Sally Kada

Leah Katash

Caroline Palacci

Samantha Ryba

Gabriella Kopolovitz

Rae Levy

Yaffa Mishaan

Debra Mizrahi

Frieda Novick

Jacob Nussbaum

Jeremiah Osipov

Gabrielle Podolski

June Rahmey

Samantha Ryba

Eddie Saff

Lyla Ashkenazie

Rebecca Azrad

Sarah Catton

Colette Chehova

Irene Cohen

Violet Cohen

Amir Danaeifard

Salomon Dayan

Joyce Dweck

Abigail Fuzaylova

Esther Haddad

Ben Harari

Joy Harari

Lorenzo Hasson

Lizette Husney

Shirley Jajati

Sarah Kezra

Jenny Khabih

Bina Khodorkovsky

Sophia Kopolovitz

Rachael Kopylov

Rivkah Lahav

Bobbi Salama

Marilyn Salem

Sophia Salem

Elinor Shapir

Bella Shasho

Annie Skaba

Michelle Sofer

Nina Tawil

Julie Tebeile

Jacqueline Tebele

Sophia Zeitoune

Shlomo Lahav

Sarah Madeb

Susan Masri

Morris Mita

Galiette Mita

Barbara Namer

Liam Ouanounou

Caroline Palacci

Ilana Rozin

Samantha Ryba

Selly Saad

Sylvia Saad

Bella Shamayeva

Joseph Shamayev

Michelle Sutton

Valerie A. Tabush

Emily Tarrab

Reuven Tobias

Linda Yazdi

Little Boy in The Factory

Colette Chehova

To the little boy in the factory

I wish you could dash through the fields

Barefoot on dewy grass

Breathing deep breaths of fresh air

Free of the smoky, dusty air

To the little boy in the factory

I wish you could play hopscotch on the sidewalk

Laughing with your friends

Hopping on the warm pavement

Free of the restraints of a factory

To the little boy in the factory

I wish you could ride a bike through the streets

Wind blowing through your hair

Carefree as you speed down the cobblestone

Free of the overworked days in the factory

To the little boy in the factory

I wish you could play in the snow

Cheeks rosy from the cold

Launching snowballs at your friends

Free from the claustrophobic walls of the factory

Out of Reach Sylvia Habert

Colored Pencil

A Rally for Peace

Shlomo Lahav

Beneath the Capitol’s formal gaze

A chorus gathers, with peaceful sways

In D.C, where voices convene, Comes a rally’s heartbeat, purposeful and keen

Like cherry blossoms, protests unfold

A tale in each petal, a story told With heartfelt cries the world speaks out, With “Bring Them Home”, their resounding shout

Across the roads where history’s ink was spilled,

A rally of colors, a sea of blue and white

As we gaze into D.C’s open blue skies, The thought of terror, brought tears to our eyes

We remember the day, where rockets reigned Terrorist laughing, our brothers pains

We remember the animal acts, the truth, the facts Where our people in Israel, betrayed by the Gazans and their pact.

Where terrorists invaded, staining walls deep red

Leaving every Jew, with fear and dread

A day of infamy, engraved in our minds

As the cruelty of Hamas, the world finds

That fateful day, October 7th’s dread

Brings a conflict, far from dead

And yet here we stand, in the midst of the strife Being hated because we are Jewish fighting for life Against the world, united we stood, Hoping for a future, of greater good With the Capitol’s embrace, a tale unfolds 290,000 jews, with courage so bold

Speeches and songs, about terror prolonged, About Hamas’s will, and what they’ve done wrong Challenging the falsehood, on social streams For truths, not lies, need to be seen

Jews from every corner united together Something that will stay with us, no doubt, forever. With determination, our voices ring out loud, Asking for a greater world, where peace is allowed.

Blindness

Ilana Rozin

He lacks a mind of sanity Instead he has one filled with arrogance. Is life better not knowing? Believe me, it is better so.

All ignorant, Refusing to look for the truth. Who is his mother? What happened to his father?

Blind to your origins. Unaware of your surroundings. When he finally learned to open his eyes A world once delightful, Came falling apart. Now had pins stuck in his eyes.

His now bloody eyes Would no longer plea [For] the love [his] heart has cried to see.

Drowning in Hate Nina Tawil Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

I am Death

Amir Danaeifard

I am Death.

Here is what you need to know about me:

I am not what all you humans think I am.

Humans often view me as cruel for no reason at all.

I am portrayed as the bad guy, even though I am not.

My only purpose in life is to collect souls.

Innocent souls. Evil souls. Nothing more, nothing less.

I am Death, and this is my job.

I am Death.

I am misunderstood.

People tend to think I like my job, but I do not.

I don't like the sight of blood.

I don’t like taking innocent souls.

I don’t like seeing people helpless.

I don’t like causing or seeing trauma.

I don’t like seeing people in grief after a death.

I don’t like my job.

But I don’t have a choice.

I must do it.

Because I am Death, and this is my job.

I collected another soul today. A young soul. An innocent one. His name was Werner.

The extreme cold weather was what brought him to me.

I didn’t want to take his soul, but I didn’t have a choice.

I saw his sister, Liesel.

I was taken aback by her immense agony. I wish I had the ability to cry, to feel pain.

To step into a human’s shoes.

But I can not.

Because I am Death, and this is my job.

The Snowman

Joyce Dweck

It’s that time of year

The snow falls

And we all cheer

As we create snowballs

His face begins to melt

We all look as it droops

And as his face welts

The Snowman buttons group on the stoop

We dream of his face

His carrot nose, button eyes, and sticks for hands, And everything else we have to replace, Now we have a list of demands.

So we get the nose

We find more buttons

As our fingers froze

We finish the structure with repercussions.

We all become hungry, So we slurp down our hot cocoa like monkeys.

Wearing My Resilience Nina Tawil iPhone, Photoshop

Time

Lorenzo Hasson

The clock. It tiks and toks.

The hands fly by in a flash.

To make a new start of a day and push everything away

Impractical Joker Sophia Salem Charcoal

The Character of Worms

Caroline Palacci

A worm inside a peach lived on my tree I served it sweet green tea and honey meade With great elán my worm berated me With vigor screamed his empty godless creed

My worm was though but troubled worms cant see With eyes that blind, a preacher worm could teach His eyes were stung out thanks to honey bee In solemn garb my worm took bomb to peach

His trek to mud was overdue and long “To ash and dust” as worm had tought himself As worm went walking worm had sung a song “Is meade in hell the better? curse like wealth?”

His death was wet as peaches juice or tea When worm bled, blood was hot and flowing free

Bouquets of Light Bobbi Salama Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

Society’s Medicine

Morris Mita

We tell ourselves:

I see it with my eyes, no messenger’s We believe it as an all-seeing idea. They say, find it and you will be healed. They say, the journey ends at the truth.

Unscathed indeed, if the truth is strength. But does the truth really deliver salvation? Or does it open our eyes to all the evil of our world?

Force-feeding us the notions we tend to stay away from, Exposing our innocent brains to the shameful standards, Created by society’s own dictatorship.

And dare think you’re safe?

All of us are blind to the lies even the truth holds. Had the all-mighty answers come to us in a silver platter, Would we be satisfied ?

Or would we be In pain when it took us in its arms?

Dance it Out Bella Shasho Charcoal

Wretched Foe

Linda Yazdi

Choices, they say They’re always ours to make But does it ever feel that way When we’re faced with a grave mistake?

I stumbled upon a break in the road Voices louder than ever before My body keeps moving as if controlled My heart has never been more ignored

I turn left towards the favorable path Sky bright and full of delight Yet shortly turned black as I’m faced with the wrath Of a choice gone wrong, where nothing is right

I sprint backwards as fast I can Tripping over my own two feet Praying to reach right where I began Trying not to feel too beat

The thoughts start swirling

As the words are consuming I find myself desperately searching For the pity beneath the fuming

I hurl myself forward toward the path on the right Breathing so hard like I’ve committed a theft Yet nothing of value can be found in sight Since it all faded away till there was nothing left

Isn't it ironic

How the one thing your always trying escape, Constantly running from –

Hiding away in hopes it can never reach you

Is the first one you turn to

When everything goes wrong?

The one who rubs your back, Brushes the hair off your face, Holds your hand while whispering comforting words,

Wraps you up in a hug so tight

You feel yourself starting to piece together

After being taken apart bit by bit.

Until you realize Instead of repairing you

It’s crushing you, stealing the breath from your lungs

Drowning you in grief so deep

Where only the strongest can swim out alive.

Loneliness is my worst companion

The only one who stays by my side

Even when I’m ready to break free and move on

It stares me in the eye,

Challenging me to live my life without it

Making me doubt myself

Clouding my judgment.

Loneliness is my vicious, wretched foe

Who sometimes, just doesn’t know how to let go.

The Human Brain

Sarah Catton

Let them be as brains always working but constantly worrying.

I’d rather be a heart, pumping blood, with its strong chambers pushing blood through our body with its compassionate force. To have the ability to work with its special bond to the body, to connect with our organs, the lungs, stomach and liver.

To be able to keep us alive and healthy, So we could survive through thick or thin.

I’d rather be given if then saving a life, then to be stuck in a pile of nerves, where negative thoughts flow around by each moment.

I’d rather be quick and fast with the help of the circulatory system, than overwhelmed or stressed with my anxiety. If I could pound and beat.

I’d rather be a cool, determined heart.

Keeping Secrets Nina Tawil Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

A Night of Regret

Esther Haddad

I was in my bed, scrolling on Tiktok at 12:30am on a school night. I had already said good night to my parents when I got a call from my friend Rachel, who told me that our whole grade was going to a party.

“Is Sam going?” I asked her.

“Yes! He’s in the car with me!”

That was all I had to hear. I knew it wasn’t the best idea to sneak out, but then again, I didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity.

“Outside,” Rachel texted me.

You cannot back out Olivia. I was always a goody two shoes that never went against my parents. I started getting dressed, already regretting my decision.

Before I knew it, I was in a small car with blasting music, full of tipsy boys and bratty girls. I didn't even know where we were going. We could’ve been heading to Connecticut, for all I knew.

An hour later, we got out of the car. This was when I found out it was an open bar party, but I had already told myself that I was never going to drink.

I walked into the party with my whole body shaking. It was the first time I have ever seen my friends drunk–clearly, they hadn’t made the same resolution as I had.

It was already two in the morning and I just wanted to go back home. All of the sudden, Sam walked up to me. I froze.

“You look gorgeous, Olivia.”

I couldn’t even believe what I was hearing. My crush for two years had finally interacted with me. I smiled at him and said, “Thanks.”

Sam pointed at his drink and said, “You want some?”

“Yeah,” I said nervously.

He grabbed my hand and started walking towards the bar. He passed me a White Claw and that was only the beginning. My nerves dissolved and I felt airy.

Three shots later, the rest of the party was a blur. Suddenly, I saw a man with curly brown hair and bright

green eyes that looked so familiar. Is that my dad? It can’t be. I quickly sobered up and he said, “Olivia Jade Katz, get in the car right now.” He grabbed me by my arm and dragged me out of the party. I didn't even have time to say goodbye to Sam. What made it even worse was that he saw it all happen. I got into the car and saw my mom sitting in the front seat.

After twenty minutes of my dad staring angrily at the road, I couldn’t handle the silence and asked, “Aren’t you guys going to say something?”

My dad said, “There are so many things wrong with this. You snuck out of the house on a school night. You drank alcohol, and you were with a boy. You are never seeing that boy ever again.”

“Guys, please just let me explain.”

Haddad 3

My mother said, “No. Enough, Olivia. You are getting your phone taken away until you’re smart enough to make the right decisions. I know it was not your idea because I know my daughter, but you should not have agreed to go.” The whole rest of the car ride was silent. How did my parents even know where I was? Then I realized, my stupid self didn’t turn off my Life360.

Defy the Odds Eli Gindi Canon Rebel T7

The Climb Sylvia Habert Acrylic on Canvas

Love Actually

Sylvia Saad

“If you look for it, I have a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around,” whether it be lining the intertwined fingers of a mother and daughter on the subway home after a long day at the museum; lacing the embrace of the young teenage relationship and the reunion of old friends; love is present in the siblings’ trip to get pancakes after feeling like strangers for too long; yet it is simultaneously in the eyes of a boy so dedicated to his craft, it hurts him to think of anything else; love is the only thing on the mind of the thirtysomething-year-old woman, living amongst eight million people, yet it sometimes feels like nobody at all; it is in the feeling of relief to the middle aged man that gets out of work and can smile knowing his kids are home waiting for him; moreover, it is in the overworked mother waking up her child after she finally slept through the night; it is in the teacher seeing his students succeed, despite their persistent blunders on their potentials; it is in the confident strides of the businessman, approaching his first day of the job for which he has worked his entire life; it can be seen in the hurried glances exchanged between the best friends who both lack the guts to admit to each other that they do not want to just be friends; it is in the woman’s smile when her man, finally, gets down on his knee to pop the only question that matters; somehow, love is also there when an aunt meets her niece for the first time, or when an uncle takes his nephew out for ice cream on the hottest day of the summer, and wipes the child’s sticky face to no avail; it causes the awkward new dynamic between band members after an inevitable confession; it is in the grandfather who can barely keep up with his speedy grandson on the way to the park; it is in the old couple’s slow dance illuminated by the refrigerator light; it is in the dog barking in excitement and anticipation as the door opens; love is in the handwritten notes, tucked safely away in a little boy’s lunchbox; it is in the laughter shared between strangers waiting next to each other in line; it is in the weekly father-daughter grocery trips and movie nights; love is in the calls between sisters whenever they are in desperate need of advice; love is truly everywhere, all the time, if you take a minute to notice it.

Holding On To Hope

Lauren Setton

Death is a word that is mysterious to most teenage girls. It’s a word we don’t think of and we should never have to. I, however, am very familiar with the concept of death. I’ll never forget the chilling moment when Dr. Kravitz told me, “Addison, I’m sorry, but the cancer has progressed too far. The treatment isn’t working and there’s not much more we can do. A new clinical trial shows some promise, but nothing is certain.” That day was when I was first faced with the concept of my own death.

When I was initially diagnosed with cancer, there was hope for me. I endured countless enervating infusions and surgeries, but I was making progress. My health was slowly getting better and I was even back in school.

Six months after receiving my diagnosis, I returned to Dr. Kravitz for scans to track my healing progress. Walking in that day, the all too familiar fluorescent lights, crisp cool air, and piercing smell of disinfectant felt different. I had hoped that my health had improved and made headway. However, when I entered the hospital that day, I didn’t know I wouldn’t leave for another two months.

The new trial wasn’t working; I was out of options. Dr. Kravitz told me and my parents that “we can continue with the trial in hopes that a miracle will happen, but at this point, we are keeping you in the hospital for monitoring.” I was trapped in a never ending maze of uncertainties.

I hated being in the hospital. My days were filled with continuous beeping of machines and nurses constantly coming to check on me. All of the nurses knew me, and that wasn’t a good thing. At that point, I had been receiving aggressive treatment for two weeks, with no flicker of health in sight.

After a few weeks, I got used to the routine of the hospital. In a way, the hospital began to feel like home. I found unanticipated friendships with the other sick kids, giving me solace. At my lowest point, I found a new feeling of comfort. Death was no longer the thing I most feared. Instead of spending the time I have left living in dismay, I decided to seize each and every day.

Now, I don’t care about my plans that I had just a few months ago. Playing basketball in college suddenly wasn’t the most important thing in life. My values have evolved. Hope for survival has turned to hope of life. I’d rather live my most meaningful life, rather than merely survive. My hope is holding onto and embracing every moment I have, even when uncertainty awaits.

Confinement Sylvia Habert Canon Rebel T7

Finish Line Frieda Novick Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

Fronting Yaffa Mishan Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

I’m Just a Girl

Emily Tarrab

“A slice of burek,” he mumbled. Alarmed by the cold expression on his young, yet surprisingly handsome, face, I quickly jotted down the order for table five and put it behind the counter. While I waited for his food, I realized it was specifically despair, along with a hint of anger, that overwhelmed him.

I was incredibly desperate ever since my dearest Adelhaid was brutally beaten and murdered by those Bosnian bastards. I understood his pain. And after working at Schiller’s Delicatessen for three years, I believed I developed the skill of accurately interpreting our customers’ expressions.

Joszef handed me the scolding hot burek, I hurriedly dropped the tray on the young man’s table. He didn’t say “kösz.” Nevertheless, I offered him a drink on the house, a shot of Unicum, which he accepted.

Wasting no time, I pulled up a rusty stool, asking him how the burek tasted and what his name was. Initially, he shot me a look of disgust, turning his attractive face and square jaw back to his food. However, he began to, once again, mumble, “Gavrilo, and the burek is too salty.”

I replied, “Eleonora, and that’s why I gave you the liquor, to wash it down.” And just like that, he emptied out the vessel, aggressively slamming it down hard against the wooden table. The other diners turned their heads in our direction- I definitely noticed one elderly couple rolling their eyes at us since the young people were causing a ruckus. He smirked, and said in a clear tone, “I know.” I rolled my eyes and dramatically left to take another customer’s order, hoping he would sense my sarcasm.

Despite risking my job by sitting down with Gavrilo, despite Joszef warning me for months to stop being a flirt and learn some self-control, I did not, for a single second, regret my decision. I swear, I saw a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, his secret warmth uncovered after he drank the bitter, yet rich, booze.

While passing the order to the counter, through my periphery I saw Gavrilo jolt up and sprint towards the door. Where was he going? I wanted to ask for his vezetéknév- how will I see him again?

I whipped my head towards the exit just as I heard a massive boom echoing throughout the four cozy walls of the delicatessen, setting off a frenzy of yelling and running both inside and outside. What had just happened? I ran behind the counter and dropped to the floor.

I started to hear a woman wailing, “Segítség! Segítség! Segítség!” I was scared. I didn’t want to leave my shelter, but I did. I carefully took small steps away from the counter. The first thing I noticed was the royal

carriage, then the raucous soldiers, and then I saw him– not Gavrilo, I saw the Archduke of Austria-Hungary, Franz Ferdinand, slumped over on his side on his lofty seat, with fresh blood splattered all over him and his wife. I felt close to fainting, my knees growing weaker by the second. I caught myself from collapsing using the nearest stool to stabilize myself.

Is Gavrilo okay? Nervous, I began to dart my eyes all around the street where the carriage was stopped. That was when I heard, “Ti átkozott bolondok, ti rablók, ti magyarok!,” being yelled repeatedly. You damned fools, you robbers, you Hungarians! I was reminded of Adelhaid and the tragic fate she suffered at the hands of the Bosnians.

The soldiers were rapidly pushing civilians away from the area, making for a clearer view of the chaos from the delicatessen’s windows. I think it’s him. The Archdukes' guards were arresting the assassin. He looked young. It was him, Gavrilo, a traitor who I tried to make a friend.

But no… I’d gotten it all wrong. It was me. I delayed him in the diner. If I hadn’t engaged in conversation with him, he might have left earlier and likely wouldn’t have crossed paths with the archduke. It’s my fault, all my fault.

One Month Later, July 1914

My home has just declared war on Serbia. The Black Hand terrorist group and the murder of Franz Ferdinand were the catalysts, but I was to blame for.

My intention was to uplift his spirits and lighten his mood, but instead, my actions have resulted in the immense pain and suffering of millions.

My life will never be the same. I am not just a girl who flirted and socialized with customers at Schiller’s Delicatessen; I am also the girl who inadvertently started this bloody conflict by doing so, by innocently fraternizing with the enemy.

The L Word- A Sonnet

Sarah Kezra

When you’re young, They tell you not to use words like the F curse. They teach you the “right way” to twist your tongue. They convince you that there is an “incorrect” way to converse.

When you’re all grown, You get introduced to the L word, A term used often, but still unknown. A word who’s meaning is always blurred.

When you finally reach adulthood, The L word becomes a pain. It’s now not what you originally understood. You realize it’s a harmful trick to the brain.

The word “love” hurts more, Than the F word from before.

If you let me I’ll love you more than anyone has ever loved me, If you let me.

If you let me I’ll love you, The way that flowers love bees. The way the bees need the flowers to survive and the flowers need the bees. If you let me I’ll love you, The way the stars love the sky. The way the sky wants to be lit up and the stars want to be that light.

And if you don’t let me love you,

And you don’t want to love me, I’ll still love you anyways.

The way good wine loves time.

The way the wine needs time to be good but time will move with or without it.

I’ll still love you,

The way the moon loves the sun.

The way the moon needs the sun to shine but the sun can shine on its own.

Even if I’m just that bottle of wine, Or even if I’m nothing but the moon, I’ll still love you,

More than anyone has ever loved me.

I Am From Rachael

Kopylov

I am from the fourth stop towards Manhattan on the Q, Far from the metropolis, and far enough from school. Currently known as Little Odessa, Streets lined with tables of cheap plastic figurines.

I am from Brighton Beach, With its savory aromas, Wafting out of restaurants Selling borscht, plof, and samsa.

I am from Coney Island Avenue, The American road between Eastern Europe’s memory: Samarkand Bazaar and Tashkent Grocery, Twin monuments reminiscent of where we used to be.

I’m from the Hanukkah garland, That makes our heroes feel at home. Hung proud like a victory banner, A reminder of who I’ll always be.

Sunflower

Rebecca Azrad

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun: Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveler's journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: Arise from their graves and aspire, Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

Enchanting gardens are like a magical embrace, Whispering secrets of a world beyond time and space. In every whispered breeze and rustle of the leaves, The enchanting garden, that no one dare cleaves

The atmosphere alive with dreams that take flight, Each step a dance, every moment shining bright. Like fireflies in the dark, they light up the way, Guiding us towards a future that's ours to sway.

Sunny Nights Sonny Cohen Illustrator

Dear the Love of My Life

Galiette Mita

Dear New York City,

This might not be the best way to say it but, I think we should split up. This is something I’ve kept bottled in my chest. I know this is hard to understand so please let me explain.

I’m writing to you from my canopied patio outside my humble, little New Jersey ranch house. I’ve got about an acre of forestry land in front of me and hydrangeas so plump and beautiful to my side, they wouldn’t last a week in our makeshift garden back in Brooklyn. They range from a powdered blue color to a flushed pink, dotting the manicured bushes with a lovely, welcoming gift.

The neighbors have been sweet, not too adjacent to my house to notice every minute I leave or enter my home, and so I’m really loving my stay over here. I know our open relationship has been widening even more over the past years, especially with my parents insisting I accompany them on their yearly travel excursions, so my new summer house shouldn’t feel any different. But for some reason, it does.

There’s something that has bothered me ever since I moved 25 miles away from you. Not in the way I, nor you, would have expected but perhaps you’ve seen it coming. And that is what I want to talk to you about.

Like I said earlier, I don’t think we should still keep seeing each other. I’m considering my time in the suburbs, listening to the cardinals' chirp and the flush of wind’s whistle and my heart seems to follow the tune that they sing. What a reprieve is to stay where the night actually shows stars and where sidewalks aren’t littered with garbage bags.

Plus, after 16 years of our relationship, we don’t seem to get along pretty well anymore. I used to snuggle up in the blankets and watch you dance in the living room while you sang karaoke past midnight. We would walk to school together as you shared another story about your youth in your little accent. I would listen to you talk with big eager eyes, admiring the way you would stop your flashback here and there to give some pocket change to the homeless guy on the street. You always offered hospitality. And you never stopped. I remember riding our bikes on the pavement at Governer’s Island and you had to teach me the tricks on navigating a crowd of incoming people. I loved it. Remember the ferries and Hudson River? I used to die for our Sunday dates in Manhattan. However, things have changed. I’m not into crowded boats or late night karaoke parties or gushes of pedestrians anymore.

I’d rather take a picture by glistening salt-water lakes than swampy, brown Hudson River. I love the smell of grass with the tinge of fresh air and waking up every morning with the sun in full view of sight (with no obstructing skyscrapers). I look back at my baby pictures that I had with you and all I see are the familiar colors of brown, black, gray and burgundy. The color of the townhouses, the color of the pavements, the color of the buildings are all so bleak and uninviting. Yes, I used to be obsessed with them but I mean, that was all I knew. Seeing the vibrant palette of the suburbs now, I yearn for more greens and yellow and blues and pinks. I yearn for the quietness and the serenity. I like charming five bedroom cottages with a circle driveway, not a 1200 square foot apartment on the 7th floor. I want my future home to be on a huge plot of land with rustic wood shinglings and a private entry way, not a narrow brick townhouse with neighbors so close to your door that it restricts your lungs’ airway.

But before you get the wrong idea, don’t get me wrong- I love the value you add to my life. You believed in me when I told you about my dreams for the future. You gave me a plan to get there. You enriched my life with heavy jokes, everlasting support and the feeling of home every time I called you when I was lost.

I’m just not sure you’re the one for me. You deserve to spend your time and energy on someone who's still excited to be with you and do the things you like. You shouldn’t have to be with me when I have started to question my relationship with you. I’m sorry our fate wasn’t meant to be together and I truly apologize that it had to go like this. As much as I wish I could say that I adore the city and could stay there all my life, the way my heart is swaying me doesn’t align with the heart of yours and all I could wish you right now is my goodbye.

Haiku

Susie Masri

One poignant haiku: Fog surrounds the trees A light breeze encases me I'm trapped in your lies

One uplifting haiku: Bright light filters through Trees blow gently from the wind I'll go out today

Inferno June Rhamey Resourced Image, Photoshop

Remember to Never Forget

Linda Yazdi

Remember, he says A soft brush in my ear

As the sky turns black

Since the stars can’t bear to watch

Remember, he repeats Quiet but fierce

As the moon bleeds red Casting shadows on the ground

Remember, he screams Shouts so powerful many turned to stare As he was torn from my grasp

My fingers turned cold

Remember, he pleads Voice turning desperate As the Nazis drag him down Bloody body hitting the ground

Remember, he whispers With no other sound

His goodbye echoing Even as I wake

I struggle to comprehend Who that frantic, anguished man was As I feel my heart pounding

Trying to break free from my chest

The church bells ring While I’m called down for prayers As I hear six unfamiliar words

Calling to me like nothing ever before

A man stands by the door

Trying to push his way in The priest blocks his path As he sings

“Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Elojeinu, Adoni Ehad”

Dear Love

Sophia Kopolovitz

Have I told you lately

That I love you so much?

You help me become the person I am today

I love you, more than you know

Without you, I’d be on the ground

Tethered to the earth

You're the only reason that I'm not afraid to fly

I Am Simply Just Misunderstood

Lyla Ashkenazie

A couple of things you do not know about me:

I do not like my job.

I am not fair.

I am not cruel.

I am Death, and I am simply just misunderstood.

It’s hard to believe, but no; I do not have a heart of stone.

No, I don’t like to watch innocent people die.

No, I don’t take pleasure in hearing people in pain.

I am just something that is bound to happen to everyone.

I am not cruel, I am Death.

I may seem evil, but I am not.

I am simply just misunderstood.

The heart you think I do not have shatters.

You think I do not care?

Every time I see an innocent soul in pain I cry out in helplessness. Every. Single. Time.

The terrible mystical creature that you think I am does have feelings. You think I like to see people suffer?

Every time I carry away a soul, only colors can pull me away from my misery. Every. Single. Time.

Despite what you think, I am not evil, and I am not cruel. I am Death, and I am simply just misunderstood.

I have carried many souls in my lifetime. And yet, I still haven’t gotten used to seeing people in pain.

I still haven't gotten used to seeing innocent souls die because they can’t defend themselves. It still haunts me to this day.

Humans still haunt me to this day.

I am not horrifying, and I am not barbaric.

I am Death, and I am simply just misunderstood.

Fly to You Julie Tbeile

Illustrator

Inner Thoughts Randi Didia iPhone, Photoshop

The Passion of the Writer

Bella Shamayeva

A book is a magic carpet: once your eyes dive into the words and soak in every letter, it can take you anywhere in the world. A form of imagination, self-expression, beauty and creation. The brilliant techniques and the hidden meanings that symbolize true emotion, always awed me ever since I was a small child.

My reading history began when I was two years old. From picture books to novels, reading was exceptionally important to me and I could never imagine myself not reading. Looking back at my literary past, it really highlights that the concept of time is beyond human comprehension. It’s as if it was this morning that I was snuggling in my bed, reading the innocent silly stories that entertained me. Instead of wasting time watching television, I spent the time attentively listening to my mother’s calm voice reread my favorite book for the millionth time that year. This book was Martina the Cockroach, by Kama Einhorn, which I found out years later is a picture book retelling of a Cuban folklore. I loved the cute and funny characters and the stubborn Martina, trying to find her life partner as she gets ready for her day.

My literary interests took a shift when I ultimately began to learn how to write. It’s incredible that writing is one of the most crucial skills yet a large fraction of people out there are unable to write well. My writing started with wobbly strokes, and it ended with beautiful stories. It was then, in elementary school, that I knew writing was one of my many passions. Following in my grandfather's footsteps, who was a very respected teacher, poet, and speaker in my community, my parents saw that my writing could take me anywhere. My grandfather saw it as well. He always told me how he expected me to be the Secretary of State, and definitely successful. He saw the potential in me, to emulate his talents of writing and speaking. I felt like he knew that my literary voice was my greatest strength.

It's disappointing that I feel like I’ve lost my touch with this trait of mine. Going through middle school and high school, besides the boring quarantined days, I only read books when I was required to. I enjoyed every minute of it, and I know that reading is a very handy skill to have. However, my days were and are so busy with schoolwork that these types of interests and hobbies have gradually drifted away. The

connection has been severed. Severed, but not gone. I’ve noticed how my skills have developed, the small things that interested me have become fiery passions. This is even more prevalent within my schoolwork. I took a very intensive research class, AP Capstone Seminar, in 10th grade that tested my writing abilities beyond their limits. In the present day I see it within essays for English or History class, and practically explaining Chemistry has some sort of a “Bella” twist on it every time.

I have grown as a person, and with all new experiences, I’ve encountered various ways of utilizing my writing skills. That was until I began studying Hebrew. To write, speak, and read in Lashon HaKodesh was one of my biggest literary challenges. As I came to a new school where Hebrew was a language spoken in multiple classes, I had come to the realization that I have never struggled with writing before. I’ve learned new languages before; however, Hebrew was taken to a very high level and at a very high speed. It taught me how to persevere during rough times, after being used to writing and reading effortlessly.

My abilities have significantly changed over the course of my 16 years of existence, and I await what is to come for me in the future. Although it's unfortunate that my grandfather couldn’t see who I have become, and my accomplishments as I’ve made it into high school, I still have a part of him within me. I can only hope that this drive, this desire, will guide me down the roads of success as it did with him.

Yes, a book is a magic carpet, and every string and pattern is unique. You could say that anyone can write a book, yet it takes a truly passionate writer to actually sew the strings together.

A Freedom Deferred

Ben Harari

What happens to a freedom deferred? Does it get forgotten like an old childhood friend? Or buried deep down like a pirates treasure And then deserted? Does it rust like strong iron, now weak? Or hide in the corner of your mind Like a quiet mouse in your home? Maybe it just gets locked behind bars like a sorrowful prisoner. Or does it split the sea of imprisonment?

Unity Eli Gindi Canon Rebel T7

Rain

Michelle Sutton

Rain pours

Thunder roars loud

I go inside to hide

From the angry sky before it

Cries

One With the Wind Sophia Salem Charcoal

Here, in the Park

Rivkah Lahav

It is only when I take off my headphones that I realize I am a blundering fool, heavy-footed and oblivious to the cacophony of breaking branches and cracking acorns underneath me. Embarrassed of my flagrant humanhood, I slow my movements and my breathing, modulating the steady heel-toe heel-toe to a gentle adagissimo that doesn't render everything underneath moribund. At my own quietude I am at last privy to the environmental symphony, the rustling of the wind in the cherry blossoms and the blue jays arguing like politicians and the thumping of a sparrow in its dust bath. I entreat Earth to open her doors and she rewards me for my silence; I climb up a tree as fluidly as a squirrel and perch myself carefully among its branches, watching a starling burrow down for a nap under my dangling limbs. The feeling begins, unfamiliar for the fact that it has been months since it graced me last, and it takes me another moment of silence to recognize the emergence of words from the perpetual whirlwind which I've finally managed to take into a breeze. Eager to taste them again, I lunge, but they retreat to the blurred boundaries from whence they came. They flutter nervously and it strikes me that I must treat them as I do the birds. No sooner does that thought manifest than I approach a robin in a small open swath of grass. I stand still and she tilts her head at me, watching for just a moment. Then she plunges her beak into the grass and, so fast I would have missed it if I blinked, plucks out and swallows a worm. She looks at me again and tentatively hops closer. I don’t move. She takes another step toward me, as if asking me, look, did you see what I did? A runner passes by and the spell is broken by the crunching of gravel under sneakers. The robin flees and I, still standing there, feel the words beginning to emerge again, untangling into near-coherence as they poke around curiously. This time, I wait until they come to me. This time, they allow themselves to be read, and they assemble themselves into sentences under the beating sun

Special Sophie Cattan Resourced Image, Photoshop

Hope Deferred

Lyla Ashkenazie

What happens to hope that is deferred? Does it erode like soil and rock?

Or does it erupt like a volcanoAnd then spread its destructive remains? Does it darken like the night sky?

Or does it dissipate Like fog on a sunny day?

Maybe it disappears like a coin in a magicians hand. Or does it simply shatter?

Perspective

Lizette Husney

A world filled with dark. There only seems to be cloudy skies. Watch me fall apart, All that's left is my loud bitter cries. A world filled with light. Which has a beautiful atmosphere around me. My future just seems so bright. I am lucky to feel so free.

A life of rain, A life of rainbows, A life of pain, A life of meadows. Although this is all in the same world. Sunshine or thunderstorms let your perspective unfurl.

Acculturation Sarah Chetrit Procreate

Jimmy John James Jawaan Jennings Jr.

Salomon

Dayan

At 2AM on July 16, 2057, 16 year old Jimmy Jennings Jr. woke up with a bad headache. “Not this again,” he thought. “I have to turn off this stupid brain chip.”

Jimmy was a highly influential YouTuber, a prominent source in many Americans’ brain feeds. Elon Musk’s company Neuralink allowed everyone to watch videos and telepathically communicate with one another from the moment they woke up until the moment they went to sleep. People could even be woken up in the middle of the night to something important by authorized sources. This time, however, was different.

Five minutes after he woke up, he heard his assistant in his brain. “Jimmy, this one’s important. Germany finally invaded!” Jimmy had been expecting this for weeks. Ever since France seceded from the EU in mid-May, Germany had been building up a military presence near the border with France. “DaMarcus is sure to put out a video by this morning. You have to beat him to it!”

DaMarcus Williams was Jimmy’s nemesis, a rival YouTuber competing for Jimmy’s market share. He opposed Jimmy’s stance on almost everything, and was sure to put out a video about the war as well.

Immediately before the invasion, Germany declared war on France and the EU members were forced to take sides. Britain, a staunch French ally, had made it clear that upon a German invasion it would immediately join in solidarity with its ally. From what Jimmy could tell, it seemed as though Britain, Belgium, and Poland would back France, and Austria, Bosnia, and Macedonia would back Germany. The rest would remain neutral for the time being.

The United States was facing serious pressure to get involved. Germany said that the United States had a duty to enforce international treaties. France claimed that the United States should enforce order and that Germany invading was a breach of international law.

Jimmy was a big French activist. He generally supported Peace, but since Germany had invaded, he was enraged at the prospect of Germany provoking a war with France. He decided he would film a video by 4AM, expressing his support for the French effort, and give it over to his assistant to edit it so it could be out by 5AM, in time for the early risers to watch his video as soon as they woke up. “We need to show the world that countries can’t just invade other countries when they have a disagreement,” he had said. “Germany should be made an example to the other nations.” Jimmy

then wrote and signed an e-petition and tagged it to the video. With this job done, he felt he had earned the right to go back to sleep.

Jimmy knew, however, that he was not the only YouTuber with influence over America. DaMarcus would be doing the same thing as him right now, only instead of supporting France, he would be expressing his support for Germany, and the video would almost certainly be coupled with a petition. There was nothing Jimmy could do but wait for morning and see how it all unfolded. Whichever petition had more support would undoubtedly have tremendous say in the White House and congress.

The next morning Jimmy woke up at 8AM after a restless sleep. He heard his assistant’s voice again. “We did it Jimmy. Congress declared war on France. DaMarcus’s video only has 50,000 views and yours blew up to the largest we’ve ever had. You got over 100 million views within the first 2 hours! Good job Jimmy. The Allies will win and teach the world a message.”

Fog

Susie Masri

Fog surrounds the trees

A light breeze encases me I'm trapped in your lies

One uplifting haiku: Bright light filters through Trees blow gently from the wind I'll go out today

Shein Samantha Ryba Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

The Desires of Mankind

Reuven Tobias

A man was spat out of the rock into the center of an enormous building. He rolled to the wall, through the ruins of a massive doorway, across the old limestone pathway and down the mountain. His eyes slowly opened and he found himself between two mountains. He looked around to find nothing. No one. Just two mountains. One with a Gold dome at the top and the other with the ruins of a wall made of gigantic pieces of limestone. He fell asleep.

As he was preparing food, the glare of the gold dome caught his eye. A mysterious voice started to speak, “You may go anywhere you wish except for the gold dome. It will lead you in the wrong direction.” He looked up and felt a strong desire to see what was in the building. He began to climb the mountain but quickly grew tired. Then something began to wrap around his legs. He looked down to find a snake. “I will help you make your way up,” the snake said. They continued up the mountain together.

It was a moment before he entered the dome when the ground began to tremble. “Adam? Where are you?!” Adam sprang up and hid behind a massive rock. The ground continued to tremble. “Adam? Adam?!” It was only when the voice stopped that Adam realized what had happened. He had angered the voice. But it was too late. The ground trembled harder and Adam began to roll down the mountain. He rolled faster and faster until everything went black.

His eyes blinked open. He found himself in a familiar place. “This is the rock that spat me out. Isn't it?” He waited for a response only to find that the snake was gone. “He must've died when the ground trembled,” Adam thought.

Then the mysterious voice began to speak again. “There you are Adam! I was looking for you!” “Who are you?” “I am god! I created you and have instructed you not to go to the gold dome. Why did you disobey me?”

“I just wanted to see what was up there.” Adam responded. “Look around you Adam. This is where you belong. This is my temple and I have created you. You must listen to my commands and you shall be successful.”

“Okay. But what's wrong with going into the gold dome?” “The gold dome will teach you ways that go against me. You will stray off the path I have set for you and do unethical things. I am God, your cre-

ator and know what's best for you. I have brought you back to the path this time; however, now you must understand that you need to follow my commands.”

The voice of God was cut off by a loud sound. The room went silent and all that could be heard was metal clinging. The small hissing noise became louder and louder. Before he could move something wrapped around his leg. The snake began to pull him back down.

As he inched closer, his eyes were attracted to the Gold Dome. He began to fight with the snake but it was stronger than him. The snake pulled him closer and closer to the dome. He was left to fight alone. God would not speak.

He twisted and turned as he fought for himself. He turned around to face the temple of god. Then back at the dome. He felt a desire to see what was in the Dome but he also felt a connection to the temple. He remembered the rock where he came from. He fought harder and harder.

The snake twitched and lost its control. Adam escaped and ran back to the temple. He remembered God's voice, and His desire to see the dome faded. All he wanted was to go find Him. He returned to the rock.

A Subtle Dream

Jenny Khabih

Let them be as the moon, Always the center of attention, but forced to handle more than they could bear.

I’d rather be the stars, a myriad of lights.

To have a quiet gleam, to modestly light the sky, far from the main attraction.

To be distant and free, to illuminate the infinite space, and twinkle without fear.

I’d rather play my humble part, and if then be less admired,

Than to be judged and torn to pieces for everything I do.

I’d rather be a glimmer in the darkness than to shine with a bright hue.

If I could be the moon or the stars, I’d rather be the stars, a subtle dream.

Infinite Love Leah Katash Resourced Images, Photoshop

A Day in the Life of an Ant

Joy Harari

I watched her beautiful blue wings lined with orange and black flutter as she landed on the ground next to me. “Nato! How are you?” my best friend, Lydia, asked me.

“I’m doing fine,” I replied; “I survived another day.”

Lydia sighed. “I wish I could do something to help you!”

“You can’t, Lydia. I just have to accept my fate. I’m a measly insect, tiny and negligible. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

Lydia turned to face me as a teardrop escaped her eye. “I hate to hear you talk about yourself and your future like that. Try to stay positive while I’m gone, okay?”

I nodded, too depressed to even speak. I watched Lydia get smaller and smaller until her blue colored wings were just a speck in the sky.

I walked towards my little hole where I’d been living for the past few months. I hate how cold and dark it is down there. At least there are other ants living there to keep me company. The good thing is that it’s away from humans. That’s the most important part.

Since the day I was born, my parents taught me to stay out of harm’s way by being as far as I can from humans. All I ever wanted was to take a walk outside and enjoy nature. But I never got a chance to see the most beautiful of God’s creations because of the possible danger that a human would trap me in a little plastic cup or- worse- step on me and kill me.

The last time Lydia visited me, I brought her to my current home. She flew around for a while. Upon her return, Lydia reported that the hole was in the floor of a playground in something called a school, a place where humans go to learn.

I considered the idea of this so-called school, thought about this colorful place they call a playground, full of different toys and play materials. They swing on the swings and slide down the slides. They have so much freedom, these young humans. So much potential. So does Lydia. Her wings will take her anywhere she wants to go, fly her away from danger and towards a place full of blessings and good things. That leaves us ants scurrying across the sidewalk, trying to keep out of harm and danger of those humans’ giant sneakers.

I remember I once asked my father, “Why do they have such big feet?”

“They aren’t really that big,” he responded. “It’s because we’re so small that their feet look so large. It’s all about perspective.”

This is one of the only memories I have of my father. He was so wise. I don’t think about him a lot because it makes me sad how I can’t remember what he looked like or the sound of his voice. I’m sixteen now, but I got separated from my father at four years old. I don’t remember how or why. The one thing I do know is that a year after I was born, my mother–adventurous and full of curiosity, just like me– was killed by a human in the streets solely because she wanted to see the world we live in.

Most people assume ants don't really have a function or purpose in the world. But just because we’re small, doesn’t mean we aren’t important. The extinction of us ants would actually cause catastrophic damage to the ecosystem. We are way more important than you think; we influence important processes such as seed dispersal and recycling nutrients. We improve soil chemistry and prey on pests that humans don’t want around for many reasons. It would be very hard for people to live without us, yet instead of getting acknowledged for all of our hard work, we get stomped on, trampled, and kicked to the curb.

If I ever got the chance to speak to a human, I would tell them to think twice the next time they decide to take the life of an innocent little ant just casually going about their day.

BLinD

Violet Cohen

IF the world stopped turning, how long would it take us to notice? our heads aren’t in the clouds, they’re 6 feet underground.

IF the stars burned out, who would find themselves gazing far enough to Realize??? every sidewalk is a sea of litter, and when we trip over it, we blame that little crack in the sidewalk that’s been there since before you breathed your first breath. and when the kid next door goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up, You’ll just ignore it, and keep walking

IF I asked you what your destination is,

You’d be at a loss for words.

eyes plastered on the cold floor.

little corners of chaos and madness have stolen our dreams.

HAVE WE ALL GONE BLiND?

Water and Ice Eli Gindi Canon Rebel T7

Independence

Bina Khodorkovsky

Let them be as lions hunting in prides, yet weighed down by others.

I’d rather be a fox, relying on my own wits to get me through, hunting in ongoing solitude.

To have the ability to remain independent, to be able to reach my goal with no interventions. Alone but not lonely, that’s what supports growth.

To be assertive without arrogance. Present and stealthy, but not obvious.

I’d rather be self assured with unrestrained confidence, and if then success is within reach. Then to be reliant, and an accessory to another’s widespread plan, being forced to follow the rest of the group and their capsized way of living.

I’d rather have courage to learn from my mistakes than to be condemned for others' errors while hiding my true judgment.

If I could strive for distinction, I'd rather be a fox.

Error Jacqueline Tebele Acrylic on canvas

Ode to Nature

Susie Masri

You’re perfect during every season

Covered in leaves in the fall

Cold and pretty in the winter

Sprinkled with flowers in the spring

Bright and sunny in the summer

With you I find peace

A breath of fresh air

A moment to think in silence

You change with your surroundings

Busy in the city

Calm in suburbs

But perfect everywhere

Bird's Eye Sylvia Habert Acrylic on canvas, Photoshop

Scream Sophia Salem Acrylic on canvas

Anxiety Annie Skaba Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

October Seventh

Irene Cohen

When you came inside our land

Wearing your armband

And infiltrated our farmland

Expecting us to let you be

Thought your land wouldn't be filled with debris

We could guarantee

We will give you what you deserve

Call in all our reserves

How dare you have the nerve

We will do what it takes

No matter the stakes

Make no mistake

We will bring them home

Under the protection of the Iron Dome

Make-up Randi Didia Canon Rebel T7, Photoshop

The Swatch

Abigail Fuzaylova

Today just was not my day; since last night, it has been raining; and it continued to pour heavily in the morning; I happen to hate rain; I woke up late and missed my bus; I had to walk to school in the rain; my foot got stuck in a puddle; as many cars were driving on the wet and slippery roads, dirty water splashed all over me, leaving me soaking wet; I couldn’t have gone back home to change because otherwise, I would be even more late to class than I already was; so, I kept on walking until I arrived to school; to add to my misfortunes today, I was unprepared for a pop quiz in my math class; the day continued to bring more bad luck with nothing to look forward to but getting home and getting some sleep; however, I was wrong; I had something to look forward to after all; I can’t believe I forgot about this: my birthday; this wasn’t just an ordinary birthday; this would be my sixteenth birthday; where I come from, which is in South Carolina, it’s very special when you turn sixteen; not only is this when you begin having more responsibilities, but also it is when you get the Swatch; the Swatch is a very cool smartwatch that everyone gets once they turn sixteen; I have seen my parents use it for reminders and trackers; I have seen my friends use it to call each other and plan parties; ever since then, I had laid my eyes on a Swatch; and tomorrow, I would finally get one of my own; tomorrow finally came; it was my birthday; I woke up super early and saw that my parents were waiting for me to come downstairs to give me my present; I rushed down the stairs with excitement; my smile went from ear to ear; I was so happy to finally get the Swatch; however, when I looked at my parents faces, they did not look happy; in fact, they seemed nervous, as if there was something important they wanted to tell me, but didn’t know how to say it; now I was getting worried; I was right; as my parents were handing me the box with my present inside, they said, “We have something important to talk to you about”; I was too focused on my present and didn’t take them seriously; they called my name several times until I payed attention; they said, “We know you have wanted this for a long time now, but there’s something you should know; this watch is very helpful, but can also be harmful”; they didn’t tell me much more than that; I tried not to worry to much about what they said; I enjoyed my gift; I couldn’t wait to show all my friends my cool Swatch; the next day, when I came to school, my friends automatically noticed my new smartwatch; they were all happy for me, and taught me some cool tricks that I can do with it; my closest friend, Giselle, tried to warn me about the Swatch; she said, “Be careful with it”; I asked her, “Why?”; she didn’t hold back the truth

any longer; she said that the Swatch tells you what age you will die; I was shocked; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; my friends confirmed that it was, in fact, true; right away, I looked at my Swatch; I swiped to the right; it said: age of death: 18; my eyes popped open; I tried to pretend that what I saw wasn’t real; I went home and tried every possible way to distract myself from the current situation; I read a book, baked twelve batches of cupcakes, and even sketched a painting; I decided to go to sleep and hopefully thought that what happened was nothing but a dream; I woke up the next morning; right away, before getting dressed for school, I checked my Swatch; I swiped to the right like I have done the day before and checked my age of death; it was no dream; my age of death still remained 18; I panicked once more, similarly to yesterday; then, after ten minutes, I took a deep breath and calmed myself down; all of a sudden, I had an idea; with all the time I have left in this world, I will experience life to the fullest; I would take risks, adventures, and put myself in exciting, life threatening situations; I had no time to waste; I got started; I right away, went in an airplane, without saying a word to my parents or friends, and went sky diving; I jumped out of the plane with no hesitation; I had the time of my life; as more and more months passed, I took as many risks as possible; I didn’t stop; I couldn’t stop; the night before I turned 18, I decided to throw a massive party; the last day of my life should be them most exciting; so, I invited all my friends, the entire school, and a bunch of random strangers from the street; some were dangerous, but I didn’t care; today was the last day of my life, before I die; I was going to spend it the way I wanted to; during the party, which included a lot of alcohol, dancing on tables, smashing vases and dishes all over the place, and many more things that I couldn’t comprehend, I received a strange phone call; I couldn’t recognize the number; I decided to take risks and answer it; apparently, it was the creator of the Swatch company; I couldn’t hear what he was saying, so I went outside; the owner kept on explaining in detail on how the Swatch was made and the advantages of it; then at one point he said my name; I asked, “How do you know my name?”; he said, “We have been looking for you for almost two years”; he said, “We made an error in your Swatch”; I asked, “What kind of error?”; he said, “Your age of death is wrong”; “It was supposed to say 98 instead of 18 years old”; I stood silent for a while; I didn’t know what to say; suddenly, I was filled with anger at the owner and told him, “How could you let this mistake happen?; You ruined my life”; the owner said that he was sorry and quickly hung up; at that moment, I

regained my composure; I went back into the party that I started; I wondered, “How could I have done this?”; I quickly turned off the music and kicked everyone out of my house; I tried to put all the furniture back where it was and glued all the pieces of broken dishes and vases back together; when my parents came home, later that night, I apoligized for my behavior for the past couple of years; I was ashamed of myself and what I have done; I called my friends as well; luckily, they forgave me; it was late at night, and I was about to go to bed; as I was taking off my Swatch, about to place it back into the box, to wear it the next day, I hesitated; I took my Swatch and threw it out my bedroom window; hopefully, tomorrow the garbagemen will pick it up and it will get crushed in the compactor; “I will never trust technology again”, I said; I went to sleep and was ready for the rest of my life; the life that’s not decided by a watch.

The Words that Made Me Leah Katash Canon Rebel

Blindness

Sarah Catton

Blind instead of seeing beggar instead of rich, Nothing came clear to me, As much as i wished, I heard from different allies but nothing was so true I couldn't see anything. I didn’t have a clue.

I say you see and still are blind, Blind from what? My past? My life? It wasn’t so defined, I didn’t believe what he had in mind.

Lost oh lost at last its blazing clear, I can see the truth, Lying in light beside me, I didn’t see it coming, That’s a crazy fact inside me.

Self Portrait Sophia Salem Watercolor

Bobbi Salama Canon Rebel T7

Makeup

Lyla Ashkenazie

Makeup, Used to cover flaws, but masking beauty within. Hiding what we think is imperfect, what defines us.

Mondrian's Laugh Frieda Novick iPhone, Photoshop

Guilt

Jenny Khabih

A heavy burden meant to last, A phantom that refuses to leave. It echoes through the mind, Causing a relentless melody, While tearing the soul apart.

The burden is too much, Holding a grip on the conscience. The nights become sleepless, Strangles the life out of you, The uneasy feeling of guilt.

Mona Simplified Debra Mizrahi

Illustrator

When I Was in Kindergarten

Irene Cohen

When I was in kindergarten, I remember memorizing the song of the colors in the rainbow. My favorite color at the time was pink, like any other little girl. As the years went on and I grew up, my favorite color changed. Still today, despite loving every single color at a different point in my life, my current favorite color is pink. I love the color pink because there are so many different shades of pink and they are all so pretty. In eighth grade, I became obsessed with looking at the sun. Every day when I got home from camp I begged my mom to let me go to the beach for sunrise. Midsummer, my mom finally agreed to let me go. The next morning, I ran two blocks in my pajamas as the sun was rising. The wind was blowing in my hair and I was freezing, but I didn't have a care in the world. I was just so excited and grateful to see the sunrise. When I made it to the beach I saw the colors in the sky and headed down the stairs. It looked like a movie set. I met Colette and we sat quietly amazed by God's creation. The sky was filled with various shades of purple, blue, pink, orange, and yellow. When I came home from camp I was exhausted because I woke at 5am, but it didn't matter. I loved the feeling of peace; no one was on the beach beside Colette and me, and we just sat there in silence. I loved the feeling of being productive and waking up early. By the end of the summer, I was known to post pictures of the sunrise on my Instagram and Snapchat. My camera roll was filled with hundreds of pictures of the sun. While it may be just a picture to some people, to me it represents much more. I think my favorite color is still pink because it reminds me of the sunrise.

I'm Human Jacob Nussbaum

Color Pencils

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

Sarah Madeb

I wake up tired, Paste a smile on, And make everyone around me smile.

At least someone is smiling.

People see me as Happy from the Seven Dwarves, and the people around me are Snow White. They ask and I do.

No matter how I feel.

I am a service to Snow White.

I try to be their Happy. It's what they expect.

They’re the princess after all.

People see me as their Happy. It's what they expect.

So I guess I'll be happy.

Influencer Elinor Shapir

Illustrator

The Hero of Midway

Liam Ouanounou

Wednesday June 4, 1942. Everything was coming together. All the Japanese ships were exploding. He felt as if he saw the victors of the war three years early. Sitting in a surveillance aircraft was Osuke Himari, the hero of the Battle of Midway for the U.S. Navy and Air Force.

Saturday June 1, 1942, jet pilot Osuke Himari of the Japanese army was waiting for the best time to report back to the U.S. Navy. The bright hot sun pierced his face, his olive green uniform, and warmed up his shiny black boots. He was standing alone, outside his jet. He was on a humongous Japanese aircraft carrier that was docked at the island of Midway, in the pacific ocean, off the coast of which was his home for the past year, Japan. Osuke Himari was an alias for the American-born Japanese man whose name was really Max Suzuki. He was sent to Japan as a fighter pilot who acted as a double agent that worked for the United States. He was sent on a top-secret mission by the U.S. army to replace a fighter pilot that was secretly murdered for this specific reason.

The island of Midway was tropical and empty, far off the coast of Japan far from anywhere else involved in the gruesome World War. It was the perfect place for the Japanese military to station their aircraft carriers, hidden from the opposition, the U.S. and their navy. Around the pilot were many other Japanese jets that were all loaded with their ammunition, missiles, and powerful engines waiting to slaughter the enemies of the Japanese. He was the only person standing on the carrier's runway. He had a communication device hidden under his pilot seat which he used to contact the American military officials. He held onto this device through all his time in Japan until now and did a great job contacting and conveying information to the Allies. He never knew who he was speaking to and their voice was always distorted whenever he received commands.

Today, he was commanded to tell the United States’ Navy where he was and give as much information about the Island of Midway as he could. The sun was setting in the pacific ocean and he was ready to hand over everything he could to the Allies. Just as he was about to record himself, a group of three other pilots walked up to the runway from the control center.

“Look who it is! My favorite jet pilot!” said the tallest of the three men. The other two guys were a few inches shorter than him and walked by his side. Osuke understood that this was just some of the other pilots that had the same ranking as him.

He said, “How are you my friend? What are you guys up to tonight?” confused as to why they, too, were

on the runway as he was supposed to be the only one. “We just came to check out the sunset," said one of the shorter guys. They seemed uninterested in him and walked to the opposite side of the runway. He now felt that it was the right time to record his message.

“June 1, 1942, time: 1900,” he began, and spoke about the place he was in. He gave as much information about the island as he could. He didn’t expect the U.S. to respond for a long time, but he tried to trust that they got his recording. As of now, he was isolated from them for one year and 54 days. He started to feel the need to go home. “Am I homesick? How much longer?” he said to himself, sitting alone in his fighter jet watching the pacific ocean. He would say these same words to himself every day now for the past week or two. He now felt distant more than ever because of the fact that he was out to sea . Osuke climbed out his jet and walked toward the mess hall on this huge aircraft carrier where he was supposed to be with the rest of the Japanese army. He went to grab food and sat alone at one of the tables that were just vacated by a group of intelligence officers. He ate quickly and went to his barracks where he would spend the night thinking about what to do the next day if perhaps he is sent to bomb a U.S. ship or maybe fly over his hometown, Trenton, New Jersey. He fell asleep manifesting his return to Trenton.

“Wake up Osuke, it’s breakfast time, and we are being called to a meeting after we eat. All us pilots! We don’t know much about this meeting, but we have been waiting for some action, and we think it’s finally our time!” said his bunkmate from above, Kai. Kai was usually a cheerful fellow even through the boring times on the ship. Osuke met Kai when entering the ship with the hundreds of soldiers that were boarding. Turns out they were put in the same barracks room. Osuke liked Kai but tried to minimize his encounters with him because of his situation. He didn’t want to initiate too many friendships. He walked with Kai to breakfast where they spoke about what could happen. Kai said things like, “dogfights in the sky,” and, “dropping a huge explosion on those bastards,” which was what he usually spoke about. These things flew right over Osuke’s head because he was thinking about this meeting. Could they really be launching an attack? Will this information be important for me? Will I have to attack my own country? Are all things he asked himself.

Osuke and Kai walked from the mess hall to the meeting room they were assigned which was near their barracks. Osuke and Kai were two of many waiting at the door for General Yamamoto. General Yama-

moto sure did show up after a few minutes of waiting. He walked with elegance through the crowd of young men that waited for him. As he walked, his boots made a thump as they met the ground. He was a short man that was well built. He had a muscular build paired with a traditional Japanese goatee that made him look like he had much experience and wisdom, which he did according to his resume. As he walked into the room the young men followed him in. The room was filled with highly skilled fighter pilots that would die for the imperial Japan that was their home. They all had the same ideologies and were prepared to do anything for their Japan. General Yamamoto got everyone’s attention without doing anything but standing at the end of the room where there was a board and a desk. Everybody stood there with their eyes on the charismatic general. Osuke focused on the plans that the general discussed.

“As soon as we get the green light to, we will gradually plan out our attack on the nearest United States’ islands to begin what will be many winning battles against the allies. Many of our friends over at Berlin are doing a great job advancing throughout Europe and are carrying out their promises to us. Our job is to win as many battles as we can in the Pacific in order to help the cause in the West and make it easier on our German friends. If the United States decides to launch attacks on the West before us, we will most likely have an easy time advancing through the pacific.” Yamamoto introduced this and continued on.

*this piece is an excerpt from a short story

Portrait Gabriella Kopolovitz Embroibdery on Canvas

Selly’s ABCs

Selly Saad

A is for Arabic

As a daughter of a Syrian immigrant

Arabic is usually the language spoken at the table

Usually for things they don't want kids to hear

B is for blessings

Some for food, some for luck

(Get married soon)

Is often recited as a greeting in my family to young girls

No matter how young they are

C is for cousins

As a great grandkid of someone who had eight children

I have a lot of cousins

Some older, some ,younger

Some boys, some girls

But no matter how different in age we are

We always get along

Smile of Wisdom Marilyn Salem Illustrator

Society’s Medicine

Morris Mita

We tell ourselves:

I see it with my eyes, no messenger’s We believe it as an all-seeing idea. They say, find it and you will be healed. They say, the journey ends at the truth.

Unscathed indeed, if the truth is strength. But does the truth really deliver salvation? Or does it open our eyes to all the evil of our world?

Force-feeding us the notions we tend to stay away from, Exposing our innocent brains to the shameful standards, Created by society’s own dictatorship.

And dare think you’re safe?

All of us are blind to the lies even the truth holds. Had the all-mighty answers come to us in a silver platter, Would we be satisfied ?

Or would we be In pain when it took us in its arms?

Time to Shine RaeLevy Collage

My Suburban Reprieve

Samantha Ryba

As we all know, The Big Apple never sleeps. It’s a bustling city whose inhabitants run on caffeine and a whole lot of carbon emissions. During my 13 years of living here, I’ve become attuned to the obnoxious sound of honking cars and the pungent scent of warm garbage. I’m unphased by the continuously inflating prices of iced lattes and even the creatures that roam along the subway tracks. New York City is my home through the seasons of fall, winter, and spring, but during the summer, Home becomes a remote and peaceful borough of New Jersey called West Long Branch.

This town shares some of its property with Monmouth University, whose hockey team cares for our summer house during the school year. Except, I don't think “cares for” is the right term to describe how they treat the 1904 Victorian-style estate. By the time we come to check on the house in June, full layers of paint have been peeled off the walls, the bedrooms have an awful stench of undone laundry and stale beer, and the house’s original windows have been impaled, most likely from a gentle game of hockey. But through all of the destruction, one part of the house miraculously remains intact; the porch.

While the house goes through the necessary renovations, the porch is our oasis. It offers a sense of serenity that no other part of the house can. Every morning when I awaken, the porch is the first place I visit. While I’m still in my pajamas, I head downstairs toward the front door, and I can tell that my mother is already there because the main door has been propped open while the storm door was kept shut. “Good morning, Samo '' my mom says to me in her faint Lebanese accent that will weaken as her coffee takes effect. We sit together, absorbing the sounds of singing birds and the rustling of bushes. The chilly, morning breeze rocks the branches and sways the leaves of the trees that occupy the front yard. The Citronellas, which my parents bought to repel mosquitoes, emit a tangy scent that wafts along the entire 40-foot porch. It’s so peaceful but my mother and I both know what lies ahead ---a long day, exhausting like any other. Some days I appreciate the calm mornings. It’s a willful ignorance. The stress which lies ahead is ever present but unknown. But other days, I feel teased by the tranquility. It’s as if I’m being mocked by the peacefulness that will soon disappear and become untameable chaos. Nevertheless, I’m eternally grateful for our porch.

Sometimes I like to read on our porch, other times I’ll chat with my sisters, but my favorite thing to do on the porch is absolutely nothing. I sit still with even breaths, absorbing the stillness that accompanies the sunset. The air, often thick with humidity, blankets me in warmth while I observe the happenings of Beechwood

Avenue. To the right of me, Cathy, my neighbor, pulls into her driveway carrying out a small load of groceries. After her husband, Irvin, died, Cathy’s house has become so dreary. We try to visit her sometimes, or bake her a batch of Sablé cookies, but the dullness never seems to fade. To the left of our property resides Monmouth Univerity’s Catholic Center. Every Thursday afternoon, the center holds a bible club in its backyard. Around 15 middle-aged women form a circle, lounging in their Tommy Bahama beach chairs while they discuss the Epistle of James or some other religious scripture. Other than the weekly bible club, the center is mostly silent.

Once Labor Day is over, I’ll have to return to the restless city. My peaceful mornings will be replaced with a hustle as I attempt to make the train on time for school. All of the green that I was once surrounded by will simply disappear. The tangy Citronellas will transform into neglected, dehydrated hydrangeas that lay unkempt in our backyard. My porch will be dearly missed while I count the days until next summer. Only 292 days left.

Ruthless Beauty

Barbara Namer

He went alone, no companions and no witnesses

Walked the merciless passage of endearment

Called by its harmonious song

His flame extinguished by his sea of tears

Even The mighty and once masterful shot down by the brigands of affection

He's a sage in the ways of attachment and weakness

He will tell you his tale of wondering, and getting lost in the maze of his lovers eyes

Don't say “he's rambling nonsense, he doesn't know a thing”

When he tells you “All things have their time”

Listen, listen to his wise words

Seeking that he walked the ruthless aisle of love

Overcoming Jacqueline Tebele Acrylic on Canvas

Free to Learn my True Self

Lyla Ashkenazie

Let them be as cars, always grounded to the road, honking at others, waiting for them to move.

Always looking for an easier, faster way to get to their destination.

I’d rather be an airplane, in flight, free to the vast and beautiful world around me.

Able to explore the sky, nature, magnificent mountains, hills, and rivers.

Free to learn my true self.

To have the ability to choose where I want to go and what I want to see.

To find my own way around this world without static.

You are the same as every other person by driving on a road, in a normal, regular, boring car.

I’d rather be an airplane, where I’m different from the rest, separated from the dull, than to be an average, unexciting car.

I’d rather be free to all the possibilities of life, than to be a car that is destined for one path, destined for only one possibility.

If I could choose my own path instead of waiting on others to make it for me, I’d rather be an airplane.

Ready Jacob Ebani

Illustrator

I Love New York

Sylvia Saad

From as far back as I can remember, my Sundays have always been filled with Subway rides, museum trips, and neighborhood discoveries. While most of my friends stayed local on the weekends, my mom made sure that her kids had a full taste of the New Yorker experience from a young age. Whether it be on the slide at the Irish Memorial in Battery Park, or in the random park somewhere on the Lower East Side, we were always busy. We did not leave a borough, island, or street unturned. The Saad stamp of approval was no easy feat. Only a select few places were accepted and frequented. I can guarantee that we hit every stop on the Muesuem Mile at least three times, yet the Brooklyn Children’s Museum was a collective favorite. Having unlimited passes and being just twenty minutes away heightened our obsession. The fake MTA bus and giant lunch boxes will forever have a special place in my heart. Although my memory is a little blurry, I remember even my sister, at her “mature” age of fourteen, loving the place probably more than I did.

All of my city’s great attractions that surround me, brought me to appreciate my home. How couldn’t I? It is New York. When my siblings moved out and left me behind, it was Manhattan that connected and brought us together. On a day off, I would visit my sister or brother to catch up, while enjoying the boundless activity and food options. Shopping was an obvious go-to, and my closet is now entirely made up of sample sale finds and products from thrifting adventures. Without the city at my fingertips, who’s to say I would not still be at Zara, trying not to match with everyone at school?

Although it is a different type of living, I would not trade my NYC childhood for the world. The unidentifiable liquids from above, mountains of trash, and shady characters in alleyways are all irrelevant when you can spot the Empire State Building in the corner of your eye. Everything is in this city, the good, the bad, and the ugly. If you are looking for anything, New York is the place to find it.

Oedipus the Great Joseph

Shamayev

Yes, I whom men call Oedipus the Great. Ruler of all of Thebes. The killer of Laius I shall annihilate. For I hear all the pleas.

I help this city so the curse shall not be a bother Laius to me is almost like my father. My power you shall not underestimate Yes, I whom men call Oedipus the Great.

Nothing left to see, to love, My life has been given a big shove. For how unbearable my load can be, The truth I wish I could never see.

Album Cover Reimagined Jeremiah Osipov

Photoshop

The Wind and the Leaves

Carolina Palacci

Wind blows rough if your the leaves

If you're dyed with memories of sunrise

If your essence proclaims declarations of quixote under crunches and contorts

If you live in silence

As you have no ears

And smile with the amity of acceptance as you fall

The trees know death is the mother of rebirth

But do the leaves?

As leaf subsides to leaf

As is the simple churn of Frost

But eden does not grieve

Because eden is the trees

And wind only blows rough if youre the leaves

innocence rose in the evening sky

Wind blew unsure tremors

The clouds bore the innocent sky’s burdens

Dense and deep and moist

The clouds were silent and the sky did not pry

As the clouds blackened with confessions of dying lepers

But honest clouds confessed and told Him

And fourth poured rain and drought rejoiced

Anger Michelle Sofer Canon Rebel T3, Photoshop

The Lost Hello Kitty Charm

Sylvia Saad

As a five-year-old and the youngest of four, I was a bit of an attention seeker. Especially on Sabbaths, when I had nothing else to do, annoying my family with my company was the only option. One Sabbath, my mother was helping my sister study for a test and locked her door to avoid disturbances. I was naturally bored and wanted to hang out with them. I tried to open the door and when that did not work I proceeded to start banging. When that did not work, the waterworks began. My father heard the noise and told me to let them study and go play downstairs. I swallowed my tears and walked down the stairs in shame.

The drawer under my oven used to contain every toy imaginable, from Legos to American Dolls. For some reason, my toy of choice for the day was my sister’s Hello Kitty charm. I walked upstairs in victory, excited about my find. I slid down the door of my parent’s room and started playing with the charm. I then decided it would be a good idea to throw it up in the air. That ended as badly as it could have, and it’s safe to say that the Hello Kitty charm was long gone down my esophagus. The second crying session of the day kicked off and my father ran to see what the commotion was about. Through my sobs, I somehow conveyed my issue to him and he proceeded to try and Heimlich maneuver it out of me. When that failed, Hatzolah was called and I was rushed off to the hospital.

My memory blurred when we got to the hospital, either because of the anesthesia or my young age, but the next thing I knew I was in a white, long hospital gown headed into surgery. Luckily, the charm had landed half an inch from blocking my air pathway, and the doctors successfully got it out of my system. Unfortunately for my sister, I came home alive and without her Hello Kitty.

Gabrielle Podolski Photoshop

Sunrise

Valerie A. Tabush

The moment before the day starts Its calming and peaceful

After the sun rises and everyone departs The day becomes stressful

The time where I feel the happiest With all the stress off my back Before the day turns its trashiest When the day feels off track

When most people are asleep

But i'm at my peek Before I have to go jump in my jeep And start to feel weak

I finally don't feel absurd I feel undisturbed

Protect You Rae Levy Collage

The Wheat Sifters

Shirley Jajati

She rests comfortably upon me, While the others exert themselves. They sift my flour, Creating the food she takes for granted.

I am an essential resource, I am not a pillow for leisure. I wish to shove her off me, Force her into action, But I am a gentleman, So I force my anger to a simmer.

And that's when I hear it, The Footsteps. The other children attempt to wake her, But it's too late. He's here. He takes her away, While she whimpers in terror. Her screams echo from the hallway, As he whips her for her moment of rest. And I wish in vain, That she was safe in my arms again.

Spring Bobbi Salama Canon Rebel

Hunger Moon

Rivkah Lahav

And it's looking up at apartment windows blurred by the congregating car-plaguing fog in a city all at once bigger than the mind can grasp and small enough to fit in a human heart and knowing that in each light there is a life or two or three and if we opened those windows their songs would spill out of the bricks and pool into the bustling streets below in a roar of feeling and the one thing that would permeate, not in an overpowering tide but in a million tiny currents that weave through the thrum of anger and cruelty, is love is love is love and all the world could sing again

A World Filled with Dark

Lizette Husney

A world filled with dark. There only seems to be cloudy skies. Watch me fall apart, All that’s left is my loud bitter cries. A world filled with light. Which has a beautiful atmosphere around me. My future seems so bright.

I am lucky to feel so free

A life of rain,

A life of rainbows,

A life of pain, A life of meadows.

Although this is all in the same world. Sunshine or thunderstorms let your perspective unfurl.

Are we going? Are we going? Sophia Zeitoune Illustrator

Home Geometry

Frieda Novick

Canon Rebel T7