NU, May 2013

Nu is made possible in part by a grant from The Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment of the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest May 30, 2013

Facing dyslexia

Last bird in the nest

Routine acts of kindness

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M O V I N G F O R W A R D

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If you would like to join Nu, contact Robin Friedman [email protected]

Kineret Brokman, 16, attends Golda Och Academy. Her passion for writing began with poetry and now wants to expand to other forms of writing. She is very excited to be a part of Nu and connecting writing to Judaism. Besides writing, Kineret likes

to sing/dance/act, run cross country, and bake. She loves eating pretzels with nutella, and hates horror movies.

Desi Brower, 13, attends Heritage Middle School. She loves soccer, basket-ball, school, and spending time with her friends.

Mack Brower, 15, attends Livingston High School. He loves to play basketball, and his favorite team is the New Jersey Nets. He enjoys cooking, playing the bari-tone saxophone, and hanging out with friends.

Rachel DeChiara, 18, attends Newark Academy and will attend Dartmouth University in the fall. She enjoys writing on the sofa in her living room, where the sun doesn’t cause too much of a glare on her laptop. When not publishing nov-

els, she enjoys singing with her school chorus, attending NFTY-GER events, and munching on her favorite snack: Mallomars.

Eliana Glatt, 19, attends Princeton Uni-versity. She enjoys jotting down poems whenever she can. She likes watching TV shows about hospital drama and myster-ies such as House and Bones. She also likes to cook, listen to music, chew gum con-

stantly, speak in weird accents, and text her friends.

Amanda Glatt, 16, attends Livingston High School. She has had a passion for writing from a very young age. She loves reading and has a special affinity for espi-onage thrillers. She enjoys hanging out at the mall, catching a movie with friends,

and shows such as Glee and House.

Abby Ingber, 15, attends Watchung Hills Regional High School. She is the youngest of three sisters and wants to fol-low in her sister Stephanie’s footsteps by writing for Nu. She enjoys soccer, the out-doors, and her friends.

Elana Marlowe, 17, attends Golda Och Academy. She enjoys playing tennis and basketball, cooking, traveling, reading and writing. She also loves to volunteer at Friendship Circle.

Shannon Stocks, 19, attends Boston University. Ever since she could form sen-tences on a sheet of paper, she has written short stories and, even before that, she dictated stories to her mom at the kitchen table. But it was not until she grew older and needed a way to express herself more

clearly that she discovered the therapeutic act of writing poetry. She was able to polish this passion through cre-ative writing courses. She enjoys staying active within her Jewish youth group, USY, baking with friends, learning sign language, and playing with her dog.

T E E N B O A R D

cover & interior designed by dayna nadel, graphic designer

Facing dyslexia with help from others 4

Doing good for a change 5

The only constant in life is change 6

The last bird in the nest 7

Tearing down the wall 8

Take control of your stress 9

In the line of fire 10

My big fat Jewish seder 11

Last year in Jerusalem 11

Learning to love volleyball 12

Fire and ice 12

Teetering on the edge 13

Peace, darkness, storm, the summer sunset 14

The best in the universe 14

First year second semester haiku blues 15

I want to be 15

M A Y 3 0 , 2 0 1 3

ROBIN FRIEDMANSpecial Projects Editor

DAYNA NADELGraphic Designer

ANDREW SILOW-CARROLLEditor-in-Chief

RICK KESTENBAUMCOO/General Manager

ABBY METH KANTERManaging Editor

PATRICIA R. ROGERSPublication Operations Director

I N S I D E

Sarah Ferrier, 15, attends Randolph High School.

3 nu may 2013

WHEN YOU HEAR that reassuring statement from Milly Iris, you know something wonderful is on its way.

A peerless planner and first-class visionary, Milly Iris was, and is, a creative force behind the abun-dant generosity of her husband, Herb Iris. Together, the two role models not only made a difference, but inspired those around them just by example.

Milly Iris continues to honor Herb Iris’ mem-ory by continuing the important work that he was passionate about.

Herb Iris was a builder — and by that we don’t mean just his day job as a real estate developer. Mr. Iris was a builder of Jewish community, whether as a legendary fund-raiser for United Jewish Communi-ties of MetroWest NJ; as a devoted supporter of his family’s congregation, Temple Sharey Tefilo-Israel; or a tireless worker behind his family’s many philan-thropic endeavors.

Those who know Milly Iris always come away feeling amazed by her rare blend of big-picture vision and magnifying-glass attention to detail. Simply put, Milly knows how to get things done.

Milly and Herb Iris, in short, were an incred-ible team.

They knew that to build Jewish community, you had to begin with its youngest members, giving them the solid foundation from which Jewish com-mitment and responsibility will grow.

The Iris family’s legacy lives on in The Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment of the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest. The fund’s mission is to focus on programs, like the Iris Teen Tzedakah Program, that invite young people as partners in building Jewish community.

Nu is a recipient of the endowment’s gener-osity, but more importantly the magazine is a benefi-ciary of Milly and Herb Iris’ dream for the future. It is a fitting legacy that the Iris Endowment supports pas-sionate Jewish teen writers, who dedicate their time and considerable talent to sharing their thoughts and ideas for their generation and our community.

Instead of retiring from the scene, Milly Iris knew her husband would want her to keep going, keep doing good, keep giving, keep making a differ-ence.

Little wonder that Milly Iris and her family continue to memorialize Herb Iris by investing in the future of young people so that they learn the respon-sibility, and the art, of giving back.

For Milly and Herb Iris, giving back will always be a way of life.

An incredible teamI’ve got a great idea.

To life

Milly IrisMother, grandmother, great-grandmother

Let’s celebrate chai. Many of you are approaching 18 — chai. I’m 81 — very chai!Life isn’t a rehearsal. Act now. Today. Not later.Don’t hesitate. Don’t wait.Births and birthdays, partake. Happy times with family and friends.Before it gets too late. Not to mention what’s always waiting on our plates.Aches, yes. Pains, too.Just stick to your journeys.Make it great.Have goals. Be passionate.Life can be bittersweet. But it is still special, wonderful, precious.Don’t waste it.

18 18 18

81 81 81

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nu

As a child faced with dyslexia, I had to overcome obstacles in school. If it had not been for art, I don’t know what I would have done.

My art was my thoughts. I knew I was different than

other kids. They read more quickly than I did. Learning was second

nature to them. But I couldn’t do that, so I drew pictures and they started to pile up. They were my escape, a way I could relax.

When my parents found out that I had dys-lexia, they were not surprised. They knew I would have to find a place that I could fit in. My parents told me about a school where there were only 100 kids, and who faced what I had to face. So I went one day and made an instant connection with the school and the other stu-dents. I knew I was going to do well at Orchard Friends School.

Finally, I felt confident in school. My learning improved over time; test after test I just kept getting bet ter . When I s tar ted to stress, I stopped to draw.

My concentra-tion with drawing and with school w o r k s t a r t e d to get worse as tests got harder. So, my parents talked to a doc-tor who recom-mended some medications to help me with my studies. When I started the medica-tion, I was uncertain about the whole situa-tion. But when I got to school, my studies started to click again! And my home-work just got easier.

After the fourth year,

my parents could see a change in me. My work wasn’t challenging enough for me. It was clear to me that I had to change schools. Luckily, the Lewis School was right for me. There were only 170 kids, and the teachers found a way to teach their stu-dents much differently than at public schools. At the Lewis School, teaching was like a sci-ence.

I was at Lewis for seven years. My knowl-edge was mine to own. Years passed and work got harder. Sometimes I would struggle with concentration.

Finally, it was time to talk to my doctor again about my medication; after a week of taking my new medicine, my concentration was starting to get stronger, and I could do two to three hours of work with no sweat.

But I always had this feeling of being dif-ferent. I couldn’t ever describe it. Even after

taking my medicine it never went away.

B u t I h a d t o s t r u g g l e

t h r o u g h t h i s p h a s e . T h a t ’ s

when I stepped into the class of Mrs. Re inmann. She became my advo-cate and friend. She was amaz-ing; my feelings of conf idence skyrocketed!

E v e r y t h i n g she taught me

c l i c k e d . I w a s doing essay after

essay. Once a week topics changed, and

I could finish before many of the other kids

were done with their essays. I couldn’t believe the things I

could do in her class. Spel l ing became a

breeze; I could study for three days and succeed in her class . I

became a stronger person inside. With her as a teacher, I became more confident in my art. I started building sculptures, and became an excellent spray painter. After a long day of work, I would go in the backyard and spray paint until night.

After that year of school, I completed five spray paintings and just kept going. I was in a school show and donated a wall sculpture to the Garden State Discovery Museum.

After finishing my year with Mrs. Rein-mann, I couldn’t ask for more. I learned so much in her class to help me be successful in college. I became a stronger person inside and out. Thanks to Mrs. Reinmann I have the foundation to be a successful writer.

I also need to thank my parents for being tire-less advocates. Because of them, dyslexia is no longer an obstacle that I cannot overcome. Now I’m ready to face the challenges of college.

Jeremy Iris-Williams, 18, attends Camden County College.

4 nu may 2013

with help from othersFacing dyslexia

nu

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Jeremy Iris-Williams

Illus

trat

ion

by

Jere

my

Iris

-Will

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s

You step out of the ring-ing door of Starbucks and notice a boy on crutches approaching the entrance, so you stretch out your fin-gers to hold back the door from closing.

Once you begin walking down the street, you spot the bus just rolling up to the curb. You bolt toward it, so the driver stretches out its stop so you can step on.

A young girl uses that extra time to pick up a crumpled dollar on the floor before stepping off onto the sidewalk, and drops the extra cash into the Styrofoam cup of a nearby homeless man. The man smiles for the first time that day, and decides to slake his thirst with a cup of coffee from the bake sale that — guess what? — you are running.

Of course, good deeds may not always get returned to us in this way; yet one must never underestimate the value of an act of kindness. As William James once said, “Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.”

I hold this as a life lesson, but recently it has come to my attention that some students are more apprehensive to start serving their commu-nity. While some have been raised with commu-nity service as a norm, others have been unable to find their niche within the volunteering com-munity and therefore have been less moti-vated to find time to volunteer.

Why spend hours of precious time vol-unteering — why do good?

There will always be a need for vol-unteers, and there are many types of community service to become involved

in. Volunteering can mean participating in a walk against cancer or multiple sclerosis, pre-paring and serving meals to the hungry, build-ing houses for the homeless, packaging meals for the hospitalized, cuddling rescued kittens at the local animal shelter, setting up a holiday party for mentally disabled residents, or even just playing bingo with some folks at the nearby elderly home.

No matter the project, you may be putting yourself in a new experience, taking on respon-sibilities, forming plans and setting goals, work-ing with others as a team, and discovering pas-sions along the way.

Last summer I participated in Boston Uni-versity Community Service Center’s First Year Student Project, a weeklong program preceding fall semester which engages its volunteers in community service.

My issue area was homelessness and housing. Though I had never before painted the inside of a house, I spent hours with my newfound friends dipping my roller into primer and slap-

ping the sticky substance to the wall of a church which would soon house many homeless fami-lies. Through stepping out of my comfort zone of abilities, I found that I could take on this new experience. I’d like to encourage you to do the same.

Never be afraid to meet new people. I have found that those who involve themselves in the community are some of the nicest, most open, and accepting people I know. Recently, I attended Boston University’s Alternative Spring Break program. I spent a week in Washington, DC, volunteering at food banks.

The students who attended this program with me were from all different states, with mul-ticultural backgrounds (we spoke 17 languages among the 15 of us!), and various past experi-ences. Yet, our passion for service transcended any of these differences.

We immediately felt comfortable sharing even the most embarrassing of stories with each other — we even knew who clogged the toilet! Working within the area of hunger and public health, we also became increasingly aware of the situations of those less fortunate than us. Any of the victims we learned about or any of the people who we packaged boxes for in the food banks were just that — people. They may have had different experiences than us, but, as our group had learned, there are so many other ways to identify with those around us.

Community service requires a great deal of leadership, allows for problem solving and the sharing of ideas, shows your concern for relevant global issues, and provides an inspiring example for other potential volunteers. So enrich your education, uncover new skills, and increase con-

fidence in yourself as a devoted worker. Step out of your comfort zone, meet new

people, and find your passion. Who knows? Perhaps one day you will

need a door opened or a bus to stop, and your good

deeds will come back your way.

5 nu may 2013

Shannon Stocks

Doing gooD for a change

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@SlateNY

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BAR & BAT MITZVAH VENUEPREMIERNEW YORK CITY’S

Change is scary. And I am in the thick of it.

With only weeks left until gradua-tion, I am beginning to confront utter confusion.

Sure, I know where I will be spend-ing my next four years. I was fortunate enough to be admitted early decision to my top choice college. However, in my endless hours of college applica-tions and SAT prep I never considered this phase: the time when I have to actually think about mov-ing on.

I’m confident that I will stay in touch with close friends. I have already come to terms with certain truths: with knowledge that friendships fade as time goes on, I am comfortable with the fact that I will not talk to certain people as often, or even at all, a year from now.

But there are certain elements of my day-to-day life that won’t be as easy to lose. I recently finished my last musical at Newark

Academy, an annual event that helped to define my seven years at the school. It is extremely difficult to

put an end to this sort of tradition.

At my Passover seder, I real-ized that I would not be cele-brating the High Holy Days and other holidays with my family next year. Holiday din-

ners with my aunt, uncle, and cousins have been a staple in my

upbringing. Going to a school nearly six hours away by car, it is unlikely that I will come home for any religious celebrations.

Like everyone else, I’ll miss my mother’s cook-ing, but more than anything I will miss my nightly time around the dinner table with my parents. Our conversations there can be about any number of things, but having this time to finish my day with my parents (and my brother, when he is home from college) has always been extremely important to me.

I wish I had a concrete solution to this problem I am facing. I wish that I had the same ineffable excitement for college as many of my classmates do.

I am excited, for the classes, the campus, the activities, and most of all, the people. There’s just a grey cloud partially covering that.

Fortunately, I have time to get more comfortable with the changes ahead of me. I hope to embrace these changes in the coming months, and with all this in mind, I really want to cherish the time I have left in high school.

6 nu may 2013

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THE ONLY CONSTANT IN LIFE IS

Chan eRachel DeChiara

If you would like to join Nu, contact Robin Friedman at

[email protected]

The last bird in the nest

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Ever since my middle sister, Stephanie, left for Wisconsin to attend college, my life at home has changed.

Three years earlier, my oldest sister, Julie, had gone off to college.

With both my sisters away at college, I have noticed a major difference in my home, as well as in my relationship with them. Being the only child at home may seem like a dream come true, but in reality I am lonely and feel like I receive more attention than I really want.

For the f i rst 14 years of my life, I grew up around older sis-ters who always had my parents’ attention. Now being my parents’ only child at home, their focus has completely shifted to me.

Missing my sisters is also a huge change; I used to see them every day. The house is quiet without them; it used to be loud and chaotic.

But let’s not forget some of the advan-tages. Even though all the attention can be too much at times, it can also be nice; my parents are always available to drive me around, and my house is always an open house for my friends. And quiet is never a bad thing when I am tired and not in the mood for talking.

While I feel lonely, I am still lucky to be constantly in contact with my sisters. I actu-ally talk to them more now, through video chat, and on my phone.

Our relationships have also evolved. When my sisters were home, I felt younger and less experienced. I always felt like a baby. Now that I am in high school, I am able to relate to them much more than I was before. I have the advantage of asking them for advice and guidance,

academically a s w e l l a s socially.

In the past I never relied on them

for advice, simply because it seemed like they were way past my age. I am now able to

comfortably and freely share my problems with my sisters,

and vice versa. The relationship changes have

made my life much easier due to the fact that I have two people to look

up to for everything. Although I miss my sisters incredibly, we

have grown closer through time and can relate bet-ter with each other.

Abby Ingber

7 nu may 2013

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8 nu may 2013

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“I love the fact that there’s no pressure atthe JTEENMW Learning Community. This

flexibility allows me to learn a tremendous amount about my own Jewish journey.”

- Jacob Turteltaub, with his dad, James

www.jteenmw.orgNew programs starting throughout the year!To learn more contact: Shmulie Greene at (973) 929-2975 or [email protected]

Jacob is a student at Livingston High School who takes advantage of as many

opportunities offered by The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life as he can.

The JTEENMW Learning Community is the unique Jewish educational experience

for every MetroWest teen.

Difference is usually associated with distance: to be dissimilar, something must be far away. Yet only seven miles from my house in Short Hills is the city of Irvington, which appears to be as different from Short Hills as possible.

The first time I visited Irvington I was volunteer-ing with Bridges Outreach, an organization that dis-tributes bagged meals and clothing in impoverished urban areas. I was surprised by the complete contrast between my familiar surroundings and this city, so nearby.

Each time I gave out lunches or sorted through clothing, I only considered the differences between my life and the lives of the recipients. Stores, architecture, demographics, greenery: only 15 minutes away and everything was entirely opposite.

Each time I visited Irvington, I reflected on the changes that occurred across the seven miles we had driven. But recently I’ve been reflecting on the simi-larities beneath these contrasts, contrasts that are ulti-mately superficial.

Difference is linked to absence of shared experi-ence and inability to connect. But this January, while serving hot chocolate and soup with Bridges, I met an 11-year-old girl who I could relate to. Although our common interests were relatively trivial, they formed a basis for conversation that created a friendship.

When I stopped to give a few cups of hot choco-late to one family, I asked the oldest child, a girl who looked slightly younger than me, about her interests.

We began an in-depth conver-sation about iCarly, Victorious, and Big Time Rush: the same shows I watched when I was 11

or 12. We talked for a long time, and even when it was time to go, I was

s t i l l talking. I asked her about school; she’s busy studying for

the same standardized tests I took in elementary school, preparing in the same ways for the same exam. Just because our lifestyles are different in many ways doesn’t mean we share no common experiences.

She visits the Livingston Mall with her family, she reads some of my favorite books from elementary school, we play the same Wii games. Eventually, she wanted to hear about my life, even requesting to meet the rest of my family, my dog, and my friends.

Both of us were upset when I had to go home, but I told her I would be back in a few weeks. When I volunteered with Bridges again in early March, my friend had been eagerly awaiting my return. We continued our con-versation where it had left off, and again I had to leave reluctantly. I know that both my friend and I will be overjoyed the next time we see each other.

When I volunteer for Bridges with my temple, we call it tikun olam, or “repairing the world.” But this experience certainly goes beyond tikun olam in its tra-ditional sense. Saying that the conversations with my friend are a way of helping those in need entirely con-tradicts the basis of our friendship. Our connection erased my identity as the hot-chocolate distributer and hers as the recipient. Even the simplest of conversa-tions destroyed this wall between us: a wall between urban and suburban, a wall between people living with different circumstances.

Courtney Cooperman, 15, attends Newark Academy.

TEARING DOWN

THE WALL

Courtney Cooperman

TEARING DOWN

THE WALL

TEARING DOWN

THE WALL

nu

The French test in two days.

The upcoming physics final. AP Exams. The SAT. And the much anticipated, much

dreaded college applications. So. Much. Stress.We’re just teenagers. Why are we

expected to be able to manage all of this? Every single one of us high school students

feels overwhelmed at one point; that feeling of drowning under all the assignments and stan-dardized tests.

On top of all that, we always have the nagging thought of college at the back of our minds.

So are teachers and administrators just sadis-tic? No.

We’re dealt this much stress because we will always have this much stress, whether it’s in col-lege or in our future jobs, and we might as well start learning how to deal with it now.

First lesson: Stress is a fact of life. As much as we dream of that future filled with

careless days spent on the beach getting a tan, it’s just that…a dream. The sooner we realize this, the quicker we can get a handle on every-thing in our lives.

S e c o n d l e s s o n : Some stress is good stress.

We need some chal-lenge or burden in our lives to motivate us, or else what will? In fact, whether we know it or not, we like some of the stress in our lives.

The stress of learning how to drive, for example.

And though we’re constantly pressured about graduating and going to college, we can’t wait to enter that new chapter of our lives.

So what can we do about the bad stress? Here are some tips:

*When you get home from school, plan out

what you’re going to do that afternoon. Decide which homework assignments you’re going to complete that night and which ones you’re going to save for the next night to make room for a test for which you want to study.

*On that same note, plan out your weekend.

This is key to managing stress. If you have an essay due Friday and a test on the next Monday, start the essay early in the week and hold off on the test until the weekend.

We’re always afraid to start studying for tests the weekend before, but there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s more beneficial than study-ing for a test you’re not going to have for another

week. Just remember: never wait until the night before.

*Every day that you can, you should dedicate an hour to yourself.

Not for school or family, but for you. This is perhaps the most crucial tip to taking control of the stress in your life.

Catch up on a TV show, read a couple chapters in a book, or watch a

mindless B-grade movie. This is less about the activities themselves than

about the fact that you are putting aside all the stress and just taking time to relax.

Time for yourself. Take a walk or a nap or embark on that work-

out you’ve always wanted. Just clear your head and realize that there are

more important things in the world than the upcoming AP European History exam, namely you. This one hour of freedom will do more for your grades and test scores than another hour of studying or cramming.

Learn these lessons and follow these tips. I promise you that all that stress won’t seem

so scary anymore. That feeling of being pushed to the limit will abate. You will appreciate the finer things in life, and these finer things do not include homework and tests.

They include hanging out with your friends at the movies, taking a walk on a beautiful spring day, and just devoting an hour every day to

you and your needs. Stress shouldn’t control you. You should

control your stress.

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Amanda Glatt

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TAke cONTROl OF yOuR

stress

Kineret Brokman

Imagine being a mother of three children, sending them off to school every day, and worrying whether they will even come home.

All of a sudden, sirens go off and you have 15 seconds to run to the closest bomb shelter and take cover.

All you can think about are your chil-dren and if they will make it to the bomb shelter in time. You hope they will still be alive after

the rocket hits. Suddenly, though not at all a surprise, the rocket crashes and the first thing that you hope is that it did not hit anywhere close to your children. As you leave the bomb shelter, you hear that the rocket has hit near the school, yet luck-ily, everyone is safe.

This scenario is reality for people who live in the town of Sderot, an Israeli town right outside the Gaza strip. Since 2001, thousands of rock-ets have been fired into Israel from Gaza, transforming life in nearby Sderot. People in Sderot expect these attacks and have learned to adapt to them, and cope.

On my trip to Israel with the program Write On for Israel, I and 40 U.S. students visited Sderot. Our transportation to the town was a bulletproof bus; any tourist group that visits needs to use such transportation.

After we stepped off the bus, we saw little buildings every few feet along the side of the road that

looked like bus stops. We soon learned all of these bus stops also function as bomb shelters.

We passed an elementary school with a beautiful playground. We were surprised to learn that all the equipment was designed to

be used as bomb shelters as well. If sirens sounded while children were playing, they could run to one of the metal tubes on the play-ground to take shelter.

A s w e l o o k e d m o r e closely at the school build-ing, we were able to see a stain that a rocket attack left on the concrete.

At the end of our tour, we were brought to the Sderot Media Center, where all the rockets that have landed in Sderot are kept. Each rocket was marked with the time and date of its landing.

For the first time, I understood the damage the rockets can cause,

and most importantly, the people they affect.I talked with one man who explained

that he has lived in Sderot for most of his life. “We live our lives under constant terror,” he said, adding that he cannot even count the num-ber of times he has had to run to a bomb shelter.

At any moment, the people of Sderot need to expect the worst. My visit to Sderot helped me understand Israel, and the constant terror its people face, every day.

10 nu may 2013

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IN THE LINE OF FIRE

the rocket hits. Suddenly, though not at all a surprise, the rocket crashes and the first thing that you hope is that it did not hit anywhere close to your children. As you leave the bomb shelter, you hear that the rocket has hit near the school, yet luck-ily, everyone is safe.

This scenario is reality for people who live in the town of Sderot, an Israeli town right outside the Gaza strip. Since 2001, thousands of rock-ets have been fired into Israel from Gaza, transforming life in nearby Sderot. People in Sderot expect these attacks and have learned to adapt to them, and cope.


After we stepped off the bus, we saw little buildings every few feet along the side of the road that

be used as bomb shelters as well. If sirens sounded while children were playing, they could run to one of the metal tubes on the play-ground to take shelter.

A s w e l o o k e d m o r e closely at the school build-ing, we were able to see a stain that a rocket attack left on the concrete.

At the end of our tour, we were brought to the Sderot Media Center, where all the rockets that have landed in Sderot are kept. Each rocket was marked with the time and date of its landing.

For the first time, I understood the damage the rockets can cause,

and most importantly, the people they affect.I talked with one man who explained

that he has lived in Sderot for most of his life. “We live our lives under constant terror,” he said, adding that he cannot even count the num-

IN THE LINE OF FIREdren and if they will make it to the bomb shelter in time. You hope they will still be alive after

strip. Since 2001, thousands of rock-ets have been fired into Israel from Gaza, transforming life in nearby Sderot. People in Sderot expect these attacks and have learned to adapt to them, and cope.

feet along the side of the road that looked like bus stops. We soon learned all of

these bus stops also function as bomb shelters. We passed an elementary school with a

beautiful playground. We were surprised to learn that all the equipment was designed to

strip. Since 2001, thousands of rock-ets have been fired into Israel from Gaza, transforming life in nearby Sderot. People in Sderot expect these attacks and have learned to adapt to them, and cope.


we saw little buildings every few feet along the side of the road that

Phot

os c

ourt

esy

Knev

et B

rokm

an

WHY WAS THIS YEAR’S SEDER DIFFERENT THAN THE ONE BEFORE?Because last year I was lucky to celebrate Passover in Jerusalem. Cele-brating Passover there is a totally different experience from celebrating it in the United States.

In Jerusalem, on the day before Passover, I woke up to the smell of smoke. Of course, this worried me a little bit. When I went outside, I saw people making a bonfire and burning their hametz — leavened bread — in a garbage can. I had never seen this at home.

In America, shopping for Passover items can be a little difficult. How-ever, in a Supersol (a grocery store chain in Israel), everything is marked

to show what is kosher for Passover. The rest of the shelves are covered with paper.

The most amazing thing to me, though, was the ability to eat in restaurants on Passover and have really great food. Many restaurants, even pizza places, switched over to serve kosher for Passover food. My family went to a pasta restaurant, and the noodles tasted just like regular pasta.

In general, the atmosphere in Israel during Passover is very differ-ent than in America. Everyone on the streets, even people we did not know, said hag sameach. The public buses in Jerusalem had signs that said “Happy Passover” and even on the toothpaste, there were Passover advertisements.

Passover in Israel is unique, easy, and tasty! nu

Passover is the main time of year when my whole fam-ily gets together. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and others trickle into my aunt’s house and say their hellos.

The smell of brisket and matza ball soup is in the air, inviting every-one’s mouths to water. The repeated complaints of hunger, mostly from the younger generation, make the craving for shul-chan orech (the main meal) very apparent. And so we tackle the first challenge of the evening: seating.

Although it may not seem this way, seating is an extremely crucial component of the night. The first seat we choose will most definitely not be the one we end up in. The women need to sit in a place where they can easily access the kitchen to serve all

the courses, couples need to sit next to each other, and everyone else has unspoken crite-ria that automatically makes your first choice unacceptable. An unfortunate family member (usually me) ends up at the long table that inconveniently extends into the hallway, with no room to push back his chair.

The scene is quite frantic. In time, however, everyone gets settled in, the wine is poured,

and the Haggadot are opened. Throughout the readings and prayers, there is a tug-of-war

of sorts. The grandfathers on one end basically go a t th e i r own pac e in Hebrew, making it dif-ficult for the others to know where they are. On the other side, the younger, slightly more alert crowd likes to read some of the Engl i sh

exce rp t s and s ing a s many songs as possible.

For the most part, one side will yield to the other

and it is very clear to whom

you should focus your attention. But other times, there is little communication between the ends and everything just happens at once like an unrehearsed a cappella group.

This year, my cousin asked, “Are we at two different seders?”

Luckily, we manage to come together on at least the most important parts, such as shul-chan orech and, my solo, the ma nishtana.

Finally the meal comes and a new surge of energy spreads over the table. This particular step of the required 15 seems to be a fan favor-ite. First the gefilte fish is served, followed by the soup, meats, kugels, and desserts.

Plates are loaded and reloaded. At this point, everyone is more relaxed and conversa-tions erupt everywhere.

By the end of the night, we are all uncom-fortable with our nearly bursting stomachs, but finally at ease with everything else.

At least until cleanup.

Adina Gitomer, 16, attends Newark Acad-emy.

Adina Gitomer

MY BIG FAT JEWISH [ ] SEDER

Elana Marlowe

to show what is kosher for Passover. The rest of the shelves are covered with

The most amazing thing to me, though, was the ability to eat in restaurants on Passover and have really great food. Many restaurants, even pizza places, switched over to serve

Last year in Jerusalem

not that there’s any other kind

nu

11 nu may 2013

12 nu may 2013

Michal Laub

LEARNING TO LOVE VOLLEYBALL

Ariella Shua

nu

It is the beginning of the third overtime period in Game 3 of the Eastern Con-ference Semifinals between the first-seeded New York Rangers and the seventh-seeded Washington Capitals.

I am sitting on my couch, para-lyzed with anxiety, as I watch Alexan-

der Ovechkin, captain of the Capitals, suck on a packet labeled “energy.” He is literally eating energy so that he can continue to play his beloved game after 100 consecutive min-utes of ice hockey.

This is only a minor testament to the dedi-cation of players around the National Hockey League. After five periods of hockey, the time on the clock starts nearing 1 a.m. Their bod-ies are dead-tired, but the fire in their eyes is

burning bright as ever. The passion. The desire. The hard work of an 82-game grind. But

they keep going. B e c a u s e i t ’ s n o t j u s t a g a m e .

Fourteen minutes and 54 seconds into the third and final overtime, Ranger forward Marian Gaborik snipes the game-winning goal past Washington goaltender Braden Holtby on a feed from Brad Richards from behind the net. The players on the Rangers’ bench raise their arms in sheer happiness and start skating at a walk-like pace, the fastest they can move at this point, to congratulate their teammates and to begin the celebration.

Meanwhile, the heads of the Washing-ton Capitals players drop in disappoint-

ment, anger, and frustration, with the trail of a visible tear glistening down Ovechkin’s face. Though overjoyed with the outcome, a Ranger fan can only feel bad for the Capitals and their now futile effort.

This is hockey. Just like the players, the fans go through the ups and downs, the emo-tions. They go through the heartbreaks and victories too, passionately cheering on their team along the way. And when the ultimate prize, Lord Stanley’s Cup, is won, the team and the fans share it. Because with their time and dedication, they won it together.

So don’t tell a hockey player it’s just a game? Well, don’t tell that to a fan either.

Michal Laub, 16, attends Maayanot Yeshiva High School for Girls.

nu

The first time I seriously played vol-leyball was at my camp, Ramah in the Berkshires. For two hours every day, in the hot sun, everyone on chug (sport) volleyball prac-ticed and practiced.

Twice during the summer, we played another Ramah camp, Palmer. Palmer Day was serious, and we all wanted to win. With volleyball, it was no different.

As one of the worst on the team, I hardly played, but when I did, it was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Winning was awesome; losing was very upsetting.

Like everything else, chug was sometimes enjoyable, sometimes annoying.

This year , in my fresh-man year of high school, I decided to go out for the volleyball team. I wasn’t great in camp, but I enjoyed it. And I wasn’t awful like I used to be.

Plus, my school isn’t big, so I thought I wouldn’t have tough competition. I tried out, and made it (yes, it was pretty much a walk on).

Our schedules changed every week, end-ing at different times on different days. Just like in camp, it was sometimes fun, some-times not. And I was surprised to find that, in the talent department, my school had some pretty good players; I was nowhere near the best.

But what I started to notice was that the volleyball team, and vol-leyball in general, were kind of disrespected at our school. Peo-

ple would say it wasn’t a “real” sport, like bas-

ketball, where a lot of running and “ h a r d w o r k ” was involved.

They said volleyball was easy, and anyone could play.

Sometimes I ignored it; some-times I fought back. The way I saw it, vol-leyball was just the same as any other sport. It might not be as physically draining, but didn’t learning technique and skills count

for something? It didn’t help that our team

l o s t a l m o s t

every game, until the last two. What people don’t realize is that volley-

ball isn’t about the running and sweating. It is about control. Knowing not only

to smash the ball hard, but to smash it just hard enough.

And I think most of the teasers never really watched a serious game, where we gave our all. Because if they did, they would notice what volleyball is a sport deserving of the same respect as any other.

Ariella Shua, 14, attends Rae Kushner Yeshiva High School.

we played another Ramah camp, Palmer. Palmer Day was serious, and we all wanted to win. With volleyball, it was no different.

As one of the worst on the team, I hardly played, but when I did, it was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Winning was awesome; losing was very upsetting.

Like everything else, chug was sometimes enjoyable, sometimes

out for the volleyball

that the volleyball team, and vol-leyball in general, were kind of disrespected at our school. Peo-

ple would say it wasn’t a “real” sport, like bas-

ketball, where a lot of running and “ h a r d w o r k ” was involved.

They said volleyball was easy, and anyone could play.

Sometimes I ignored it; some-times I fought back. The way I saw it, vol-leyball was just the same as any other sport.

I lay on my stomach, my elbows supporting my heavy head, my thin, navy-striped cotton shirt the only thing that separates my skin from coming into direct contact with the torn and uncomfortable beige surface of the old couch.

Tears cascade from my glazed eyes, the salt water creating a trail down my colorless cheeks and chapped lips, and making a tiny

puddle on the couch. My ruffled hair is an annoy-ance; it comes into my eyes and I push it away, wish-ing that I had a rubber band to tie it all back.

I lift my wet face up to the small picture that hangs crookedly in a rusty brass frame on the wall with the word “family” inscribed into it. I wipe the tears from my moistened eyes, and look at the pho-tograph: a little girl plays in a plastic sandbox, her chubby toddler legs in bright pink shorts with spar-kly purple sandals on her miniature feet.

Over her curly brown pigtails she wears a plaid sun hat and on her little shirt is a pink smiley face that matches her rosy cheeks and humongous blue eyes. A lanky eight year old kneels behind her, his green shirt wet from swimming, his dark bathing suit dripping onto the grass, and his golden bangs catching the sunlight and falling into his blue eyes.

There is a big gap where his two front teeth should be, but his smile is still bright, his dimples are dents in his oval face as he leans close to the baby. They’re happy.

Who would have that thought that the little girl’s curls would turn into straight dark hair, that her chubby frame would grow to be freakishly taller than everyone else in her grade, and that her scrawny older brother would become a tall, muscular 19 year old. Who would have even considered the possibil-ity that when he turned 18 he would tell his parents and younger sister that he wanted to join the U.S. military.

I let my mind wander and don’t stop the few tears that spill from my damp eyes. All the memo-ries of Randy creep into my conscious and I replay them.

I can still remember the day we went to the car-nival like it was yesterday. It was a sunny summer day and the wind blew through my long mahogany hair and pulled on my thin pink t-shirt as we walked past the endless rows of games and breathed in the intoxicating scents of hot dogs and cotton candy. Children ran around us squealing with joy and their parents chased after them. A giant Ferris wheel loomed over all the other rides. The seats looked unsafe as they treacherously swayed back and forth.

Randy saw my fearful expression; “come on,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face, “We’re going.”

“What!” I yelled, my eyes growing wide with fright, “No, we can’t!”

“We’re going, Anna,” he declared, locking his blue eyes with mine, “You can’t be afraid of a Ferris wheel!”

He grabbed me by the hand and dragged me through the crowd of people. The ticket taker waved his hand toward a bright orange seat with chipped

paint. We sat down; I could feel myself shake with dread as the silver metal bar was pulled down, lock-ing us inside.

Randy smiled with a relaxed expression and sunk back into the colorful seat. I could hear the gears turning and our seat slowly began to ascend up to the clear blue sky. As we climbed higher, my fear slowly subsided; I realized that there was really nothing to be afraid of. I was amazed as we slowly descended back to ground level and then up again. Randy could see my smile, and satisfied with him-self, muttered, “I knew you would like it!”

I was happy, and when the Ferris wheel ride was over, I suggested we go again.

I smile to myself now, thinking of how Randy made me overcome my silly fear of Ferris wheels. He was always doing crazy stuff like that as a teen: when Mom and Dad weren’t home we would make crazy desserts in the blender, pouring in anything from chocolate to canned tuna to make a disgusting treat and cleaning up before they got home. He taught me to skateboard, strapping me in elbow and knee pads and buckling a helmet tightly on my head, then pushing me down the empty street until after thousands of falls I managed to stop myself.

Of course we had fights: he didn’t want me in his room and didn’t want me to talk to his friends. I didn’t like his annoying rock music pounding in my ears and vibrating the floor while I played with my Barbie dolls or when he hogged the computer for hours at a time. We argued over whose turn it was to do the dishes or the laundry, who had to take out the garbage, and most of the time, who started one of those argu-ments in the first place.

It was a warm day in May when he told us. We were sitting around the kitchen table eating spa-ghetti and meatballs, which we ate every Tuesday night. He put down his utensils and cleared his voice, “Mom, Dad, Anna,” we all looked at him, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” he coughed, “After I graduate next month, I want to join the mil-itary.”

My mom’s eyes popped wide with disbelief and my dad almost choked on his pasta, his face redder than the tomato sauce.

“You what!?” my parents said in unison, their eyes locked, then focused on him, “Why?”

“Are you insane! You’re only 18!” my dad said, his expression angry and confused, “You’re just a child! You could be killed!”

Randy wasn’t alarmed; as though he’d been expecting them. He smiled coolly and calmly. “This is what I really want to do. I want to contribute to

this country and show America how important it is to me by protecting it.”

It was like he had rehearsed it, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had come up with the idea a couple weeks before and ever since then been prac-ticing how to convince them to let him go.

I sat at the end of the table, shocked by the news. I watched the scene between him and my parents like a tennis match, looking from my parents to Randy to see their comebacks. “How,” I thought, “Can my brother, the boy who always likes to have fun, want to fight in the army?!”

We never would have guessed that when mili-tary officials tested him for physical fitness, he got an above-average score. We would have never con-templated even the remote possibility of seeing him dressed in his uniform and his golden hair shaved off, replaced by a matching hat. Never, ever, would we have imagined him going to Afghanistan.

Randy visited home whenever he could. We would pick him up at the airport and I would jump into his newly muscled arms. He would tell us about the friends in his unit and all the things they did while they were off duty, and all the amazing adven-tures he had. Even when he was home, it was only for less than two weeks, and then he would be off again.

We skyped and chatted whenever we could find time, early in the morning, or extremely late at night. He would never act frightened during a live chat. He would always smile casually and talk to us like he was at a fun summer camp and having an amazing time, not in a war zone.

When they came, I was in the living room reading a book. There was a brisk knock at the door. My mom went to the door and my dad followed behind her. The door creaked

open to reveal two men in uniform, their white hats glowing beneath the porch light and the gold buttons down the middle of their shirts reflecting the light.

My heart stopped. As the words slipped out of their

mouths, my book fell to the ground. My world went into slow motion and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mom fell to her knees and cried into her hands and my father’s eyes burst, exploding with tears as he shook his head in disbelief.

The officers stood at the door-way, their faces expressionless and no more words to say but, “We wish good luck to you and your son, hopefully everything will

go okay.” They made it sound as though

he was on vacation and that his plane was delayed in coming home. Then with an awkward

salute, with no acknowledgment of the terrible words, they walked down the stairs and into the darkness of the evening, leaving us.

The door was closed behind them, and I ran to my parents. We encircled each other, our tears and whimpers blending into one sound of agony. Randy, my brother, my parent’s only son, was MIA, missing in action.

The doubt and worry of not knowing where he is, not knowing if he’s dead or almost dead, is like a rock that sits on the edge of a cliff, not stable, but not falling.

I need to know that he’s okay; I need to know that he will come home. I need my brother because he is the most important thing in the world to me.

When I was little I would do anything to get a new shirt or a fabulous Barbie doll. Last year for my 12th birthday, I asked for a new bike.

But all I need right now is for Randy to come home safely.

I’ll never ask for anything else.

Emily Knopf, 13, attends Yavneh Academy.

13 nu may 2013

nu

Illustration by Jeremy Iris-Williams

s h o r t s t o r y

Teetering on the edgeEmily Knopf

14 nu may 2013

P O E T R Y

Fluffy deli-c iousness in a smal l

circular shape • Warm as they come out of the oven • Cooled as the cake becomes

moist and scrumptious • Sweet and savory buttercream is slathered on • Smooth soft fondant

shapes are placed on gently • Topped off with sprinkles, candy and more • You look at the gorgeous creation in awe • Your mouth

is watering and you lick your lips • You can hear your stomach growling • With no more patience you gobble it up • You

taste warm slick vanilla buttercream • Soft moist thick vanilla cake • Your taste buds seem to jump in your mouth • They are confused how something could taste so amazing? • But you know why,

because it’s a cupcake • The best food in the universe.

The best in the universe

Desi Brower

David Zughaft, 17, attends Rae Kushner Yeshiva High School.

peacepeace of the mindpeace of the heartpeace for allpeace for nonethere can be no peacefor hate consumes it to obtain peace youmust banish hatethat is the first step towards peace

stormrain pounds on the rooftopsand bolts of lightning cross the skywhile thunder rolls over the earthit is peaceful and calmtranquility

the summer sunsetcasting streaks of breathtaking colors across the sky its rays beaming down on the earth spreading one final wave of warmth as the sun slowly sets cherish it for no summer sunset is ever the same once it’s gone it will never be the same

darkness

the home of fearmysterious to mosthidden from allcomfort to lost soulsis the place where the betrayed lieand those who betray are imprisonedin a fortress of deception

storm

Mickey Gilbert’s

college choiceSelection • Application Essay • Interview • Tour

An individualized college search process

973-263-0421

juniors call now! FREE FIRST SESSION!

n j j e w i s h n e w s . c o m

Mack Brower

I want to be Like the leaves blowing in the wind

Like the ducks in the pond But I am me

One day I will jump Out of the sky

I’ll shake the world Like a hundred violins

I want to be Like the queen of England

Like cuddling with a teddy bear But I am me

One day I will jump Out of my body

I’ll shake you up Like a hundred violins

I want to be Like a dog on its leash

Like a pigeon scavenging for food But I am me

One day I will jump Out of the atmosphere

I’ll shake the clouds Like a hundred violins

I want to be Like a bat flying through the night Like a toddler taking his first step

But I am me One day I will jump

Out of the planet Like a hundred violins.

HB

first year second semesterhaiku blues

HB

15 nu may 2013

P O E T R Y

Eliana GlattEliana Glatt

HB

first year

second semester

haiku blues

HB

HB

first year

second semester

haiku blues

HB

I’m home for spring break

parents knocking on my door

hey, it’s only noon

First campus seder

I’m on the hunt for maror

dorm’s ivy covered

What’s that rumbling noise?

construction at 2 a.m.?

just roommate snoring

Waiting for bathroom;

at last! A stall opens up!

No toilet paper?….

Eating healthy foods;

to avoid freshman 15

Red Bull’s healthy, right?

Trying to find a

new extracurricular……

do drunk parties count?

Nighttime sounds and squeaks

have never cleaned under bed

new life evolving?

Supported by the Herb Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment. A collaborative project of The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life and the Jewish Community Foundation of MetroWest.

What Is The Iris Teen Tzedakah Program?It is an opportunity to make a real difference in our

local community and around the world through

charitable giving based on what we learn together.

We will explore how our Jewish community responds

to Jewish and other people in need locally, globally,

and in Israel. During this two-year program, you

will work together with your teen peers and various

organizations that can change our community and

change the world.

How Does All This Happen?You, along with every Iris Teen Tzedakah Advisor

will contribute $200 of your own money each year

into a “pool” with all the other teen Advisors. Those

funds will be matched dollar-for-dollar by the Herb

Iris Youth and Family Philanthropy Endowment.

You and other teens will oversee this philanthropic

fund and decide how to allocate the money to

programs and needs that interest you.

You will take part in important meetings and

programs throughout these two years with Jewish

community leaders, experienced philanthropists, and

experts who will teach you about our community

and the values and traditions of Jewish giving.

This program will ultimately give you the most valuable gift—the power to make a difference!

How Do I Become A Teen Tzedakah Advisor?High school freshmen and sophomores who are

interested in this program are asked to submit

an application and come to a personal interview.

Applications can be submitted online at

www.jteenmw.org/dilleririsapplication.

Who do I contact for more information?Rabbi Shmuel Greene, Director of Teen Initiatives

at The Partnership for Jewish Learning and Life,

973-929-2975, [email protected].

Become a Teen Tzedakah Advisor for

The Iris Teen Tzedakah Program

Teens—Make a Difference inYour Community!

The Ir

is T

een

Tze

daka

h P

rogr

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NU, May 2013

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