Victoria Adler, Prozdor Grade 11
What is important to me? Getting to school on time, finishing my homework, keeping up my grades, and getting enough sleep. I worry about all of these things, and more, every day. Like most people, I tend to overlook the real important parts of my life.
I get caught up in my busy schedule, and do not have the time to think about others. The amount of stress I experience everyday clouds my vision of what I really should appreciate. A good day for me would be finishing all of my homework. A good day is supposed to be a day where no one was hurt. A moment needs to be taken everyday to appreciate what we have. That is something I rarely did. After experiencing a once in a lifetime opportunity, I now believe in that statement.
I traveled to Eastern Europe for eleven days with a group of fellow students. We toured concentration camps, synagogues, and the cities where Jewish life once existed. I went into this trip knowing that it would change my life, but I never imagined it would the way it did. I thought I would become more appreciative for my own life, but instead, I became more appreciative for the life of my family.
My family has always been there for me and will continue to always be. That is something I have taken for granted. Instead of thanking them for everything they do, I get mad because I want to do more. I yell when I am annoyed, cry when I am stressed, and rebel when I do not get my way. And yet, they still are always there for me. Instead of showing my mom gratitude for helping me pack for the trip, I just get mad because she was making me more stressed. Instead of seeing my brother’s annoying actions as wanting my attention, I would just yell. It was not until I saw their names on the walls of concentration camps that I realized how lucky I am. I assume that my family will be there everyday, just like the Holocaust victims assumed, but only they were not as lucky as I am. They lost everything, and yet I have everything, and still did not appreciate it.
My trip took an unexpected turn. I no longer worried about the work I had to do when I got home, or the anxiety of talking about my experience. I became more interested in buying my brother a shirt and speaking with my parents. I wanted to tell them everything, and I knew they would want to listen.
The reality check I experienced on my trip completely changed my outlook on life. Instead of dreading time with my parents, I now embrace it. Instead of avoiding conversations with my brother, I now start them. Instead of living my day without thinking of my family, I now take a moment to do so. I hope you will too.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
What is Important to Me
What is important to me? Getting to school on time, finishing my homework, keeping up my grades, and getting enough sleep. I worry about all of these things, and more, every day. Like most people, I tend to overlook the real important parts of my life.
I get caught up in my busy schedule, and do not have the time to think about others. The amount of stress I experience everyday clouds my vision of what I really should appreciate. A good day for me would be finishing all of my homework. A good day is supposed to be a day where no one was hurt. A moment needs to be taken everyday to appreciate what we have. That is something I rarely did. After experiencing a once in a lifetime opportunity, I now believe in that statement.
I traveled to Eastern Europe for eleven days with a group of fellow students. We toured concentration camps, synagogues, and the cities where Jewish life once existed. I went into this trip knowing that it would change my life, but I never imagined it would the way it did. I thought I would become more appreciative for my own life, but instead, I became more appreciative for the life of my family.
My family has always been there for me and will continue to always be. That is something I have taken for granted. Instead of thanking them for everything they do, I get mad because I want to do more. I yell when I am annoyed, cry when I am stressed, and rebel when I do not get my way. And yet, they still are always there for me. Instead of showing my mom gratitude for helping me pack for the trip, I just get mad because she was making me more stressed. Instead of seeing my brother’s annoying actions as wanting my attention, I would just yell. It was not until I saw their names on the walls of concentration camps that I realized how lucky I am. I assume that my family will be there everyday, just like the Holocaust victims assumed, but only they were not as lucky as I am. They lost everything, and yet I have everything, and still did not appreciate it.
My trip took an unexpected turn. I no longer worried about the work I had to do when I got home, or the anxiety of talking about my experience. I became more interested in buying my brother a shirt and speaking with my parents. I wanted to tell them everything, and I knew they would want to listen.
The reality check I experienced on my trip completely changed my outlook on life. Instead of dreading time with my parents, I now embrace it. Instead of avoiding conversations with my brother, I now start them. Instead of living my day without thinking of my family, I now take a moment to do so. I hope you will too.
I get caught up in my busy schedule, and do not have the time to think about others. The amount of stress I experience everyday clouds my vision of what I really should appreciate. A good day for me would be finishing all of my homework. A good day is supposed to be a day where no one was hurt. A moment needs to be taken everyday to appreciate what we have. That is something I rarely did. After experiencing a once in a lifetime opportunity, I now believe in that statement.
I traveled to Eastern Europe for eleven days with a group of fellow students. We toured concentration camps, synagogues, and the cities where Jewish life once existed. I went into this trip knowing that it would change my life, but I never imagined it would the way it did. I thought I would become more appreciative for my own life, but instead, I became more appreciative for the life of my family.
My family has always been there for me and will continue to always be. That is something I have taken for granted. Instead of thanking them for everything they do, I get mad because I want to do more. I yell when I am annoyed, cry when I am stressed, and rebel when I do not get my way. And yet, they still are always there for me. Instead of showing my mom gratitude for helping me pack for the trip, I just get mad because she was making me more stressed. Instead of seeing my brother’s annoying actions as wanting my attention, I would just yell. It was not until I saw their names on the walls of concentration camps that I realized how lucky I am. I assume that my family will be there everyday, just like the Holocaust victims assumed, but only they were not as lucky as I am. They lost everything, and yet I have everything, and still did not appreciate it.
My trip took an unexpected turn. I no longer worried about the work I had to do when I got home, or the anxiety of talking about my experience. I became more interested in buying my brother a shirt and speaking with my parents. I wanted to tell them everything, and I knew they would want to listen.
The reality check I experienced on my trip completely changed my outlook on life. Instead of dreading time with my parents, I now embrace it. Instead of avoiding conversations with my brother, I now start them. Instead of living my day without thinking of my family, I now take a moment to do so. I hope you will too.
I Will Not Be Cured
Reuben Baron - Prozdor, Grade 8
I will not be cured. For some reason, there are many people who insist people like me need to be removed from this planet. I have Aspergers Syndrome, a mild form of Autism which makes social interaction in some situations difficult. It also give me high intelligence, a strong sense
of focus, and unusual levels of talent in things that interest me. And I'm happy. I'm no worse off than most 'normal people'. It's just that my weaknesses are in areas most people are stronger in, and vice-versa.
People who want to 'cure' Autism aren't making things better. I believe they are trying to eliminate an important part of human diversity. They want to kill the next Einstein, the next Bill Gates (personally, I'm no Microsoft fan, but to even have an opinion on it, you need to be pretty
geeky and as such more likely than most to receive an Aspergers diagnosis). I've been silenced in the past. Even my parents, despite their love for me, are unsure how to react to 'cure' groups. But I WON'T let anyone stop me from being who I am.
I will not be cured. For some reason, there are many people who insist people like me need to be removed from this planet. I have Aspergers Syndrome, a mild form of Autism which makes social interaction in some situations difficult. It also give me high intelligence, a strong sense
of focus, and unusual levels of talent in things that interest me. And I'm happy. I'm no worse off than most 'normal people'. It's just that my weaknesses are in areas most people are stronger in, and vice-versa.
People who want to 'cure' Autism aren't making things better. I believe they are trying to eliminate an important part of human diversity. They want to kill the next Einstein, the next Bill Gates (personally, I'm no Microsoft fan, but to even have an opinion on it, you need to be pretty
geeky and as such more likely than most to receive an Aspergers diagnosis). I've been silenced in the past. Even my parents, despite their love for me, are unsure how to react to 'cure' groups. But I WON'T let anyone stop me from being who I am.
While You See a Chance Take It
David Getz, Prozdor Grade 8
In Steve Winwood’s hit song, While You See a Chance, he states, “While you see a chance take it, find romance fake it, because it's all on you.” I have found the lyrics to this song extremely inspiring. Before basketball games my dad and I listen to this song during the car ride there while discussing ways to improve by creating plays or speeding up the pace.
“While you see a chance take it…”
At the beginning of the school year last year, I was strolling down the hallway when I came upon a large sign with names scrabbled all over it. It was the sign up sheet for the school play, James and the Giant Peach.
That night I returned home thinking about the somewhat stimulating sign in the hall at school. I had never acted in a school play so the whole experience was very new to me. I asked my parents about it. My sister is a very talented actress, therefore acting as an inspiration. My parents had also acted in plays in their high school years so they helped me too. They mentioned how much fun it was meeting new people and performing in front of large audiences.
The next day I confidently signed my name on the try out sheet, while taking a sheet about the play that included important information about commitment. At home I worked with my dad to find a descriptive monologue that would give the director a sense of my acting ability. My Side of the Mountain, we realized, was the perfect monologue. I thought that it matched the part of James Henry Trotter perfectly.
The next week, I stepped boldly on the stage and recited the monologue that I had thoroughly memorized the night before. I projected my voice and acted as if I was the boy in my monologue, pretending to pick berries or bark, wiping fake sweat off of my forehead to pretend to act tired, and I added many facial expressions to the routine.
The week after that, I discovered that I was chosen to play the part of James!
“While you see a chance take it…”
About a year later, I found a similar sign that beckoned to me. The Wizard of Oz, it stated at the top. I signed my name hoping that I’d have as much luck as the time before. Although I later discovered that this show differed from the last. The directors would give me music to sing and a scene to perform instead of having me make up a monologue.
I once again consulted my family that night, and yet again was encouraged to try out.
I got up on stage with four other boys at the end of the week and sang, danced, and acted out scenes with other actors and actresses. I kept in mind that I should act like the character I was trying out for, therefore, I made sure to fall and act flimsy, like the Scarecrow.
Amazingly, I was chosen to play the part of the Scarecrow the week later.
“While you see a chance take it…”
I have found that taking risks can really make your life exhilarating, filling it with ups and occasionally downs, which only make the risk taking more fun. I know that would be a completely different person if it weren’t for the encouragement that I receive from my sisters and parents and the risks I’ve taken.
In Steve Winwood’s hit song, While You See a Chance, he states, “While you see a chance take it, find romance fake it, because it's all on you.” I have found the lyrics to this song extremely inspiring. Before basketball games my dad and I listen to this song during the car ride there while discussing ways to improve by creating plays or speeding up the pace.
“While you see a chance take it…”
At the beginning of the school year last year, I was strolling down the hallway when I came upon a large sign with names scrabbled all over it. It was the sign up sheet for the school play, James and the Giant Peach.
That night I returned home thinking about the somewhat stimulating sign in the hall at school. I had never acted in a school play so the whole experience was very new to me. I asked my parents about it. My sister is a very talented actress, therefore acting as an inspiration. My parents had also acted in plays in their high school years so they helped me too. They mentioned how much fun it was meeting new people and performing in front of large audiences.
The next day I confidently signed my name on the try out sheet, while taking a sheet about the play that included important information about commitment. At home I worked with my dad to find a descriptive monologue that would give the director a sense of my acting ability. My Side of the Mountain, we realized, was the perfect monologue. I thought that it matched the part of James Henry Trotter perfectly.
The next week, I stepped boldly on the stage and recited the monologue that I had thoroughly memorized the night before. I projected my voice and acted as if I was the boy in my monologue, pretending to pick berries or bark, wiping fake sweat off of my forehead to pretend to act tired, and I added many facial expressions to the routine.
The week after that, I discovered that I was chosen to play the part of James!
“While you see a chance take it…”
About a year later, I found a similar sign that beckoned to me. The Wizard of Oz, it stated at the top. I signed my name hoping that I’d have as much luck as the time before. Although I later discovered that this show differed from the last. The directors would give me music to sing and a scene to perform instead of having me make up a monologue.
I once again consulted my family that night, and yet again was encouraged to try out.
I got up on stage with four other boys at the end of the week and sang, danced, and acted out scenes with other actors and actresses. I kept in mind that I should act like the character I was trying out for, therefore, I made sure to fall and act flimsy, like the Scarecrow.
Amazingly, I was chosen to play the part of the Scarecrow the week later.
“While you see a chance take it…”
I have found that taking risks can really make your life exhilarating, filling it with ups and occasionally downs, which only make the risk taking more fun. I know that would be a completely different person if it weren’t for the encouragement that I receive from my sisters and parents and the risks I’ve taken.
Time to Travel
Merav Levkowitz, Prozdor Grade 12
I got my first passport when I was just a few weeks old so I could go visit family in Colombia and Israel. Since then I have traveled far and wide, visiting family all over the world and simply being a tourist. My family is always traveling. In fact, when we haven't traveled in a while, my mom says "I need oxygen," meaning: "Time to get on a plane and out of the country."
Although having a lot of stamps on my passport is impressive, there is so much more to traveling than passports, airplane tickets, and maps. Every journey is a hands-on learning experience, far away from the notebooks and rows of desks that mark the standard learning environment. I could even say (probably to my parents' dismay) that I remember more from my international journeys than I do from my school textbooks. In Israel, I learned about coexistence between different cultures and about human nature. While living in Brazil for a year I learned to speak Portuguese fluently, and I experienced a new environment, encountering species I had never even heard of before. Three weeks living with a host family in Paris taught me independence and how to adapt to a new environment. Among my extended family and the tight-knit Jewish community in Colombia, I have learned the value of togetherness, of solidarity, and of having a safety net to fall back on.
Sure, travel is expensive, and unfortunately, I can't just hop on a plane and jet-set off to wherever I want, whenever I want. As a result, I have learned to be thankful for each one of these unique opportunities, whether I am traveling alone or with my family. I take advantage of museums, beaches, foods I have never tasted, music I have never heard, and new people. I listen to the language spoken around me, trying to pick up as many words as possible with the hope that one day I will be able to speak it fluently and converse naturally with the natives in order to "experience the real thing." Airplanes are uncomfortable, but they teach patience, tolerance, problem-solving, and willingness to adapt (and "How to Sleep in Moving Vehicles 101"). And while the thought of recycled air grosses me out a little bit, the thought of never traveling anywhere again scares me out of my wits. So, I have learned to put up with delayed flights, lost luggage, nasty waiters, jet lag, and unfavorable exchange rates. If that's the way it has to be, I'll take it. It's all worth it.
Some people are afraid to leave their comfort zones, but I say: drop me out there with a map, a bottle of water, and some key phrases in the local tongue, and I'll figure out my way around. In fact, I'll be thrilled. Even if I just in a café, whether it's in Tel Aviv, Paris, or Barcelona, watching people go by, I'll be observing and learning. Every travel experience is an opportunity to learn about other cultures, to see new sights, and to be exposed to different people, values, and lessons. In fact, human relations in this world would probably be significantly better if we all took the time to travel and to reach out to others in order to understand where they are coming from. This is what I truly believe.
I got my first passport when I was just a few weeks old so I could go visit family in Colombia and Israel. Since then I have traveled far and wide, visiting family all over the world and simply being a tourist. My family is always traveling. In fact, when we haven't traveled in a while, my mom says "I need oxygen," meaning: "Time to get on a plane and out of the country."
Although having a lot of stamps on my passport is impressive, there is so much more to traveling than passports, airplane tickets, and maps. Every journey is a hands-on learning experience, far away from the notebooks and rows of desks that mark the standard learning environment. I could even say (probably to my parents' dismay) that I remember more from my international journeys than I do from my school textbooks. In Israel, I learned about coexistence between different cultures and about human nature. While living in Brazil for a year I learned to speak Portuguese fluently, and I experienced a new environment, encountering species I had never even heard of before. Three weeks living with a host family in Paris taught me independence and how to adapt to a new environment. Among my extended family and the tight-knit Jewish community in Colombia, I have learned the value of togetherness, of solidarity, and of having a safety net to fall back on.
Sure, travel is expensive, and unfortunately, I can't just hop on a plane and jet-set off to wherever I want, whenever I want. As a result, I have learned to be thankful for each one of these unique opportunities, whether I am traveling alone or with my family. I take advantage of museums, beaches, foods I have never tasted, music I have never heard, and new people. I listen to the language spoken around me, trying to pick up as many words as possible with the hope that one day I will be able to speak it fluently and converse naturally with the natives in order to "experience the real thing." Airplanes are uncomfortable, but they teach patience, tolerance, problem-solving, and willingness to adapt (and "How to Sleep in Moving Vehicles 101"). And while the thought of recycled air grosses me out a little bit, the thought of never traveling anywhere again scares me out of my wits. So, I have learned to put up with delayed flights, lost luggage, nasty waiters, jet lag, and unfavorable exchange rates. If that's the way it has to be, I'll take it. It's all worth it.
Some people are afraid to leave their comfort zones, but I say: drop me out there with a map, a bottle of water, and some key phrases in the local tongue, and I'll figure out my way around. In fact, I'll be thrilled. Even if I just in a café, whether it's in Tel Aviv, Paris, or Barcelona, watching people go by, I'll be observing and learning. Every travel experience is an opportunity to learn about other cultures, to see new sights, and to be exposed to different people, values, and lessons. In fact, human relations in this world would probably be significantly better if we all took the time to travel and to reach out to others in order to understand where they are coming from. This is what I truly believe.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A Refutation of the Expulsion
Tamara Jacobs, Prozdor Grade 12
I admired the dramatic view of the Spanish countryside from the elaborate stone patio, perched high in the Alhambra palace. It was December of 2005, but at that moment, I felt as if I were looking out over a medieval Andalusian landscape. The Alhambra, built by Muslim royalty in the 14 th century, is truly an architectural masterpiece. Although it was built after the Golden Age in Spain, the Alhambra reflects the flourishing of art and culture under Muslim rule. I was there on a tour with my Hebrew school to study Jewish history during the Golden Age. I hugged my sweater close to me, trying to shield myself from the drizzling rain that shrouded the palace with mysterious beauty.
"Everyone, let's sit in a circle," called out the group leader. His voice brought me back to the 21st century. "Open your booklets to the page titled, 'Edict of Expulsion of the Jews.'"
At the time the Alhambra was built, Spain consisted of independent regions, the southernmost one ruled by the Muslim empire. During the Golden Age, Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together in relative harmony. Jews were fifteen percent of the population and contributed actively to society. Philosophy and the arts flourished along with the sciences. But after wresting control of these independent regions, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella united their country under one religion. In 1492, Queen Isabella stood within the stone walls of the Alhambra and signed an edict expelling the Jews from Spain.
When these three ethnic groups were able to work together, I thought to myself, so much was accomplished. While the rest of Europe was in the Middle Ages, Andalusia was vibrant. How tragic is was that the only way Spain was able to unify was through the oppression of the Jews and the Muslims, both who had previously contributed so much to make the Iberian peninsula the intellectual and economic center of Western civilization.
There, in the mist, we somberly read the words of hatred calling for the permanent expulsion of the Jewish people from their home. My heart became lodged in my throat as I thought of the horrible crimes against humanity that people in power have imposed upon those who are weaker. Every culture, no matter how enlightened it may be at one point in history, seems to digress down the road of cruelty.
"Look! It's a rainbow," someone called out. I stood, turned around, and gasped with amazement at the enormous, perfect arc. Its vivid, distinct colors shone boldly over the ancient turrets and romantic olive trees and pines. Somewhere behind me, I heard a fellow student recite a prayer in Hebrew over the rainbow. I was reminded that in the Bible, God sent a rainbow to Noah after the Great Flood as a symbol of his promise to never destroy the world again. In the midst of a tragedy, the rainbow is a sign that hope will always shine through, that in the end people who work toward justice will successfully restore peace.
Andalusia, during the Golden Age, flourished because it tolerated diversity. When it was first united, Spain may have been an intimidating force in the world, but it was not long before it became bankrupt and one of the weaker European countries. Had oppression backfired?
Five hundred years after the Edict of Expulsion was enacted, I stood in the Alhambra with that rainbow in front of me. My presence there was a refutation of the Expulsion. I was optimistic that somehow, mankind will continue to work toward justice and tolerance. I am inspired to be a part of this challenge.
I admired the dramatic view of the Spanish countryside from the elaborate stone patio, perched high in the Alhambra palace. It was December of 2005, but at that moment, I felt as if I were looking out over a medieval Andalusian landscape. The Alhambra, built by Muslim royalty in the 14 th century, is truly an architectural masterpiece. Although it was built after the Golden Age in Spain, the Alhambra reflects the flourishing of art and culture under Muslim rule. I was there on a tour with my Hebrew school to study Jewish history during the Golden Age. I hugged my sweater close to me, trying to shield myself from the drizzling rain that shrouded the palace with mysterious beauty.
"Everyone, let's sit in a circle," called out the group leader. His voice brought me back to the 21st century. "Open your booklets to the page titled, 'Edict of Expulsion of the Jews.'"
At the time the Alhambra was built, Spain consisted of independent regions, the southernmost one ruled by the Muslim empire. During the Golden Age, Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together in relative harmony. Jews were fifteen percent of the population and contributed actively to society. Philosophy and the arts flourished along with the sciences. But after wresting control of these independent regions, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella united their country under one religion. In 1492, Queen Isabella stood within the stone walls of the Alhambra and signed an edict expelling the Jews from Spain.
When these three ethnic groups were able to work together, I thought to myself, so much was accomplished. While the rest of Europe was in the Middle Ages, Andalusia was vibrant. How tragic is was that the only way Spain was able to unify was through the oppression of the Jews and the Muslims, both who had previously contributed so much to make the Iberian peninsula the intellectual and economic center of Western civilization.
There, in the mist, we somberly read the words of hatred calling for the permanent expulsion of the Jewish people from their home. My heart became lodged in my throat as I thought of the horrible crimes against humanity that people in power have imposed upon those who are weaker. Every culture, no matter how enlightened it may be at one point in history, seems to digress down the road of cruelty.
"Look! It's a rainbow," someone called out. I stood, turned around, and gasped with amazement at the enormous, perfect arc. Its vivid, distinct colors shone boldly over the ancient turrets and romantic olive trees and pines. Somewhere behind me, I heard a fellow student recite a prayer in Hebrew over the rainbow. I was reminded that in the Bible, God sent a rainbow to Noah after the Great Flood as a symbol of his promise to never destroy the world again. In the midst of a tragedy, the rainbow is a sign that hope will always shine through, that in the end people who work toward justice will successfully restore peace.
Andalusia, during the Golden Age, flourished because it tolerated diversity. When it was first united, Spain may have been an intimidating force in the world, but it was not long before it became bankrupt and one of the weaker European countries. Had oppression backfired?
Five hundred years after the Edict of Expulsion was enacted, I stood in the Alhambra with that rainbow in front of me. My presence there was a refutation of the Expulsion. I was optimistic that somehow, mankind will continue to work toward justice and tolerance. I am inspired to be a part of this challenge.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Everyone has a Fighting Chance
Mayla Bouguslav - Prozdor, Grade 8
When I was younger, my Judaic teacher told me to believe in the Hanukah miracle, that the oil lasted for 8 days. When I was younger I did not believe it because it sounded ridiculous, how could a drop of oil last for even 3 days? My teacher wanted to make sure that we understood the Hanukah story, so she wanted us to write about it. I really did not want to write about it because I did not believe it. I wrote instead how I did not believe in it and why I did not, and my teacher gave me a bad grade and had to talk to me after class about it because she thought that I did not understand. I told her that I thought it did not make sense and it did not seem real and she told me that it was real and I needed to believe in it and rewrite what I had written. She was forcing me to believe in something that I did not. It turns out that the Hanukah miracle is just made up and never actually happened and I hate how my teacher told me to believe in it when I did not want to.
I believe that everybody has a fighting chance at what they believe. If everyone did not have a fighting chance, then how could we have many religions today? What you believe in is a personal choice and no one can take it away from you. When you believe in something, you should hold on to it because it makes who you are today, tomorrow, and the future. In the Holocaust there were some Jews that didn’t want to be Jewish anymore because people were killing them. The people who were killing them were also killing their hopes, dreams, wants, and especially their beliefs. A lot of Holocaust survivors stay Jewish because their belief, that there will be a tomorrow is alive. Those people are fighting for their belief and no one can take it away.
To be Jewish is to know who you are and what you believe in. If someone knows what they believe in then they should keep that belief and no one should tell them other wise. People should find out on their own what their true belief is. When you are younger, you don’t really know what your true belief is. You will probably believe in a lot of things, when you are older you find what you truly believe in.
When you go to school teachers, parents, and other kids will try to get you to believe in different things. A child’s mind is very delicate. Teachers, parents, and other kids should not be telling the child what to do or believe because the child is the one that knows about him or herself and what to believe or not. Most kids turn out like their parents, or in some form, but don’t ever let anyone push you around or tell you what to believe in.
What someone believes in is a very special thing. Whether you personally agree with it or not is not what matters. The point is to listen to everyone and not put someone down. You should not strive to become better than others; you should strive to be the best that you can be. Your beliefs help to build your character.
When I was younger, my Judaic teacher told me to believe in the Hanukah miracle, that the oil lasted for 8 days. When I was younger I did not believe it because it sounded ridiculous, how could a drop of oil last for even 3 days? My teacher wanted to make sure that we understood the Hanukah story, so she wanted us to write about it. I really did not want to write about it because I did not believe it. I wrote instead how I did not believe in it and why I did not, and my teacher gave me a bad grade and had to talk to me after class about it because she thought that I did not understand. I told her that I thought it did not make sense and it did not seem real and she told me that it was real and I needed to believe in it and rewrite what I had written. She was forcing me to believe in something that I did not. It turns out that the Hanukah miracle is just made up and never actually happened and I hate how my teacher told me to believe in it when I did not want to.
I believe that everybody has a fighting chance at what they believe. If everyone did not have a fighting chance, then how could we have many religions today? What you believe in is a personal choice and no one can take it away from you. When you believe in something, you should hold on to it because it makes who you are today, tomorrow, and the future. In the Holocaust there were some Jews that didn’t want to be Jewish anymore because people were killing them. The people who were killing them were also killing their hopes, dreams, wants, and especially their beliefs. A lot of Holocaust survivors stay Jewish because their belief, that there will be a tomorrow is alive. Those people are fighting for their belief and no one can take it away.
To be Jewish is to know who you are and what you believe in. If someone knows what they believe in then they should keep that belief and no one should tell them other wise. People should find out on their own what their true belief is. When you are younger, you don’t really know what your true belief is. You will probably believe in a lot of things, when you are older you find what you truly believe in.
When you go to school teachers, parents, and other kids will try to get you to believe in different things. A child’s mind is very delicate. Teachers, parents, and other kids should not be telling the child what to do or believe because the child is the one that knows about him or herself and what to believe or not. Most kids turn out like their parents, or in some form, but don’t ever let anyone push you around or tell you what to believe in.
What someone believes in is a very special thing. Whether you personally agree with it or not is not what matters. The point is to listen to everyone and not put someone down. You should not strive to become better than others; you should strive to be the best that you can be. Your beliefs help to build your character.
Feeling Comfortable
Zeke Silverstein - Prozdor, Grade 8
I believe that all people should be able to feel comfortable in any environment he or she enters. People should be accepted from the beginning and be given the benefit of the doubt. Whenever I go to school, I feel as if I have to be constantly watching my back. I feel that people are out to get me and that I’m in danger of constant humiliation. It’s not a pleasant feeling. Some people are just mean, others do it to make their friends laugh, I don’t know why people tease others, but I know it hurts.
This is why I believe that people should be kind and accepting of others. Be friendly, because I know that when people are mean, I get nervous that other people will join them and begin making fun of me. Sure, I can shrug off a few insults, but it builds up over time, and it’s going to cave in on you. It already has on me. One day, I was being teased and bullied so much that I just broke down and cried in the middle of class. I couldn’t help myself, the tears just kept coming.
But there is a positive side. Even before my first day of Prozdor, I thought it was going to be horrible. My dad was sending me on the Shabbaton and I was going to be so bored for two days. But before I even got on the bus, a girl came up to me and asked me if I wanted to throw my football around with her. This made me feel comfortable because I felt that I had made a friend. As it turned out, that girl ended up being my best and closest friend at Prozdor. In addition to that, I now look forward to and enjoy Prozdor on Sunday mornings instead of thinking about it as a prison.
I guess that I owe it to her for making Prozdor feel like a safe haven for me from my battlefield of a school. I still feel uncomfortable most of the time at school, but I’m working on that, and I’m making more friends. But Prozdor is still the best because of the friends I’ve come to know and the great times we’ve had. I really feel comfortable at Prozdor. It’s a wonderful outlet from the harsh school world.
I believe that all people should be able to feel comfortable in any environment he or she enters. People should be accepted from the beginning and be given the benefit of the doubt. Whenever I go to school, I feel as if I have to be constantly watching my back. I feel that people are out to get me and that I’m in danger of constant humiliation. It’s not a pleasant feeling. Some people are just mean, others do it to make their friends laugh, I don’t know why people tease others, but I know it hurts.
This is why I believe that people should be kind and accepting of others. Be friendly, because I know that when people are mean, I get nervous that other people will join them and begin making fun of me. Sure, I can shrug off a few insults, but it builds up over time, and it’s going to cave in on you. It already has on me. One day, I was being teased and bullied so much that I just broke down and cried in the middle of class. I couldn’t help myself, the tears just kept coming.
But there is a positive side. Even before my first day of Prozdor, I thought it was going to be horrible. My dad was sending me on the Shabbaton and I was going to be so bored for two days. But before I even got on the bus, a girl came up to me and asked me if I wanted to throw my football around with her. This made me feel comfortable because I felt that I had made a friend. As it turned out, that girl ended up being my best and closest friend at Prozdor. In addition to that, I now look forward to and enjoy Prozdor on Sunday mornings instead of thinking about it as a prison.
I guess that I owe it to her for making Prozdor feel like a safe haven for me from my battlefield of a school. I still feel uncomfortable most of the time at school, but I’m working on that, and I’m making more friends. But Prozdor is still the best because of the friends I’ve come to know and the great times we’ve had. I really feel comfortable at Prozdor. It’s a wonderful outlet from the harsh school world.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
We All are Mistaken
Aaron Feshbach-Meriney, Prozdor Grade 10
I believe that we all are mistaken. I believe that there is nothing to believe in, that is, nothing to believe in except what is inevitable. i believe that no one knows what is going to happen, but I do believe in fate.
I believe that everything will happen. That no matter what you do, it will all lead up to what you were supposed to do. You can't ever know what you were supposed to do unless it has already happened, and even if you could know, everything you did to change it, would you lead up to/and cause it.
I believe that that people make up gods and godlike figures when thay have unanswered questions and are too small minded to accept those unanswered questions. It is impossible for all questions to be answered but I think science, technology and research are the closest things.
I also think people use way too much of their time being useless. We, as humans, are immensley incredible creatures, yet we waste our time fighting over whose religion is better, people also waste time with other groups of people. Countries fight to produce the newest and greatest thing. It is a never ending argument. I am a hypocrite in this matter. I live in a world where this happens and thus, I am subject to and controlled by things that do nbot have any importance to me.
Another thing I beleive is that humans are an unfortunate species to be. I think it is the best on earth, but it is still unfortunate. As I said before, we are wonderfull, but despite our wonderfullness, we have many faults that weigh us down.
When put under certain circimstances we cannot control out behavior. We also need nourishment and care to survive.
I believe that we are all mistaken.
I believe that we all are mistaken. I believe that there is nothing to believe in, that is, nothing to believe in except what is inevitable. i believe that no one knows what is going to happen, but I do believe in fate.
I believe that everything will happen. That no matter what you do, it will all lead up to what you were supposed to do. You can't ever know what you were supposed to do unless it has already happened, and even if you could know, everything you did to change it, would you lead up to/and cause it.
I believe that that people make up gods and godlike figures when thay have unanswered questions and are too small minded to accept those unanswered questions. It is impossible for all questions to be answered but I think science, technology and research are the closest things.
I also think people use way too much of their time being useless. We, as humans, are immensley incredible creatures, yet we waste our time fighting over whose religion is better, people also waste time with other groups of people. Countries fight to produce the newest and greatest thing. It is a never ending argument. I am a hypocrite in this matter. I live in a world where this happens and thus, I am subject to and controlled by things that do nbot have any importance to me.
Another thing I beleive is that humans are an unfortunate species to be. I think it is the best on earth, but it is still unfortunate. As I said before, we are wonderfull, but despite our wonderfullness, we have many faults that weigh us down.
When put under certain circimstances we cannot control out behavior. We also need nourishment and care to survive.
I believe that we are all mistaken.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Tikkun Olam through Teaching
Tamar Duke-Cohan, Prozdor Faculty
I believe in Tikkun Olam through teaching. Tikkun Olam—“repairing the world”—is a central tenet of Judaism. An idea whose roots reach back to the Mishna, it has evolved into the belief that the world is “broken” and that each of us should take steps to make it whole and perfect.
I had never wanted to be a teacher and never thought I’d be one. Teaching came to me by chance: A beloved Prozdor teacher made Aliya, a replacement could not be found, another teacher knew me, and an offer to come and teach classes about the Holocaust was made. It was an intriguing idea, my services were needed, and so I accepted and became a teacher.
Teaching is painstaking and inexact. It is the gentle, constant pressure that guides young men and women into gradually recognizing the right path. It is about helping the students to find order in chaos and certainty in doubt; about their acceptance that the world is gray, and that we must find our way in its mists. I do not aim to identify the right path, but rather prefer to give my students lamps and maps with which to find it for themselves. One of my guiding lights is Judaism, and I hope it will light their way too.
I arrived at Prozdor by chance, but I am staying on purpose. Like the click of a seatbelt snapping into its holder, when I first stepped into the classroom, everything was “right.” I had completed a picture, and it had completed me. And so, every Sunday, when we finish taking attendance and resume our discussion of such topics as the Eichmann Trial or the fate of Holocaust survivors, I believe that I am working to fix that tiny part of the broken world that has been assigned to me. This is my Tikkun Olam.
I believe in Tikkun Olam through teaching. Tikkun Olam—“repairing the world”—is a central tenet of Judaism. An idea whose roots reach back to the Mishna, it has evolved into the belief that the world is “broken” and that each of us should take steps to make it whole and perfect.
I had never wanted to be a teacher and never thought I’d be one. Teaching came to me by chance: A beloved Prozdor teacher made Aliya, a replacement could not be found, another teacher knew me, and an offer to come and teach classes about the Holocaust was made. It was an intriguing idea, my services were needed, and so I accepted and became a teacher.
Teaching is painstaking and inexact. It is the gentle, constant pressure that guides young men and women into gradually recognizing the right path. It is about helping the students to find order in chaos and certainty in doubt; about their acceptance that the world is gray, and that we must find our way in its mists. I do not aim to identify the right path, but rather prefer to give my students lamps and maps with which to find it for themselves. One of my guiding lights is Judaism, and I hope it will light their way too.
I arrived at Prozdor by chance, but I am staying on purpose. Like the click of a seatbelt snapping into its holder, when I first stepped into the classroom, everything was “right.” I had completed a picture, and it had completed me. And so, every Sunday, when we finish taking attendance and resume our discussion of such topics as the Eichmann Trial or the fate of Holocaust survivors, I believe that I am working to fix that tiny part of the broken world that has been assigned to me. This is my Tikkun Olam.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
God's Straws
Leah Weiner, Prozdor Grade 10
“The straw that broke the camel’s back” is a common expression and experience meaning that there have been several incidents that would be insignificant, however together they create something significant. When one is trying to explain why the “straw broke the camel’s back” they often have a hard time, knowing that to an onlooker of the situation, there is no significance in the last “straw”, so one must tell all the “straws”, every insignificant detail that led to the snap, and even then, comprehension of the situation is not guaranteed.
I believe in God. It’s not something I just decided one day, and it’s not something I have always believed, but when there were several “straws” piled onto me by God, I had to believe. Each breathtaking incident or feeling I experience could have been shrugged off as common, but like the pile of “straws”, these incidents mean something when piled together. They create a certainty to God’s existence.
Just like someone explaining how the “straw broke the camel’s back”, I have trouble explaining my belief. Experiences have given me reason to believe, experiences that I can not possible share with words, the kind that one has to personally experience to believe. I have seen creations such as the amazing colors in rocks, or a village from the top of a mountain. I have met amazing, beautiful, talented and determined people. I have felt intense feelings and made wishes that come true against all odds. When these moments are put together I see the similarities between them. During each, I was experiencing God.
Many people question God’s existence because they can’t understand how evil could possibly coexist with God. They ask how hunger, poverty and war can go on in this world if God is watching over us. I don’t know the answers, belief does not mean understanding, but I have learned how to respond to these questions, to preserve my belief. I ask them, How can we experience good without bad? We would have nothing to relate our good fortune to. Maybe the evils we know aren’t true evils. Then they ask, How come holy people sometimes have a miserable life, where others who don’t believe in God live a rich, luxurious life? My answer: God has to keep his existence in question, or God wants his believers to live a full, meaningful life, and it is impossible to do that when spoiled with luxuries.
I can not possibly convince anyone of God’s existence, I cannot get anyone to understand every straw, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t believe. God could be a sixth sense, a sense too complex for the human brain to fully understand. God could be an ideal we all strive to become. God could be the big bang, the creator of the universe. God could be an all-knowing, all-powerful being or God could be each and every one of us. I don’t know the details of God’s existence, but I believe that God exists.
“The straw that broke the camel’s back” is a common expression and experience meaning that there have been several incidents that would be insignificant, however together they create something significant. When one is trying to explain why the “straw broke the camel’s back” they often have a hard time, knowing that to an onlooker of the situation, there is no significance in the last “straw”, so one must tell all the “straws”, every insignificant detail that led to the snap, and even then, comprehension of the situation is not guaranteed.
I believe in God. It’s not something I just decided one day, and it’s not something I have always believed, but when there were several “straws” piled onto me by God, I had to believe. Each breathtaking incident or feeling I experience could have been shrugged off as common, but like the pile of “straws”, these incidents mean something when piled together. They create a certainty to God’s existence.
Just like someone explaining how the “straw broke the camel’s back”, I have trouble explaining my belief. Experiences have given me reason to believe, experiences that I can not possible share with words, the kind that one has to personally experience to believe. I have seen creations such as the amazing colors in rocks, or a village from the top of a mountain. I have met amazing, beautiful, talented and determined people. I have felt intense feelings and made wishes that come true against all odds. When these moments are put together I see the similarities between them. During each, I was experiencing God.
Many people question God’s existence because they can’t understand how evil could possibly coexist with God. They ask how hunger, poverty and war can go on in this world if God is watching over us. I don’t know the answers, belief does not mean understanding, but I have learned how to respond to these questions, to preserve my belief. I ask them, How can we experience good without bad? We would have nothing to relate our good fortune to. Maybe the evils we know aren’t true evils. Then they ask, How come holy people sometimes have a miserable life, where others who don’t believe in God live a rich, luxurious life? My answer: God has to keep his existence in question, or God wants his believers to live a full, meaningful life, and it is impossible to do that when spoiled with luxuries.
I can not possibly convince anyone of God’s existence, I cannot get anyone to understand every straw, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t believe. God could be a sixth sense, a sense too complex for the human brain to fully understand. God could be an ideal we all strive to become. God could be the big bang, the creator of the universe. God could be an all-knowing, all-powerful being or God could be each and every one of us. I don’t know the details of God’s existence, but I believe that God exists.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Reflecting
Rebecca Greenstein, Prozdor Grade 10
The modern American’s life is stressful, busy, and unorganized. We cram our days full and barely have time to ourselves to unwind from our days, weeks, months, lifetimes. Many people don’t take some time for themselves out of every day, just to think about the day that has passed, the one coming, or the countless ones ahead. I believe everyone needs time to themselves.
I’m not a very athletic person and don’t enjoy team sports. I have tried to no avail to play basketball and softball with other girls my age. For that reason, my exercise comes in the form of walking home from school. It’s a mile and a half uphill, and with the two stoplights, it takes me about half an hour. I always use this time to look back on my day. What went wrong? What worked? How come? What can I do better the next day? Even though cars pass me at ungodly speeds of 50 m.p.h. on residential streets, I am able to block this out and go through a period of self-examination. It’s important for everyone to use time out of every day to reflect.
Despite this reflection I do while walking home, my life is still jam-packed and stressful. I have therefore spent at least three weeks out of every summer at a rustic camp in central Vermont. I am able to block out the constant stresses of my school year and have a great time with the people I am closest with. Camp has always been a way for me to release myself from my hectic home life. Even then, in a completely laid back and relaxed setting, I still need time to myself, so I find time to walk to and from the pond alone. It’s a ten minute walk that allows me to debrief from absolutely everything and feel the nature around me. Once, I was on my way to the pond and stopped mid-step for about five minutes, unable to take another pace. The utter tranquility of my surroundings made me pause and reflect even more than I was already doing. I love, and need, to take a break from everything.
Those who know me will probably be slightly astounded at this statement. I put a lot of unnecessary stress on myself to excel at schoolwork, stage managing plays, and piano. The only time I grant to myself is the time I spend walking home, which doesn’t come daily. When I don’t get a chance to walk home, I lie in bed before falling sleep and reflect. The only setback of this approach is the lack of exercise, but I think the more important thing is the reflection and not the physical activity. I know that on the outside, I’m not the kind of person who would grant herself self-reflection time, but when you get to know me really well, I enjoy downtime to reflect. After all, it’s what everyone needs in life.
The modern American’s life is stressful, busy, and unorganized. We cram our days full and barely have time to ourselves to unwind from our days, weeks, months, lifetimes. Many people don’t take some time for themselves out of every day, just to think about the day that has passed, the one coming, or the countless ones ahead. I believe everyone needs time to themselves.
I’m not a very athletic person and don’t enjoy team sports. I have tried to no avail to play basketball and softball with other girls my age. For that reason, my exercise comes in the form of walking home from school. It’s a mile and a half uphill, and with the two stoplights, it takes me about half an hour. I always use this time to look back on my day. What went wrong? What worked? How come? What can I do better the next day? Even though cars pass me at ungodly speeds of 50 m.p.h. on residential streets, I am able to block this out and go through a period of self-examination. It’s important for everyone to use time out of every day to reflect.
Despite this reflection I do while walking home, my life is still jam-packed and stressful. I have therefore spent at least three weeks out of every summer at a rustic camp in central Vermont. I am able to block out the constant stresses of my school year and have a great time with the people I am closest with. Camp has always been a way for me to release myself from my hectic home life. Even then, in a completely laid back and relaxed setting, I still need time to myself, so I find time to walk to and from the pond alone. It’s a ten minute walk that allows me to debrief from absolutely everything and feel the nature around me. Once, I was on my way to the pond and stopped mid-step for about five minutes, unable to take another pace. The utter tranquility of my surroundings made me pause and reflect even more than I was already doing. I love, and need, to take a break from everything.
Those who know me will probably be slightly astounded at this statement. I put a lot of unnecessary stress on myself to excel at schoolwork, stage managing plays, and piano. The only time I grant to myself is the time I spend walking home, which doesn’t come daily. When I don’t get a chance to walk home, I lie in bed before falling sleep and reflect. The only setback of this approach is the lack of exercise, but I think the more important thing is the reflection and not the physical activity. I know that on the outside, I’m not the kind of person who would grant herself self-reflection time, but when you get to know me really well, I enjoy downtime to reflect. After all, it’s what everyone needs in life.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
How to Dance
Toby Israel, Prozdor Grade 10
In the seventh grade, my friends and I began to regularly attend school dances. For all of that year and the next, I would watch other people, and attempt to copy only their simplest dance steps, for fear of making a fool of myself. Along with the majority of the bodies in the gym, I found myself rocking my hips back and forth, and intermittently walking to another point in the room for a change of scenery… for three hours!
About a year ago, I started to let go. I began to connect to the music; I felt the beat and I knew how I alone, not anyone else, should dance to it. A musical epiphany? A sudden enlightenment in the art of dancing? Not exactly. It was more of a general realization that I should be confident in expressing myself in whatever way is natural. Now if I’m dancing and I want to throw in a bellydancing move or a salsa step that I know or that I’ve seen, I do so without pause. If I want to rock out, I say, “Why not?”. Ideas pop into my head and come out as my own, unique style of dancing.
Recently a friend commented to me at one such dance that she found it difficult to be confident about her dancing when surrounded by better dancers. “I don’t look at the other people,” I replied, “I just dance.” This is because I believe in dancing like nobody’s watching.
A very wise man, Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Whoso would a man must be a nonconformist.” I doubt Emerson was thinking of dancing when he wrote this, but the wisdom of his words rings true nonetheless. I was wrong in thinking that I needed to imitate others with me on the dance floor to avoid ridicule or even personal embarassment. In reality it was quite the opposite; I had to find my own internal rhythm in order to dance to the music around me.
Emerson also wrote, “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” I don’t know if I’m actually a talented dancer, but I believe that I am, I trust that I am, and that’s all the truth I need. The actual truth of the sentiment is infinitely less significant than my faith in its veracity.
I have extended my belief in the importance of uninhibited self-expression to all areas of my life. In the past few years I have become completely confident in that self-expression, and that sort of confidence sets me free. You can be free to dance truly when you dance like no one’s watching, to live truly when you live like no one’s watching; this I believe.
In the seventh grade, my friends and I began to regularly attend school dances. For all of that year and the next, I would watch other people, and attempt to copy only their simplest dance steps, for fear of making a fool of myself. Along with the majority of the bodies in the gym, I found myself rocking my hips back and forth, and intermittently walking to another point in the room for a change of scenery… for three hours!
About a year ago, I started to let go. I began to connect to the music; I felt the beat and I knew how I alone, not anyone else, should dance to it. A musical epiphany? A sudden enlightenment in the art of dancing? Not exactly. It was more of a general realization that I should be confident in expressing myself in whatever way is natural. Now if I’m dancing and I want to throw in a bellydancing move or a salsa step that I know or that I’ve seen, I do so without pause. If I want to rock out, I say, “Why not?”. Ideas pop into my head and come out as my own, unique style of dancing.
Recently a friend commented to me at one such dance that she found it difficult to be confident about her dancing when surrounded by better dancers. “I don’t look at the other people,” I replied, “I just dance.” This is because I believe in dancing like nobody’s watching.
A very wise man, Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Whoso would a man must be a nonconformist.” I doubt Emerson was thinking of dancing when he wrote this, but the wisdom of his words rings true nonetheless. I was wrong in thinking that I needed to imitate others with me on the dance floor to avoid ridicule or even personal embarassment. In reality it was quite the opposite; I had to find my own internal rhythm in order to dance to the music around me.
Emerson also wrote, “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” I don’t know if I’m actually a talented dancer, but I believe that I am, I trust that I am, and that’s all the truth I need. The actual truth of the sentiment is infinitely less significant than my faith in its veracity.
I have extended my belief in the importance of uninhibited self-expression to all areas of my life. In the past few years I have become completely confident in that self-expression, and that sort of confidence sets me free. You can be free to dance truly when you dance like no one’s watching, to live truly when you live like no one’s watching; this I believe.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Live and Let Be
Susanna Sacks, Prozdor Grade 10
In fifth grade, I met an amazing girl. She sang beautifully, she was pretty, she was smart, she was funny, and she liked people to play with her hair. She still does.
Kelsey and I became best friends really quickly, and really easily. She was the person I could talk to when my parents’ fighting would wake me up in the middle of the night, and I would feel guilty for being alive, because they had to spend money on me. She was the only person I felt comfortable crying around, being honest about myself with.
Then, in ninth grade, she did something stupid. And I was judgmental. And she did the exact same thing again, and I tried to force her to see what she’d done as I saw it. Although there was never any direct confrontation, we stopped talking. We’d started growing apart, and then we stopped talking.
It took me six or seven months to realize what I’d done. And what I’d done was unforgivable, although she did forgive me. Kelsey has always been pretty, smart, a wonderful singer… but she used to be incredibly complacent. She let me and her older sister and her other friends tell her what music to like, what friends to have, what to wear...what to be. When we’d entered high school, she decided not to do that anymore, and I didn’t quite adapt. Instead, I tried to force my views on her. I couldn’t accept that she’d heard what I had to say and simply didn’t agree. And I basically killed our friendship.
After that, I began to understand what I’d always told myself: it’s okay to tell people your beliefs, so long as you don’t force them on those people. To do otherwise is disrespectful, and possibly detrimental.
In fifth grade, I met an amazing girl. She sang beautifully, she was pretty, she was smart, she was funny, and she liked people to play with her hair. She still does.
Kelsey and I became best friends really quickly, and really easily. She was the person I could talk to when my parents’ fighting would wake me up in the middle of the night, and I would feel guilty for being alive, because they had to spend money on me. She was the only person I felt comfortable crying around, being honest about myself with.
Then, in ninth grade, she did something stupid. And I was judgmental. And she did the exact same thing again, and I tried to force her to see what she’d done as I saw it. Although there was never any direct confrontation, we stopped talking. We’d started growing apart, and then we stopped talking.
It took me six or seven months to realize what I’d done. And what I’d done was unforgivable, although she did forgive me. Kelsey has always been pretty, smart, a wonderful singer… but she used to be incredibly complacent. She let me and her older sister and her other friends tell her what music to like, what friends to have, what to wear...what to be. When we’d entered high school, she decided not to do that anymore, and I didn’t quite adapt. Instead, I tried to force my views on her. I couldn’t accept that she’d heard what I had to say and simply didn’t agree. And I basically killed our friendship.
After that, I began to understand what I’d always told myself: it’s okay to tell people your beliefs, so long as you don’t force them on those people. To do otherwise is disrespectful, and possibly detrimental.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Chicken Soup without the Chicken
Melissa Itzkowitz, Prozdor Grade 10
The day I declared I was a vegetarian was like the day the music died…for my mother. Before leaving for college, my sister had been a vegetarian for four years. For four years, my mother struggled with the idea that not only did she need to prepare one meal a night, she often had to prepare two—one for my sister, and one for the rest of my family. This was a great burden and an even greater annoyance to her. Not only that, but my mother is an exceptional chef, restaurant worthy. She specializes in her “famous” chicken dishes she serves every Friday night. When my sister left last year for Smith College, she was finally able to prepare one meal that the entire family would eat and enjoy. The next week, I announced that I too, was a vegetarian.
I became a vegetarian on a Sunday. For that entire week, my mother served meat. For that entire week, I ate salad. Against common belief, I did not become a vegetarian out of spite for my mother or to be difficult. I did not become a vegetarian because my sister is one, although it probably had some influence on my decision and my ability to stand by my decision. In fact, my sister is a “special” kind of vegetarian. She will not eat anything served to her with eyes, and since none of the seafood served to her still has eyes, she will eat it. She is not a very loyal vegetarian. I am the extreme opposite. I will not eat anything that has touched meat or is on the same plate as meat. I am just that crazy.
I have been a vegetarian for about a year and a half. Some frequently asked questions are, “Why?” or “Why are you a vegetarian but not a vegan?” I am not a vegan for two reasons—one: I do not have enough self-control to be one, and two: I have no desire to be one. I suppose I am a vegetarian because I need to be. After almost fourteen years of eating meat several times a week, I began to find it repulsive. To be perfectly honest, I believe it had something to do with a story I read last year about a man who hunted and killed his prey. His victims were humans. This parallel of humans being hunted to animals being hunted supplied me with a new perspective about my diet because I could relate to the cruelty animals face everyday. I could not eat an animal ever again.
That one otherwise ordinary day when I told my mother I did not feel like having meat that night changed my life forever. I did not know if it would be difficult, which it has turned out not to be, and I did not know if I would be able to continue with it. However, I am proud to say that I still have not eaten any chicken soup.
The day I declared I was a vegetarian was like the day the music died…for my mother. Before leaving for college, my sister had been a vegetarian for four years. For four years, my mother struggled with the idea that not only did she need to prepare one meal a night, she often had to prepare two—one for my sister, and one for the rest of my family. This was a great burden and an even greater annoyance to her. Not only that, but my mother is an exceptional chef, restaurant worthy. She specializes in her “famous” chicken dishes she serves every Friday night. When my sister left last year for Smith College, she was finally able to prepare one meal that the entire family would eat and enjoy. The next week, I announced that I too, was a vegetarian.
I became a vegetarian on a Sunday. For that entire week, my mother served meat. For that entire week, I ate salad. Against common belief, I did not become a vegetarian out of spite for my mother or to be difficult. I did not become a vegetarian because my sister is one, although it probably had some influence on my decision and my ability to stand by my decision. In fact, my sister is a “special” kind of vegetarian. She will not eat anything served to her with eyes, and since none of the seafood served to her still has eyes, she will eat it. She is not a very loyal vegetarian. I am the extreme opposite. I will not eat anything that has touched meat or is on the same plate as meat. I am just that crazy.
I have been a vegetarian for about a year and a half. Some frequently asked questions are, “Why?” or “Why are you a vegetarian but not a vegan?” I am not a vegan for two reasons—one: I do not have enough self-control to be one, and two: I have no desire to be one. I suppose I am a vegetarian because I need to be. After almost fourteen years of eating meat several times a week, I began to find it repulsive. To be perfectly honest, I believe it had something to do with a story I read last year about a man who hunted and killed his prey. His victims were humans. This parallel of humans being hunted to animals being hunted supplied me with a new perspective about my diet because I could relate to the cruelty animals face everyday. I could not eat an animal ever again.
That one otherwise ordinary day when I told my mother I did not feel like having meat that night changed my life forever. I did not know if it would be difficult, which it has turned out not to be, and I did not know if I would be able to continue with it. However, I am proud to say that I still have not eaten any chicken soup.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
My Truth
Rachel Flynn, Prozdor Grade 10
I don’t have some major belief to explain in this essay, I just have my small but true belief in writing. I started writing in third grade and it opened up my eyes to a whole new world. Writing showed me how I could live my life. I could be anything I wanted, a bird flying high over the world, even a girl walking through a dream land. It also showed me truth. You can’t hide in writing because in the end you must come to terms with your problems, even if your problems seem ridiculous. A story isn’t just a story, it is a life. Characters always reflect someone, even if they aren’t meant to. They can open your eyes, even while you fight to keep them shut. I write for truth.
My parents encouraged me, especially my dad. He helped me to pry open the door that I had managed to slide open a sliver. He told me to keep writing and taught me the importance of keeping at it. He keeps telling me to this day to keep the ideas that I think are bad, and work on them to make them better. There is no such thing as a bad idea, but there is such thing as an unfinished idea. I keep them all in folders and notebooks that lay scattered across my house, and someday I will find them and work on them and they will become yet another story among many. My dad helps and he will always help. While I typed away he told me ways to make it better. He showed me that I could truly be myself in my writing, and it took off from there. Soon I was writing about imperfect situations with imperfect people in an imperfect world. I try to teach that you can’t always get your way.
A reason why writing is my belief is because I can truly live through it. I can do and be anything, even if it seems impossible. It’s a high that not many people seem to find. While some think three page essays are hard, I struggle to keep it down to four. Once I start it is hard to stop and I wish that I didn’t have to. I belief that writing is my life and that it will always hold me in its tight grasp, keeping me hostage in a world that I have no wish to leave.
I wish to show others my world. I want others to enjoy reading and writing as much I do, and believe in it as I do. I believe fully in my writing, so while others write this essay on a better day with no pain, I write about writing, and hold strong to my beliefs.
So you see, it isn’t major or big, but is my whole self and it’s all I can give you. I hope you try to understand and take this to heart, for it is what I believe, it is my truth.
I don’t have some major belief to explain in this essay, I just have my small but true belief in writing. I started writing in third grade and it opened up my eyes to a whole new world. Writing showed me how I could live my life. I could be anything I wanted, a bird flying high over the world, even a girl walking through a dream land. It also showed me truth. You can’t hide in writing because in the end you must come to terms with your problems, even if your problems seem ridiculous. A story isn’t just a story, it is a life. Characters always reflect someone, even if they aren’t meant to. They can open your eyes, even while you fight to keep them shut. I write for truth.
My parents encouraged me, especially my dad. He helped me to pry open the door that I had managed to slide open a sliver. He told me to keep writing and taught me the importance of keeping at it. He keeps telling me to this day to keep the ideas that I think are bad, and work on them to make them better. There is no such thing as a bad idea, but there is such thing as an unfinished idea. I keep them all in folders and notebooks that lay scattered across my house, and someday I will find them and work on them and they will become yet another story among many. My dad helps and he will always help. While I typed away he told me ways to make it better. He showed me that I could truly be myself in my writing, and it took off from there. Soon I was writing about imperfect situations with imperfect people in an imperfect world. I try to teach that you can’t always get your way.
A reason why writing is my belief is because I can truly live through it. I can do and be anything, even if it seems impossible. It’s a high that not many people seem to find. While some think three page essays are hard, I struggle to keep it down to four. Once I start it is hard to stop and I wish that I didn’t have to. I belief that writing is my life and that it will always hold me in its tight grasp, keeping me hostage in a world that I have no wish to leave.
I wish to show others my world. I want others to enjoy reading and writing as much I do, and believe in it as I do. I believe fully in my writing, so while others write this essay on a better day with no pain, I write about writing, and hold strong to my beliefs.
So you see, it isn’t major or big, but is my whole self and it’s all I can give you. I hope you try to understand and take this to heart, for it is what I believe, it is my truth.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
You'll Never Get Another Chance
Samantha Becker, Prozdor Grade 10
I believe that every moment we spend being upset is a moment we can never get back.
Upon awaking on my sixteenth birthday my father asked me jokingly if I had any words of wisdom I have gained over the years. I looked him in the eye and said just that.
The time we spend being angry, hurt, in tears, and wishing things were different is time we will never get a second chance at. This is not to say that I myself am never sad, or shed a tear, but more that I have come to understand that there is no reason to ruin a whole day over something small and that a day is better spent with friend laughing after heartbreak, embarrassment, or a bad day than at home alone, miserable.
I will never have back the hours I have spent crying over stupid men or the days I wasted being sour to everyone simply because I got in a fight with my parents over a silly chore request. I regret those days, and so have realized that it will always be better to wipe my eyes or un-furrow my brow, and smile, wave at someone or laugh. Everything looks a little bit better if one tries not to be upset, and you will get much more out of a day.
I believe that we should all remember that even when we are sad or angry or hurt, we cannot let these feelings ruin everything. We must not take it out on those around us, and we cannot change most of the situations so take the time we are given and enjoy it. Do not waste your life being upset, dragging out the times when you are upset, or looking for things to be upset about. Find the good. Smile. I believe that one should live every day not as though it were your last, but as if you will never get another chance at it.
Because you won’t.
This I believe.
I believe that every moment we spend being upset is a moment we can never get back.
Upon awaking on my sixteenth birthday my father asked me jokingly if I had any words of wisdom I have gained over the years. I looked him in the eye and said just that.
The time we spend being angry, hurt, in tears, and wishing things were different is time we will never get a second chance at. This is not to say that I myself am never sad, or shed a tear, but more that I have come to understand that there is no reason to ruin a whole day over something small and that a day is better spent with friend laughing after heartbreak, embarrassment, or a bad day than at home alone, miserable.
I will never have back the hours I have spent crying over stupid men or the days I wasted being sour to everyone simply because I got in a fight with my parents over a silly chore request. I regret those days, and so have realized that it will always be better to wipe my eyes or un-furrow my brow, and smile, wave at someone or laugh. Everything looks a little bit better if one tries not to be upset, and you will get much more out of a day.
I believe that we should all remember that even when we are sad or angry or hurt, we cannot let these feelings ruin everything. We must not take it out on those around us, and we cannot change most of the situations so take the time we are given and enjoy it. Do not waste your life being upset, dragging out the times when you are upset, or looking for things to be upset about. Find the good. Smile. I believe that one should live every day not as though it were your last, but as if you will never get another chance at it.
Because you won’t.
This I believe.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Modernity
Shir Levkowitz, Prozdor Grade 11
Modernity in the West represents the greatest success of civilization through the recognition of individual rights and liberties. For millennia, humanity knew only tribal laws or societal pressures that came between a man and himself. The Enlightenment brought about a new view that respected each human being as an individual, not a slave to any group. These revolutionary ideas have lead to a flourishing society built on freedom and respect. The United States truly demonstrates the strength of this view —through its recognition of the individual, it has grown into a prosperous society. But today, various political and social movements seek to reverse the advances of the recent centuries, undermining Western beliefs either through active attacks or through indifference. I strongly believe that the West must stand up and defend these values if it seeks to survive and avoid collapse into savagery.
The philosophy of the Enlightenment began as something rather revolutionary, so that it became a dominant movement. However, as with any political and social trend, new reactionary groups have grown from within the Enlightenment, and they would destroy the great advances it has put forth. In its purest form, Enlightenment thought glorified the individual as its supreme entity, casting aside oppressive and authoritarian beliefs. Thus, modern Western thought is strongly based on tolerance and acceptance of others, but as individuals and for their own merits.
In spite of this, the once-rational valuation of tolerance has grown out of proportion, forming a bloated and oppressive threat to our society. It has become a default that we respect all cultures as our equals, or even as our moral superiors. No longer can one respect a human being’s right to an opinion while disagreeing with his belief. No longer can one defend an individual’s right to speak and criticize the views he upholds for that very reason. No, today’s cult of acceptance and tolerance has reached the point that we are forced to lay aside our values and worship oppressive and immoral societies in the name of diversity. And if Westerners do not defend their values, soon, they will discover the rights and freedoms they now hold dear to be a mere memory of the past.
Today, America finds itself threatened on many fronts. Europe is, by many counts, already lost, with the ever-swelling Muslim population pushing it closer and closer to the day when it is ruled by sharia. The democratic state of Israel is singled out for criticism while the oppressive regimes around it are ignored or praised for their "cultures." All those who believe in the individual rights to life, liberty, and property have reason for concern.
In 1863, the United States found itself in a similar difficulty, tried by civil war and threatened with destruction. The West’s position today is, arguably, more dangerous because its enemies fight it with ideas, not guns. Let us take to heart then, a great man’s call when he said, "It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us … that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth."
Modernity in the West represents the greatest success of civilization through the recognition of individual rights and liberties. For millennia, humanity knew only tribal laws or societal pressures that came between a man and himself. The Enlightenment brought about a new view that respected each human being as an individual, not a slave to any group. These revolutionary ideas have lead to a flourishing society built on freedom and respect. The United States truly demonstrates the strength of this view —through its recognition of the individual, it has grown into a prosperous society. But today, various political and social movements seek to reverse the advances of the recent centuries, undermining Western beliefs either through active attacks or through indifference. I strongly believe that the West must stand up and defend these values if it seeks to survive and avoid collapse into savagery.
The philosophy of the Enlightenment began as something rather revolutionary, so that it became a dominant movement. However, as with any political and social trend, new reactionary groups have grown from within the Enlightenment, and they would destroy the great advances it has put forth. In its purest form, Enlightenment thought glorified the individual as its supreme entity, casting aside oppressive and authoritarian beliefs. Thus, modern Western thought is strongly based on tolerance and acceptance of others, but as individuals and for their own merits.
In spite of this, the once-rational valuation of tolerance has grown out of proportion, forming a bloated and oppressive threat to our society. It has become a default that we respect all cultures as our equals, or even as our moral superiors. No longer can one respect a human being’s right to an opinion while disagreeing with his belief. No longer can one defend an individual’s right to speak and criticize the views he upholds for that very reason. No, today’s cult of acceptance and tolerance has reached the point that we are forced to lay aside our values and worship oppressive and immoral societies in the name of diversity. And if Westerners do not defend their values, soon, they will discover the rights and freedoms they now hold dear to be a mere memory of the past.
Today, America finds itself threatened on many fronts. Europe is, by many counts, already lost, with the ever-swelling Muslim population pushing it closer and closer to the day when it is ruled by sharia. The democratic state of Israel is singled out for criticism while the oppressive regimes around it are ignored or praised for their "cultures." All those who believe in the individual rights to life, liberty, and property have reason for concern.
In 1863, the United States found itself in a similar difficulty, tried by civil war and threatened with destruction. The West’s position today is, arguably, more dangerous because its enemies fight it with ideas, not guns. Let us take to heart then, a great man’s call when he said, "It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us … that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth."
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I Believe in Luck
Rich Moche, Prozdor Faculty
I believe in luck. My father taught me.
My father was an immigrant - a Jew born in Baghdad, he made his way as a young man through Southeast Asia and arrived in the United States at the age of 28. To survive, he had bought and sold anything and everything along the way. In America he continued the trader's life, selling garments, sewing machines, and then finally precious stones in New York's diamond district. I remember asking my father his profession, in order to complete a college application. It was 1974, and by this time he had been living in the United States for 25 years. "I am a merchant," he said.
The core of my father's world-view was the importance of luck. His years of wandering and struggle had made him wise. His favorite saying, always delivered in the same formulation, was, "Richie, listen to me. Life is more luck than brains." In my adolescent arrogance I heard an old greenhorn delivering another lecture. I presumed that an immigrant speaking with a heavy accent (albeit in his third language) knew less than me. I was too young to appreciate the meaning of his words and the importance of luck.
I believed that I made my own destiny.
My father's relationship with luck was not simple. He loved to gamble and I know he had many corollaries of his belief about luck. You have to play the cards you've been dealt, you can bluff, you can fold, you can learn from the other players, you can enjoy the camaraderie of the game and not care so much about a few dollars won or lost. He was not a fatalist. He worked hard. And he was a deeply religious man who was not above bribing the dealer by doing great acts of kindness and generosity. But he knew what he was up against.
When did I finally get his message? Maybe before he died, too young, at 73. I was 36 and people within my cohort had just started to die random and premature deaths, bear children with disabilities, or get stupendously rich by chance. As the years pass, I've come to appreciate more fully the importance of luck. Perhaps when you have been lucky (as I feel I have) you need to deny the need for luck. Luck is painful and scary because it is distributed regardless of merit. So you indulge the childish hope that if you close your eyes to misfortune it will not find you. But the suffering around you forces you to confront the brutal truth that bad things do indeed
happen to good people, for no apparent reason. And this has led me to what my father must have been trying to teach me - to have sympathy for the less fortunate and humility in the face of good fortune.
Thanks Dad. Now I get it.
I believe in luck. My father taught me.
My father was an immigrant - a Jew born in Baghdad, he made his way as a young man through Southeast Asia and arrived in the United States at the age of 28. To survive, he had bought and sold anything and everything along the way. In America he continued the trader's life, selling garments, sewing machines, and then finally precious stones in New York's diamond district. I remember asking my father his profession, in order to complete a college application. It was 1974, and by this time he had been living in the United States for 25 years. "I am a merchant," he said.
The core of my father's world-view was the importance of luck. His years of wandering and struggle had made him wise. His favorite saying, always delivered in the same formulation, was, "Richie, listen to me. Life is more luck than brains." In my adolescent arrogance I heard an old greenhorn delivering another lecture. I presumed that an immigrant speaking with a heavy accent (albeit in his third language) knew less than me. I was too young to appreciate the meaning of his words and the importance of luck.
I believed that I made my own destiny.
My father's relationship with luck was not simple. He loved to gamble and I know he had many corollaries of his belief about luck. You have to play the cards you've been dealt, you can bluff, you can fold, you can learn from the other players, you can enjoy the camaraderie of the game and not care so much about a few dollars won or lost. He was not a fatalist. He worked hard. And he was a deeply religious man who was not above bribing the dealer by doing great acts of kindness and generosity. But he knew what he was up against.
When did I finally get his message? Maybe before he died, too young, at 73. I was 36 and people within my cohort had just started to die random and premature deaths, bear children with disabilities, or get stupendously rich by chance. As the years pass, I've come to appreciate more fully the importance of luck. Perhaps when you have been lucky (as I feel I have) you need to deny the need for luck. Luck is painful and scary because it is distributed regardless of merit. So you indulge the childish hope that if you close your eyes to misfortune it will not find you. But the suffering around you forces you to confront the brutal truth that bad things do indeed
happen to good people, for no apparent reason. And this has led me to what my father must have been trying to teach me - to have sympathy for the less fortunate and humility in the face of good fortune.
Thanks Dad. Now I get it.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Believe in Your Convictions
Dana Weinstein, Prozdor Grade 11
Believe 100% in your convictions, even if you contradict yourself every day.
This motto has been an inspiration to me from the time I was little. It has taught me that being wrong is ok, that being adamant about being right when I’m actually wrong is ok, but most importantly, that I should believe wholeheartedly whatever it is that I actually think. For example, since I was ten I’ve always thought that I wanted to be a psychologist, more specifically, a neuro-psychologist. But last week, we started a women’s issues segment in my U.S. History class, and like Dory in Finding Nemo, I had a new mission in life – I am going to be a women’s rights advocate. My friends will eye me strangely, think it’s just a phase, and my parents will probably not be thrilled to hear that I want to major in women’s studies. And they’re likely all right. I’ll probably end up back as a pre-med major or studying psychology when I get to college. But right now, maybe just for this week, I want to be a women’s rights lawyer.
This motto also speaks to my belief that my generation cannot be nicknamed as “X,” “Y,” or “Z,” but as generation blasé. The use of the word “like” or “you know” modifies almost any statement made by a teenage girl or boy in today’s America. It is no longer “cool” to actually believe what you say – it’s no longer acceptable to be passionate about something, no matter how profound or insignificant. Instead, in our cynical and materialistic culture, we must be dispassionate about, disinterested in, everything. In our pursuit of acceptance, we no longer want to offend, and of course, the worst way to offend someone is to disagree with him or her. And of course, disagreeing with someone is the natural outcome of believing wholeheartedly in a conviction someone else opposes.
However, just because one believes something 100% does not mean that they should be locked into that belief for the rest of their life. As the 2004 Presidential campaigns have shown us, an inability to acknowledge and welcome change in other people “elected” an administration that 1) has currently engaged in a war (that costs the American public billions of dollars a day) and 2) refuses to admit any such mistakes about said war. John Kerry did not win the 2004 Presidential elections because he did not respond quickly enough the to “Swift-Boat” attacks on his character. But he also did not win because the Republicans portrayed him as effeminately wishy-washy, not stick-to-your-guns manly like Bush. However, as good as the Republican machine is, it could not have successfully played this tactic had the American public not agreed with it. Americans, at least in 2004, believed that changing your mind was a bad thing, a sign of weakness. Thus, a President who couldn’t even admit that there were no WMDs in Iraq despite the presence of such weapons being the basis for the invasion was championed over a decorated man who actually served in Vietnam and yet later decided that his involvement caused more harm than gain. The elections of 2004 are just one example of the dangers of refusing to accept change. Most senators in Iraq were with the president when he wanted to invade because of the WMDs. Many more might still be with him if he hadn’t refused to acknowledge his mistakes in reconnaissance.
Thus, believing in one’s convictions while also possessing the ability to change them is necessary to allow people grow and develop fully. If we teach our children that their thoughts and ideas are acceptable and laudable, then we will endow our children with the self-esteem to lead contented and successful lives.
Believe 100% in your convictions, even if you contradict yourself every day.
This motto has been an inspiration to me from the time I was little. It has taught me that being wrong is ok, that being adamant about being right when I’m actually wrong is ok, but most importantly, that I should believe wholeheartedly whatever it is that I actually think. For example, since I was ten I’ve always thought that I wanted to be a psychologist, more specifically, a neuro-psychologist. But last week, we started a women’s issues segment in my U.S. History class, and like Dory in Finding Nemo, I had a new mission in life – I am going to be a women’s rights advocate. My friends will eye me strangely, think it’s just a phase, and my parents will probably not be thrilled to hear that I want to major in women’s studies. And they’re likely all right. I’ll probably end up back as a pre-med major or studying psychology when I get to college. But right now, maybe just for this week, I want to be a women’s rights lawyer.
This motto also speaks to my belief that my generation cannot be nicknamed as “X,” “Y,” or “Z,” but as generation blasé. The use of the word “like” or “you know” modifies almost any statement made by a teenage girl or boy in today’s America. It is no longer “cool” to actually believe what you say – it’s no longer acceptable to be passionate about something, no matter how profound or insignificant. Instead, in our cynical and materialistic culture, we must be dispassionate about, disinterested in, everything. In our pursuit of acceptance, we no longer want to offend, and of course, the worst way to offend someone is to disagree with him or her. And of course, disagreeing with someone is the natural outcome of believing wholeheartedly in a conviction someone else opposes.
However, just because one believes something 100% does not mean that they should be locked into that belief for the rest of their life. As the 2004 Presidential campaigns have shown us, an inability to acknowledge and welcome change in other people “elected” an administration that 1) has currently engaged in a war (that costs the American public billions of dollars a day) and 2) refuses to admit any such mistakes about said war. John Kerry did not win the 2004 Presidential elections because he did not respond quickly enough the to “Swift-Boat” attacks on his character. But he also did not win because the Republicans portrayed him as effeminately wishy-washy, not stick-to-your-guns manly like Bush. However, as good as the Republican machine is, it could not have successfully played this tactic had the American public not agreed with it. Americans, at least in 2004, believed that changing your mind was a bad thing, a sign of weakness. Thus, a President who couldn’t even admit that there were no WMDs in Iraq despite the presence of such weapons being the basis for the invasion was championed over a decorated man who actually served in Vietnam and yet later decided that his involvement caused more harm than gain. The elections of 2004 are just one example of the dangers of refusing to accept change. Most senators in Iraq were with the president when he wanted to invade because of the WMDs. Many more might still be with him if he hadn’t refused to acknowledge his mistakes in reconnaissance.
Thus, believing in one’s convictions while also possessing the ability to change them is necessary to allow people grow and develop fully. If we teach our children that their thoughts and ideas are acceptable and laudable, then we will endow our children with the self-esteem to lead contented and successful lives.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Friends: The Reason We Live Contentedly
Hayley Matusow, Prozdor Grade 10
Mencius said it right when he said, “Friendship is one mind in two bodies.” I have made many major decisions and experienced many things in my life. Without my friends, I would have never been able to get through the tough times. Friends can, not only be another person in your class or your camp friends. A friend can be a parent or a sibling. I believe a friend is someone you can talk with when you are either upset or happy, and you feel comfortable with. A friend is someone who respects you as you should respect them as well.
Going to camp for the first year at age 10, I knew all but two older girls. The first night I will admit, I was homesick and lonely. By the end of the week, the seven other girls in cabin were my new seven best friends. At the end of the week, we had all experienced song and cheer together and we were all living and breathing each other’s stupid comments. I never truly understood the reason for my parents sending me to camp until the end of my last summer. It was then that I realized that camp was an opportunity to make friends who you cherish and get through obstacles with. With no parents, my friends were the next best things in my camp life. After leaving my camp, I learned to treasure my friends at home as well.
When my grandmother died last year, I went through a period of shock. I did not really know how react in certain situations. When I came home from her funeral, all of my friends came over to talk to me and tell me how sorry they were. They each brought me my homework from school and I knew they cared. In hard times, you can tell how much your friends care about you and you should cherish anytime you get to share with them because you never know when something may happen and you will have to part.
I talk to my friends everyday. In many ways they know more about my life than I do and I am thankful that they care. I respect my friends and I believe they respect me as much or even more. I believe that friends are the main reason people are able to get through obstacles. I believe that friends are people you are able to open up to, and I know if I did not have caring friends, I would not be able to live because I would have to keep all my thoughts bottled up inside me. I believe along with my parents, my friends are the reason I act how I act and appreciate as much as I do. I love my friends.
Mencius said it right when he said, “Friendship is one mind in two bodies.” I have made many major decisions and experienced many things in my life. Without my friends, I would have never been able to get through the tough times. Friends can, not only be another person in your class or your camp friends. A friend can be a parent or a sibling. I believe a friend is someone you can talk with when you are either upset or happy, and you feel comfortable with. A friend is someone who respects you as you should respect them as well.
Going to camp for the first year at age 10, I knew all but two older girls. The first night I will admit, I was homesick and lonely. By the end of the week, the seven other girls in cabin were my new seven best friends. At the end of the week, we had all experienced song and cheer together and we were all living and breathing each other’s stupid comments. I never truly understood the reason for my parents sending me to camp until the end of my last summer. It was then that I realized that camp was an opportunity to make friends who you cherish and get through obstacles with. With no parents, my friends were the next best things in my camp life. After leaving my camp, I learned to treasure my friends at home as well.
When my grandmother died last year, I went through a period of shock. I did not really know how react in certain situations. When I came home from her funeral, all of my friends came over to talk to me and tell me how sorry they were. They each brought me my homework from school and I knew they cared. In hard times, you can tell how much your friends care about you and you should cherish anytime you get to share with them because you never know when something may happen and you will have to part.
I talk to my friends everyday. In many ways they know more about my life than I do and I am thankful that they care. I respect my friends and I believe they respect me as much or even more. I believe that friends are the main reason people are able to get through obstacles. I believe that friends are people you are able to open up to, and I know if I did not have caring friends, I would not be able to live because I would have to keep all my thoughts bottled up inside me. I believe along with my parents, my friends are the reason I act how I act and appreciate as much as I do. I love my friends.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
This I Believe
Lily Sherman - Prozdor Grade 8
Ever since my Saba (grandfather) died, I have wondered what my last words to him were. I cannot remember the words I left my beloved Saba with. The man who took care of me when I was sick, played with me whenever I wanted, spoiled me rotten, and gave me unconditional love. The loving man, was one of my favorite people, and still is but now only in memory. He would go to school plays and dance recitals, all the little class things he could make it to, but unfortunately he will not make it to my high school or college graduations physically. But he will be there with me inside my head his memory always with me. I am daily reminded of him through my actions, I now I try not to say goodnight or goodbye to a loved one without adding on an “I love you”. This action is because of what I might not have done in the past.
The fear of uncertainty, of what my last words to him were, haunts me frequently. I ponder the last conversation I had with him trying to remember the last time we saw each other or spoke, hoping to find intertwined in the conversation myself saying, “I love you.” I hope that I told him I loved him the last time I saw him, I would have said it a million times over if I had known it would be my last chance. If I didn’t tell him how much I loved him that last time, than I hope he knew in his heart how much I do.
In an effort to make sure that all my loved ones know how I feel, I try not to end a visit, conversation, or phone call without saying the powerful words, “I love you”. Sometimes it just slips my mind to utter, “I love you” simply because you always expect there to be a next time with that person. But sometimes I have to consciously think that when I say goodbye to someone that it may be the last time I speak to them. But like I now know, saying goodbye at the end of a conversation, can really be saying goodbye forever. Which is why I believe in never ending a conversation with a loved one without saying “I love you” because we all want the people we love to know that, and we all want them to die knowing that we love them.
Ever since my Saba (grandfather) died, I have wondered what my last words to him were. I cannot remember the words I left my beloved Saba with. The man who took care of me when I was sick, played with me whenever I wanted, spoiled me rotten, and gave me unconditional love. The loving man, was one of my favorite people, and still is but now only in memory. He would go to school plays and dance recitals, all the little class things he could make it to, but unfortunately he will not make it to my high school or college graduations physically. But he will be there with me inside my head his memory always with me. I am daily reminded of him through my actions, I now I try not to say goodnight or goodbye to a loved one without adding on an “I love you”. This action is because of what I might not have done in the past.
The fear of uncertainty, of what my last words to him were, haunts me frequently. I ponder the last conversation I had with him trying to remember the last time we saw each other or spoke, hoping to find intertwined in the conversation myself saying, “I love you.” I hope that I told him I loved him the last time I saw him, I would have said it a million times over if I had known it would be my last chance. If I didn’t tell him how much I loved him that last time, than I hope he knew in his heart how much I do.
In an effort to make sure that all my loved ones know how I feel, I try not to end a visit, conversation, or phone call without saying the powerful words, “I love you”. Sometimes it just slips my mind to utter, “I love you” simply because you always expect there to be a next time with that person. But sometimes I have to consciously think that when I say goodbye to someone that it may be the last time I speak to them. But like I now know, saying goodbye at the end of a conversation, can really be saying goodbye forever. Which is why I believe in never ending a conversation with a loved one without saying “I love you” because we all want the people we love to know that, and we all want them to die knowing that we love them.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
A Half-Baked Holiday
Noah Arbesfeld, Prozdor Grade 10
It was April yet again, and for yet another year’s Passover celebrations my entire family was seated around our kitchen table. Although the meal, roast chicken, had not varied since my birth, this Passover was to yield a different experience than any other Jewish holiday in my life. As the food was passed around the table, the matzah, square-shaped unleavened bread, appeared in front of me. I, a glasses-free fourth grader at the time, felt obligated to take a piece of the chalky-white material, and place it on my plate. Taking a bite, I winced as the cardboard-textured substance slowly fought its way down my throat. Staring down at my plate at the half-eaten matzah, I became filled with dread. I could not believe that this bland alleged ‘food’ was supposed to sustain me for the next eight days. This was to be my first year of officially observing Passover.
Throughout the weeks leading up to the Jewish holiday, our fourth grade Hebrew school class, had studied Passover, Pesach in Hebrew, in great detail. We had all believed that we had become experts on the holiday; we knew the story of how Moses delivered the enslaved Jews out of the hands of the Egyptians and into the ‘promised land’ of Israel. And our class of seventeen kids was well aware of the dietary restrictions Jews had to follow over Passover: absolutely no grain, or any food item that rises when cooked. We were taught that these laws derived from the original Passover story: Pharoah, the Egyptian ruler at the time, allowed the Jews to leave Egypt for only a brief time, so the Jewish did not have enough time to allow their bread to rise, forming matzah. This ancient story meant that we could eat no wheat, rice, grain, beans or even corn for an entire eight days, a punishment that seemed unfair to me simply because our ancestors had to eat a different type of bread for a few days. While some of the ten-year-olds in class felt no shame in passionately announcing their intentions to eat bread, those of us who wished to be perceived by our Jewish community as ‘good Jews’ decided to forbid grain from our diets for one week. However, now, at our kitchen table, as I was eating the pale matzah, I wondered if others in my class felt the same longing and dread as I did.
My question was soon answered. After two torturous days of watching my non-Jewish friends all devour sandwiches loaded with bread, I was present at our class’s Hebrew school meeting that Tuesday. We all checked in on each other’s progress; some had inadvertently (or not) eaten noodles, while others had drunk Gatorade, a source of forbidden corn syrup. My only offense up until that point had been a bag of Cape Cod potato chips that cleverly hid the warning ‘may contain corn oil and/or cottonseed oil.’ I quickly convinced myself that this bag contained one hundred percent cottonseed oil. I could not let little slip-ups like this influence my friends’ opinions of me.
I did not last the week. The half-baked cardboard bread could only satisfy a ten year old for so long. By about the sixth day, the craving for high fructose corn syrup grew too strong and I drank, in secret, a glass of apple juice. In tears, I confessed to my parents the second they returned home from work, however, nothing happened. I was not smote like the Egyptians, nor was I turned to a figurative pillar of salt. In fact, when I came clean to my classmates at Hebrew school on Sunday, none of them seemed to have any reaction. Contrary to what the Bible had taught me, my bad deed had gone entirely unpunished. Although the sanctity of Passover had been violated, neither my ancestors, nor my extremely old Jewish preschool teachers, were rolling over in their graves. As soon as I returned home, I ran to the cupboard and devoured a slice of the matzah, leaving crumbs on the floor all around me.
Today, my family and I observe very few of the six hundred and thirteen Jewish commandments. We don’t keep Kosher, we don’t observe the Sabbath, and we frequently use the lord’s name in vain. However, I have attempted to adhere to the anti-grain laws of Passover each April ever since my experience in fourth grade. I am no longer afraid of divine or parental retribution; rather, the opposite is true. That Passover, the Jewish community changed from a place of constant scrutiny to a place of acceptance; regardless of whether or not I ate pork. Passover, although being one of the more torturous Jewish experiences, has now become one of the main ways in which I identify with Jews in my family, in my synagogue, and throughout the world. And if eating matzah is what forges this connection, then so be it, even if it tastes like cardboard.
It was April yet again, and for yet another year’s Passover celebrations my entire family was seated around our kitchen table. Although the meal, roast chicken, had not varied since my birth, this Passover was to yield a different experience than any other Jewish holiday in my life. As the food was passed around the table, the matzah, square-shaped unleavened bread, appeared in front of me. I, a glasses-free fourth grader at the time, felt obligated to take a piece of the chalky-white material, and place it on my plate. Taking a bite, I winced as the cardboard-textured substance slowly fought its way down my throat. Staring down at my plate at the half-eaten matzah, I became filled with dread. I could not believe that this bland alleged ‘food’ was supposed to sustain me for the next eight days. This was to be my first year of officially observing Passover.
Throughout the weeks leading up to the Jewish holiday, our fourth grade Hebrew school class, had studied Passover, Pesach in Hebrew, in great detail. We had all believed that we had become experts on the holiday; we knew the story of how Moses delivered the enslaved Jews out of the hands of the Egyptians and into the ‘promised land’ of Israel. And our class of seventeen kids was well aware of the dietary restrictions Jews had to follow over Passover: absolutely no grain, or any food item that rises when cooked. We were taught that these laws derived from the original Passover story: Pharoah, the Egyptian ruler at the time, allowed the Jews to leave Egypt for only a brief time, so the Jewish did not have enough time to allow their bread to rise, forming matzah. This ancient story meant that we could eat no wheat, rice, grain, beans or even corn for an entire eight days, a punishment that seemed unfair to me simply because our ancestors had to eat a different type of bread for a few days. While some of the ten-year-olds in class felt no shame in passionately announcing their intentions to eat bread, those of us who wished to be perceived by our Jewish community as ‘good Jews’ decided to forbid grain from our diets for one week. However, now, at our kitchen table, as I was eating the pale matzah, I wondered if others in my class felt the same longing and dread as I did.
My question was soon answered. After two torturous days of watching my non-Jewish friends all devour sandwiches loaded with bread, I was present at our class’s Hebrew school meeting that Tuesday. We all checked in on each other’s progress; some had inadvertently (or not) eaten noodles, while others had drunk Gatorade, a source of forbidden corn syrup. My only offense up until that point had been a bag of Cape Cod potato chips that cleverly hid the warning ‘may contain corn oil and/or cottonseed oil.’ I quickly convinced myself that this bag contained one hundred percent cottonseed oil. I could not let little slip-ups like this influence my friends’ opinions of me.
I did not last the week. The half-baked cardboard bread could only satisfy a ten year old for so long. By about the sixth day, the craving for high fructose corn syrup grew too strong and I drank, in secret, a glass of apple juice. In tears, I confessed to my parents the second they returned home from work, however, nothing happened. I was not smote like the Egyptians, nor was I turned to a figurative pillar of salt. In fact, when I came clean to my classmates at Hebrew school on Sunday, none of them seemed to have any reaction. Contrary to what the Bible had taught me, my bad deed had gone entirely unpunished. Although the sanctity of Passover had been violated, neither my ancestors, nor my extremely old Jewish preschool teachers, were rolling over in their graves. As soon as I returned home, I ran to the cupboard and devoured a slice of the matzah, leaving crumbs on the floor all around me.
Today, my family and I observe very few of the six hundred and thirteen Jewish commandments. We don’t keep Kosher, we don’t observe the Sabbath, and we frequently use the lord’s name in vain. However, I have attempted to adhere to the anti-grain laws of Passover each April ever since my experience in fourth grade. I am no longer afraid of divine or parental retribution; rather, the opposite is true. That Passover, the Jewish community changed from a place of constant scrutiny to a place of acceptance; regardless of whether or not I ate pork. Passover, although being one of the more torturous Jewish experiences, has now become one of the main ways in which I identify with Jews in my family, in my synagogue, and throughout the world. And if eating matzah is what forges this connection, then so be it, even if it tastes like cardboard.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Welcome to Prozdor's This I Believe Blog!
We are kicking off the publication of essays of personal belief as a way of documenting who we are as individuals:
- What are the moments when your belief was formed or tested or changed?
- What is your daily life philosophy?
- What makes you, YOU?
Check back on this site every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday for a different essay, each written by a member of the Prozdor community.
See something inspiring that makes you think differently? Have a similar outlook on life? Love the way the author puts into words something you didn't even know you believed? Share your thoughts! Feel free to leave your comments on the essays, and on each other's comments, too!
Enjoy reading, and if you'd like to submit your own "This I Believe" essay and have not yet done so, send it to thisibelieve@prozdor.org.
This I Believe is a national media project engaging people in writing, sharing, and discussing the core values and beliefs that guide their daily lives. NPR airs these three-minute essays on Morning Edition and All Things Considered. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow. For more information, go to www.thisibelieve.org.
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