Note From Mrs. Zabinsky

2012 was year one of The Written Voice. It has been both thrilling and exciting to create this literary rest stop for NSHAHS and to have had such a dedicated group of students by my side as it developed into something substantial, worthy and worthwhile. To those who have submitted and to those who have read, I thank you. Thus far, none of our previous issues dedicated themselves to a particular theme or cause—instead, they were a conglomerate of varied creative works from students throughout the school. Novels, poetry, short stories, personal essays, persuasive standpoints… all found a place, a home, a readership through The Written Voice. However, for this December issue we have decided to dedicate ourselves to something very near and dear to our hearts: creativity. More specifically, creativity at NSHAHS. The fact that North Shore cultivates and nurtures creativity, imagination and passion in its students is undeniable, and we wanted to take the opportunity to pay homage to that in our final issue of 2012. I sincerely hope that you enjoy our December issue and that it stays with you as it will most certainly stay with us.

Mrs. Zabinsky          

Letter From The Editor

Dear Readers,

By now, the weather has cooled and we are all preparing ourselves for the arrival of a harsh winter. During 2012, The Written Voice was founded and published six successful times. As we close the first year of The Written Voice, we would like to reflect on 2012 and the academic and literary achievements of the students at NSHAHS. This December issue revolves around the theme of creativity at NSHAHS, celebrating our ambitious and talented poets, novelists and other writers. In this issue, you will find compositions and poems not only from current students in all grades, but also from teachers and alumni, writing about school experiences, faculty and the administration. Before we begin a new year here at The Written Voice, we would like to thank Mrs. April Zabinsky for all of her tireless work devoted to the literary outlets at NSHAHS.

Please enjoy the writings in this issue and take a look at The Written Voice blog at http://nshahsthewrittenvoice.blogspot.com/. It’s been a great first year of spreading the literary talent of NSHAHS. Happy New Year and be sure to look out for the first issue of The Written Voice for 2013 in January!

                                                                  

                                                                  

Sincerely,

Anna Hardcastle

Editor-in-Chief

A Diverse Faculty

by Anna Hardcastle

Despite the one hundred extra-curricular activities, extensive list of college acceptances and wide array of accelerated courses, one of the most prominent things that sets North Shore Hebrew Academy High School apart from other yeshivas is its diversely cultured faculty body.

Malcolm Forbes defined diversity as “the art of thinking independently together.” He further said, “Education’s purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one.” NSHAHS is a school committed to Jewish orthodoxy; however, it receives teachers and instructors for its students with an open mind, regardless of cultural or religious background, contributing to its varied and vast faculty and administrative population. Headmaster Dr. Daniel J. Vitow prides himself on the contrast of his faculty conglomeration. He gladly says, “I believe that our planning and our daily functioning are much enhanced by the multiple perspectives that these individual and very different minds provide.”

Through the diverse population of faculty and staff, students of NSHAHS are offered an authentic look at the world they live in as well as the opportunity to prepare themselves for their future outside of the sheltered environment that a Yeshiva day school provides. Mr. Richard McManus, chemistry master at NSHAHS, says, “It is valuable that our students experience other points of view outside of the ‘cocoon’ of their own background.” Not only do students of NSHAHS have the unique opportunity to learn about other religions and customs from their teachers, but the knowledge is reciprocated; teachers themselves find themselves learning from their students. “One of the most interesting aspects of teaching at NSHAHS is the opportunity to observe the philosophical parallels among and the differences between Judaism and Christianity,” math teacher Mrs. Jodi Mondi says. “The aspect I admire most about Judaism is the intellectual component which I find is not as prominent in other religions.” English teacher Mr. William Muir, a Catholic, says, “I love working at NSHAHS and further learning about the origins of monotheism.” 

The faculty body at NSHAHS, comprised of a wide array of religious and cultural backgrounds, provides for open minds. As junior Benny Khakshoor says, “Learning about the backgrounds of my non-Jewish teachers only adds to my understanding of religion and Judaism as a whole.” Students and teachers alike find that the diversity on campus offers an expanded range of learning.

Hanukah

By Rachelle David

Bright

Endless

But not bliss

Watching the glow

Touching so slightly, kiss

I lean, extending far to blow

My gut aches along the restraint, too low

These lights have burned for too long, I must make this right

Air pours out of my lips but why so slow?

Flames are still there; they will not go

Something must be amiss

Comes a soft doe

I puff this

Yes! Bliss!

Night

Looking Back

Looking Back: A College Freshman's Perspective

By Jon Weinreich

 It’s hard to put into words exactly how well North Shore prepares you for life beyond high school. The subtle differences between high school and college are especially accentuated freshman year, when most students are just realizing exactly how difficult the next four years are going to be. It turns out that all of those days spent in class until the final bell rang at 4:40 were worth it, as most of my friends ended school around 2 PM, and subsequently “burn out” much faster. The little things, like being able to explain any Calculus topic to anyone taking Calculus I or II, just because you learned it so well in high school, or the analytical thinking skills that come out of four years of discussion of Talmud, or even learning the physics of a ball rolling down a ramp (a problem that ended up being a lab here in college!), make you miss the halls of North Shore Hebrew Academy.

The Man Behind the Mask

by Cayla Gold

Phone buzzing,

Emails bleeping,

Parents waiting,

Linda calling.

And the clock reads only five after eight.

A typical day for Dr. Vitow.

One may view Dr. Vitow

As merely the principal

Of North Shore Hebrew Academy High School.

But words cannot explain

All that he does for each and every one of his students,

And to make sure that the school continues to run smoothly.

This is man who:

Personally meets

With every student and parent,

Signs every test,

Remembers grades,

Who changes schedules

To accommodate students,

Runs an entire staff,

Not only consisting of secular studies (and teachers),

But Judaic ones as well,

Surely this man has powers,

Extending beyond those of an average being.

School is about academics.

Learning is of utmost importance.

Dr. Vitow understands that

Imagination and the creative

Process are a part of this.

The creation of something new

And original is exciting, and

Dr. Vitow takes great pride in

Reading student work, he

Encourages everyone at the

School to look for ways to

Expand themselves and their

Horizons.

Whether it is the newest fashion club,

Or a poetry slam,

Dr. Vitow supports,

The arts and musical aspects of his school.

He encourages students,

To explore and expand.

This superhero chessed man

Also holds fundraisers,

To help those less fortunate.

Interaction is one of Dr. Vitow’s

Superpowers.

Whether in the hallway or the

Confines of his busy office, he

Always gives his full attention,

Looks you in the eye.

He is not stiff the way one might

Expect a headmaster to be.

Instead he is engaged,

He puts you at ease.

Dr. Vitow is reassuring and confident.

He knows how to push for

Success and motivate.

You never feel insignificant in his presence.

Looking around his office,

Gifts from classes graduated decorate.

It is evident that Dr. Vitow has

Been touched by his pupils

As much as he had made

An impression upon them.

No matter the situation,

Dr Vitow always manages to stay calm.

He is the rock that the school leans on.

One of the many heroic acts of Dr. Vitow,

Took place during Hurricane Sandy.

He himself was displaced,

But Dr. Vitow put aside his own personal needs,

To make sure the school was put back in order.

He did not stop till the job was done.

He was the superhero of the event.

Dr. Vitow is more than the principal of NSHAHS.

He is the father of the beautiful family he created,

By specifically choosing each and every student and teacher,

That would not only help the school grow academically,

But also as a family.

Dr. Vitow is the father of this large,

Yet intimate mishpachah.

He works non-stop to support this family,

But still finds the time,

To be there for special and meaningful moments.

He is a superhero father, and

There is nobody else like him.

And at the end of the day,

There is no cloak and mask,

That belongs to this man.

Just a suit,

And a blackberry.

He does not live in school,

Despite some theories.

He too has a family and home,

To which he returns each evening.

I guess that is what makes him so spectacular.

He has set the standard of a true role model,

A success we all strive for.

Creative Combustion

by Sarah Silverstein

With my legs crossed right over left and my hands placed comfortably in my lap, I sat in the main sanctuary. As Monday morning had come yet again, I found myself feeling as if I had never left the building. I sat and listened to the turning pages of the Siddurim, a cough here and there, but mostly, I listened to silence. My eyes scanned the back of the room, traveling from one familiar face to the next. Suddenly, my view shifted, my eyes met the stained glass windows. I had seen these windows many times before; why had I just then noticed their beauty? I was hypnotized by their different colors, captivated by their seamless fluidity. I could feel the gears in my head being to turn. My imagination had been kicked in the butt! As thoughts ran a mile a minuet, my brain struggled to match their pace. I reached for a piece of paper as millions of feelings and fragmented of ideas poured out of my mind.  The words: “Learn all the beautiful sounding words in Italian” and “Create edible tape” made their way onto my notepad.  I was a creative mess, practically bleeding ideas. I didn’t know how my thoughts were connected, I didn’t know how they were sparked, but somehow the stained glass windows had awoken something inside of me. After feeling such a strong connection to my unconscious thought, my creativity, my imagination, I realized that I could not let go of this inspiration. I had gotten lucky; inspiration had somehow just hit me. From then on I refused to take my creativity for granted. As so famously said by Jack London “You can’t wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club.”

Nothing but the Truth

A review of a Freshman English Summer Reading Book by Mollie Bartell

Have you ever thought about how a lie could affect your life? How it might change someone else's life? Phillip Malloy learns about lying the hard way in Nothing but the Truth by Avi. When his English teacher, Miss Narwin, gives him a bad grade, Phillip makes Miss Narwin's life very difficult. He disrespectfully sings the National Anthem when the students have to be silent, causing him to be suspended from school. 

Phillip's suspension becomes a nationwide issue. Many people are very angry that Phillip gets into trouble for “being patriotic”. They write letters to Miss Narwin as well as to the school. After feeling the pressure of what explodes into such an enormous issue, Miss Narwin decides to resign. 

Phillip's initial intention is simply to annoy his teacher, however his behavior results in the ruining of Miss Narwin's reputation as well as his own. 

What happens to Phillip after his suspension? Read Nothing but the Truth to find out!

The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

by Sherry Simkovic

A spoken word

A written quote

A haunting allusion

A situation

Gravity filled

From your lips

To God's ears

They say

An inspiration

Anticipation

Filled

A paper

Waiting for life to be breathed into it

From your lips

To my pen

I say

Whether it be

The stalling transmission

Of my beat-up station wagon, or

The wailing of an ambulance

Reaching out

Aiming

Hoping

To reach a final destination

To reach helping ears and hands

Whether it be the howl of the wind

On a frightening night, or

Creeping tendrils of fog

Reaching up to the heavens

Visible through the barren boughs

On a November morning

Whether it’s:

The confusion of math felt,

The beauty of science witnessed,

The triumph of history taught zealously,

The cadence of Italian softly spoken,

The advice of a friend told in confidence,

The poetry of the greats,

The Killers

The Beatles

Serenaded with grace,

Or the best teacher,

Experience

Speaks truthfully

From your lips

To my pen.

A Sense of Purpose

by Mrs. Zabinsky

 

it is but a thin membrane that separates us from

these inner-selves

meninges encasing the temporal lobe, among others,

perception shuttling along a neurotransmitter’s inky squirt

how we function ourselves!

a sunset imagined at daybreak,

glacial movements like giants gleaming in the

wreckage of a space shuttle, these thoughts,

sparks of brilliant axon-fire

scrolling invisible hues against taught lids

imagination

fraught in frigid fingertips;

the edge of detail caught in a dim half-light,

nothing else to illume

who are we but gray matter

sliding in our cranial shells

this creativity squirreled somewhere

quiet, deep

little else but this do we have to give

to each other

November Letter from the Editor

Dear Readers,

As the leaves change color and the weather grows steadily colder, our school work piles up and we are left with minimal time for relaxation. While some of us were studying for the SAT or for upcoming math tests during Hurricane Sandy, others channeled their desire for the winds to slow down and the sky to brighten up into inspiration.

The November issue of The Written Voice features poems, essays and stories by the creative masterminds of NSHAHS. With National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) just starting up, NSHAHS’ own students are setting ambitious goals for themselves and motivating each other to write every day in the month of November. Although our weekdays are filled with homework and studying, we should all take some time to recognize the hard work and creativity of the NSHAHS community. So bundle up with a cup of hot chocolate and a blanket and take a few minutes to read through this issue. You won’t regret it!

                                                                                   

Sincerely,

Anna Hardcastle

Editor-in-Chief

Sedoka

Sedoka

A poem by Rachelle David

Winds whistled through night

As the determined folk crept

They would fight for their homeland

The suppressors laughed

They knew the weak folk were doomed

Few now assist those fighters

Are battles hopeless?

The attempts may never end

Someday the strong-willed shall win

Triumphant, hope reaps

Finally where they belong,

Safely and agreeably

I Am Scared of Spiders

I Am Scared of Spiders 
By Sarah Silverstein

I am scared of spiders.  Small and insignificant, spiders nonetheless have always been a childhood fear of mine. Growing up, life has changed. Summer, fall, winter, spring, change, change, change. I live a life of routine: wake up, eat, breath, sleep, repeat. It’s rare that something or someone can take your breath away and discombobulate the routine. The older we grow, the more we learn and understand. We begin to let people into our lives, allow them to change us while we change them. We experience and feel emotions, all kinds of emotions. Happiness, greed, sadness, love. The feelings of an individual can be—and usually are—affected by others. Naturally, we put up walls to protect these feelings from being hurt. Rarely do we trust people enough to tell them what we think, let alone what we feel. Vulnerable is a scary feeling. I am older now and I am scared of bigger things. I am scared of knives and guns. I am wiser now, and understand more. I’ve learned to be scared of these emotions. But I also understand as life goes on that they are inevitable. Yes, I have learned that these emotions are beautiful. I feel vulnerable, my walls have come down; I am scared.

The Butterfly Effect (Part II)

The Butterfly Effect (Part II)

By Rebecca Rosen

My one and only clear memory involving Dominus Finden is from my sixth year of schooling.  In sixth grade Dominus visited our middle school for “introduction to your future” day.  I was extremely excited, yet nervous at the same time.  I’d worked endlessly on my invention, with Aldabert’s help of course, and I truly had faith in it.  I knew he had to like me, I was his son’s best friend! Every student sat with him alone, in a room.  It was cold as I recall, with only one window on the far right side.  I did not understand why his presence made me so nervous.

“And what do you have for me today, Ms. Cavelry?”

              “I created a device that can alter the mood of anybody in a twenty foot radius of the device.”

               “And how do you believe this device will help the society of Pareo?” He asked.

                “If someone is scared, angry, nervous, all that needs to be done is a turn of a dial and the flick of a switch!” I answered, such pride in my voice.

                “This invention is worthless.  Let us hope you carry the Formosa gene somewhere in that tiny body of yours!”

Suddenly all of the excitement and joy I had felt before that moment disappeared, like Dominus was controlling the machine now and using it against me, its creator.  All of that hard work, for my dreams to be completely crushed.  Everything at that moment turned white and I began to feel a lump in my throat swelling up, growing, begging to burst. I lifted my head high, though took my invention, and flashed a toothy grin at him. 

“Thank you for that, Dominus.  May I call you Dominus?”

He just stared at me in disbelief, stunned, like I had ripped all the dignity he had right out of his system.

I spotted Aldabert’s sandy blonde hair swaying above the rest of the crowd as I left. He ran up to me as quickly as he could and in one swift breath asked me,

“How did it go, did he love it?”

“He was amazed, in shock actually.”

“Beata, you did it!”

“I sure did.”

“Are you okay?” Aldabert asks me. “You seem a little out of it.”

“I am all right, promise,” this has been happening to me very much lately. 

“Really? So what is the last thing I said?” I’m caught. 

“Fine, I had that nightmare again last night.  The one about the butterfly.  It has been getting more and more graphic.  It is unbelievably bothersome.  This morning I woke up shaking.”          

“And everything was exactly the same as last time, the blood, only one wing?”

“Exactly the same.” I say.  I begin to shiver just thinking about it.

“Well, let us not dwell on the murky past but rather move forward.  Mystery awaits us at every turn on this fine Sunday morning.”

“This Sunday morning is hardly fine, Aldabert, it is splendid.  I am sure the weather nymphs are sparing us with nice, warm, sunny weather for the next couple of days. The sorting is only a week away,” I say. He laughs at my attempt at a joke and I am happy about it.  He’s always known the perfect times to respond.  Just another wonderful thing about Aldabert. 

“Beata, if you are interested, I mean, since it is such a wonderful day, I was wondering if we could enjoy a picnic by our lake. I packed us both a lunch and some drinks.  I mean the tulips are just beginning to bloom, the yellow ones you love so much.  If you are not interested though I understand, I just though this is precious time we have together since the sorting is so near in the future.”

“I need no more convincing Aldabert, you got me at the tulips, you know they are my favorite.”

“Fantastic Beata, race me there?”

“Only if you are prepared to lose” I snicker.  Aldabert hates nothing more than to lose. He is always up for some good competition.

“Fine, you’re on!” He shouts, I can tell he is trying not to smile.

Bessie barks and wags her tail back and forth.  She knows I will not go down without a fight just.

“In three,”

“Two,”

“One,” we both shout.

And I am off.  Cutting through the people so swiftly I can hardly stand it.

“Hey watch it lady,” somebody screams at me.  Who cares, this country needs to have some fun.

Before I know it I have lost Aldabert in the crowd.  I am soaring now, out of the Town and into the endless green. I hear Bessie’s loud thumps behind me trying to keep my pace.  This is where the challenge kicks in. Tree branches slice my calves, but I do not mind.  I hear Aldabert’s quick strides behind me now, and I know I am slowing up. I gather up all the energy I have left and leap ten feet forward, over branches and stones.  I am almost there; I can see the yellow buds and the glistening from the lake…  And finally I am there.  I stop quickly on the edge of the water to catch my breath, and Bessie is already doing the doggy paddle in the water. This heat no longer seems nice, it is teasing me.  I stand up straight and there he is. Already in the lake swimming around with Bessie.  Classic Aldabert.

“Only if you are prepared to lose,” he mimics and starts to laugh. 

“Fine then.  You win…again” I say.  Wow I should really get used to this. 

I take off my backpack and my shoes, and I step into the water.  It is crystal clear, yet mysterious at the same time. It ripples starting from where my foot touches all the way to the outskirt of the opposite shore.  It feels so good.  I walk towards Aldabert and stop in my tracks when something catches my attention. 

I look down and see the reflection of a girl, not quite a woman yet.  She looks back at me with an ordinary expression, nothing too extravagant.  Her skin is pasty white in color and is stretched thinly across her tired looking face.  Her hair lies in a frizzy ponytail atop her head, and her plain shirt is slightly too large for her long, lanky body.  Her eyebrows are fuzzy, and her hair is dirt brown in color. Her eyes look up at me, an endless hole of brown.  The look dazed, as though something dark has been stirring inside her. 

 Then I see another reflection, the reflection of a boy. His face carries a confused look, but it does not at all detract from his beauty.  His skin is perfectly bronzed, like he has spent most of his life sitting on a beach.   His hair is a dazzling gold, and it lays askew atop his perfectly defined jaw line and sculpted face. His shirt is stretched perfectly across his muscular shoulders, which look as though they could carry the weight of the world on them. His eyebrows though, carry a furrowed expression, like I am missing something. His eyes look back up at me, an ice cold blue, so beautiful I am sure the gods are jealous. 

Could it be true? Could someone so unique, so perfect, so sublime, be friends with a girl such as this one? She is below unique, below just plain ordinary.  She looks worse than that.  She does not deserve him, he is just too wonderful for her to comprehend. 

Suddenly a perfectly bronzed hand slaps the water, and the two people blur out of my focus. 

“What was that about?” He asks me.

“Nothing at all.  Just zoning out I guess,” I answer

“Well, stop zoning out and start having fun! This is the last ounce we will get of it before we are shipped of to some school!” Has he always been this extreme?

“I am having fun!” I protest.  Was I really?

We swim around in the lake for a while, observing the different species of fresh water plants in deep concentration.  I push off the bottom of the twelveish foot deep lake and pop my head up and breathe in.  The air is fresh and sweet, spring is here.  I swim to shore and lay out a blanket for us to eat on.  Aldabert swims toward me and walks out of the water.  His perfectly chiseled abdomen is a distraction from the sweltering heat that is pouring down from the sky.  The water drips from his body slowly, like it cannot get enough of him.  He sits down next to me on the blanket and grabs his sandwich.  Bessie runs out of the water at the slightest whiff of food and I flash her a smile.  She runs on top of me and licks me all over my face. 

“Bessie!” I yell as I laugh and fall backward. 

“Get her Bessie! Get her good!” Aldabert encourages Bessie to shower me in dog spit.  Of course. 

“Alright girl alright.” I say as I sit up again.  She walks over to my side and sits down with her head on my lap.  I begin absentmindedly petting her and looking toward where the sky meets the trees.  A peaceful place.

“Ya want some?” Aldabert asks me.

“No, I’m not that hungry,” I say to him. 

“Okay fine.  Well, I have been working on this report for Literacy about…”

Wow, those tulip buds look beautiful.

“Beata…”

“BEATA!” He roars.  The world turns silent.  There are no more birds chirping and the lake is completely still.  I feel Bessie’s peaceful rest interrupted and she lifts her head from my lap.  I have never heard him yell like that before. 

“What the HELL is the matter with you! I have been talking to you for the past ten minutes and I feel like I am talking to a wall! I’m not trying to act like a jerk, but gosh Beata, I feel like I’ve lost you!” He walks over to the nearest tree and tries to steady himself.

“Okay, Aldabert, I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I’m acting like this lately, I apologize.  If you would please just relax and..”

“Beata, do you realize this is possibly the last few days we can spend with each other? Ever?  When my dad announces my name and then yours, what that diploma reads will alter our futures, for either the good or the bad.  I am trying to look at this last week with you as leaving on a good note, but you are making that impossible for me.” He looks furious, like an animal waiting to tear me limb from limb.

To Be Continued…