Rambunctious Scholastic 2016 Special Issue

Jamesville­DeWitt High School
Scholastic Awards 2016

Maggie Mannion, '1 6

A Letter from the Staff
Dear students and staff of Jamesville-Dewitt High School:
The Rambunctious Literary Magazine Staff is proud to present the JDHS
Scholastic Art and Writing Awards Showcase for gold and silver key
winners of the 201 6 competitions. Congratulations to all students who
received recognition in this year’s contests as well as to their teachers:
Visual Arts
Carlos Benedict
Carl Wenzel
Lisa Troubetaris
Mark McIntyre
Drawing and Painting
Drawing and Painting
Photography
Ceramics and Sculpture
English and Writing
Kelly Creamer
Terese Eaton
Kristin Hardy
Connie Myers-Kelly
Courtney Romeiser
Joseph Dechick
Joseph Goldberg
Trinity Mathis
Matthew Phillips
Diane Rushford
We dedicate this special issue to Mr. Carlos Benedict who will be retiring
in June after 29 years of service to our school and community. We
appreciate all of his contributions to JDHS very much and he will be
missed.
Sincerely,
The 201 5-201 6 Rambunctious Staff
Akbar Qahar Aoife McCaul Club Adviser : Matt Phillips
Giovanni Antonucci Julia Dettor
Kate Salvo
Kristina Bell
Melissa Gao
Michale Schueler
Michelle Pan
Sofia Liaw
Cover Art by Emily Maar, '1 6

Kaillee Philleo, '1 7

Maggie Mannion, '1 6
Maggie Mannion, '1 6

Rebecca Shen, '1 6

Rebecca Shen, '1 6

soft
i
the way every step was unintentionally gentle,
as if the world was the most priceless porcelain
and she an awkward giant traveling across it
the way she floated languidly to each new
destination, but with the purpose of the most
determined leaf, holding on until early winter
the way an unassuming smile always hovered at
the corner of her lips, and could soothe even
an earthquake into forgetting its course
the way two hazel eyes embraced all
with just one glance, even before
a first word was said
the way two innocent, delicate arches
lifted her entire face when she first
noticed me
ii
the way everything slid into place
when our eyes met after the
initial, inevitable dance
the way her light words bounced around in my heart
and warmed the black barriers into melting
the way her eyelashes stroked her cheeks
a flurry of fast flitting on that first night
the way she shyly, slyly
slid her sun-filled hand into mine
the way four rosy ribbons clumsily collided
together, feeling exploding, for the first time
the way her shoulders reached for mine
and they answered, leaning and learning
the way there was no hesitation at the introduction
of something tinged pink and wafted of uncertainty and enthusiasm,
especially when she gave me three letters instead of two
the way slender fingers carefully tucked pieces
of perpetually uncooperative locks behind my ear
the way her hands waved to every friendly speck
of dust as words twirled out of her mouth toward me
the way playing unbreakable notes were her selfless gift
to me after a stormy day
the way she always was the one to clean up the mess left by

a muddy, unhappy pile of words lingering between us
the way her spontaneous surprises never failed to
raise the sun again, despite the start of its descent
the way she joyfully changed “my” to
“our” when she thought
about home
the way my soul sighed when her belongings
finally mingled happily with mine
the way her hair stretched out across my chest
after a heart-pounding, heart-revealing night
the way we yearned for each other’s company
like dandelions stretching towards the golden sun
the way companionable silence filled the room
as words lost meaning in the face of familiar intimacy
the way our hearts slowly decided to beat
together, forever
iii
I remember the way her eyes filtered in
only warmth and light
I remember the way sharp objects were
incapable of forming in her mouth
I remember the way her nose twitched at
everything funny, including my bad jokes
I remember the way she collected dirty, rusty rounds off grounds
just to give a dirty, rusty peer a handful of chance and hope
I remember the way she gave out “sorry” so easily and
truly, even as others failed to give it back
I remember the way her plans and mine
met, dated, married and had
babies planned for the future
I remember the way her shining clock was shattered
unapologetically by fate, without any notice
I remember the way she gracefully lay across the center of that
average gray road, bleeding out unfulfilled desires
I remember the way my hurried footsteps getting closer, closer
couldn’t stop her from slipping out of my hands
I remembered the way her still fingers turned snow-white, bare
without the promise I had waiting at home
Melissa Gao, '17

Emily Maar, '1 6

Emily Maar, '1 6

Tazria­Metzorah
Alone. I remember being alone. I called out to my brothers. My brothers, who had once
called me their dearest sister, their light of hope, had since gone, but I called anyway. I
screamed apologies to Moses. I screamed apologies to God.
I didn't want any of this! I didn't mean any of this! I swear! I thought, my mind
becoming sluggish with the heat and sickness. I was only aware of the sand in my lungs as I
flung myself to the ground. I fumbled to tear my clothes in mourning. I struggled to sit up,
feeling weaker with each movement.
My husband had left. My brothers had left. My God had left. Adonai had stricken me
with this illness, Adonai was to blame. Or was it Moses?
My baby brother was not made for leading a people. He was too rash, too
temperamental. He asked for too much. Of course the men had wanted the golden calf to
worship. Of course the men needed reassurance that someone was out there. It didn’t matter
how wrong they were. It mattered how to teach them. It mattered to have patience,
compassion, understanding, and love.
My brother had smashed God’s words, those tablets, to the ground, the words that had
made us a real nation, with a code of conduct, with law. The smashing had awoken the men,
but it also had awoken me. No human had any right to cause ruin to Adonai’s words, to
commit that sacrilege. No human, except, apparently, Moses.
I had called him out on it. I had told him that he was no leader. And Aaron had joined
me. But it was me who was punished. He had left, safe.
And now I waited. I waited as my people milled around in camp. I could hear them
whispering Why are we here? Why are we waiting?
And I heard Aaron and Moses answering: We are waiting for Miriam.
I could see the men’s faces as they told their wives and daughters that this is what
happens when you speak out against a male. I could see those wives and daughters be forever
silenced.
I did not want them to wait. I wanted to be healed so I could run so far away they
couldn’t find me. So far that this affliction, with it’s flaky whiteness and painful reminder of
what I had said about Tziporah, wouldn’t follow.
Tziporah. That girl who still had no idea what she had been thrust into. That girl who
was no Israelite, no kin of mine. That girl that had my brother hanging on her every word.
She did not know what I had suffered, what we as a people had suffered. She had no
recollection of a whip digging into the skin on your back, no scars. And it was hurting
Moses’s cause, as he had no idea either. He had been Egyptian royalty. He had never watched
his friend be whipped to death. He had killed a man, and suddenly he understood all our
troubles. The people hadn't liked this. I had simply wanted to help my baby brother. I had
simply wanted to help.
Perhaps I should have held my tongue, kept quiet about Moses’ wife and her non-
Hebrew ethnicity. Kept quiet about Moses’ leadership skills, or lack thereof. Or just have had
Aaron speak up. However, I was soon realizing that it wouldn’t have made a difference. I
would still be punished for questioning Moses, even if it were only a thought.
I wondered why. Why Adonai had seen it fit to strike me with this affliction. My God
had always been on my side, blessing me with the gifts of song, leadership, and midwifery.
Yes, I had been a slave. Yes, I had wounds and scars that would never fully heal. But, I got to
see Moses with my mother. I kept families together after the terrible edict saying all baby

oys must be murdered. I was a skilled liar, so much so I tricked the Pharaoh after the edict.
But counting my blessings did not fill the ache in my chest.
It wasn’t just. But I was beginning to understand that Adonai wasn’t always easy to
read, and that perhaps, in the grand scheme of the universe, this was meant to happen. That it
was better to be punished on Earth than in heaven, standing before Adonai, as you went
through your life with Him.
Suddenly, I knew why I had been punished. I had been hasty, thinking I understood
Moses’ anger, Tziporah’s longing to be part of my family. The love they both shared for one
another. I had forgotten the thing that had kept me going all those years in Egypt: compassion.
Compassion for my fellow Hebrews, even for the slave masters who killed with
no remorse, for it was the way they had been taught. Compassion, empathy; these were the
cardinal principles I had lived by. What had happened?
Mulling my revelation over, I resolved to learn from this error, to try to be better, if not
for myself, then for my people.
But for the mean time, I was alone, each breath edging me closer to God’s gates. I
reached out. An angel appeared, flying towards me. I smiled, forgetting for a moment the state
of my body, the affliction I was robed in. But she shook her head. She pointed down, down to
the tents of my people. The people that would learn from my story, that would try to
understand others before saying the first things that come to mind.
I awoke in the sand, still white, still covered in sores and flakes of skin. Alone. But no
longer ashamed.
Michale Schueler, '18

Emily Firman, '1 6
Emily Firman, '1 6

Alice Woods, '1 8
Jackson Kaplan, '1 6

Emily Maar, '1 6

Emily Maar, '1 6

Finding Leo
"Do you see it, Mamma?"
"The snow? Yes, my love. Isn't it beautiful?"
"The beautifullest. Mamma, it looks like little stars!"
"Little stars, falling to Earth... Just like you, my little Leontyne. Can you find your stars?..."
Leo was half slumped over when Lucy found him, one finger, barely trembling, tracing lines
between the city lights. When she came closer, she realized his mouth was moving, so slightly
as to be invisible even from the short distance from where she had been standing to the wall
he was slumped against. His chest was barely rising, and when Lucy put her head to it, she
could hear his lungs fluttering with effort. It took her a second, but, this close, she could
almost hear what Leo was saying.
It sounded like, "Algee...ay...bah...." Then, quieter, "Rosslss... Sure...tan..." and then, all at
once, "Denebola. Algeabe...ah..." and then he began repeating the nonsensical syllables again,
seemingly ignoring her as he kept tracing his pattern above the skyline.
Lucy lifted her head then, noticing, for the first time, the snowflakes caught in his pale lashes.
She felt for his other hand, the one not still pointing at the sky, and brought it up to eye level,
ripping away the dirty bandage that had been wrapped around it. The skin underneath was
tinged with blue and nearly frozen to the touch, and parchment white around the burst-shaped
scars on his knuckles, though they had evidently broken and begun weeping trickles of blood
again. As if stung, by the temperature of his hands or the sight of how battered they were,
Lucy yanked her arm back, then sheepishly caught his as it came back down again. She began
breathing on it and rubbing at it with her own, gloved, hands.
She glanced up again, and was met with a blank stare that seemed to go right through her.
"You're freezing, Leo," she rushed to explain, eyes wide and mouth pursed with fear for him.
"And there's no way my gloves would fit you."
"Th'rugly 'nyway," he slurred, with a ghost of his normally flirty grin. "Keep'em on. I don'...
Wannum."
Lucy startled into a clear, high giggle, bringing her hands to her mouth as her eyes
unconsciously widened, then filled with tears. Bereft of its support, Leo's hand fell to the
pavement again. "You don't deserve them, anyway," she replied, with only a shade of her own
characteristic snark. Rising from her knees to her toes, she lifted his arm over her shoulders,
helping him to struggle to his feet as she got to her own. "We need to get you inside, before
you... get frostbite," she huffed out, allowing her more practical side to stop herself from
worrying that he might already have more than that.
Leo stumbled, nearly fell. She reached out a hand to steady him. "Can't. 'M... kinda tired."

She almost dropped him again when she whirled around, but caught him at the last moment
when he started to slide. "Leo, if you're tired... You can't go to sleep, okay? You know what
happens to people when they go to sleep in the snow, right? They don't wake up! Leo, you've
gotta stay awake!"
Lucy felt Leo's chest tremble against her side as he huffed at her. "I know. Gotta... Gotta find
my stars 'fore I go to sleep. Mamma... always said." He raised his other arm again, the one she
hadn't touched, and began mumbling again, this time pausing his finger above a light for each
name. "Algieba. Ras'las. Chertan, Denebola." His hand hung limply in the air for a moment
after the last name — for they were names, Lucy realized: the names of stars? — , then
dropped back to his side.
"They're stars," she said aloud, and Leo huffed again, as if to say, "Well, duh," without the
breath. "Your stars... Leo, your stars! You're looking for Leo!"
His knees wobbled, and his weight dipped against her side. Making an executive decision,
Lucy slipped his other arm around her neck, then stood, shuffling him forward onto her back.
If her own legs wobbled a little at taking the weight, well, she'd just have to ignore them.
His head slumped against her left shoulder, and, with dismay, she felt his eyelashes brush
closed against her neck. "Leo?" she asked, trying to keep the panic low in her voice. "Are you
still with me?"
A thin groan from behind her head. She allowed herself a quick breath of relief, then slid his
weight forward again, ignoring the way the weight of his legs dragged at her upper arms.
"Leo. Leo, Leo, Leo. You're looking for it, right? But you're not done yet. How many stars are
you missing?" she asked, letting the authoritative, bossy tone slip forward again.
One tap of an elbow against her collarbone. One star to go.
His arm shifted like he wanted to pull her head down, so Lucy dipped as best as she could.
"What is it?" she whispered.
The answer came on a breath of air. "Reg'lus."
One star to go. One more star. "Reglus"? No, he's slurring, Lucy reminded herself sharply.
Regalus? Regolus? No, he would have made more effort to pronounce the vowel. Regelus?
Regilus? No, those g's would have been soft, her years of Latin informed her. It had to be...
"Regulus," she breathed. The little king.
There was no answering huff of approval.
Could she just go inside already before he froze? But finding those stars might have been his
last wish, she argued to herself, not bothering to suppress the hitch in her breath at the
thought, and he might still die anyway. But she didn't know the first thing about how to find
stars!

Well, there had been that night on the hillside. But she didn't remember any of what he had
been trying to tell her, too busy trailing her fingers through his mane and counting how many
freckles were in the constellations on his cheeks, and the snow lit up the night brighter than
the stars could, and he hadn't even been pointing at the stars anyway, just drawing lines
between the city lights.
But if those lights were good enough to count, then surely other substitutes would be
acceptable? And she had to get him inside, as soon as possible, maybe even before that.
She slid Leo up her back again, then turned and bent her head so she could tap him with her
nose. "I found Regulus," she murmured, shifting her pace up to as brisk a walk as she could
manage. "It's you. You're Regulus. You're a royal pain in the butt, but you shine brighter than
any star I've ever seen. My apartment's not too far from here, so just hold on until then, okay?
Don't let that light die out on me. Please, Leo. Don't fall asleep."
The lights in one of the nearby buildings blinked out. Then the building next to it followed
suit. It's late, Lucy thought, as she put on more speed, but maybe not too late. Not for him.
— — —
Lucy would wake up later that night to another presence in her bed, still colder than it should
be. She would really wake up when one of the other person's too-cold hands would wrap
around her waist and pull her close.
"If you're using this as an excuse to snuggle," she'd grit out, the tone coming out fonder than
the sternness she would have been aiming for, "I am going to kick you back out there and
watch you freeze again."
"I'm still cold," the response would go. "And your couch isn't that comfortable."
She'd start drifting off again, then, reserving herself to simply rolling over with a hmph.
And, just faintly audible over the rush of cars outside, she might be able to make out:
"Besides, you've always been my North Star."
Stephanie Dushay, '16

La lune et Le mien
i have cried until my body ached,
until the only words that oozed from my pathetic mouth
were those lacquered with bitter agony,
laced with the ferocity of a thousand melancholies,
words not even the stars could decrypt,
that left the moon dumbfounded, the good moon,
kept intact with love woven among its craters.
my moon. my moon whose glow encapsulated my beauty
as the streetlights flickered and the stars slept behind clouds
as cold footsteps on cracked pavement
and moth wings faded into blurry illusions.
my moon kissed my lips with the weight of the universe,
i felt the planets roll across my tongue and i was not afraid.
there was a stillness left in there
as the vacuous expanse of space warmed my body.
my moon cried illustrious tears,
golden droplets that dribbled onto my wounds
and shimmered in the twilight,
leaving stories in my scars more ancient than sagas scribbled on stone.
i myself was an artifact,
plump lips, soft hair, calloused fingertips and thin legs.
my moon carved me from the comets
and wove my clothes from the fabric of the universe.
my moon laid stars in my eyes
and wove the music of the angels into my throat.
my moon made me beautiful.
my moon made me beauty, purity, euphoria,
blackness, despair, deprecation,
helplessness,
devoid.
Jack Radford, '16

Emily Maar, '1 6

Maddie Brown, '1 9
Kathryn Tzivanis, '1 7

Maggie Mannion, '1 6
Emma Gibson, '1 7

Chloe Butler, '1 9

Emma Gibson, '1 7
Emily Firman, '1 6

Triumph
Hey.
Hey, you.
Yeah, it’s me.
The girl who you called too loud, who you told to quiet down,
But now I’m speaking out,
And I’ll be damned if you don’t hear me.
You probably don’t remember me,
Though I do remember you down to every dimple, every follicle, every nail bed.
Because you were beautiful and gentle and perfect. And I am broken and cracked
And falling into this wide expanse of nothing- and- dammit!- I’m angry.
Because you… You have slandered every micron of my person,
You have criticized and shredded and torn at every millimeter of my skin.
Holding me close to the microscope lens so you can see my flaws better.
Because you left me naked, flailing my arms in a roaring river of rage
And I can’t get out.
And life is swirling around me in a vibrant mural of fire and tears
But all I can see is you.
And as the painted infernos burn and crackle around me,
All I can feel is the light of your eyes as you smile,
And all I can hear is the way you used to say my name.
And I know you think I’m crazy,
And weird and fat. And I am. You haven’t missed the mark.
But I am more than the words you’ve scrawled on my face with permanent marker.
I am more than the words that you whisper behind closed doors
I am more than yours.
I am a flurry of too-bright colors
And too-loud sounds and too-fast words
Whipping every which way.
I am a rough tongue that shoots missiles into empty space-
Because Mommy told me that was the only way you get by.
I am imperfectly, inexplicably beautiful,
I am the evergreen tree in February, living in the the face of adversity,
I am three wishes from a genie,
Seven days it took to create the world,
One thousand nights in a sultan’s chamber,
Forty years across a desert praying-
I am a writer, a singer, a friend, a daughter.
And I am my own.
There. I said it.
I belong to me.
Not you, not him, not her, not anyone.
I am not going to be paralyzed by you at fourteen,
I am not going to have you listed as an emergency contact
Whenever I need someone to talk to
Because the silence in my head is too overwhelming. I am not going

To watch galaxies of red dripping down white forearms,
Done crudely with a shaving razor when you become too powerful.
Because your so-called love is quick and violent and oh so perfectly sculpted
And it kills from the outside in-
Curdling the blood, cracking the bones and emptying the eyes of all shine.
But I will not surrender to that toxic personification of you.
I will not have your name be the last that graces my lips-
I will not only survive,
I will live.
I will live each day like it is my first and my last-
With wonder, with amazement, with speed, with courage
And most of all without you.
Without your whispering words of grief and malice.
Without your fear.
I will go everywhere, do everything, laugh, cry, smile, scream-
And it won’t matter how deep I go, I will always climb back up and try to make my life
better.
I will no longer sit in the corner at parties-
I will sing until my voice disappears.
I will talk the ear off anyone who’ll listen.
I will hang on to the night until it is over.
And I will help that girl over there. With the brown-blonde hair and glasses and so much of
you.
And in the end, you’ll lose.
Soon, you’ll get a letter from her, too.
Michale Schueler, '18

Jack Davis, '1 6

Jack Davis, '1 6

Tate Horan, '1 7
Jackson Kaplan, '1 6

Tate Horan, '1 7

Jack Davis, '1 6

Isabella Alibrandi, '1 6
Maddy Van Husen, '1 6

Summer, 2015
This past summer, I was lucky enough to join a group of Jewish teens on a five week
bus trip across the United States. Not just any bus trip, but one where we followed the vision
of one man who wanted to expose us to politics, community activism, and history.
To be honest, when I chose to write about my experiences on Etgar 36 this past
summer, I had no idea it would be this difficult. I sat thinking for a good 5 hours, but, really,
where do I even begin? Do I lead with the day in Colorado at Garden of the Gods, when I
received news about a death in the family, when everyone enveloped me in a group hug, and
my friend held my hand on the way down the rocks? Or the day I was so angry in a meeting
when the presenter said that being gay was a choice, but instead of yelling, I held my tongue?
Or the time when we saw the musical Hamilton, which still resonates with me to this day?
How can I describe the way Etgar 36 changed my perception of the world? How can I
bring you to the moment in Atlanta when the reverend who worked closely with Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr., taught me that to hate was to become as bad as the one you would hate? Or
to the second I realized that there are no simple answers to the Israeli- Palestinian conflict, no
matter how hard we want them? More of these types of questions swirled through my head as
I struggled to write down my freight-train thoughts. But then I realized that the description
wasn’t the important part. It doesn't matter as much about how I felt then, but now. The
impact is what matters.
On Etgar 36, every Friday night, we would attend services at a different denomination
of synagogue- Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, and Chaverai. My
absolute favorite synagogue had a very short service, but a lot of heart. It was a Reform
synagogue in Dallas for LGBTQ people and allies, and it was one of the best experiences of
the trip. It was about two weeks after the Supreme Court ruling that permitted same-sex
marriage, and the utter joy of the congregants was palpable. It was infectious. And I had
never felt so grateful. These people were willing and excited to share their triumph with us,
complete strangers, not knowing if we’d support them or not. That trust still affects me to this
day. The hope that we would share their euphoria was beautiful, especially in the face of so
many obstacles. It’s astounding how much hatred there is. But these people didn’t even
mention the abhorrence towards them. The congregants weren’t bashing their opponents, but
coming from a beautiful place of love. They respected their opponents’ opinions, and the
opponents themselves. That night, from these congregants, I learned what Etgar is about.
Etgar is that synagogue. All of us on the bus came with different backgrounds,
perceptions, opinions, and assumptions. But we put those aside for each other. When we
debated, whether it was about abortion or prison reform, we could still smile at each other,
even if we disagreed. We came into the discussions with love, and, in my opinion, that began
after we went to the LGBTQ synagogue in Dallas.
Perhaps my favorite meeting was with a gay, Jewish man living with HIV. We had a
six hour meeting, where we talked about sex-education, practicing safe sex, and HIV/AIDS,
as well as other STDs. But the most important part of the meeting was when that man told us
that we were enough.
All my life, I have struggled with my self-esteem. It’s been a long battle, and I still
fight it every day. But then he told me that I was enough. That I was perfectly flawed and
beautiful in the most important ways. And I went to him after the meeting and hugged him.
Because the gift he gave me was a gift I can never repay. My mental health is so much better
now. I feel stronger, more powerful. And if I had never gone on Etgar, I would never have

felt this happy.
That same night, we walked the Las Vegas Strip. My Israeli friend and I had gone to
Starbucks, bought some stuff at a cheesy gift shop, and the night was going great. Then we
walked into the casino. In Las Vegas casinos, people smoke. A lot. And I have asthma. Those
two together don’t mix well.
I collapsed, out of breath, once we left that place. For a second, no one noticed. Then
Dan and Zach, two boys on the trip, yelled to a counselor. One of the staff members, came
over while I was still on the ground, wheezing and coughing. Dizzy from all the tobacco
smoke burning in my lungs, I couldn’t get up. Dan offered me his water bottle. Zach took my
arm to help me up. Sam came over to make sure I was okay. Leah and Maya wouldn’t let me
out of their sight. I had never felt so sick, but also, never so appreciative.
These people, most of whom I had next to nothing in common with, cared. Because
that’s what Etgar taught us. Etgar built a kehilah, a community. When one of us was down,
the rest fought to get us back up again, because it didn’t matter if you were a gun control
advocate or not. We were on the journey together, so we took care of each other. That’s just
how it worked.
I had a lot of firsts on this trip. First time at Chipotle. First time meeting with
recovering addicts. First time being away from home for so long. And first time really seeing
the United States with all it has to offer. We traveled from one side of the country to the other
on a bus that was disgusting by the end of our five week journey. And seeing the country left
me in awe. It struck me when I stood on the literal edge of the North Rim of the Grand
Canyon. I had started to recite the silent prayer of the Amidah, but stopped in the middle,
because it was just that beautiful. I stood there for a while, simply savoring the desert and
canyon for all it had to offer. And while we stood there, I could hear everyone’s breath, and
my own heartbeat. It was truly one of the most spiritual moments of my life.
It may seem I have no purpose in writing these things. But, I can’t bring you there. I
can’t explain Etgar, or pinpoint my feelings on it. I can just share these stories, tell you how
this journey impacted me, how I let it color my view of the world and its peoples.
This trip taught me that the United States and Judaism are not perfect. There are no
easy ways of solving serious problems, even with good communication and mediators.
Politics are messy. Religion is messy. History is messy. Life is messy. And so was Etgar. And
no, I’m not just talking about the bus or Adam’s hotel room. There were fights. There were
tears. There was bluntness where there shouldn’t have been, and occasional insensitivity. But,
as the meeting in Las Vegas taught me, it was beautiful in all the right ways. On Etgar, we
were educated on important current issues and encouraged to form our own opinions.
Nowhere else is there so much freedom for choice and self-discovery. Nowhere else can you
eat a whole pint of ice cream and not be judged for it by your roommates.
Etgar made me examine myself. It made me think about choices I will make, and the
choices I have made. Etgar encouraged me to be brave, to step out of my shell and let my
voice be heard.
On the last day, we were allowed to take the bumper stickers off the inside of the bus. I
got two. My favorite says “Speak your mind- Even if your voice shakes.” When I picked it, I
had no idea how important it was until I wrote this. After going on Etgar 36, I have been
more comfortable voicing my opinions, letting myself be heard, and advocating for myself
and others. I have been a better, more understanding, and loving friend.
Which brings us full circle, to the LGBTQ synagogue, where I was inspired by the
congregants’ unconditional love for humankind. That way of viewing the world, with respect

and admiration of the gifts we have been given, has now become my way of viewing the
world. And I have Etgar to thank.
And as I sit here writing this, in case I ever forget this journey, I realize something.
I took a risk in choosing Etgar. I could have chosen a less challenging trip, one that
was easy, safe, and a guarantee of fun. But I chose a program that stretched me and my
opinions. I chose a program that was hard to stomach at times. I chose a program that didn't
just tour or sight-see, but focused on hard issues facing America and Judaism today. I chose
Etgar 36, and for all its faults, I'm so, so happy I did.
Michale Schueler, '18
Bottom of My Breath
Sometimes I think of the bottom of my breath.
the gentle pause in airflow
I don’t know if it’s real
because maybe
I’m still breathing
but so softly
like the air ceases in my lungs
and it’s funny because
I don’t miss the oxygen
as sweet and crisp as it is.
The bottom of my breath
brings the surprising, but not unwanted solitude
that breathing cannot provide.
Amanda Henderson, '16

Swimming
He knew that I loved to swim.
So he pushed me into the water
and I felt my body jolt forward,
the split second of sick anticipation;
cool chlorinated liquid slapped at my skin,
and I was consumed by darkness.
But only briefly.
I dragged myself up, protesting the moment I emerged.
He laughed and I laughed
and I already felt the sun beginning to dry
the droplets on my cheeks.
He pushes me into the water
and I hardly have enough time to scream
before I am taken into the unforgiving arms
of the dark and swirling lake.
I push myself up,
feeling the slick seaweed curling around my ankles,
but this time he holds me down.
I claw at his wrists,
hopelessly splashing about in the water.
He’s a smart boy, though, and I know he paid close attention.
Because he knew that I loved to swim.
Amanda Henderson, '16

Rebecca Shen, '1 6 Diamond Cole, '1 6
Julianna Fitzgibbons, '1 6

Caroline Darcy, '1 7
Marissa DiGennaro, '1 8

Ethan Palmer, '1 6
Jillian Risavi, '1 8
Marissa DiGennaro, '1 8

Himi Begum, '1 6

A Garden
Here we have a Chrysanthemum.
A dark haired teen
clumsily trying to get to class on time
and the young lady across the room
is Lavender
while her mother is a graceful White Rose.
And yet the young girl
sitting on the side of the road in the frigid evening
a cigarette lit in her dry lips
feels like a Dandelion in someone’s lawn
more than anything else.
Is the girl
with the boxing gloves
and sweat dripping down the back of her neck
Stinging nettle?
Or is the 9 year old girl
with the long ponytail
leaping into the cool lake water
more like seaweed?
Is the grumpy brunette
fitting for pretty chains of daisies
that swirl around children’s heads?
And don’t forget
the lonely girl in the red shoes
who wishes more than anything
to be the grass under her own feet.
Amanda Henderson, '16

Damaged
Paper skin falls apart in layers,
like brittle leaves being pushed off a tree until the tree is bare
And that's why when the knife digs in
Scarlet droplets condense into red ribbons
and they spill like milk off the edge of a counter, piling on the floor, staining the tile red
Paper skin, like a paper girl
Ignites with a single flame, and trying to make two burning candles blaze in sync is the same
as water trying to dance with fire
She is paper, she is carried along in the wind
Lifted gently off the top of her feet, but
Hits the ground so easily
But paper skin, like a paper girl
Becomes scattered ghosts when they're paper thin
And paper skin, like a paper girl
Rips to shreds so easily
Celia Reistrom, '18

Rachel Kaprielov, '1 7

Mark Davis, '1 6
Sarah Signorelli, '1 7

Alivia Shephardson-White, '1 8 Caroline Darcy, '1 7
Kerry Simizon, '1 6

Micaela Lichtenstein, '1 8
Sabri Hafizuddin, '1 8

Emily Greenway, '1 6

Alena Demauro, '1 7
Kathryn Tzivanis, '1 7

Faces
"Are you ready for your first day of school, honey?"
"Um... Uh huh. I'm gonna be the bestest kindergartener ever!"
-------
"How was your day?"
I shrug. "It was okay."
-------
Today is my first day of fourth grade. I'm not looking forward to it.
More teachers blabbering on about things that we're supposed to be excited about, and more
people who I'm supposed to be getting along with that just ignore me.
I had a friend, for a couple of years. Her name was Sam. We had fun together. Then we
stopped having fun together.
Sam doesn't talk to me anymore. That's okay. No one else does, either.
But even if I'm not excited about today, there is one thing that I'm looking forward to. And
once I get that, the rest of the day will probably be a cinch.
See, every year on the first day of school, the salespeople come. Well, they're not really
salespeople. We don't have to pay for anything. The faces they sell are free!
They first came in kindergarten.
-------
Mrs. Cherry clapped her hands. "Alright, children! Now that we all know each other, it's time
for some special guests!"
Everyone cheered. I looked at Sam, who shrugged. I shrugged back.
The door opened, and two people walked through. They were carrying a big black box.
They set the box down on the floor, and sat down criss-cross applesauce on the floor like the
rest of us. One of them began talking.
"Hello, children."
We looked at Mrs. Cherry, who nodded encouragingly at us. "Hello," we chorused back.

"My partner and I are here to give you a very special opportunity," the other one continued.
"How many of you like your faces? Raise your hands."
Almost everyone raised their hand. Sam did. I hadn't, but when I saw that Sam had hers up, I
put my hand up too.
The people shook their heads. "Oh well. I suppose that's to be expected, when they're so
young."
"Indeed. What a shame." One raised themself to their knees and began walking around the
circle like that, reaching out and grabbing one of our chins every so often. "You see, every
face has imperfections. Like yours, for example. Your nose is entirely too big for your face.
And you - your eyes are too small. And you..." They stopped in front of me, grabbing my
chin and twisting it from side to side. "My my my. I pity your parents, little one."
I stuck my tongue out at them. They tsk’d and continued around the circle.
"Well. As I've said, every face has imperfections, although some have more than others," they
began again when they had gotten back to where they had started. "These imperfections
render our faces unworthy to be seen in polite society. After all, shouldn't we put our best
face forward? Our friends, our relatives, complete strangers - they all deserve to see only our
best."
"Indeed," the other one broke in. "And that is why we have come to you.
"You might have noticed, children, that many adults look the same as each other. That is
because they are all wearing our product. We are also wearing our product. Are we not
beautiful? We are presenting you with our best faces. All these faces are our best faces. All
the faces you have ever seen are our best faces. And today, you will have the opportunity to
begin your life with the face that will become your best face."
Mrs. Cherry made us all line up in front of them, and I took the opportunity to study them.
They were both wearing identical suits, and had the same pleasant expression as they held out
a rubber face mask to each child that reached the front of the line. It was impossible to tell
whether they were male or female, and perhaps that was the point.
Less than half of the children had taken a mask by the time the strange people had left, but
something had changed. They raised their hands less often, and began talking during class.
Mrs. Cherry didn't seem to notice. If anything, she left them alone. The masked children
became exclusive, and would only talk to other kids with masks. After a while, I stopped
even trying to talk to them. They never acknowledged me anyway.
-------
They came once more that year, on the last day of school, and then twice the next year on the
same dates. By third grade, no one was surprised to see them on the first day. We obediently
filed into a line and nodded yes or no, depending on if we wanted a mask or not. But by then,

it hardly even mattered. Almost no one still needed a mask at that point. In fact, I think Sam
and I were the last to not be wearing one. But that would change by the end of the year.
Sam came up to me at lunchtime, around May, and told me that she had made a new friend.
She introduced us - apparently, her name was Beverly. Beverly's parents wanted her to get a
mask, and had told her that she would have to have one by the end of third grade or face the
consequences. And Sam had promised to get one with her. I protested, but I probably just
sounded jealous. At least, that was what Sam said. It got ugly really quickly, and I think we
both said things we'd regret. I know I did. But that didn't matter, because we didn't speak to
each other after that.
The next time I saw her, she and Beverly both had masks on. They were sitting at a new
table, and were laughing with the other girls there.
I changed my mind. If I wanted to have any friends at all, it was obvious I'd need to get a
mask.
-------
I set my backpack down in the locker and slam it shut with a satisfying clang. The adults in
the hallway turn and shush me, but even that can't bring down my mood. Soon, I'll have a
mask like them, and I'll have a ton of friends.
I drowse through the introductions (apparently my teacher's name is Ms. Dietz this year), but
brighten up when she claps her hands. The door opens, just like it's done every year, and two
people in suits step through, with a big black box.
They don't bother with the speech this year. I guess it'd be sort of pointless, since I'm the only
one without a mask by this point, and I've already heard the speech eight times before.
Ms. Dietz doesn't have time to tell us to line up before I bounce up and run to the front of the
line. I want to be first. It's not like anyone else really needs to line up, anyway.
I nod my head as soon as I'm in front of them, grinning widely, and they click their tongues at
me.
"My my, so excited. That's a bit of a change from the last few years."
"Indeed. Well, go ahead. Here's your face."
I nearly grab it out of their hands, I'm so excited. One of them holds up a mirror for me, so I
can make sure the eye holes are aligned right. I slip my chin into the chin pocket and bring
the mask over my face.
And keep pulling it over my face.
And keep pulling it over my face.

"My. That looks a little big on you, little one."
"Indeed. I thought these were one size fits all?"
"Hm, me as well." They turn to me. "We must apologize, but this simply won't do. There
aren't any sizes that will fit you."
I shake my head. "I know how to make it work! Just give me a little time, okay? I know it's
gonna fit!"
"Our apologies." One reaches out a hand and gently tugs the mask off my face. I grip at it as
it's taken off and refuse to let it go, but they peel away my fingers and take it anyway.
"Come on! I know I can make it fit! It's gotta fit! It just has to!"
"I'm afraid it just won't, little one." They pat my head, gently but without any comfort. One
pulls out a lace handkerchief and dabs neutrally at my face, but I won't have any of it. By this
point I'm bawling, inconsolable. There's nothing anyone can do.
I don't fit.
-------
Years later, I walk into an office and shrug off a coat, sitting down gingerly on a plush chair.
My fifth therapist turns around and sees me for the first time.
"Oh, hello. Ms. Radin, I presume?"
"Yep, that's me." I grin weakly. "Ready to deal with a lifetime of emotional trauma?"
"Hm. We'll see." She blinks, looking at me with a new intensity. "Pardon me, but may I touch
your face? It won't be but a moment."
I sigh, but nod my consent. She wheels the desk chair over and grips my chin, turning it
gently from side to side.
"Oh my! You don't have a mask! Do you know, it's been years and years since I've had a
patient who hasn't had one?"
I nod. "Yeah. I was the only one in all the different schools I've been to."
"Wow." She shakes her head and wheels back to her spot in front of the computer. "You must
be very brave. I don't know anyone your age who's been able to live without one."
I shrug, tilting up a corner of my mouth as I wave a hand at nothing in particular. "I tried one,
once. It didn't work."
Stephanie Dushay, '16

Alisa Salbert, '1 8
Julia Schayes, '1 8

Sarah Signorelli, '1 7

The Space in Between
The space in between
I am living for what many others
wouldn’t give a second thought about.
I am living. Not for the moment or the experience
but the spaces in between,
the little cracks where lost things often fall
and are never found.
I am living for the deviations in reality.
I am living for those brief thoughts that disappear
after less than a second.
I am living for the underscoring,
for the space, not outside the box,
but in another box entirely.
I am living for the moments when I can close my eyes
and weave long tapestries of stories.
Full length novels in my head
that no one will ever read.
I am living for the moment when I fall into bed at the end of a long day
and immediately the mist clears
and I can wake up in the ideal reality
and enter my dreams.
Amanda Henderson, '16

Generations
A room of shades.
My cousins in black,
some I haven’t seen in years;
my mom, somber in a long skirt,
torn black ribbon affixed above her breast pocket.
The coffin is wheeled in, squeaky on the temple floor
(she almost swatted that fly, Mom confides later -
her mother hated insects)
and we rise and sit and stand again.
The walls are filled with bodies.
Their names are written in gold
(-plated nickel)
and coins balance
against the curve of my grandmother’s ‘y’.
On the way home, Mother wipes her face,
ribbon still pinned to her jacket,
wads of tissues in her pockets. I think she’s used them all this week.
Dad coughs in the front seat, still battling the cold
from a month ago. He didn’t want to make her leave, and she
didn’t want to tell him when to go, but we all have to sleep
and we have to be home by Tuesday.
When did I become the one
to tell us when to go?
When do I become the one
who places rocks above their names?
Stephanie Dushay, '16

Meliha Alemic, '1 6
Sarina Alexander, '1 8

Adrianna Alvarez, '1 6
Lauren Bertram, '1 7
Caroline Darcy, '1 7

Megan Brown, '1 8
Sam Coombs, '1 6

Aoife McCaul, '1 7

Niki Jiang, '1 8
William Johnson, '1 6

Ariella Kornfeld, '1 9
Lizzie Redmore, '1 7

Kristin Loomis-Grosvenor, '1 7
Mackenzie Maxam, '1 6

O'Sheeonah Roundtree, '1 8
Nicholas Potter, '1 9
Jake Risavi, '1 7

Filling Her Shoes
Slim, black boots, cut short
across the ankle. The leather at the top is peeling.
When I look at my socks later, they will no longer be white,
Instead scuffed with the black of age by proxy.
"I wore these in college," she says, on a wistful chuckle.
"Not for a while, after that. My feet got too big."
We both look at them, then, snug around my ankles,
just enough room at the toes, and I imagine
Watching them dart in and out of view
under me, like playful dogs, chasing each other
across a quad of my choosing.
Later, will I be the one reminiscing
as I hand down old shoes?
Stephanie Dushay, '16

Juxtaposition // Just a Position
The desert wind ruffles my hair; the rasping sand
twines in eddies about my legs. The sky is indigo
and lilac, lit only by the lights
of the city streets. The taxis zoom past; my dress flutters
and I grip onto my hat like an old movie star. Someone
bumps into my shoulder, hurries on
over dunes. The animals have come out; the night is colder
than my skin remembers. Behind me,
a snake curls to strike
a note in the karaoke bar. The crowd roars;
I turn the page and sip at my
canteen. The last drop falls;
the nearest oasis is
just past that sign; you can't miss it. Call me
a fool, a wanderer; I've been traveling too long but
I just can't find a place
to stay.
Stephanie Dushay, '16

Alisa Salbert, '1 8
Spencer Schultz, '1 8

Eileen Tan, '1 8
Sophia Vinciguerra, '1 9

Mariah Williams, '1 8
Lindsey Weir, '1 8

Isaac Abdo, '1 9

Niki Jiang, 1 8

Rambunctious Magazine
Jamesville-DeWitt High School
2016