Bar Mitzvah

I stepped up to the bema. I looked out over the crowd. My friends and family stared back at me, waiting for the singing to commence. I wore a suit, black top and bottom, with a white collared shirt and a red tie. A yarmulke sat on my head, and a tillit hung around my shoulders. The room was filled with chairs, divided in the middle to create a central aisle. The walls towered over the crowd as their eyes remained focused on me. I looked down at the Torah, the center of Jewish tradition. I suddenly remembered my long hours singing, practicing, feeling nervous. When I was practicing I never imagined this day would come. But here it was. I focused back on the Torah. The scroll itself seemed old and worn, and yet from it emanated an aura of power. I reached down and pushed open the scroll. The words on it seemed foreign, and yet I knew exactly what to say.

            From behind me a beautiful voice rang out, resonating through the entire hall. The voice belonged to my mentor, my teacher, and my great friend Rabbi Michal. Although I had never heard the song, I recognized the names of my parents flowing along with the other Hebrew words. My parents stood up and made their way to the side of the bema. I looked over at them. My mother’s eyes were teary, and she was smiling. My father turned towards me, smiled, and began to sing the Barchu, or the call to worship: בָּרְכוּ אֶת יְיָ הַמְבֹרָךְ! The congregation then boomed the response, filling the room the song. When my father finished the chant, it was my turn. It was my turn to sing from the torah, to lead the congregation. It was my turn to become a man.

            I took a deep breath, looked down at the torah, and began to sing. My lungs filled with air as the words flowed gracefully from my mouth. As I sang I felt a sense of pride for the person I was. I was leading the congregation. And for doing so, at the age of 13, I was a full member of the community. All the work I had put in to get ready for that day and all the amazing people who had helped me through my struggles suddenly flashed through my mind. My life, my childhood, my parents, my brother. Everything I had ever done now focused at that pinnacle moment in my life. I suddenly felt taller and stronger. I was a man.

Pinnacle Hill

A man walks up a hill,

Weaving his way through soft, long grass.

The golden sunlight illuminates the field.

A sea of yellow, waves rippling from the swift wind.

As he stands on the pinnacle,

He looks down upon the green rolling hills.

A lake is nestled in the valley,

It’s glassy surface is spotted by gusts of a summer breeze.

He takes a deep breath,

Appreciating the crisp fresh air.

There stands an apple tree,

Branches bowed under the weight of a hundred ripe fruits.

As he climbs the tree, he goes limb to limb,

Hunting for nature’s roundest, sweetest creation.

His teeth dive through the red skin,

Indulging upon it’s succulence.

The man stands alone.

Soft earth and grass below him,

Bluish pink sky above him.

He hears birds chirping and squirrels playing.

A lone eagle circles above.

As he walks along the ridge top,

His hands graze the trunk of a young maple tree,

Each finger feels the intricate maze of its coarse bark.

Here, he feels peaceful.

He is no stranger nor intruder,

He is part of this place.

He understands that it exists in a delicate balance.

And while it nourishes him,

He may not take more than he can give.

This world is an escape.

Away from all the chaos and obstructions of society,

Into a world governed by the soil, the insects and the trees.

At night he sleeps in his bed in the village,

But during the day he is at home in the hills.

This poem is a elegy/description of a place that is very special, Pinnacle Hill in Lyme NH. The man, referred to in third person is me.

An Intellectual Experience Prompt

Prompt: Tell us about an intellectual experience, either directly related to your schoolwork or not, that you found particularly meaningful.

            Every year, the Model UN committee, which I’ve attended for the past few years, holds a five-day simulation for the freshman class, aptly named “FreshMUN.” It was my junior year, and with three successful conferences under my belt, I thought that it might be fun to volunteer to run one. Of course, I was nervous, but soon I was reassured when I found out that I was to be chairing alongside a four-year veteran of the club. However, when that person revealed to me that they could help for only one of the five days, my nerves returned in full force.

After I presented the basic procedure to the class the first day, the committee took up the problem of Ukraine on day two. As I threw on a tie and a formal shirt before the start of the simulation, images of a committee gone awry flashed through my mind.  But when I hurried into the room, I saw fifteen students, looking at me not with scorn or dismissal, but instead with respect and hope.

            What followed over the next four days was one of the most fascinating and entertaining intellectual experiences of my life. I encouraged a dynamic, creative parliamentary process, acting as both chair and peer. Notes and speeches flew through the air, and before I knew it, things were happening that I never could have foreseen. It was absolutely thrilling to motivate students to successfully act like model delegates, and to see them enjoy doing it. At the conclusion of the session, as I rushed out of the door to make my next class, a rousing chorus of “Thank you” slipped through the half-closed door. Although I appreciated their kind words, I knew that it was them I should be thanking, as it was those students, with their wit, knowledge, and passion that helped create one of my most memorable intellectual experiences.  

Loss of a Friend

For my entire life, Bailey was my dog. He was a mix of black lab and Rottweiler and had shiny black fur and long legs. His big head was comfortable when snuggling, and he had adorable brown eyes that glimmered in the sunlight. Bailey was a large dog, and in his youth he could run like lightning. However, Bailey was never a fetcher; he refused to retrieve any ball that was thrown for him. He was always happy, and he enjoyed good company. Above all, Bailey had a lot of energy.

When I was in pre-school, Bailey got hit by a car. Bailey sometimes snuck across the paved road outside our house in order to go enjoy our neighbor’s land, especially their pond. He was a very outdoorsy dog, and enjoyed exploring. One day, my mom called for Bailey, not realizing that he had been enjoying his day across the street. Bailey, while crossing the road, got hit by an oncoming van, or maybe he hit the van. We just don't know. I don’t know if he was arrogant and refused not to look, or if he simply did not see or hear the van coming as he rushed across the street to his loving mother. Either way, the car smashed into him and knocked him senseless. I was in pre-school, not knowing the terrible accident that had befallen my beloved friend. Bailey was not seriously injured, but he was quite shaken up. He could still walk and run, but he certainly became more wary of the road. The accident was scary for my entire family, especially for my mom.

After the accident, Bailey lived a long and happy life for about ten more years. He enjoyed every aspect of life, especially sunbathing. I remember one summer day when Bailey was lying out on the patio with his entire body flopped on the ground like a pancake and his polka-dotted tongue flopping wildly out of his mouth. He just always seemed happy. The only fear that Bailey had was his fear of thunder. Once, when it thundered, Bailey put his entire head under the couch and whined like a puppy for hours. Another time, he paced the width of the living room more times than I could count before the thunder stopped. Other than the occasional thunder, Bailey remained calm and happy.

I could not imagine life without Bailey as he was part of the family. However, he was getting older. His once strong and shiny black coat was now slowly fading to grey, and his movements were getting slower. Instead of sprinting while playing, Bailey lazily trotted. It was despairing to see such a rapid degeneration in my beloved friend over such a short time. The period of only a few months where Bailey transformed from a strong adult to an unsteady elder was hard on my family. We watched helplessly from the sidelines as our beautiful dog slowly morphed into a helpless cripple, his hips failing him.

Instead of trotting in front of me on walks, Bailey was now trucking behind, slowly walking and panting as if he constantly needed to catch his breath. His condition worsened until he could no longer walk easily without assistance. The car crash from his youth may have finally come back to haunt him. Bailey's hind legs could simply not keep up with his healthy front legs. He became immobile. I remember the last time he tried to descend the stairs by himself. His once loyal hind legs gave out on him and he tumbled part way down the stairs. He crashed into the wooden floor at the bottom of the stairs and whimpered. He must have felt betrayed. 

What is a dog without the ability to walk? Life would have no meaning to him anymore. I could see it in his drooping eyes from the despairing look that never left him. He was not happy, and he could never be happy again. I loved him so much, and we could not continue to see him in such pain. He always made me happy, and and I was just realizing I could not possibly return the favor. My family knew it was time to release him from his pain.

The next day, the appointment with vet was made. On the way to the vet, I could hardly restrain my tears. Bailey, sitting comfortably in the back seat, seemed to know where we were  taking him. I tried to keep looking forward at the depressing grey pavement that loomed in front of me, but I could not bear it. I turned my head and stared into my mutt's deep brown eyes. His ears were perked up, but the rest of his body remained limp. His head was resting gently on his paw, cocked ever so slightly to one side. He seemed to be begging for release. That was my only comfort.

At the vet, my dad went inside the building as I waited outside with Bailey. I opened the back hatch of the grey Subaru, placed my head on his soft fur and cried until I felt there was nothing left inside me. My dad came back outside, bringing with him the nice vet that would soon put my dog to sleep. She came into my car, as if invading my space.  She had with her a needle filled with fluid. The bright sun shone in my eyes as the needle pierced his old grey pelt which now shone brightly in the sunshine. I grasped his paw, and his eyes closed.

We chose not to cremate my friend, and instead my dad and I buried him in our back yard; I don't believe that cremation really helps the healing process. The house was vacant, and I felt empty inside. I will never forget my friend, and he will always have a place in my heart. He was my first dog, but definitely not my last. I am still sad, but I will always remember his energy and enthusiasm. Bailey will always have a special place in my heart.

Ode to McCandless

I want to die as Christopher McCandless did. Not alone, but happy. I want to follow my

dreams, forget about the world, and do what I want, but I don’t want to do it alone. Before McCandless died, he scrawled a realization into one of his books, “And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life around us, merging with it without a ripple, is genuine life, and that unshared happiness is not happiness,” (Krakauer 189). My parents raised me in a happy environment. Despite the stress near the end of their relationship, they were happy together for years, and they were happy to be raising my brother and me. As I grow, I am determined to cultivate that same happiness, with hopes that someday I will be able to share that happiness to the people I care about. However, I will not merely “merge” to fit the lives of others as McCandless describes. One can share happiness, but if one has to bend and change to fit the mold of another person, then that person is not the one that will share your happiness. I will go my own way, meet others along the way, but until I find the thing I love most, I will not settle for less. I’m determined to live my dreams. I don't necessarily wish to live through McCandless and live alone in a bus in the Alaska brush, but instead I hope to find something of what he was looking for. I hope to set my own path, and while I may wander along the way, I will not turn around.

Nerdy Side Prompt

Below is a response to the prompt "show us your nerdy side:"

While many of my peers spend time scrolling through Facebook and Twitter feeds, I constantly pore through the latest news, both on the Hill and all throughout the world. I care more about the advance of Islamic fighters on Kobani, or the latest Nate Silver Senate projection than which song won what Grammy. I’ll ingest a fantasy novel from time to time, but the announcement for Double Down by Mark Halperin and John Heilemann brought me more joy than all the Harry Potter books combined. One of the means by which I get my news is also another fascination of mine: NPR. It welcomes me on my morning drive to school, and soothes me as I fall asleep each night. In short, NPR is on 24/7. However, politics and news aren’t my only interests. I've always aspired to break my binge reading record of four Harry Potter books in five days, so I decided to pick up George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones before heading out on a family vacation. Before I knew it, I was hooked, and on the first day of my vacation, I soon found myself biking into town to buy the next book. Over the next three days, I tore through page after page, and as soon as I turned that final page, I quickly hopped on my bike to quench my thirst. Before I knew it, four books lay discarded on my bedside. Much to my parents’ chagrin, I considered that vacation a wild success. 

On the Topic of Council

Haters may hate, but Council is an effective institution. Yes, it may be slow, and yes, we may not always have the most interesting or effective motions, but Council does good work. Most people see the face of council: "annoying" posts on the council facebook page, angry council members ranting about issues that don't seem important to the regular high schooler. However, most people don't see the real work that goes on. The Executive Committee, comprised of Council Leadership and all of the standing committee chairs, meets every Monday at 7:30 in the office conference room to set the agenda for the Council meeting each week. In Exec we discuss strategies, motions, and almost anything related to improving the school.  Then, during the Council meeting on Wednesday, we fire away opinions at each other, learn procedure, and continue striving to make the school a better place.

Although we may not "do" much, Council is most effective when the going gets tough. When students get angry, they have a method of changing policies and advocating for themselves. Although the current council may not do much, that only reflects the good work of past councils in making a strong, democratic school where everyone has a voice. I wish that people would see that the business of Council is not just passing motions, but discussing issues with our school and working on ways to make the school a better place and to give everyone a voice.

An Examination of White Privilege

BOOM! The crushing force of white privilege strikes you down. What to do now? Have you not experienced this yet in your life? Well let me enlighten you. 

White Scenario #1 - So you’re walking down the street, right?  You see a police officer walking your way. But, it’s the middle of the day, you’re not intoxicated on any level and you’re just on your way to get some coffee so you have no worries. You give a friendly nod to the officer, continue on with your day, and in five minutes you forget it even happened. 

POC* Scenario #1 - You see the cop, and suddenly you get a dirty look. You try to smile at the cop but he continues to stare you down. The only way you get the cop to stop is to swiftly walk into the coffee shop. You can’t shake the feeling of the officer’s eyes following you. 

See the difference?

White Scenario #2 - There’s only one week before Holiday Dance. You have a super hot date, so you decide to drive to Burlington to buy a nice outfit. You’re strolling through the store and you find the perfect dress/shirt/pants/suit and so you ask to try it on. You have to hunt down the salesperson in order to get a dressing room. You get progressively annoyed as you fight for the person’s attention when you decide to buy the outfit. After you leave, you completely forget about the person because you found the perfect outfit!

POC Scenario #2 - As you walk through the store, the salesperson’s eyes follow you with every move you make. You find the perfect dress/shirt/pants to try on and have no trouble finding the person because they’re right on your tail. As you ask to get a dressing room, the person asks to search your backpack before you enter the dressing room. You tell them that you refuse, they have no right to search your belongings. You get so mad and frustrated that you storm out of the store. You end up not finding an outfit at all that day, and drive home from Burlington upset and perturbed. 

As one can see in both of these scenarios, the white person has a much more positive experience. The problem with white privilege is that in essence it is the fact that you don’t realize your own advantages in life. Face it, if you are white you have certain advantages that POCs have not had. You don’t have to deal with the fact that 1 in 3 black men will go to prison sometime in their life. It’s true, even if you are in a lower socio-economic bracket, you have a societal advantage over POCs. 

Once you realize this privilege, and if you’re like me start to feel an immense sense of guilt. Your race has been oppressing POCs for the past several centuries, how can I turn this around? The first step is recognizing your privilege. It’s a tough task to tackle. Many people often want to fight this oppression, which is very difficult to do if your race is the oppressor, not the oppressed. Stand in solidarity, check your privilege, and understand that even though you can forget the plight of others, POCs have to live with this for their whole life. Be empathic and watch out for others, y’all. 

For further reference, check out this comical BuzzFeed article: http://www.buzzfeed.com/michaelblackmon/17-harrowing-examples-of-white-privilege-9hu9

*Person of Color

A Quick Rant

A wise man by the name of Abraham Lincoln once said “America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.” That seems to remain especially true today. America seems to be this impregnable fortress; a mighty symbol of freedom and equity protected by the latest technology, filled with millions of patriotic citizens itching to throw themselves into the line of fire. However, just because we’re surrounded by legions of faithful soldiers doesn’t mean we receive such protection mentally. Perhaps our greatest vulnerability today is not to an attack by sea or air, but one that subtly steals into the minds of our citizens, corrupting them from the inside. Furthermore, the worst part is that it’s already started to happen.

Instead of reaching for the phone lines when disaster strikes, we grab the popcorn and slouch on our sofas, casually glancing at pictures of calamity as we mindlessly scroll through our phones. Instead of donating and raising awareness, the most we can muster is a few hastily-typed hashtags. Global calamities are no longer something that evokes a global response from communities everywhere, they’re merely a spectator sport; a side show to our daily lives. If somebody’s planning an invasion, they’ve almost already won: America’s been weakened from the inside, softened by years of inactivity. Unlike Europe, we’ve almost never experienced the brutality of chaos first-hand, isolated on the other side of the globe from the horrors of post-Communist Europe. Perhaps it’s that total isolation which drives us towards this veneer of comfort; conflict is rarely a stone’s throw away, and if it is, we have a 100-foot tall fence standing in its way. We’ve become a shred of the global citizens that we aspire to be, instead become apathetic slugs, bound to our phones more than any global cause. In a way, we’ve failed to keep the flame of our revolution alive, letting it sputter to nothing.

Reddit AskReddit: My Response

Q: What is your quietest act of rebellion?

A: I have a couple very quiet rebellious acts, most of which are small enough to not be noticeable but large enough to show my true rebellious spirit. First, I have a friend whose Mom is trying to loose weight but she insists on having her daily dose of diet coke. Now, as we all know, diet coke is really bad for the body as it contains chemicals in the place of sugar and does not sit well in the stomach. So, in order to remedy the situation, every time I open their fridge I open the diet coke bottle and poor it down the drain, recycle the liter bottle, then smile to myself.

Additionally, although the law requires me to wear shoes when I drive, I frequently drive without shoes. Since the cops can't see me not wearing shoes, they will never know both that I was breaking the law and my pure satisfaction of driving with no shoes.

Finally, as my final act of rebellion, I mix decaf coffee in with my parents regular coffee so they do not get as much caffeine in the morning. I'm told this is pure evil.

essays: a rant

i don’t think we should write essays. instead we should just talk to the teacher. tell them what we think about some topic. writing things down is too concrete and almost superficial, real learning comes from speaking your mind. when i write essays i spend too much time deleting things that i’ve written and not enough time moving forward. when you speak to someone there is no delete button. you can change anything after you’ve said it you don’t have to think of what to write next you just speak your mind and think. essays you think of the topic you answer the question but i don’t actually learn something from writing them. or even worse, i start writing an essay and naturally i change my mind about the whole topic. not because i can’t decide what to write about but because while writing the essay i did actually learn something. with speaking changing your mind is good, it means you’re learning and thinking. it’s much easier to change your mind while speaking than it is to delete however much of the essay you’ve already written and start over. but alas, here i am writing my thoughts down and contradicting myself. these words are set in stone now. i am a hypocrite. but the mind is a curious thing and i spend so much time using my brain and experiencing everything that it is only natural that i forget something.

i can speak for hours about one topic but once i have that paper infront of me. the blinking line just sitting there static. nothing comes to my head.

also, who needs capitalization?

quinn valence

Below is a slightly rushed answer to the classic prompt "if you could sit down with any person in history, who would it be?"

If I could sit down with a single person from any time in history, I would choose to chat with FDR. Not only do I find him to be the most effective of all past presidents, but I deeply admire his resolve, as his plate was stacked high with issues, ranging from polio to the second world war. His guile and determination in leading the country through its most difficult time is deeply admirable. One of the reasons why FDR would make a fantastic conversation is that he lived through one of the most eventful times in American history. In the late 20s and early 30s, he battled the infamous Great Depression, and in a mere couple of years, found himself in the midst of America’s second great global conflict, facing an any who regarded surrender as taboo. My interest in FDR originates from my first real encounter with him, besides hearing his name mentioned in casual conversation. However, two years ago, I went with my family down to see a local production of Annie. Having seen this movie before, I thought it was going to be quite the bore. However, upon viewing the play, I was enraptured with the character of FDR, who surprisingly played a large role in the play. This perhaps opened my eyes to the magnitude of FDR’s deeds, and also the man himself. Another reason would be fascination with history, particularly the early 20^th century, a time that one might refer to as America’s coming of age, or entry on to the international stage. Last year, as I was researching for my US-History Class the correlation in between the previously mentioned coming of age and WW1, the topic of FDR kept on popping up, as the timeline of some of the books extended beyond the Great War. There, I was able to get my first in depth view of Roosevelt’s policies, and their impact on American society. In my current social studies class, Contemporary American History, I again was able to analyze the actions of FDR, and truly realized how interesting this hypothetical conversation would be."

For this, I responded to an old prompt that I found asking for a moment that shaped my learning experience. 

  

             One moment in particular that had great influence on who I am today took place in London nine years ago, at the age of seven. I was visiting my first cousins, who at the time resided in the city. On that particular day, we decided to visit the Museum of Natural History, which turned out to be an absolute blast. After an exciting visit, I was waiting on a bench while the rest of my family used the restroom. Bored, I craned my neck, looking for something to take up my time. Soon, my eyes fell on a framed Egyptian scroll, resting on a wall about five feet away. I curiously strode towards it and since there were no barriers in the way, I soon ended up nose-to-nose with this artifact. As my eyes scanned the scroll, the thing that fascinated me was not the intricate detail of the figures, nor the age of the scroll itself, but the brushstrokes plainly visible on the paper. The sheer fact that a mere sheet of plexiglass separated me from the brushstrokes of artisans thousands of years old made my jaw drop. That, I can say with confidence, is where my love for history started. Ever since then, history and social studies in general have been by far my most exciting subjects, and also have helped me figure out what motivates me academically. Because I found history to be one of my main passions, I branched off and discovered that political science and language pique my interest as well. Since my passion extends into those subjects, I have become an active participant in classes pertinent to my interests, and engaged in exciting and interesting dialogue with students and teachers alike. If it had not been for that encounter with the brushstrokes of the ancients, I would not be the intellectually curious person I am today.

5 Questions for 'Women Against Feminism'

5 Questions for Women Against Feminism

            Many people have probably heard of the budding social movement known as “Women Against Feminism”. I know, it’s crazy, right? These women seem to think they’re being oh so brave and bold and different when in reality they’re only hurting themselves. Here are a few questions I have from these “trailblazers” that I am dying to know the answers to…

1) Do you even know what feminism is?

   Many of the women state they are against feminism because “modern feminism doesn’t fight to be equal – it fights to be superior.” Okay, well there’s the first (of many) problems we will encounter on this exploration. Why preach against this awful, victimizing movement called feminism when you don’t even fully understand it in the first place? The definition for feminism is “the movement to achieve social, economic, and political equality between men and women.” Doesn’t that sound great? Or would you rather be marginalized for the rest of your life? Right, I didn’t think so.

2) Do you like women? 

This is where the problem enlies. Not only are women in our culture being oppressed by men, but other women are against women as a whole as well.  If women came together instead of perpetuating negative stereotypes about powerful females, then maybe there would be more equality in our culture. Feminism is working to empower women, not working to take over the world. Granted, there are some feminists who would like to take over the world. That would be pretty bad-ass, but I digress.

3) Are men and women really equal? Really??

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past 10-15 years, you have seen an ad on TV or the internet objectifying women.  A woman’s body is seen as a tool for selling cars, alcohol, and even books. Women are not on this earth just to please a man, that’s not our only job. Granted, we’ve come a long way from the 50’s housewife era, but there’s still a lot of work to be done. I think feminism will no longer exist when a woman doesn’t have to walk down the street at night in fear of being raped. When a man doesn’t see a cat call as a compliment. And lastly when a woman can be valued because of her brains and not just the cup-size of her bra.

4)  Do you consider yourself particularly egocentric? 

Just in case you didn’t know, which I’m sure you didn’t little miss anti-feminist, feminism also works to empower women all around the world, not just you. So even if you feel you are equal to men, the world doesn’t revolve around you, while you’re sitting on your priveledged thrown, women in developing countries don’t even have the right to use condoms. Great for you that you have not had the same awful experiences of women across the world, that doesn't mean you should portray those woman as victimizing themselves or "feminazis". Each person has had their own unique experience with misogyny and no one has the right to criticize them. 

5) Do you enjoy voting, your ability to choose about your own reproductive health, and getting a sufficient education?

Well guess what?? If it wasn’t for feminism, you wouldn’t have any of those things. Take THAT!

If anyone has an answer to these questions please contact Kelsey Aaron. Otherwise, take some time to think about your actions and reconsider your stance on feminism. Please, for the love of all things good in this world.