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.