Opinion: Labels hide true identity




Filling out college applications, I come across the same question: How do you describe yourself?

An infinite list of adjectives comes to mind. However, the only options in the drop down menu are African-American, White, Asian, Hispanic, Indian or other.

I select white. In this declarative moment, I feel a sense of incompletion. Does “white” really define who I am? I am more than just a color. There is more to my character and my background than an unclear, broad label.

Growing up in a city such as Weston, I have been exposed to many different cultures, especially at the Bay, where more people speak Spanish than English.

Sixteen years in a diverse community equals 16 years of different cultures I collected. These are cultures that have formed my identity. These are cultures that are hidden behind my “white” label.

I consider myself part Hispanic. No, my parents are not from Colombia nor Venezuela. Yet, the majority of my teammates on my swim team embrace these backgrounds. My swim friends constantly speak Spanish at practice. When I visit their homes, I am immersed in a completely new culture with different food, different values and a different way of life.

Even though being Hispanic is not in my blood, it is in my heart. Unfortunately, it is not in my accent. My Hispanic friends constantly joke about my “gringa” voice, but I’m working on it.

I also consider myself part Israeli. None of my family is from Israel, but I am an observer of Judaism. I am immersed in a prominent Jewish population at my school. Some of these Jewish students are native Israelis or have lived in the holy-land for some period of time.

This summer, I traveled to Israel for the first time. I thought I would be confused and unable to understand the language. Although I don’t speak Hebrew, I immediately felt welcome there – partly because of the warm, friendly vibes I received from Israeli citizens, but also because I went with a strong background. My connection to the Jewish community in my school and in my synagogue helped me ease my way into Israel, feeling at home in a foreign country.

Besides Hispanic and Israeli, other cultures shape my identity. The US is a unique and culturally diverse nation. Walking through the crowded school halls is a feeling that equates to navigating the busy streets of New York City – unfamiliar faces all from different places. My school brings global local.

The environment on campus is similar to that of Disney’s theme park, Epcot. I walk around the park experiencing a taste of Italy, China and Spain. I walk through my school hallways surrounded by people speaking Italian, Chinese and Spanish. It is these micro-moments of connection where I am learning, growing and observing, becoming a more culturally-aware individual.

The label “white” does not define who I am. It may imply my ethnicity, but it does not represent the person I have grown and matured to be. Beneath my white skin and white label lie other cultures and traits. These are traits acquired from eating dinner at my Cuban neighbor’s house. These are traits learned through my friends from China, Russia and Greece.

Colleges desire a diversely populated campus, which is the purpose for their inquiry about my heritage. People are diverse not by the color of their skin nor by their place of birth, but by the skills acquired and by the activities pursued. We, as current college applicants, should not be mandated to label ourselves.

So, when asked how I would define myself, I select white. But this selection means nothing. Here’s the thing about labels: there is much more underneath.

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Opinion: Twitter is not the place for grief

Opinion: Twitter is not the place for grief



I didn’t know Robin Williams personally. Neither did many others who flooded Twitter with 140-character-or-less messages mourning the loss of the beloved actor and comedic genius on Aug. 11. Still, in typical Twitter fashion, #RIPRobinWilliams managed to become a trending topic within hours of the sad news breaking.jenimoo

It’s natural for people to feel a connection with celebrities and to get emotional when they pass away. We admire and appreciate them for making us laugh, for making us think, for bringing some form of positivity into our lives.

Unfortunately, as can be seen in the event of Robin Williams’ passing, this admiration doesn’t always manifest itself as respect once it reaches the Twittersphere. There’s a time and a place for grief, and that day it became evident to me that Twitter is not the place.

It started that evening when my mom came into my room and told me about Robin Williams. I felt a pang in my chest, and immediately thought back to the days of my childhood when I fell in love with the story of “Jumanji” or when I had a “Hook” VHS tape playing on repeat as Williams took me to Neverland and made me never want to grow up.

After I reminisced, my next reaction was to open up Twitter to check how others were reacting to the news. But when I saw all of the #RIPRobinWilliams hashtags flooding my timeline, it disturbed me the way a hashtag symbol, something that is more often used lightheartedly with #tbt or #sorrynotsorry, was now paired with such a serious and grave statement.

I spent a minute trying to come up with a respectful tweet of my own before feeling guilty for how immediately taking to social media to share my emotions has become a natural reflex not only for me, but also for everyone of my social-media-obsessed generation. Why does sadness need to be publicized? Answer: It doesn’t.

It’s true that Twitter is all about giving users the right to express themselves, but it’s also true that there are no Twitter police blocking us from writing anything our hearts desire. This is why it’s up to us to know when we’re going one step too far with our words and crossing a line of respect. This line is bound to be broken when people try to take on such delicate subjects as suicide or depression.

Twitter can be used for good or for evil, and unfortunately, deaths bring out the worst of people on the Internet. On the day of Williams’ death, underneath all of the sympathetic comments celebrating his life were comments of harassment aimed at his 25-year-old daughter Zelda’s Twitter account.

She received hundreds of messages saying her father’s suicide was somehow her fault, and crude, Photoshopped pictures showing fake bruises around his neck. This ruthless Twitter attack during such a tough time pushed Zelda to sign off Twitter and Instagram for weeks to avoid harassment, which in turn pushed Twitter to make a statement on updating its safety policies.

“We will not tolerate abuse of this nature on Twitter,” Del Harvey, Twitter’s vice president of trust and safety, said in a statement. “We have suspended a number of accounts related to this issue for violating our rules and we are in the process of evaluating how we can further improve our policies to better handle tragic situations like this one. This includes expanding our policies regarding self-harm and private information, and improving support for family members of deceased users.”


Incidents such as these make me question not only human nature but also the nature of social media – what type of person would use Twitter as a platform for bullying? Let’s all do Twitter a simple favor and try not to abuse the right of Freedom of Speech given to us in the First Amendment. Let’s try to be respectful. Hint: It’s not that hard if you’re a decent human being.

Not everything in life comes with instructions. There is no grieving-on-social-media handbook. (No, “Twitter for Dummies” doesn’t count). Simply treat celebrity deaths with the same respect you would if a loved one had died. We all know how the old saying goes: If you don’t have anything nice to Tweet, don’t Tweet anything at all.

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Opinion: Embracing the ‘pro’ in procrastination



We’ve all been there.  Calculus homework due tomorrow, English project due Friday, physics assignment due Tuesday, and a dozen quizzes and test scattered sporadically throughout the next few weeks – so the logical thing to do at this point would be to sit down, get it all done, and call it a day.

But guess what I’m doing. Nothing. Should I be doing my schoolwork? Probably.  Am I going to? Definitely, but later.

To dawdle, to lag, to defer, and to loiter all translate to mean basically the same thing: to procrastinate.  In literal terms, when one procrastinates, he/she puts something off “until tomorrow.” The word procrastinate is even derived from the Latin pro, meaning “forward,” and crastinus, meaning “belonging to tomorrow.”

My grandmother was a procrastinator, my mother was a procrastinator, and now I guess one could say I am a pro-procrastinator. The trait is in my genes and is a part of who I am. Although the procrastination lifestyle is not exactly encouraged or accepted by all, it is the way that I function the best.

Procrastination has a negative connotation, so to be accused of being a procrastinator is usually taken badly. But whenever I am faced with this accusation, I embrace it. The “pros” in procrastination tend to be ignored since not all can harness their procrastinating powers usefully, but the actual concept of it should be reevaluated and accepted.

In order to successfully procrastinate, one must be aware of sudden and looming deadlines. For me, in those precious last moments before I’m supposed to be done with whatever needs to get done is my most crucial time.  My stressful race to completion combines with frantic desperation to produce something that I would not have been able to make otherwise. Therefore, determination and procrastination generates innovation.

Procrastination also becomes useful when dealing with unpredictable circumstances. Events can get canceled and deadlines can become eradicated. That outdoor event that you’ve been decorating for the whole week – gets rained out.  That math test you studied with a tutor for weeks – gets postponed. That party you bought the perfect new outfit for – gets canceled. These situations can and do happen, but are avoidable by procrastinating until a reasonable time to start preparations, arrangements and plans.

Procrastinating has also saved my physical and mental health. People tend to put a tremendous amount of stress on themselves when they plan so far in advance for what has the potential to change.  Ironically, prioritizing more hours working rather than hours necessary for sleep is unhealthy and can actually make someone less efficient, which has the complete opposite result from the intention. While my classmates are already sprouting gray hairs from stress, I experience relatively much less stress since all my stress runs its course within a short time period right before something is due.

Evolving into the pro-procrastinator that I am now didn’t just happen overnight. It took time, experience, and a few last-minute successes to reaffirm my procrastinating confidence. I am fully aware of my responsibilities and deadlines, so whatever needs to get done will always get done and on time, and I guarantee it will be spectacular.

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Opinion: Identity can sometimes be a surprise

Opinion: Identity can sometimes be a surprise



It happens every time. Whenever I mention where I’m from, someone around me is shocked. It shouldn’t bother me, but the fact that I am so often judged by my appearance is disappointing. I have strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, a German last name, and an American accent. I used to love saying where I was born whenever I had the chance, but now that I’m older I realize how unfortunate it is that my looks determine others’ expectations.

I was born in Bogota, Colombia. Although I moved to this country when I was a year and a half old, Spanish was my first language and I speak it fluently. My parents were both born and raised in Colombia, and lived there until they decided it was an unsafe place to raise a baby. My family moved to the United States in order to pursue opportunities we wouldn’t otherwise have.

Moving to the U.S. gave my parents the freedom to practice their religion comfortably, and to not live in fear. I am Jewish, and this is mainly how I identify myself. As a Jew, I’ve learned that my ancestors suffered persecution and discrimination, and my parents have instilled in me the idea that education is the one thing that cannot be taken away. Even as a young child, I strived to do my best in school, and I earned the label of gifted. This led to an even greater struggle with my identity. I became a Jewish, Colombian gifted student.ilanaimo

I have had mostly the same people in my classes since middle school, and at one point or another my peers have found out that I am Hispanic. Although some are surprised but try not to act it, I often receive very dramatic reactions from those who have just met me.

Usually after people first find out, I am asked to speak in Spanish. This question makes me uncomfortable since I’ve lost my Spanish accent due to constantly speaking with my American friends in English. My Colombian family makes fun of my accent, so in a way, I’ve become ashamed of my language.

My traditions are more Jewish than they are Colombian, making it difficult for me to relate to the 2,165 students at school who are from South American countries.

As a Colombian Jew, I often find it difficult to fit in, and I feel as though I don’t belong in many social circles. This is extremely difficult because of the preconceptions people have and the stereotypes they form in their heads when I talk about where I was born and what my religious affiliation is. This has led me to feel uncomfortable when filling out questionnaires, especially on college applications.

Being judged by my appearance has caused me to fear being judged by my representation on paper. Although colleges won’t know what I look like when they read my application, they should develop a sense of who I am from the information I provide and the voice in my essays.

Identity is integral to one’s sense of self, and because of the struggle I have faced in deciding who I am and what I should portray myself as, I feel as though my sense of self is fragmented.

Being Colombian is like my secret weapon, but it’s one I’m not always comfortable carrying. I love being able to understand those around me who speak Spanish, and communicating with people in two languages is a skill in which I take pride. But being Colombian and Jewish has also made me self-conscious.

When I was choosing which college to apply to, one of the biggest factors I considered was whether or not there was a large Jewish population. Being involved in the Jewish community has allowed me to feel a sense of belonging, and this involvement with my religion is something I will take with me when I am no longer living at home. However, I know that in the future when I have my own family, I will want my children to speak Spanish, because being bilingual is so beneficial.

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Opinion: Television inspires creativity, not laziness



The misconception that watching television “rots your brain” has always struck me with a sense of disbelief. I think back to the Friday nights of my childhood when my parents would let 6-year-old me stay up late to catch an episode of “Full House,” and I see myself now eagerly staying up past midnight every Saturday to catch an episode of “Saturday Night Live.”


Growing to appreciate television over the years has not sentenced me to a lifetime of lethargy on the couch, as some may expect it to, but instead has impacted my own creativity and taught me how to handle life situations.

The writers that manage to get people addicted to television shows have a purpose, and they are genius enough to know how to lure people in. Through carefully constructed plotlines and messages sewn into a TV storyline, there is a tremendous amount of talent put into the production of a television show that should inspire younger generations to think in such innovative ways.

To learn through watching TV, you don’t necessarily need to be on the History Channel or watching an educational documentary. I have picked up information that will stick with me for a lifetime simply by watching sitcoms. On an old episode of “Friends” I learned what could ease the pain if I ever get stung by a jellyfish. By watching the comedy series “Modern Family,” I gained a sense for how diverse a family can be. Although it may seem silly and useless at the time, this information builds up into a collective archive in my brain where it is available for reference at any moment. In daily life, I find myself making allusions to episodes of TV shows all the time without even realizing it.

More than anything, TV has contributed to my sense of humor. I can attribute my understanding of sarcasm to the times in which I observed comical situations on television. For a person to interact with others, sarcasm, quickness, and wit are perfect qualities to make use of in social situations.

As a writer, I can honestly say that most of my creativity has stemmed from things I’ve seen on television that have subliminally etched themselves into my brain. These ideas inspire me to see situations from more than one perspective. If anything, watching television has not brainwashed me, but stimulated my creativity.

Not all that can be found on TV is worthy of praise, of course. However, once the junk is sorted out of the mix, the power of the pure imagination that is put into television shows can shine. Television is not just a series of pixelated images on a screen. What we watch on this screen truly broadens our awareness, exposes us to life outside of our own personal bubble, and teaches us about social skills, life values, and communication.

Looking back, I am extremely thankful to my parents that they never sent me up to my room years ago when I used to stay up late watching “Full House.” I have no shame in admitting to all of the essential morals about relationships and family values that I picked up from the Tanners and their fictional experiences in San Francisco. Television has taught me how to be a person and handle my own nonfictional life, a lesson that can’t be found in any textbook ever written.

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Opinion: Halloween spirit fades as children grow older



Dressed in my Disney princess ball gown and a sparkly silver crown, I skip down a row of houses with a wide smile and a trick-or-treating bag in hand, anxiously receiving Halloween candy from my neighbors.

Halloween was always an exciting time of year for me as a child because I had the opportunity to express my imaginative desires and dress up as any character I wanted. But now, that Halloween spirit has faded. As the years pass, I find myself more and more conflicted as to whether or not I am too old to continue these past rituals.

As this spooky holiday passed and I reminisced about my previous Halloween experiences, I noticed how my sister and her friends, who are in middle school, already perceive themselves as “too grown up” to engage in these Halloween festivities. This shocking rationalization made me cringe at how her generation is maturing too quickly.merimo

I know my sister and her friends will not maintain their childhood innocence forever, but they are maturing socially at a much more rapid pace than I did back in middle school. Whether it is more provocative styles of dress or extravagant parties, it is a frustrating struggle to watch my sister grow up so fast.

During my elementary and middle school years, dressing up with friends and venturing out into the neighborhood for sweet treats was definitely the most exciting part about October. By the time high school came around, everyone was “too cool” for what appeared to be childish activities, so those traditions have changed from trading candies to throwing parties.

Now it seems like students dedicate any occasion to throwing parties. Whether it is for Halloween or just a random weekend, my generation and my sister’s generation find every excuse to party, even when there is nothing to celebrate.

I wish my sister would cherish these times and enjoy celebrating the holiday dressing up with her friends. I will always look back on my Halloween experiences as a child and it is sad to think that she is missing out on these opportunities.



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Opinion: Paying for college applications is a gamble



As soon as I submitted my application to the seventh college I’m applying to, I was prompted to provide my credit card information. The same thing occurred when I wanted to send my ACT scores to universities, and it happened yet again at the post office when I asked to send my transcripts through priority mail.

It’s ridiculous that money must be given to institutions at every step of the college applications process, especially because the chances of getting accepted are unknown. It doesn’t make sense that people would need to pay so much money to apply to colleges that might not accept them.ilanaimo

Paying money for college applications is similar to gambling. Students are taking a chance and testing their luck by paying for applications to schools they may not even end up attending.

Although I am very fortunate and my family can afford the expenses of applying, it is unfair that schools would require that much from applicants. Even though fees can be waived, it is unnecessary to have such a large fee when many schools can use the same system to access application materials.

For example, I applied to Syracuse and Northwestern through the Common Application, and both schools required separate payments of $75. Then I had to order my SAT and ACT scores, which totaled $46.50, and then I mailed my transcripts from the post office for a total of $10. All of this comes to a ridiculous sum. Of course it was my choice to send my transcripts through priority mail and to send my two standardized test scores, but nevertheless the process of applying to just two universities would have been expensive.

I am not even done applying to all of the schools I would like, but I might have to limit myself due to the price. It would be more reasonable for universities to require payments after a decision is made, thus giving applicants a chance to think about whether or not they will be attending and would like to invest money.

Having to pay application fees is like paying for entrance into a store. Shoppers aren’t sure whether or not they will buy anything in the store, or if it is worth their time, but they are required to provide funds before they can look around. In the real world, employees don’t have to pay to send resumes to employers who might not even hire them, so why is it fair for colleges to set a high price for applicants? This is not logical or realistic.

Although I am taking a gamble and spending a lot of money in the process, if I am accepted to all of the schools I applied to it will be worth it.




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Opinion: Reminiscing on last first day of school brings nostalgia



Like many other juniors who took AP English Language and Composition last year, I read the essay, “Once More to the Lake,” by E.B. White. The synopsis of this essay goes as follows: a man returns to the lake that he used to visit as a child with his father but now returns with his own child. The man is overwhelmed with nostalgia and awe as he begins to see his father in himself and himself in the child, since the roles have changed as time progressed.

Now I am a senior and I, like the man, am returning once more to the Bay, as he returned in “Once More to the Lake.”


On my last first day of high school, I entered campus in bold strides because, after all, it was the fourth time that I’ve had a first day of high school. I felt confident, I felt ready and I felt self-assured.  But soon enough, I realized the class of 2014 was not alone as my eyes connected with those of the scared, the anxious and the new. Not only was it my last first day of high school but it was also the first first day of high school for the freshmen, Class of 2017.

Flashback to what feels like a decade ago, the year 2010, which was my freshman year. I had the exact same set of scared, anxious, and new eyes that the new freshmen are sporting now in 2013.  I had been a freshman and up until a very short time ago, I still felt like one.

Continuing in that flashback, I can also remember the Senior Class of 2011.  They all looked so big and scary, especially on my first day, with their facial hair and calm, unaffected expressions. Is that how the freshmen see us now?  Have we become the people we used to fear?

As time progresses – and oh, boy did it progress fast –the roles have changed. Four years passed, and not only did I grow into a senior in high school, but I grew into myself.

My advice to the Class of 2017 is to utilize and appreciate the next four years that are offered here because the Bay is truly a home and a place to grow, learn and experience that will mold you into the person you want to be but never thought you’d actually become.  As I returned, once more to the Bay, for my last time as a student, I recognize how I once was that freshman and now I am that senior.

I wish when I was a freshman I knew how fast my high school years would dissolve into memories and how quickly I would morph into the full-fledged senior that I thought would always evade my innocent, freshman self.

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Opinion: March of the Living has truly impacted my life



After undergoing a nine-hour flight from New York to Poland, my first stop while participating in March of the Living – a two week trip (April 3-17) for Jewish teenagers to Poland and Israel in memory of the Holocaust – was at Treblinka, a death camp that I had never heard of. Though the camp only ran for one year during World War II, it resulted in the death of 800,000 Jews.

The Nazis destroyed the camp because they tried to cover up the evidence of their crimes. Because of this, the camp serves now as a memorial, with over 17,000 stones representing different communities throughout Poland.

While we were in Treblinka, the weather was brutal with the extremely low temperatures and heavy snow. This showed all 73 of us from Broward County how harsh the conditions for the victims were. I couldn’t help but think about how the victims had only a light layer of clothing to keep themselves warm while we were freezing fully clothed and wearing heavy jackets.

On Day Two, we went to the Warsaw Ghetto Cemetery, which takes up over 69 acres. What really touched me the most was the memorial for the 1 million children who died in the Holocaust. This consists of an actual wall from the Warsaw Ghetto and it has a poem on it that reads: “Through a hole, through a crack or a cranny, starving yet stubborn and canny, sneaky and speedy like a cat, I daily risk my youthful neck. And if fate will turn against me, in that game of life and bread, do not weep for me mother; do not cry, Are we not all marked to die? Only one worry besets me, lying in agony; so nearly dead, Who’ll care for you tomorrow, who’ll bring you, dear Mom, a slice of bread?”

After the cemetery we went to a Warsaw Ghetto Uprising sculpture that symbolized the strength of the men, the fear of the women and the hope of the children. Then we walked through where the Warsaw Ghetto used to be and went to the headquarters of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising: Mila 18. This was a great feeling to see how the Jews in the uprising were able to hold off the Nazis for over a month, even though the entire Polish army didn’t last two weeks against the Nazis.

The following day was Shabbat. I went to an Orthodox service that took place in the only synagogue to survive the Holocaust. With all that happened to the Jews in Poland, it’s a humbling feeling to be able to unite with around 10,000 other Jewish people from across the world and pray in a place that was meant to exterminate Jews forever.

That night, the Canadian delegation invited us to a special ceremony. This ceremony honored survivors and people who helped out the Jews. The ceremony ended with all the survivors dancing together happily. Then once we left, my group broke out into song as we walked back to our bus. We were all very proud to be celebrating in the streets of a place that tried to suppress the Jewish people.

The next day we went to Ludz, which has a memorial that showed us a duplicate crematorium, actual railroad tracks that were used to deport Jews, and a real boxcar, which deported Jews. Inside the boxcar we had an emotional moment as Irene, a survivor of Auchwitz, told us that in a box-car she was holding her little brother and told him everything was going to be all right. She had to lie to him because she knew that they were going to a concentration camp, where everything wouldn’t work out for the little boy.

After that, we went to the home of our other survivor Adele, who is probably the nicest person I have ever met. She was taken away from her home when she was little and saw it for the first time in over 70 years on last year’s trip. After being away from her home for a year, Adele was just as excited. Once she got off the bus, she started running to where her home was and didn’t slow down for anyone. Right when she saw her old apartment room she screamed, “I’m home!” It was pure joy. Right there she forgot everything terrible that had happened to her and her family and all she could feel was genuine happiness.

The next day was the actual March of the Living as we began the 1.5 mile march in silence from Auchwitz to Auchwitz-Birkenau: better known as the death march. There were approximately 10,000 Jews from all over the world who participated in the march. I could not imagine having to do that walk knowing that at the end I would probably die at Birkenau. After the walking there was a ceremony to commemorate everyone who was affected by the Holocaust. After the ceremony Irene showed us the spot where she last talked to her mom and got separated from her sister. She lit a candle in memory as all of us cried together.

At that moment it really hit me that I was at a concentration camp and not a re-created one. The feelings of people losing their families and all their belongings at this place had surfaced.

The following day, we took a tour through Auschwitz. We saw all of the belongings all of the people had before their deaths: the shoes, hairbrushes, shaving cream, pots, etc. We saw the beds, the bathrooms and the public hanging spots. Most importantly, we saw the actual gas chamber. Right away I could see the scratches on the wall of people trying to resist their death, and I could see how the walls were discolored from the chemicals that were dropped in. I rested my head against one of the scratched walls and cried. I cried for my people, and what they had been through for it all to end in that room. I cried for the families who were torn apart because of that room. Then I prayed so that something like this never would happen to anyone ever again. Directly to the left of the gas chamber, were the ovens where bodies would be discarded with efficiency. It’s unfathomable to think of how many life stories and people were burned away in those ovens.

After walking out of the crematoria, all of us joined together for the Mourner’s Kaddish to pray for the dead. After the prayer the names were said of the people who had died at Auschwitz, which included Irene’s entire family. As they said the names of her family, I looked over to Irene and she was hysterically crying and that was the most pain and suffering I had ever seen in someone. I will always remember how extremely sad and distraught Irene was at that very moment. And how strong she was to keep revisiting the place where her entire family had been killed.

The next day we went to Majdanek, which is another concentration camp. There, we went into another gas chamber where the walls were even more chemically discolored with green and blue than Auchwitz. But the disturbing part was that there was a window in a separate room. This window was so that the Nazis could watch the people being killed by the gas. They actually took pleasure in watching people die. That shows how cruel and inhuman these people truly were.

After walking through rooms with artifacts of the camp and the possessions of the victims, we came across a room filled with shoes. They were all the same type of shoes because they were the ones issued by the Nazis. And these hundreds of thousands of shoes signified how many deaths took place at the camp. That was a very emotional room for me because the quantity of people killed was

absurd. At the end of the camp, there was a dome with sand piled up extremely high. I learned that this sand was made out of human ashes and it was shocking to see how high the pile was. Right after Majdanek we went to the airport to leave for Israel.

Overall, Poland seemed like a gray and gloomy place where no one smiled. Many Jews used to live there but they were forced out of their homes. Poland is still anti-semitic as evidenced by graffiti that was scattered across the country. For example, we learned that “Juden raus” means take the Jews out.

Once we arrived in Israel we could feel that we were welcomed. We rejoiced that we were in the land of our people. Israel proved to the Nazis that it is impossible to wipe the Jews out because we are resilient and don’t go away easily. Israel is where every Jew is home and belongs.

We walked around the Israeli markets, walked through water tunnels, floated in the Dead Sea and climbed Mount Masada. We were saddened on Memorial Day when the whole country stopped to remember the fallen, and we were elated when the country celebrated its Independence on the very next day.

But most importantly, all 10,000 Jews from all over the world came together and marched from Safra Square to the Western Wall. No matter how spread out everyone is across the globe, all Jews were able to become one during that March. Everyone who participated will remember it for the rest of their lives and be able to call Israel home. The friends that I made will last a lifetime because the range of emotions that we experienced together are one of a kind. The opposing emotions of joy and sadness are what made the March of the Living a memorable experience and have changed who I am as a person.

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Opinion: Senior prom drops the senior



Hair? Check. Outfit? Check. Shoes? Check. You’re all ready for your final school dance… oh, wait. You’re not graduating this year.

Prom is one of the last nights when high school seniors get to spend time with their fellow classmates and friends before graduating and embarking on the next phase of their lives. However, prom has shifted from the long-awaited final high school dance for seniors to just another school-sanctioned event as more and more underclassmen have been attending in past years. Although I have no vendetta against underclassmen, as some are good friends of mine, those who are not seniors should not be attending senior prom, because it is just that, a senior prom.Nicole Moshe

From a better parking spot, to GradBash, and finally all leading up to prom, we high school students await reaping the perks and privileges of being a senior. If underclassmen attend prom, the event loses its sentimental value. Prom is a night to celebrate the end of high school with those who have gone through the past four years with you. High School Musical 3 had a point when emphasizing that prom is supposed to be “a night to remember” with all your senior friends (mock me if you want, but you know you were thinking the same thing).

It’s understandable that a senior might want to bring an underclassman as a date because he or she may be a significant other, or even just a friend, but this has become the norm. And, if you’re asking an underclassman to prom that you barely know just as a way to get a date, it is essential to recognize that you’ll probably enjoy yourself more if you go with friends that you actually know and have fun being around. I know that seniors generally do the asking, so they are partially at fault, but the school needs to maintain prom as being a “senior event” by not making underclassmen attending a common occurrence.

Because of the underclassmen’s presence, prom will seem like just the fancier version of homecoming. This is why I do not see prom as much of a significant event anymore – even as my years of high school are coming to a close and it is one of the few nights I have left to be with friends who are also graduating. Half of the events that are supposed to be strictly for seniors including prom and the senior barbecue Powder Puff game are being taken over by underclassmen.

Having younger students attending prom does not only weaken the appeal of the night for seniors, but also for the very underclassmen who will have attended prom for the second or third time by the time they are in their final year of high school. If you have already experienced prom as a freshman, sophomore or junior, then you do not have as much to look forward to once you become a senior. You have already gone through dress shopping, tuxedo fittings, corsage ordering and the all-essential last minute hair emergencies. Thus, prom becomes just another school dance for future seniors as well.

Underclassmen need to stop jumping ahead to senior prom the same way they do lunch lines. Prom is a time for seniors to celebrate with their fellow graduating classmates, not the entire school, as it ruins the significance of the night. As much as I love my underclass friends, those in charge of running prom must uphold the status of senior prom.

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