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July 22, 2014 / 24 Tammuz, 5774
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Connections Built By Disconnections

Twenties-121313

“Beep, beep, beep!” screeches the alarm clock on Monday morning. That evil object dares to disturb me during my precious sleep? Maybe I was right in the middle of slaying a dragon or being awarded the Noble Peace Prize, but does the clock care about those things? Does that clock care that it is stopping me from being able to have that one-second of glory, to bask in that one moment of overwhelming joy? No, it obviously does not. Otherwise, it would not have shrieked and interrupted me just before I was to give my valedictorian address or right before I reached the apex of Mount Everest. It sits the whole night as I sleep tranquilly in my cozy bed, plotting and planning when it would be best to break the serene atmosphere of quietness, and cause my dreams to fade away.

I try to move deeper under my blanket to block out that horrible sound signaling that my wonderful sleep has come to an end and I must get up and not only prepare for a new day, but a new week filled with tests and homework. Unfortunately this tactic is unsuccessful as I can still hear the clock continuing to beep relentlessly. I peek out from under my blanket to take a quick glance out of the window; pouring rain and trees swaying in the swift winds meet my eyes. This sight just fortifies my desire to remain hidden beneath the covers, to continue to be embraced by its warmth. My conscience, however, convinces me that it is time to surrender to the alarm clock. I must release my weapon (my blanket), step up to the alarm clock and call a truce by shutting it off. This war has to come to an end. I need to realize that the clock is just here to assist me in getting to school on time and to help me begin my day without the stress of having to rush to get all of my things together and catch the bus.

I hit the button on the clock; silence and serenity is restored. The clock and I both know though that the war is not really over, because tomorrow morning we will continue right where we left off. My bed will once again beckon me to remain in its comfort and warmth, but eventually, reality will break through and I will get up and start my day. Truthfully there is no end to this war, but we do agree to a ceasefire on Shabbos.

I wash neigel vasser, quickly slip on my black pleated skirt, blue button-down shirt, and black sweater. I walk down the hall to go brush my teeth and a locked door greets me. I knock once and there is no reply. I knock again, still no answer. By the third time I am beginning to lose patience and my soft knocks slowly shift to loud rapping on the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” says my sister behind the door. I try to be understanding, but based on past experiences I know what her “in a minute” can sometimes mean.  Instead of just standing next to the door accomplishing nothing, I dash down the stairs and head to the kitchen to make a sandwich for lunch.

After I finally manage to brush my teeth, I am about to pull out a bowl and have some cereal when my eyes travel to the large digital clock hanging on the wall. The big bold digits proudly announce that it is 7:45 and if I do not act quickly my bus is going to leave without me. I hastily fill a plastic baggie with some cereal, grab my school bag and run out the door. Luckily the bus driver is sympathetic enough to wait for me, so I run as fast as a cat does when it is trying to catch a mouse, and when I finally hop on and take a seat I am a little out of breath.

About the Author: Malka B. Kirsh is in 10th grade at Bais Yaakov of Ramapo


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One Response to “Connections Built By Disconnections”

  1. Keep doing what you're doing and you'll find yourself accepting the Nobel prize without that annoying buzz disturbing the moment. At first, I thought the author was a lot older before I realized how many of us started the struggle against the alarm clock around the same time. My alarm never stopped me from achieving a great things though…I guess even in my dreams, I'm an under-achiever.

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Twenties-121313

I look into the flickering flames of the Shabbos candles and I am thankful for the warmth and light that emanates from them and illuminates our home.

The tear is rolling down my cheek. It lands atop my lips. I lick my lips to remove the dryness and the saltiness soaks into my tongue. I take a long deep breath and begin to think. Why? How could she do that to me? We’re best friends. We’ve known each other practically since we were born. How could she go and do such a horrible thing?

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