Max Fang

Tell me, why
Are your lips stuck shut with glue?
Are you mute?
Why do you not speak?
As the sky burns red in California
And black blood runs through the street
Why are you shooed?
From your couch, from your soft bed
You can speak for two
You can speak for a few
But you do not.
You are as silent as a lamb
Even as the fire burns at your door
It is on you.

Poetry

Silence

Sofia Mesh

I've grown a lot in the past few years, but none of that would have happened had I stayed as silent as I had been for most of my life.

My grandmother means well, and I know that; I've always known that.

She has taken care of me and my siblings since we were babies. Before quarantine, she would commute every day from New Jersey to Manhattan to clean our apartment and accompany us. And though she loves me and my siblings equally, she and I have always had a special connection. She tells me everything, from our family drama to her childhood stories, and that's how I've learned all about her. Her stories are fairly consistent, not necessarily in their context, but in their themes, those being her respect, generosity, and kindness for others, but also her guilt, shame for all the things she regrets doing, or how she could have been better. As a little girl hearing these stories, I internalized most of what she told me, which meant being kind to others while not allowing myself any of that kindness. 

Growing up, I always felt big. I was the tallest in my class from kindergarten to third grade, and I was overweight until high school. I felt like I took up a lot of space. I was not fond of that feeling at all, so I tried to minimize myself as much as possible using the unsolicited advice I had constantly received from my grandmother. The words that came to mind were, "Don't smile with your teeth," "Never wear any shoes with a platform," "Only wear black and baggy clothes." This may have helped reduce my anxiety around my physical appearance, but I still felt I took up too much space. When there was no longer anything left that I could adjust about my outer self, I started to change my behavior. I was always a quiet kid, but I went even further into my shell, no longer talking in class at all and being less social with my friends. I found comfort in silence; it was safe, no one could judge my contributions because there weren't any to judge, and best of all, I couldn't judge myself for anything I said (I tend to be my harshest critic). 

This silence protected me from the shame I felt from speaking, but what I failed to recognize was that it also gave me more time to think and analyze every other thing I thought I was doing wrong. I became even more hyper-focused on what I looked like, my grades, if I was a good enough friend. In the quiet, I lost touch with my reality. I got caught in my judgments, unable to escape them, and it felt like every day I was adding to an ever-growing list of things I disliked about myself. 

My self-consciousness reached its height at the beginning of my high school career. My new school was a lot tougher, and I couldn't keep flying under the radar in class because my grades were suffering. It was also up to me to make new friends, so I had to try and be a little outgoing. I did speak up a bit, but I couldn't push myself to change drastically. My grades went up but not as much as I wanted them to, and I made a few friends but wasn't close with them because I didn't make much effort. I felt a bit defeated and overwhelmed in my new educational environment. I turned to my outer appearance, something I had been struggling with my whole life, as a means to control my life. 

That year I struggled a lot, and although I spoke up a bit in school, silence took over my life at home. I was no longer interested in talking to my siblings or parents. At a time when I needed to confide in my family the most and reach out for help, I couldn't. 

It wasn't until my sophomore year that I finally felt like I needed to talk to someone before completely losing control of my thoughts and emotions. In taking that first step of opening up to my parents, I was able to work with a counselor who has helped me work through my self-esteem issues and get to the root of my belief systems and why I think this way. I've grown a lot in the past few years, but none of that would have happened had I stayed as silent as I had been for most of my life. I spoke up and was able to help my mental health, so I felt encouraged to be more outgoing in all aspects of my life. I became less afraid to take up space and talk in classroom settings and social ones. I'm so happy I took time and put effort into my friendships, because they have also helped my mental health so much and have been the highlights of my days.

When I do have periods when I am at home alone, not talking to anybody and feeling a bit isolated, I sometimes revert to my old habits of over-analyzing my life and myself. I have to remind myself that I am no longer going to use silence as an excuse to degrade myself, and instead have to turn my negative catastrophic thoughts into more neutral ones, ones based in reality. 

I love my grandmother a whole lot, but in these years of self-reflection, I've had to come to terms with the fact that one of my favorite people has hurt my relationship with myself. She still tells me to wear black, not ever put on heels, and not smile with my teeth, but I now know it's because she's trying to protect me from other people's judgment, the judgment that she surely received when she was younger. I've become more assertive, less harsh with myself, more outgoing, louder, and I can definitely handle her comments, but they make me sad for her because I can see how poor her own self-image is. I just wish that I could help her forgive herself and respect herself like I have learned to do. 

In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Sofia Mesh shares how silencing and minimizing herself has impacted her self-esteem, self-image, and social life. 

My Grandmother and I: What Is the Effect of Silence?

Fizza Raza

The pregnant pause between sentences, a two-beat delay in a response, the deafening silence in a horror scene of a film: silence has often been used to accentuate and dramatize visual art.

“Ma” (a term in Japanese music) suggests that a performer must master the space in between sounds. In a similar vein, Michael David Rosenberg, or Passenger as he’s more commonly known, sings, “All I need's a whisper in a world that only shouts.” 

These phrases allude to an important, and often overlooked, aspect of music and art: silence. As Corinna da Fonseca-Wollheim writes in her article for the New York Times, human beings are wired to recognize “breaks in the flow of human communication and 'the pregnant pause' between sentences." From what she describes as "musical silence" to the deafening silence in a horror scene of a film, silence has often been used to accentuate and dramatize visual art. 

Cinematic masterpieces such as No Country for Old Men employ complete silence as their technique. As Jourdan Aldredge writes for Premium Beat, the lack of non-diegetic sound (sound that does not take place within the frame, such as narration) "allows for more realness" within the film sequences as onlookers linger with each "echo throughout the scene or film." As the main character strikes up a conversation with the owner of a gas station to determine whether he is a threat, the deliberate prolonging of the protagonist’s words and absence of sound effects imbues this simple conversation with meaning, a clear demonstration of the power of silence.

In fact, examining the history of cinema reveals an inextricable link between filmmaking and the absence of sound: silent films. One of the greatest comic artists and figures in motion-picture history, Charlie Chaplin, rose to fame during the silent film era. Without spoken dialogue and background music, actors like Chaplin during this time relied solely on body language and facial expressions to tell a story. Slapstick comedy and over-the-top movements became common due to their visual nature. Today, silent films are lauded for being masterpieces of storytelling without sound, the most common means of expression today. 

While the role of silence in filmmaking seems intuitive, it has played an equal, if not larger role, within other forms of art. 

On writing, Sue Goyette, whose work was shortlisted for the Griffin poetry prize in 2014 said, "When it comes to writing, it’s a masterful thing to not spell everything out for the reader. The job of a writer is to take something ordinary and bring it into a state of grace. Adding silence to your writing does just this because the space you leave creates something bigger. A story without silence has no space or depth, nowhere for the reader to enter and create meaning." Much of the appeal of writing and art in general can be owed to its subjectivity. The ability of a reader to interpret the story and recognize or grasp what is alluded to creates both a sense of achievement and relatability, as though the written words are being spoken directly to them. This can only be achieved through deliberate gaps in the storyline, indirect phrases, or the withholding of information. 

In songwriting, too, silence has a big role to play. Baroque music, which focused on layered melodies and is considered heavily ornamental, defined the Renaissance period. Rests and breaks between the music were used to exaggerate the dramatic and loud sound of the orchestra. In the prologue of Monterverdi’s L'Orfeo, the allegorical character La Musica’s power is highlighted as Monteverdi "brings the music to a complete standstill," writes Fonseca-Williams. He does so in order to bring the focus of the audience’s ears to sounds, “which he then takes away so that attention turns in on itself, onto the very process of listening."

Beethoven also mastered the explosive silence in his compositions. His specific technique was to build up pace and pitch in his music, leading his listeners to believe a final “drop” was coming. Instead of a drop or resolution via a pinnacle of pitch and sound, came silence. His “Eroica” symphony displayed this perhaps the most elegantly. Grosvenor Cooper and Leonard Meyer, musicologists, call this, “The loudest silence in musical literature.” This silence shocks the listener, who subconsciously predicted another tone of music that was in line with the regular meter or pattern set up. Instead, they get an absence.

Silence has played a great role in art and music, both in its creation and in exemplifying its storytelling abilities. However, is silence more important than sound, or other creative tools, when it comes to art or music? The pauses in between sentences, or the silence before the “drop,” only serves to amplify the sound yet to come, be that the sentence after the pause, or the music following the drop. Thus, instead of replacing it completely, silence accentuates the already existing foundation of sound. 

Aldredge, J. (2017, August). Premium Beat. Retrieved from https://www.premiumbeat.com/blog/importance-silence-filmmaking-projects/

Corporation, V. C. (n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.vicaps.com/blog/history-of-silent-movies-and-subtitles/

Fonseca-Wollheim, C. d. (2019, October). The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/02/arts/music/silence-classical-music.html

Steeves, J. M. (n.d.). The Importance of silence in art. Retrieved from https://janicemasonsteevesartwork.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-importance-of-silence-in-art.html

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Fizza Raza explores the role of silence in art and music.

Silence: The Loudest Sound

Abraham Weitzman

If you want to have a conversation, there needs to be space for each person to communicate their ideas and feelings. 

Without that room, conversations become lectures or a cacophony of dominant voices. For a true exchange to occur, silence is required. The voices of the vulnerable must be heard. It is also necessary to have quiet to hear your own thoughts without distractions. We all need room to experiment with ideas, trying out theories in the safe space of our minds.

I am actually always silent with the exception of an occasional vocalization and rhythmic computer clicks. As a nonverbal person using assistive technology, my communication is slower than the speed of most conversations. I need my friends and family to be quiet sometimes so I can be part of the discussion. This is not easy for them. Normally my house is full of people, talking over each other and laughing raucously. Sometimes my mom reminds people to wait for my answer, while I write with my six switch array. My siblings are used to the pattern of pauses, but not everyone understands how important it is for me.

Silence requires patience and restraint. You need to put the needs of someone else before your own. The rewards have no bounds. Listening without preparing to interrupt saves mental energy for thinking deeply about what you are hearing. It demands that you purposefully focus your mind on the other person, even setting aside opinions and judgments that may spontaneously form, not just listening to the words they are saying but their tone, rhythm, and pitch. In this way you can hear what they feel. Understanding feelings gives context to ideas.

When my sister speaks to me, I try to listen to more than her statements. I want to know how she feels and what is important to her. My silence gives her room to express ideas without fear of correction. I give her room to think out loud. She is passionate about Norse mythology.  She tells me stories about Odin, Hel, Loki, and Freya, connecting the myths with our world. Her philosophy is synthesized, and I learn about her ideas. My silence is productive.

The "uncomfortable silence" often prompts people to speak, even when they have nothing to say. The need to "fill the air" derives from avoiding feelings in favor of factoids or gossip.  The phrases, "Did you see?" or "Did you hear?" rarely start a meaningful conversation. I prefer to sit with my thoughts and observe the world around me. When I am not communicating, I can attune myself to the environment I am in, whether I am in the forest or on the street. 

One of my favorite places is the view of the Hudson River from Olana. Olana was the home of a famous painter from the Hudson River School, Frederic Church. He began as a painter and he designed the landscape at Olana in the same way he created paintings. When I am there overlooking the Hudson Valley, with the Catskills beyond, I am right where he stood years ago. It is possible, if no one is speaking, to fully immerse myself and imagine Mr. Church is next to me. The lack of sounds, other than buzzing insects, facilitates a transcendence that would be otherwise impossible.

The crowd in Times Square has a different kind of buzzing. It is full of people rushing to work and tourists from all over the world admiring the center of the universe. There is a vibration to the atmosphere that you can feel best by being still and taking it all in. The police on horses, drummer at his five gallon bucket, women dressed as Minnie Mouse become a post-modern symphony, occupying a shared unconscious of the silent observer.

Silence is an emptiness, a space, an opening that leaves room for other voices. It may be room for introverts to work up the courage to address the group. It can give people an opportunity to address their oppressor and demand justice. Potential allies can find common ground through listening. In being quiet ourselves, we can hear. 

People of color must have a safe space and time dedicated to them in predominantly white schools. I would not know that by talking. I learned that by being quiet. My school has an organization, the Diverse Network of Action (DNA), that meets about a variety of issues from financial literacy to the murder of George Floyd. Our leaders are Black and Latinx. By making the leadership non-white, the students have role models for expressing feelings and ideas. When we meet, we use one mic. This means one person talking without interruption. We know they have completed their thoughts when there is silence. This has meant my friends have a chance to recount their life experiences and explain how that impacts their needs. I know more in listening until the silence.

Silence is a gift to ourselves and those around us. During times of silence, we can pay attention to our surroundings, seeing the landscape and feeling the wind. We can think deeply without distraction, since speech uses resources we can reallocate to other mental activities. We can listen closely to people we care about and those we want to know better. In silence we find independence and community.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Abraham Weitzman shares the beauty of silence, listening, and true understanding.

Silence Is a Gift

Emily Fan

What would it be like if I was isolated from all others for a short period of time? 

Silence, as a noun, means the complete absence of sound. Thinking back, I have rarely been put into silence. 

As social animals, we are always surrounded by people, whether they are our family, friends, or maybe even someone over the internet. And this made me wonder: What would it be like if I was isolated from all others for a short period of time? What would I do? Would I feel calm, bored, or recharged?

In year nine, I undertook a unique program in the Victorian High Country, 200 kilometers away from Melbourne. In the bush with kangaroos and eucalyptus shrubs, I studied and lived with 11 other young, energetic girls, and silence was never the theme of our house. For that reason, the 72-hour “solo camp” at the end of the year became an even more memorable and outstanding event from my already eventful year. 

Sometimes, I feel challenged by the absence of sound and company. The sun was going down as I arrived at the campsite, so I decided to put up the tent before it got dark. The poles weren’t quite even, the pegs weren't going into the ground, and the tent bag blew away. I laid on the damp grass, deflated, and roared, “Why is this not working?,” but no one could hear me. That moment, I missed the “yeah” we always had when the last corner of the fly was pitched. "Misfortunes never come alone.” I missed the last ray of sunlight to change the battery for my head torch; setting up the campsite without the help of my community was difficult and time consuming. Sounds of the spring flipping in the battery bay echoed in the tent as I kept getting the charges of the batteries mixed up in the dark and had to take them out multiple times. 

I did not enjoy the first five hours of this silence, at all. My voice was helpless, the goodnights from my housemates were gone, and the music that prompted me to sleep every night was not there; iPods and all other technological devices were banned from this camp. Everything was weird and unfamiliar; the sense of insecurity started to disturb me more and more. I began to count down how many hours away I was from reaching the end of this challenge, but it seemed infinite, just like the “Never-ending” (a long, curvy, and steep track, which is my nightmare to climb at the end of the camp's running sessions). In the sleeping bag, all I had as company was the uproarious wind and the heavy grunts of the nearby deer. 

My first morning began with workouts, followed by some apple and cereal for breakfast. People always say, “Own the morning, own the day,” and that was the first time I felt it. I owned the day. I did not have to get to a certain class as the bell rang; I could do whatever I wanted at my own pace, I could even take a nap in the afternoon under the tree. I was glad that I chose to be in this state of extremity, so I had a chance to write special notes to the supervising staff, instead of verbally talking to them. One of the tasks that I was required to do was to write a gratitude letter to an adult on campus, and I ended up writing a few: one to my house tutor, one to my "fit-for-life" teacher (in year nine our physical education classes are called "fit-for-life," to encourage us to develop lifelong activity habits), and one for the outdoor program staff. I used this downtime to flash back and reflect on the lessons, activities, and even meals that I had throughout the year, as well as the friend who held my hand to cross the finish line of a run when rain was bucketing, the ice cream the kitchen staff prepared for us in the boiling summer days; all these little moments were worth appreciating. My stress was released as my pen drew upon the paper. Expressing my feelings and thoughts through letters when I was alone, knowing someone would receive it later to share this moment, provoked hope in me. Through this I was able to let everything out of my mind, and establish an invisible but strong connection with my surroundings. In the 25th hour of silence, I found myself refreshed and in harmony with nature and stillness.

Three hours before the end of the silence, I dried and packed up my tent early, waiting for my friends to come and pick me up. In these last few moments, before the debriefing session, I decorated my letters and diary with leaves, made a sculpture out of branches, and watched ants take my cereal scraps home. I had never realized the world around me could be so creative and captivating, and the time I spent by myself was incredibly thought-provoking. In the silence, I was able to take a break from the outside world and look into myself. However, I was also very excited to hear the stories that my friends “couldn’t wait to tell” in the reflection session — I had not heard anyone talking for almost three days! Later on, I was told a hilarious story about my friend accidentally putting her tent above a wombat hole and how she got tossed up at midnight. Their hugs and laughter concluded this experience of the “solo camp” in the most joyful and meaningful way.

After the 72 hours I spent alone, I strive to find balance between sound and silence in life. I recognize the importance of one’s ability to adapt to and appreciate silence. I have developed a meditation routine to clear my mind and reflect on recent events. Having time to myself does not only help me to relax, but also presents me a chance to explore, create, and develop appreciation for the support and company I receive from others. Moreover, this experience has encouraged me to take on more upcoming challenges, as I understand that my strength to overcome anxieties and difficulties can go far beyond what I am conscious of. I believe this positive mindset will support me in my journeys down the track.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments essay, teen writer Emily Fan explores how camping alone taught her to appreciate silence and solitude.

Seventy-Two Hour Silence

Raavee Tripathi

Forty-five minutes in an anechoic chamber, where sound levels are in negative decibels, is said to be enough to drive anyone crazy. 

An anechoic chamber is a room designed to absorb reflections of sound — if a jet were taking off right outside you would hear little more than a whisper.  In the absence of background noise, you become the sound, as you begin to hear the workings of your body. 

In the entirety of the film All Is Lost, the only character speaks about 50 words. Yet the film is not quiet, as much as it is silent. While the lack of dialogue stands out starkly in the beginning, the background noise — the creaking of the boat, the swishing of the sails, the endless lapping of the ocean — becomes the sound. 

All Is Lost (2013) is a survival drama about a man, the sea, and, for a bit, his yacht. Starring Robert Redford as the only cast member, it is writer-director J. C. Chandor’s foray into creating a purely cinematic experience. The film picked up various nominations and awards, including Best Actor, Best Sound Editing, and Best Original Score.  

It begins with a voiceover from Redford’s character (dubbed “Our Man”), who pens an apology letter to an unknown recipient, accompanied with panning shots of the vast, calm sea.  

The film then jumps eight days backwards. Our Man awakens to find that his yacht has collided with a shipping container, leaving a large hole in the side of the boat. Our Man sloshes through the knee-deep water in his cramped quarters and manages to cover the hole with a makeshift waterproof layer. Yet he finds that this is just the beginning of his troubles, and the film follows him as he deals with a series of debilitating mishaps, all while coming to terms with his mortality. 

The film is a testament to Chandor's dedication to keeping the film depthless, but the stunning use of formal techniques, as well as thematic content, leaves the viewer gasping for air. "[Chandor] has taken away the filters and barriers of dialogue, special effects, what have you. [The film] is a purely cinematic experience," says Redford of the daring movie. 

Cinematographically, the goal was to bring the viewer as close as possible to what Our Man is experiencing. So, the shots are very close to Redford, and the movement of the camera creates the feeling that the viewer is present on the boat, but never acknowledged. Additionally, shots contrast between cramped, dark quarters and those of the endless ocean, never allowing you to get comfortable as you feel claustrophobic, and then helpless and insignificant.

The critically acclaimed score is a haunting melody that echoes sounds heard at sea — foghorns, wind, and the water. Alex Ebert, the composer, said, "This project was a dream — an open space to play in but also space to listen to the elements. Wind, water, rain, sun, are the story's other characters to me. I knew I had quite a task ahead of me: to at once allow the elements to sing and to give Redford a voice with which to, once in a while, respond."

Robert Redford gives a stellar performance, and it is difficult to envision another actor in his place. The movie showcases Redford's ability to hold the screen for 100 minutes, with no acting support, as the only other cast members are the boat, the sea, and the sky. Redford masterfully portrays the progression of his character — Our Man goes from a man blissfully sailing at sea, one who has perhaps prepared for disasters but never expects to face them, to one who has lost everything and come to terms with his mortality and approaching death. Redford’s acting is most striking in the bleakest moments, when the character struggles to come to terms with his situation, instead focusing on surviving the next hour or day. He portrays bleakness, hopelessness, and the survival instinct solely with his face and body; his acting is heightened by the background sounds. His age also lends immense meaning to the storyline of a man on the edge of mortality, refusing to give up. 

The screenplay of the film is just 31 pages long, mostly full of prose descriptions. There isn’t much plot in the film — the character fights for survival when faced with a series of worsening mishaps — but the film engages the viewer completely, with the entrancing sound and battle for survival between an old man and the sea. Our Man lacks any backstory, but the viewer knows that he has some attachments to people, which is all of the dimension the character gets. This creative decision allows the viewer to experience the events with Our Man, in the present, allowing you to feel the fear, the pain, and most importantly, the overwhelming need to survive and be safe.

The most striking feature of the film is the silence. The lack of dialogue, coupled with the exaggerated sounds of the boat, the sea, and the wind, make this movie an experience. The little bits of dialogue during the film ( "This is an SOS call for Virginia Jean. Over.") stand out starkly against the noise of the elements, and make those calls for help much more hard-hitting. I watched the entire film at the edge of my seat, nervously trying to anticipate what Our Man would have to go through next. Redford’s character’s emotions were projected onto mine, and I experienced the fear, the determination, the choking desperation, the sudden meeting with mortality, and the hopelessness of the situation along with the protagonist. 

Additionally, the silence contributes to the rawness of the situation, bringing out the most deeply rooted human instinct: survival. Chandor aims to make viewers think, and experience: How do we live when death is palpable? Just like thoughts come into our minds when we stand in the balcony at night, with no sounds except the winds and the distant honking of vehicles, silence in the movie provides that space for the viewer to introspect. "The goal of the film is a little bit of an emotional litmus test. Whatever you’re thinking at that moment teaches you about your view toward all these big issues that I’m talking about," says Chandor. Boedekker and his team’s masterful sound editing, which refers to the collection of various audio clips and their refinement, earned the movie an Oscar nomination for sound editing. Throughout the film, natural sounds are layered and greatly enhanced, to produce audio which is a powerful narrative force in the movie. 

I give this movie a rating of 4.5 out of 5. The only drawback to the movie is the technical sailing mistakes, some of which can be made out by someone with little sailing knowledge. I watched the movie at full volume, with headphones on, and I recommend that everyone (above 13) watch it similarly. The experience of hearing silence becoming sound and sound becoming silence is unforgettable, and the movie will simply take your breath away. 

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Raavee Tripathi gives her take on the movie All Is Lost.

The Quiet and the Storm

Pahal Bhasin

I was eight when I breathed in my first poem. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: 

I was just blown away with the beautiful use of language. I admit, in the beginning, I struggled with vocabulary and style, but with time, I understood fragments and found the process of decoding their meaning almost addictive. Eventually, I started penning my own thoughts.

And through that experience, I learned how important a single thought can be. So, I made an app to encourage other people to read or write poetry. This app provides a platform where you can type and store your thoughts safely.

An inspiring tutor provided me the encouragement and guidance to read and discuss great poets like Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth, Petrarch, Judy Grahn, and Warsan Shire. Whether reading about nature, feminism, or mythology, I get ideas for topics and learn literary devices to better express myself (e.g. metaphors, personification, enjambment).

I’ve spent five years since using poetry to capture my life journey
When my mom turned 40, I wrote poetry to share my love for her.
When my little sister was born, I wrote to celebrate the arrival of an angel.
When the sight of a kingfisher diving into water mesmerized me, I expressed it in a poem. 
When Indian and Pakistani soldiers were engaged in a proxy-war, I wrote to promote peace.

Several of my own poems have been published in KidSpirit and other publications. I’ve also participated in many discussions to critique poems and essays. Last year, my poems (and paintings) were featured at a solo exhibition, “For the Love of Nature and Peace.”

Writing poetry converts my emotions into something with which others can connect. Good poetry can bridge spaces between people, even enemies. To me, poetry is one of the best ways to understand each other and push humanity further.

Here is one of my poems about the theme of fulfillment: 

What is fulfillment? Ever asked yourself,
Does happiness define fulfillment?
Or is it the game of money?
We humans are miles away from fulfillment,
We are running toward money,
And day by day we keep forgetting about joy,
Joy is all around us.
We just have to keep our heads up and see,
Money is something that won’t give us satisfaction,
Ever,
Because the want for money is limitless.
But once you start looking for happiness,
Under the rocks,
Over the clouds,
Between the trees,
You will find the satisfaction you desire.
Fulfillment is leaving the game of money,
And discovering the joy of life.

Before writing this poem, I had to understand what fulfillment meant to me. Was it just the satisfaction of completing all my homework, or was it much more than that? I looked outside the window and gazed into the deep blue sky. I wondered and wrote whatever I thought of. I realized fulfillment is the little sense of joy you feel every day. To me, it’s something that is hidden in nature, and it can only be found when you aim to explore nature and find happiness.

I combined my love for poetry with my passion for computer science when I decided to develop an app called The Power of Poetry. The reason I wanted to make this app was that I tend to forget my ideas that I have while wallowing, in class, while having lunch. The app allows one an opportunity to type down their thoughts wherever and whenever they want. This app is very “portable,” and you can store your thoughts in a safe place. 

Some features of my app include the login/signup page, inspiring ink, activity log, and thought tracker.  Inspiring ink is a place where you can read others’ poems and get inspired to write your own. A place where you can post your poems and inspire different people, too. And readers can appreciate and give you feedback on that poem through comments. The activity log helps you track the number of thoughts you have written and poems you have read. It has an interesting graphic, too! And finally, the thought tracker is a place where your thoughts can peacefully and safely rest. Like the activity log, the thought tracker also has a bright graphic, which hopes to put the user in a good mood. The app is in beta version and will be rolled out once all the features have been tested successfully. The target date to roll out the app is the last week of March 2021. 

I hope to keep writing poetry and express it through different media till I am eighty. I hope to keep encouraging people, just like I am doing today, through my app, where people can get inspired by reading poems and comments, and create their own poetry. Hopefully, by the time I am eighty, I will have contributed my bit to transforming the artistic world for a few others.

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Pahal Bhasin explains why she created a poetry app that helps others express themselves.

For the Love of Poetry

Miseng Kim

In silence,
Magic flows,
The way rivers flow into the ocean.

In silence,
Magic flows,
The way knowledge flows and becomes wisdom.

In silence,
Magic flows,
The way events flow and form history.

In silence,
Magic flows,
The way time flows and changes the world.

In silence,
Magic flows,
The way tears flow and regret things.

Magic flows in silence.
Time is not time without magic.
Words are not words without magic.
Saints are no longer saints without magic.

Magic flows in silence,
Bringing us things in the river of time.
And taking things away without our noticing.

Magic flows in silence,
Whispering to wise men 
Who listens with open minds:
“Cherish what you have.”

Magic flows in silence,
Magic flows among us.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Miseng Kim evokes the beauty of silence.

Magic Flows

Po-Ting (Duke) Lin

People simply disregard – 
Languidly lying on the couch,
Witlessly grabbing the remote control,
Staring at the screen of a heartless TV
That is depicting scenes of blood and thunder.
“Not my business,”
They truly believe
As they feign that they care
And remain on that same couch.
I call this: inaction.

People hide their emotions – 
Presenting a façade of everlasting optimism
On their indistinct faces.
Deep within their consciousness,
However,
Are buried emotions that cannot be evoked:
Anger. Fear. Sadness. Contempt. Shock. Guilt.
The list continues without an end
Since emotions are eternal in a living man,
And yet are still vulnerable to be fully articulated.
I call this: concealment.

Inaction and concealment,
Two words repeatedly utilized
As the synonyms for silence.
Silence,
An art that requires mastery,
A state of mind where one deeply contemplates
What he or she could have done in the past,
Or what he or she can do in the future,
And simply self-reflect,
As the world progresses
Towards harmony.
This is what I call: silence.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Po-Ting Lin explores the differences between inaction, concealment, and silence.

What Silence Is and Is Not

Iman Monnoo

Dark loves the silence, 
For she holds beauty in her palms. 

The Moon, her servant,  
Spinning gracefully on an empty stage,  
Tendons tightening into  
Points only dancers could hold.  
Time resides in her movements,  
Fluid and gentle, 
But like a young boy, 
Tripping over bumps and leaving 
Ripples in his skin.  

The stars, her maidens,  
Burn in her court,  
Allowing themselves to be watched 
In bewilderment,  
Now the muses of artists 
Who find divinity in the  
Sparkling of her eyes. 

Silence who drowns  
Out the wails  
Of spirits when spilt blood 
Is trampled into dirt fields. 
She watches it, 
The crimson flag held in solidarity  
With the violence of us men. 
Us beasts. 

Yet still, when we were 
Haunted by the phantoms of  
Our own sin, she offered us peace, 
Quieting the noises we created,  
And blessing us, for the briefest of moments, 
With a world hushed enough 
That we could breathe. 

Silence does not owe us her pity. 
But she is kind enough to offer it anyway. 

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Iman Monnoo brings to life a nocturnal silence among the moon and stars.

Kushan V. Mehta

Even though we all try to avoid it, boredom plays a bigger role in our lives than we think.

Boredom is a certain kind of cruel silence. A moment of inaction and quiet that is nerve-racking. The absence of stimuli. 

Even though we all try to avoid it, boredom plays a bigger role in our lives than we think. Take for example my being bored three years ago; on my couch with nothing to do, I suddenly had the idea to write about the feelings I was having at that moment. I wrote a short article on boredom, explaining what it meant to me. I went on to win a competition and an opportunity to contribute to KidSpirit. And here I am, a few years later,  writing an expository article on the same topic for that same magazine. 

For me, being bored is like being in a tank full of water with no way out. It is excruciating to feel that everyone around me has so much to do in their life and is achieving great things, but I’m over here not doing anything. It's not that I want to do nothing. It's just that when I’m bored, none of the options I have available, or can think of, actually intrigue me and pique my interest. I feel like precious time is being wasted. The fact that I want to stop being bored is what makes me try to find options I didn't know were available to me and use them to better spend my time. 

When I moved to India from the United States, I had a lot of free time on my hands. In the U.S. I used to practice Taekwondo, a form of martial arts, but there weren't any of those classes where I lived in India. This prompted me to find other skills that entertained me and helped me make better use of my time; that's how I found the guitar. Boredom led me to a skill that I am so passionate about now and have been able to stick with for six years. But boredom’s wonders aren't just limited to me.

What amazing things could result from someone being well . . . just bored? Turns out many. Warren Buffet, a world-renowned investor, billionaire, and philanthropist, says it was boredom that caused him to read a book called Security Analysis, a book that he claims changed the way he traded stocks. And we all know how that turned out. In fact, the Slinky, fireworks, and Post-it Notes were all invented when their respective creators were bored.

Even the coronavirus pandemic is an example of the wonders of boredom. Writing during quarantine has been a unique experience. I have way more time to ponder and dive deeper into the subjects I want to write about. I have used the extra time to widen my perspective on even this topic of boredom. For those who have had the luxury of their jobs and/or health not being affected, the pandemic has provided ample time to be bored. Billions of people have been inside of their homes, bored as they have never been before. For the first time, everyone in the world had nothing to do at the same time, and that took many of us on pretty amazing journeys. A whole host of “quarantine creations,” like DIY at-home skating rinks, makeshift swimming pools, and insane obstacle courses for animals, came up during this time. The central concept of boredom, a lack of tasks that interest you, drives you to forage for new things to do, new ideas to share, and new opportunities to discover. Boredom allows us to think out of the box and try out something that we otherwise never would. While boredom is an unpleasant feeling that we do all in our power to get rid of, that desperation makes us do crazy things. And that's the real power of boredom. In a time when everyone is trying to be like the other and originality is being replaced with views, likes, and messages, it might just be exactly what we need. 

But that desperation might not always be great. Boredom is known to also be the number one cause for overeating, binge-watching, and being unproductive overall. It acts as a catalyst, a fuel that encourages us to watch that TV show when we know we have a deadline to adhere to or reach for that candy bar we know we don't need. The effects of boredom differ from person to person, because we all handle different situations differently. When I'm bored, I constantly feel the pressure to do something, be proactive, and make the most of my time. The feelings that invade our thoughts during times of boredom unconsciously lead our minds to a crossroads. We can become creative and use our time to do something constructive, or we can just lie in bed all day. So often it’s the latter. We need to stop wandering around aimlessly in boredom, and instead make use of it.

Thousands of years ago, humans always had to be alert so that a predator didn’t gobble them up or they didn’t die of hunger. There was a constant need to find food and to keep an eye on their surroundings. Even now, people with lower than average incomes always have to keep thinking of a new way to earn money, a new way to get food so that they know that they and their families will survive to the next day.  Some of us are lucky enough to have time on our hands, when we don’t have anything to do and we can say, “I have all this time and nothing to do.” We need to understand the value of this.

No matter how you look at it, boredom has been and will continue to be an essential part of our lives. It’s up to us to respond, and to recognize our prerogative to take advantage of it. That decision might just change our lives forever. As a popular saying goes: if necessity is the mother of invention, then boredom is the father.

Buffett, Warren. Foreword to Security Analysis, 6th ed, by Benjamin Graham and David L. Dodd, xi-xii. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2009.

The Editors of Publications International, LTD. “9 Things Invented or Discovered By Accident.” How Stuff Works. https://science.howstuffworks.com/innovation/scientific-experiments/9-things-invented-or-discovered-by-accident.htm.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Kushan Mehta explains how boredom can lead to creativity and innovation.

The Wonders Of Boredom

Olga Phaedra Pouppis

If you go deep in the forest,
If you lay on the grass and feel it’s smell,
If you don’t see the sky above the leaves,
If you’re alone but not lonely,
You’ll hear it.

If you climb up the deadly cliff,
Where there is no life,
Where you don’t know if you’re dead or alive,
If you reach the edge of the cliff,
And glance at the sun,
You’ll hear it.

If you find a cave near the sea,
Where the walls smell like salt,
And the floor is full of seaweed,
If you don’t go to discover it,
But lean against the wall and look at the waves,
You’ll hear it.

If you escape reality,
If you forget yourself,
If you see places where no one has been,
Face the grass in the forest,
Sing with the wind on the edge of the cliff,
Hear the song of the waves standing in the cave,
If you close your eyes,
You’ll hear it.

You'll Hear It

Lucca Carlevarini

In A Quiet Place, a horror movie with blood, gore, and death, the world is forced to be silent. If humans do not obey, they will lose their lives. 

During the entire film, there is a fear of making any noise at all. The plot is about a family of five, with a baby on the way, living in a post-apocalyptic world full of monsters who kill anything that makes a decent amount of sound. The monsters themselves are larger than humans: scary, alien-like creatures who have a protective shell and only have ears and a mouth on their head. Plus, they are blind. The monsters can hear sounds from miles away. The monsters are only shown killing or searching for humans who have broken silence.

The story is about a family forced to make hard decisions and see people lose their lives because of the monsters. The movie's main characters are made up of a husband/father named Lee (John Krasinski), a pregnant wife/mother named Evelyn (Emily Blunt), a daughter Regan (Millicent Simmonds), who is deaf, and two sons, Marcus (Noah Jupe) and Beau (Cade Woodward). Throughout the entire film, the family deals with countless normal issues at home but also with horrible monsters living amongst them. One of the children is very young, about five or six years old; because of their environment, he can never cry or play with loud toys, like an average child his age. With a new baby on the way, the parents have to make elaborate preparations for a naturally loud infant incapable of being quiet when asked. What will happen when the parents leave their shelter for food and needed supplies with a newborn? A baby that is spontaneously noisy is very dangerous in their world.

A Quiet Place is a very enjoyable film. I would recommend it,  and give it  four out of five stars. I feel the movie is quite well-written. However, I felt it has a few disconnects in that the piece is quite cliche because of its predictability throughout. For example, before characters die, it becomes obvious, so you already know what will happen in the next scene. The writers could have added more suspense, but they ended up producing the movie in a way that made it obvious. This takes away from the scare factor. In addition, because all humans have to be quiet, when there is a sound, the viewer knows something bad will happen. 

I did, however, enjoy the way that the filmmakers use the family members' different perceptions of the audio; it is quite unique and interesting. For example, the oldest sibling is deaf, so when the viewer hears what she hears instead of the normal audio, the sound portrayed is white noise. It creates a very heavy effect, and it helps put the viewer in each character's shoes. It draws the audience in. Another example of this is when they change the lighting to be the same color as the water, dark red; it seems that the water is blood. It connects what is going on in the scene and has a more substantial effect.

A Quiet Place represents what it's like to be human with faults. Even though the family is living in a post-apocalyptic world, they still have the same family values and hardships that many families have today. For example, during the film, the oldest sister and the father fight because she doesn't feel he trusts and loves her as much as her brother. When the entire family is suffering from a loss, they all cope differently, and it takes a big event to reconnect afterward. Many people have had a hard time with loss, and on many occasions, family is the only thing we can turn to. Even when there is chaos, and everything is crumbling around Lee and Evelyn, they put headphones on and dance together romantically, slowly, and carefully so as not to make a sound. Moments like these are exactly what people need, just like you and me.

In A Quiet Place, humans are living with monsters that will kill if you make a sound. In current events, people have been fighting for their voices and a right to be heard, like the Black Lives Matter movement or the Me Too movement. People who want to suppress these voices are like the monsters. The monsters in A Quiet Place are controlling people and instilling fear, so everything, especially the humans, is silent.

A Quiet Place is a well-written, beautifully produced movie. It shows how hard it is for humans to be silent. It pulls on your heartstrings and is incredibly exciting, all while being almost completely silent. It shows our many hardships as humans today in a literal and stimulating way. The reason I gave this film a four-star rating is because I wasn't scared during the entire movie. However, you as the viewer may feel differently. Even though there were jump scares and suspense during the movie, the family-friendly aspects of the movie overshadowed the scary aspects. I do want to mention the animation of the monsters looks incredibly real and creepy. The producer and director definitely made the story as realistic and relatable as possible. I found the movie to be really entertaining, so I would recommend it. 

"I think silence is one of the failures of people today. When they see an injustice or intolerance, and they stay silent — that's the worst thing." -Anonymous

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Lucca Carlevarini gives her take on the movie A Quiet Place.

A Review of A Quiet Place

Keesha Joseph

If silence had a sound,
I’d say it’d be quite loud —
Like the ringing and the emptiness
of unspoken words of doubt.
It hovers above a restless mind,
and tortures the thoughts that hide.
It thickens the ambient atmosphere,
and causes quite the sigh.
It brings about an awkwardness
that trembles with our fears;
Along with misconceptions
that maybe never disappear.
It warns us of our dying desires,
and cradles all the failures
that circulate the grave of words that
have been left to rot and to expire.
All truths will be revealed
once you are at its mercy.
The key is to surrender,
unless you are unworthy.
This hurricane of nothingness
can deliver justice,
but be wary of the way it plays,
or you’ll fall victim as its prey.
If silence had a sound,
its entitlement would howl
at those who mistake its purpose
for a simple soothing circus.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Keesha Joseph explores the many meanings of silence.

Facets

J. Brent Bill

When we’re silent and still, we sink down into a quiet that lets us feel the stirrings in the deepest parts of our souls.

That’s one of my favorite quotes. It comes from an early-20th-century novel by Ring Lardner. Still, even though it’s old, it’s good advice for me. That’s because I’m not good at being quiet. People assume that I must have a genetic bent to being silent, since I’m a lifelong Quaker and silence is a hallmark of Friends' worship and witness.

I live in the land of sound, though, like you. And I like it. When I built my house, I wired it for music and movie dialogue. When I bought my latest car, it came with AM, FM, and satellite radio; a CD player; and a woman who tells me when it’s time to get my oil changed and other things.

Many of us Quakers are naturally noisy people. Worshipful silence, though, is the way we still our inner and outer noise and busyness long enough to really listen for the God who says . . . “Says what?” Well, that depends at least partly on us and what the Divine knows we need to hear. When we’re silent and still, we sink down into a quiet that lets us feel the stirrings in the deepest parts of our souls. Our inner ears open. Awareness comes to us as we center in silence. We are taught in the deepest, richest, most silent part of our souls as we listen and hear and become clear about how to move forward with our lives. 

Society teaches us that productive, useful people do not just sit there. Besides, there’s a million things to do. Mow the grass, do the laundry, study for an exam, do the work someone’s paying us to do, play solitaire on the computer, and on and on. “Don’t just sit there,” says the world around us, “do something.”

But silence that feeds our spirits says, “Don’t just do something, sit there.” 

To follow that urging, the first thing you’re going to have to do is give yourself permission to stop, sit down, be quiet. Remind yourself that all that stuff will be there when you return from silence. It’s not going anywhere. Well, that’s not completely true. Some of it does go away when you get quiet and listen. That’s because answers you’ve been searching for arrive in the silence. Answers you couldn’t hear in the noise.

I’ve often found that when I think I’m too busy to take time for silence, that’s just when I need it the most. That’s because I’m too busy. And when I take time for silence, even five or ten minutes, instead of having less time to get my busy work done, it feels as if I actually have more. I emerge from silence calmer and thinking more clearly than I did before. And ready to act out of that clearness and calmness rather than anxiety or pressure.

Then, I move through the next hours busy outwardly, but centered and silent inwardly. Speaking from experience, learning to do that does not happen overnight. Amazon Prime is not going to ship it via drone for same-day delivery. It comes only via practice. 

So, the next time you’re really swamped and the alligators are up to your neck, you can decide to go into full panic mode . . . or you can take a breath. A breath doesn’t keep the gators from circling nearer, but it creates space for solutions. Good solutions. So, take a breath.

2. If you are a spiritual person, invite God (or whatever name/word works for you) to reengage with you there.

3. Listen for that which runs deeps and sticks. That which satisfies.

Silence in the shape of your heart can become an active constant communion with the deepest part of your being.

Another thing I’ve found helpful in learning the way of inner stillness is to take what I call little Sabbaths of silence. A quiet time out. 

The first thing I do in one of those is to shut up. My friend Marta once gave me a custom-made pillow that says, “Stop Talking.” That’s advice I need — for me to turn the word tap off for a while. I re-center amid the hectic pace that is my life and reorient my soul a bit. I check what words I’m really going to need to say and those which I need to lay aside.

A second thing I do is disconnect electronically. I post a notice on Facebook and other social media (“I’m going to be quiet now. My soul needs it. Ta-ta”). I set the auto reply on my email programs (all three of them!) to say that I’m taking a “silence break” and will be back in touch soon. I put my computer to sleep, set down the iPad, and shut off the phone’s ringer.  I turn my chair toward the window or go for a walk outside. 

Yes, even then, I’m still swathed in sound. Internal and external. But slowly, as I strip away the sounds that I’ve added to my life, calming comes. Extraneous sounds, within and without, fade. My breathing deepens. I come more fully into a place of attention to the life I’ve been given — including my spiritual life. I return to my earlier tasks refreshed and renewed — with a new clarity of purpose and direction.  All because I took time for stillness.

When I was in college, I experienced that the daily practice of carrying silence with me amid the thousand clamoring voices that constantly surround me was important to both my spiritual and emotional health. It is a spiritual practice that revives and centers me even now. And so, I humbly offer this concept of soulful stillness to you. I invite you to listen to that within you that says “stop, breathe, listen.” 

In a KidSpirit PerSpectives article, writer and Quaker pastor J. Brent Bill shares the many gifts of silence and stillness.

Outward Noise; Inward Silence

Polina Usenko

All the seasons are special and great,
But for winter I cannot wait!
It's my favourite time of the year 
When everybody is honest and fair.

Christmastime changes people all around
When they pray and kneel down on the ground. 
They ask forgiveness of the Lord
With Him all humans feel the chord. 

The falling snow makes me cheer up
When I drink a hot tea cup 
Covered in a warm woolen blanket
With my closest friends having a little banquet.

Winter silence helps us rest
When all the family gathers for a feast:
We cook lots of dishes together 
And nobody cares about the weather. 

Let's all dance and follow the beat,
Not only drinks and everything to eat.
It's always fun to meet in the street 
Make snowmen and snowballs, isn't  it sweet?

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Polina Usenko brings to life the magic of winter. 

Winter Fun

Yingxin Liang

We shut our mouths, 
In this concrete jungle, 
the corners of eaves, 
birds at a loss, 
Not of the sky, nor the earth.  

We keep observing, 
the patter of feet, 
for generations, inhabiting,
house replaces home, 
Without landing, nor flocking.  

Five fingers are not enough, 
to hide tears, 
Fetching a nut, I heard,
"Robber!" — shouts from afar, 
I silence my answer, and also my heart.  

I kept shouting,
but silence,
it read my mind,
with utmost flapping of my wings,
half aggrieving, half longing.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Yingxin Liang pens an ode to those who drift quietly through life. 

Floaters

Adina Gerwin

On one of the first crisp fall mornings of seventh grade, as I walked into prayer at my Jewish Day School, I noticed strange leather boxes hanging off my friend's arm. 

I saw a teacher showing the boy how to put them on and remembered that they were tefillin or, in English, phylacteries. I will refer to them as tefillin as nobody that I have ever met, Jewish or not, has known what “phylacteries” means. Tefillin are black leather boxes containing Hebrew parchment scrolls. A set includes one for the head and one for the arm, each made up of a scroll, box, and strap. I had seen tefillin before, at synagogue, but had never seen a boy being asked to wear them at school. I knew this boy had just had his Bar Mitzvah, and that must have had something to do with it, but multiple girls had already had their Bat Mitzvahs and were never asked to wear tefillin. I was confused. Why are boys being forced to wear tefillin but girls are not? Isn't this school supposed to be egalitarian? On that particular morning, I did not say anything, but a deep question had formed.

I started doing research and began talking to different Rabbis about the history behind tefillin and why women at our school are allowed to wear them but never required to do so. What I found out is that the policies of making men wear tefillin stem from the Talmud, a book of Jewish law written between 200-600 CE — so roughly two millennia ago. In the Talmud, the Rabbis debated many different ritual prayer garments, including tefillin. The Rabbis agreed that men must wear tefillin during prayer, and women are exempted. Again I was confused: Why are the rules at my school the same as those decided in the Talmud? In that ancient society, equality and egalitarianism were not logical concepts that were taken seriously. Furthermore, in the period between 200 and 600 CE, gender roles were very pronounced and established. Judaism has evolved drastically over the past two millennia, so why are the policies at my school the same?

In Judaism today, there are three main denominations. Orthodox Jews are very observant and do not like altering any laws. Since, traditionally, women have never worn any ritual prayer garments, today, Orthodox women are not allowed to wear any prayer garments. In the Conservative movement, the official line is that Jewish law has changed and evolved; since the Romans destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem, animal sacrifices have ceased, and women can take on traditionally male prayer roles. Reform Jews focus on the more ethical parts of Judaism and are less concerned about any ritual obligations; they have eliminated all gender distinctions.

At my school, most kids come from the Reform and Conservative movements and are less observant, while there are very few Orthodox kids. Among the 75 students in seventh grade, I do not know a single kid who wears tefillin on the weekend or anytime outside of school. After figuring all this out, I decided to speak to the middle school Rabbi. When I told him that the policies being enforced do not reflect the level of observance that most kids uphold, he told me he did not care. Over the next few months, I kept meeting with him and trying to find a compromise. I suggested boys could only be required to wear tefillin a few times a week, or maybe have a few days without tefillin every two weeks. Whenever I tried to bring something up or point out the system's flaws, he would dismiss it and say that he was not interested in working on a policy change. There are moments in your life when you are forced to realize which values are most important and decide how far you are willing to go to stand up for what you believe in. After being dismissed and silenced for the third or fourth time, I realized how important equality is to me and that I needed to figure out a different way to get my point across.

I began to wear tefillin myself and encouraged other girls to do the same. I talked to the religious teachers and asked one of the female teachers to start wearing tefillin. I explained to her how outdated the laws were and how unequal this rule was. The tefillin rules put an annoying and ridiculous divide between the two genders. What does it mean when guys are forced into these uncomfortable leather-bound boxes as a symbol of devotion to God while girls are not made to do anything at all? It discourages girls from taking on mitzvot like wearing tefillin because it makes them a masculine thing; by requiring only boys to wear tefillin, the school assigns a gender to these mitzvot. To this day, the teacher is still wearing tefillin. I spoke with other kids in my grade and across the entire middle school about bringing awareness to these inequalities. Most girls did not care about the unfairness of this policy. They were delighted to benefit and felt like wearing tefillin was an entirely masculine thing they should never attempt. The boys did not like wearing tefillin but did not think anything could be done about it. I was angry and annoyed.

Every day that I wore and observed boys forced to wear uncomfortable leather straps was one that I saw tradition being weaponized into a practice that, for these boys, was taking away the essence of what religion is: something that enriches your life. The daily experience of witnessing one uncomfortable tradition driving boys to complain and hate their faith was painful. Ultimately, I refused to experience this. The pain and anger fueled me not to be silent and talk to the Rabbi repeatedly, meet with the administration, and just try to teach my peers the value of equality and how Jewish tradition is important and can be beautiful.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Adina Gerwin explains how protesting her Jewish day school's policy on tefillin helped her find her voice. 

Nobody Wears Tefillin on the Weekend

In an increasingly noisy world, KidSpirit writers and artists pause to reflect on the value of silence. When is it necessary? When is it harmful? How can we appreciate the beauty of a moment of stillness amid tumultuous times?

Silence

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