Author: WARREN ISRAEL

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

ENG 2150

December 15, 2023

Final

“Mom, do we really have to see him?” Hayden whined to his mother.

“As a matter of fact, yes we do” his mother fired back. 

As Hayden’s mother pushed her young teenage son into the small limestone colored Jerusalem apartment, an old man with thick black glasses, a black cashmere sweater, and a kippah stood up from his decrepit recliner. 

“Hayden, Irit, I’m so happy to see you!” Hayden’s grandfather exclaimed. 

“Abaleh, you look great!” Hayden’s mother said as she ran over to her father to give him a hug. “Hayden, don’t just stand there like a bum, give Saba a hug.”

Hayden walked over very begrudgingly, almost repulsed by the frail man. 

“Hananya, how have you been, my boy?” the old man said smiling, revealing his yellow teeth. 

“Fine grandpa, but I don’t know why you keep calling me Hananya, my name is Hayden,” the boy said, giving his grandfather the lightest hug. 

“Listen you two, I have to go to the store for dinner tonight. Why don’t you guys catch up?” Hayden’s mother exclaimed heading for the door. 

Hayden ran towards his mother, and whispered to her “Mom, please don’t leave me here. I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

“What’s wrong with Saba Moshe? You know, when you were a little boy, you used to love coming here to visit your grandparents.”

“I know, but it’s summer. I don’t wanna be stuck in a house with a barely breathing corpse. I wanna be back in Brooklyn with the boyz.”

“The boyz? You hang out with ‘the boyz’ everyday. Spend time with your family for one in your life. We’re only staying for a week, and we don’t know how much longer Saba has. Cheer him up.”

“Ok fine, but you owe me big time.” Hayden said with a smile on his face.

“I gave you life, if anything, you owe me.” Irit snapped back jovially. 

Hayden walked back over to his grandfather, and sat on the green, plastic covered couch next to the recliner.  

“Hananya, why don’t you get a haircut? You look like a piece of broccoli. Don’t you want to find a nice wife” Saba Moshe said. 

“Sure grandpa.” The boy replied, staring at the television playing some Hebrew show. 

“And why don’t you change your clothes? Do you have to wear all that baggy stuff? Dress like a gever (a man).”

“So I have to dress in an all black suit like you grandpa?” Hayden remarked. 

“Well, not exactly. But you’re going to become a Bar Mitzvah soon, so you should dress like one. Have you even started studying your portion?”

“No, I don’t know if I even want to have a Bar Mitzvah to be completely honest with you. Listen, I know you really and Grandma Leah really liked this stuff, but it’s not my thing.” Hayden told this grandfather. 

“Not your thing? Why not?” Saba Moshe said, turning to face his grandson out of mere confusion and curiosity. “We have a beautiful culture, with a beautiful language that perfectly reflects Jewish values.” 

“I don’t know, I never really connected with it personally, you know. I mean I get it. We almost got killed, we survived, let’s eat. How many times are we gonna repeat the same thing?” 

“So you think Judaism is boring?” the frail old man asked.

“Pretty much. Look, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but that’s how I feel.”

“How about this?” Saba Moshe proposed. “I’m going to make you appreciate Judaism.”

“Oh no!” Hayden said. “Listen grandpa, I’ve heard the same shit over and over again. I doubt anything you say is gonna change my mind man.”

“I’m going to teach you one fact about Judaism a day. And if by the time you become a  Bar Mitzvah, you still don’t like Judaism, you never have to see me again. You don’t even have to come back to Israel ever again if you don’t want to. I’ll tell Ima to leave you back in America. But, if by the time you become a Bar Mitzvah, you like Judaism and want to learn more, you have to live with me and attend Yeshivah.”

“So lemme get this straight,” Hayden asked. “If I don’t wanna be Jewish, I don’t have to come back here, but if I do, I have to live with you and go to Jew school?”

  “I think that’s very reasonable.” 

“You know what old man,” Hayden responded with his hand out. “You’ve got yourself a deal bro. But you gotta keep your end of the deal. Don’t be having me live here and shit if I don’t wanna, alright?”

“Sounds like a plan.” his grandfather agreed, shaking his grandson’s hand. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Hit me with your best shot.” Hayden said sardonically, shifting his body to face the wrinkled face of his mother’s father. 

“My dear boy, do you know why you have the name you do.” Saba Moshe asked.

“Hayden, I don’t know. I always just assumed my parents liked the name.” he answered. 

“No, to me, Hayden is no one. You, my boy, are named Hananya.” his grandfather said sharply, correcting him.

 “Oh yeah, right.” Hayden said, rolling his eyes. “You know in America, no one calls me that. Only you and Grandma Leah used to call me that.”

“Do you know why you’re named Hananya?” Saba Moshe said slowly getting up from his chair. 

“Wasn’t that your dad or something.” Hayden answered unsurely, as he watched his elderly grandfather shuffle to the other side of the room, with his ancient black fur slippers and wooden cane. “Where are you going?” he said as he watched his grandfather hobble to the bookshelf, and grab a large black and gold photo album. 

Saba Moshe, put the album in his armpit, adjusted his glasses, grabbed his cane, and slowly made his way back to the recliner. He fell back into his leather chair, snatched his kippah before it fell off his gray haired, slightly balding head. He then opened the book, and scrolled through the pictures until he landed on one, and turned it so Hayden could see. 

“That, boychik sheli, is your great grandfather, Hananya.” said Saba Moshe. “My beloved father.”

“I know. You and grandma Leah showed me photos of him a million times grandpa. What’s your point?” Hayden asked. 

“You are his namesake, you have his neshama. You have his soul.” Saba Moshe said, raising his voice. 

“His soul?” 

“Yes, his soul.”

“How”

The old man took a piece of paper and a pen from the coffee table, and started writing the word for soul in Hebrew. 

“Can you read what this says?” Saba Moshe asked. 

“Yeah,” Hayden replied. “It says neshama, soul.”

Hayden’s grandfather then covered the first and last letters with his hands, only revealing the two middle letters. 

“Do you know what this says?” the grandfather asked again.

“It says shem; name.” Hayden responded. 

“Very good.” Saba Moshe sarcastically told him. “Do you understand? Your name is in your soul. And by inheriting my father’s name, you’re inheriting his legacy and his soul.”

Hayden began to nod, still skeptical, but interged. 

“Not only are you carrying my father’s legacy, but you’re honoring all the Hananya’s in our family for thousands of years. Your neshama does not carry “Hayben” or whatever you want to call yourself. Your neshama says Hananya.” Saba Moshe said, slightly raising his voice as his intensity and passion increases. “Or look at this.” he said, grabbing at the white string hanging from his waist. “Do you know what this is called anymore?”

“Yeah, that’s tzitzit.” Hayden said, beginning to lose his dubious and demeaning tone. 

“Tzitzit comes from the ancient Hebrew word to blossom. This represents God telling us not only to blossom and grow as individuals, but to make sure the next generation blossoms.” 

“Huh, I never knew that.” Hayden said, starting to sound more fascinated. 

“See, so how can you say you think Judaism is boring if you don’t know anything about it?” His grandfather said, smiling at the boy. 

“You got me there old man. What else do you got for me?” Moshe’s grandson exclaimed. 

“Have you ever heard of Gematria?” Saba Moshe asked. 

“Just tell me already, you know I don’t.” Hayden said as they both laughed. 

“Gematria is the numeral value to Hebrew letters. Aleph is one, bet is 2, so on and so forth. So because of this, all Hebrew words have a numeral value. For example, Chai (life in Hebrew) has a numeral value of 18. That is why in Jewish events, people often give multiples of 18. Or this,” Saba Moshe says, grabbing his tzitzit once again. “Tzitzit has a numeral value of 613. There are 613 mitzvot or commandments that Jews must follow. This tzitzit reminds Jews that to blossom, they must follow the 613 mitzvot.”

“Wait, that’s actually pretty cool.” Hayden told his grandfather, surprised himself that those words came out of his mouth. “Are there any other words like that?” 

“Thousands.” The old man said with a smile on his face, exhilarated that he was able to captivate his young, seemingly disrespectful grandson.   

“Like what?” Hayden said. 

“Alright, do you know the word for wine?”

“That’s easy, yayin.”

“Yayin has the same numerical value as the word secret, sod. That is why the talmud teaches ‘nikhnas yayin, yitze sod’ ‘when wine comes in, secrets come out.’”

Saba Moshe and Hayden continued discussing Gematria all night until Hayden’s mother returned home. As Irit walked in the door, she was slightly bewildered, observing her elderly father and teenage son in the midst of a deep, philosophical conversation. 

“Well, well, well, what’s going on here?”She asked, putting her grocery bags on the table. 

“Don’t worry about it mom. We’re talking about Hebrew.” Hayden snapped at his mother, not even glaring away from his grandfather’s direction. 

“Another interesting word is Tzedakah, charity.” Saba Moshe resumed. “In Hebrew, if you say ‘atah tzadek’ that means ‘you’re right.’ Or if you call someone tzedek, you’re calling someone righteous. So, tzedakah, charity, is a righteous thing to do, giving charity is seen as a righteous act. Look at the word for dog, kelev. If you break it up, ke means like and lev means heart. Therefore, kelev means like a heart, representing man’s deep and special connection we have with dogs.”

Saba Moshe and Hayden spent the rest of his stay examining and exploring the many different facets of the Hebrew language and Jewish culture. When the week’s visit concluded, as Hayden was packing his belongings, he heard his grandfather’s shuffle and the thump of his cane lead to his room. 

“So my boy, what will it be? Are you staying or are you leaving?” He asked, shortly before making his way to the room. 

“Grandpa, I’m going to have to be honest with you. I had a really great time, but I can’t stay. I have a life in America, I have friends. I can’t just leave that.” Hayden replied, sounding sad that he had to leave his grandfather’s side. 

As he finally walked into his grandson’s room, the old man told him, “I understand. But since I won the bet can you do me one favor?”

“Anything.”

Saba Moshe extended his arms and Hayden gave a strong hug to his grandfather. As they embraced, the old man whispered in his ear, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

When the teenager returned home, his friends were outside his house yelling at his window. 

“Yo Hayden, get down here bro.” One friend yelled. 

 He opened his window and yelled “Alright god dammit, I’m coming down.”

When he came downstairs, his friends gave him a look over, and saw something hanging from his waist.

“Ay yo,” one of his friends asked. “What’s this shit?”

“It’s tzitzit. Jews wear tzitzit to blossom and be the best they can be.”

“Whatever Hayden.”

“Who’s Hayden? Hayden is no one, my name is Hananya.” 

Bibliography:

1. Benner, Jeff A. “The Culture of the Hebrew Language: AHRC.” The Culture of the

Hebrew Language, Ancient Hebrew Research Center, ancient-hebrew.org/language/culture-of-the-hebrew-language.htm.

2. Joseph Mogil, Laura. “A History of Giving.” The New York Times, The New York Times,

16 Sept. 2007, www.nytimes.com/2007/09/16/nyregion/nyregionspecial2/16artswe.html.

3. “Secrets of The Hebrew Language” YouTube, uploaded by Rudy Rochman, 12 Oct.

2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQMkPqP7r0o&t=175s

4. “What Is Gematria and Can It Unlock a Hidden Code to the Universe?” Gaia, 27 Nov.

2019, www.gaia.com/article/what-is-gematria. 

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

ENG 2150

December 15, 2023

Final

“Mom, do we really have to see him?” Hayden whined to his mother.

“As a matter of fact, yes we do” his mother fired back. 

As Hayden’s mother pushed her young teenage son into the small limestone colored Jerusalem apartment, an old man with thick black glasses, a black cashmere sweater, and a kippah stood up from his decrepit recliner. 

“Hayden, Irit, I’m so happy to see you!” Hayden’s grandfather exclaimed. 

“Abaleh, you look great!” Hayden’s mother said as she ran over to her father to give him a hug. “Hayden, don’t just stand there like a bum, give Saba a hug.”

Hayden walked over very begrudgingly, almost repulsed by the frail man. 

“Hananya, how have you been, my boy?” the old man said smiling, revealing his yellow teeth. 

“Fine grandpa, but I don’t know why you keep calling me Hananya, my name is Hayden,” the boy said, giving his grandfather the lightest hug. 

“Listen you two, I have to go to the store for dinner tonight. Why don’t you guys catch up?” Hayden’s mother exclaimed heading for the door. 

Hayden ran towards his mother, and whispered to her “Mom, please don’t leave me here. I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

“What’s wrong with Saba Moshe? You know, when you were a little boy, you used to love coming here to visit your grandparents.”

“I know, but it’s summer. I don’t wanna be stuck in a house with a skeleton. I wanna be back in Brooklyn with the boyz.”

“The boyz? You hang out with ‘the boyz’ everyday. Spend time with your family for one in your life. Plus, we don’t know how much longer Saba has. Cheer him up.”

“Ok fine, but you owe me big time.” Hayden said with a smile on his face.

“I gave you life, if anything, you owe me.” Irit snapped back jovially. 

Hayden walked back over to his grandfather, and sat on the green, plastic covered couch next to the recliner.  

“Hananya, why don’t you get a haircut? You look like a piece of broccoli. Don’t you want to find a nice wife” Saba Moshe said. 

“Sure grandpa.” The boy replied, staring at the television playing some Hebrew show. 

“And why don’t you change your clothes? Why do you have to wear all that baggy stuff? Dress like a gever (a man).”

“So I have to dress in an all black suit like you grandpa?” Hayden remarked. 

“Well, not exactly. But you’re going to become a Bar Mitzvah soon, so you should dress like one. Have you even started studying your portion?”

“No, I don’t know if I even want to have a Bar Mitzvah to be completely honest with you. Listen, I know you really andGrandma Leah really liked this stuff, but it’s not my thing.” Hayden told this grandfather. 

“Not your thing? Why not?” Saba Moshe said, turning to face his grandson out of mere confusion and curiosity. 

“Because I never really connected with it. I mean I get it. We almost got killed, we survived, let’s eat. How many times are we gonna repeat the same thing?” 

“So you think Judaism is boring?” the frail old man asked.

“Pretty much. Look, I don’t want to offend you or anything, but that’s how I feel.”

“How about this?” Saba Moshe proposed. “I’m going to make you like Judaism.”

“Oh no!” Hayden said. “Listen grandpa, I’ve heard the same shit over and over again. I doubt anything you say is gonna change my mind man.”

“I’m going to teach you one fact about Judaism a day. And if by the time you become a  Bar Mitzvah, you still don’t like Judaism, you never have to see me again. You don’t even have to come back to Israel ever again if you don’t want to. I’ll tell Ima to leave you back in America. But, if by the time you become a Bar Mitzvah, you like Judaism and want to learn more, you have to live with me and attend Yeshivah.”

“So lemme get this straight,”Hayden asked. “If I don’t wanna be Jewish, I don’t have to come back here, but if I do, I have to live with you and go to Jew school?”

  “I think that’s very reasonable.” 

“You know what old man,” Hayden responded with his hand out. “You’ve got yourself a deal bro. But you gotta keep your end of the deal. Don’t be having me live here and shit if I don’t wanna, alright?”

“Sounds like a plan.” his grandfather agreed, shaking his grandson’s hand. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Hit me with your best shot.” Hayden said sardonically, shifting his body to face the wrinkled face of his mother’s father. 

“My dear boy, do you know why you have the name you do.” Saba Moshe asked.

“Hayden, I don’t know. I always thought my parents just liked it.” he answered. 

“No, to me, Hayden is no one. You, my boy , are named Hananya.” his grandfather said sharply, correcting him.

 “Oh yeah, right.” Hayden said, rolling his eyes. “You know in America, no one calls me that. Only you and Grandma Leah used to call me that.”

“Do you know why you’re named Hananya?” Saba Moshe said slowly getting up from his chair. 

“Wasn’t that your dad or something.” Hayden answered unsurely, as he watched his elderly grandfather shuffle to the other side of the room, with his ancient black fur slippers and wooden cane. “Where are you going?” he said as he watched his grandfather hobble to the bookshelf, and grab a large black and gold photo album. 

Saba Moshe, put the album in his armpit, adjusted his glasses, grabbed his cane, and slowly made his way back to the recliner. He fell back into his leather chair, snatched his kippah before it fell off his gray haired, slightly balding head. He then opened the book, and scrolled through the pictures until he landed on one, and turned it so Hayden could see. 

“That, boychik sheli, is your great grandfather, Hananya.” said Saba Moshe. “My beloved father.”

“I know. You and grandma Leah showed me photos of him a million times grandpa. What’s your point?” Hayden asked. 

“You are his namesake, you have his neshama. You have his soul.” Saba Moshe said, raising his voice. 

“His soul?” 

“Yes, his soul.”

“How”

The old man took a piece of paper and a pen from the coffee table, and started writing the word for soul in Hebrew. 

“Can you read what this says?” Saba Moshe asked. 

“Yeah,” Hayden replied. “It says neshama, soul.”

Hayden’s grandfather then covered the first and last letters with his hands, only revealing the two middle letters. 

“Do you know what this says?” the grandfather asked again.

“It says shem; name.” Hayden responded. 

“Very good.” Saba Moshe sarcastically told him. “Do you understand? Your name is in your soul. And by inheriting my father’s name, you’re inheriting his legacy and his soul.”

Hayden began to nod, still skeptical, but interged. 

“Not only are you carrying my father’s legacy, but you’re honoring all the Hananya’s in our family for thousands of years. Your neshama does not carry “Hayben” or whatever you want to call yourself. Your neshama says Hananya.” Saba Moshe said, slightly raising his voice as his intensity and passion increases. “Or look at this.” he said, grabbing at the white string hanging from his waist. “Do you know what this is called anymore?”

“Yeah, that’s tzitzit.” Hayden said, beginning to lose his dubious and demeaning tone. 

“Tzitzit comes from the ancient Hebrew word to blossom. This represents God telling us not only to blossom and grow as individuals, but to make sure the next generation blossoms.” 

“Huh, I never knew that.” Hayden said, starting to sound more fascinated. 

“See, so how can you say you think Judaism is boring if you don’t know anything about it?” His grandfather said, smiling at the boy. 

“You got me there old man. What else do you got for me?” Moshe’s grandson exclaimed. 

“Have you ever heard of Gematria?” Saba Moshe asked. 

“Just tell me already, you know I don’t.” Hayden said as they both laughed. 

“Gematria is the numeral value to Hebrew letters. Aleph is one, bet is 2, so on and so forth. So because of this, all Hebrew words have a numeral value. For example, Chai (life in Hebrew) has a numeral value of 18. That is why in Jewish events, people often give multiples of 18. Or this,” Saba Moshe says, grabbing his tzitzit once again. “Tzitzit has a numeral value of 613. There are 613 mitzvot or commandments that Jews must follow. This tzitzit reminds Jews that to blossom, they must follow the 613 mitzvot.”

“Wait, that’s actually pretty cool.” Hayden told his grandfather, surprised himself that those words came out of his mouth. “Are there any other words like that?” 

“Thousands.” The old man said with a smile on his face, exhilarated that he was able to captivate his young, seemingly disrespectful grandson.  

1. What is your research question/rhetorical situation? To what extent does the Hebrew Language reflect the values of Jewish culture?
2. What is your connection to rhetorical situations and why are you uniquely placed to write about it? I have several connections to the rhetorical devices. First, I am Jewish and Hebrew is my first language, which has imbued me with an eternal fascination with Jewish culture. As someone who speaks Hebrew as a first language, I feel I have an inherent knowledge of the workings of the language. 
3. Where do you imagine your writing “existing”? (newspaper, magazine, youtube, personal blog) I can imagine my writing existing either on Youtube similar to Rudy Rochman or on a Jewish website like Unpacked.
4. Who is your target audience? My target audience is Jewish young adults. This is my desired audience for several reasons. Firstly, many young Jews are either disconnected with their culture, or want to become more involved, but don’t know how. I have maintained a constant fervent passion for Jewish culture, and I would be immensely honored to share my passion and knowledge with people my age. 
5. What form will your writing take? (Research paper, narrative, letter, script.) I am still debating, but will either write an article, or create a narrative piece. 
6. Why is this form the most effective way to communicate to your target audience? I believe that these two methods will be the most effective way to communicate to my target audience because I believe I can create the best and most engaging product with these methods. For most of my writing career, I have written narratives and articles. I have found a way to make them engaging, and if I were to depart from that, I can’t imagine myself making a suitable product, especially with video because I am terrible at editing. This will however be likely to attract an audience of my age group because young adults are more likely to read online stories and articles from smaller publications than older adults are. 
7. What is the value you’re trying to impart on your audience? The value I desire to impart is a passion, interest, and hopefully a love for Jewish culture. 

Describe your overall ability to pay attention when it comes to school work (<100 words)   On a scale of 1 – 10, indicate how addicted you are to you phones

I would say that when it comes to schoolwork, I tend to focus better, however sometimes, I like to take a little break and go on my phone. However, I would say on a scale of 1-10, I would be a 6 or 7 in terms of general addiction to my phone.

While reading “My Distraction Sickness” please note how long it takes you to get through the piece (Google says it’s a 45 min read); also, count the number of times you get distracted (for whatever reason) and tally them at the end.

With all of my distractions, it took me about an hour and a half to read the entire article, with 35 distractions.

Describe the tone of all three articles, how do they differ? (<100 words)

The tone of all three articles were drastically different. Sullivan’s was taking the approach of an addict telling you their recovery story, Rosen’s such much more analytically in the style of a tradition research paper, and Anderson’s was much more personal and humorous with the use of the second person POV.

What are Sam Anderson’s primary arguments in defense of distraction? (see part III of In Defense of Distraction) Do you find them convincing? Why or why not (<150 words)

The primary arguments Anderson makes in his article “ In Defense of Distraction”, he is saying distraction isn’t a problem because it makes life more interesting, and that it can harness for the greater good.

After reading all three articles, what are your thoughts on this “epidemic of distraction”? (<50 words)

I agree more with Anderson’s opinion to a certain extend, because I agree that having a distraction to the world around you is necessary, but it shouldn’t be taken to an extreme.

Please annotate “My Distraction Sickness” – highlight at least three instances for each of the following rhetoric concepts: Invention, Style, Memory, Pathos, Ethos

Invention: I duly surrendered my little device, only to feel a sudden pang of panic on my way back to my seat. If it hadn’t been for everyone staring at me, I might have turned around immediately and asked for it back. Since the invention of the printing press, every new revolution in information technology has prompted apocalyptic fears. From the panic that easy access to the vernacular English Bible would destroy Christian orthodoxy all the way to the revulsion, in the 1950s, at the barbaric young medium of television, cultural critics have moaned and wailed at every turn. A small but detailed 2015 study of young adults found that participants were using their phones five hours a day, at 85 separate times   Arrangement: Ethos: A year before, like many addicts, I had sensed a personal crash coming. For a decade and a half, I’d been a web obsessive, publishing blog posts multiple times a day, seven days a week, and ultimately corralling a team that curated the web every 20 minutes during peak hours. Each morning began with a full immersion in the stream of internet consciousness and news, jumping from site to site, tweet to tweet, breaking news story to hottest take, scanning countless images and videos, catching up with multiple memes. Pathos: If the internet killed you, I used to joke, then I would be the first to find out. Logos: Distractions arrive in your brain connected to people you know (or think you know), which is the genius of social, peer-to-peer media. Since our earliest evolution, humans have been unusually passionate about gossip, which some attribute to the need to stay abreast of news among friends and family as our social networks expanded. We were hooked on information as eagerly as sugar. And give us access to gossip the way modernity has given us access to sugar and we have an uncontrollable impulse to binge.   Style: We were hooked on information as eagerly as sugar. My doctor, dispensing one more course of antibiotics, finally laid it on the line: “Did you really survive HIV to die of the web?” By the last few months, I realized I had been engaging — like most addicts — in a form of denial.   Memory: At your desk at work, or at home on your laptop, you disappeared down a rabbit hole of links and resurfaced minutes (or hours) later to reencounter the world. But the smartphone then went and made the rabbit hole portable, inviting us to get lost in it anywhere, at any time, whatever else we might be doing. Information soon penetrated every waking moment of our lives. Am I exaggerating? A small but detailed 2015 study of young adults found that participants were using their phones five hours a day, at 85 separate times. Most of these interactions were for less than 30 seconds, but they add up. Just as revealing: The users weren’t fully aware of how addicted they were. They thought they picked up their phones half as much as they actually did. But whether they were aware of it or not, a new technology had seized control of around one third of these young adults’ waking hours. We can eat together while checking our feeds. We can transform life into what the writer Sherry Turkle refers to as “life-mix.” But of course, as I had discovered in my blogging years, the family that is eating together while simultaneously on their phones is not actually together.

Distraction/Attention worksheet

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

English 2150

October 15, 2023

Option 1: Choose two artworks of the same medium and genre and write two pages of analysis comparing, and contrasting those artifacts’ rhetorical elements. 

Two chosen artworks: 

• Marc Chagall “I and the Village”
• Kamala Ibrahim Ishag “Untitled”

When I went to the MOMA, two paintings really stood out to me, I and the Village by Marc Chagall and the untitled work of Kamala Ibrahim Ishag. I wanted to discuss the Marc Chagall painting because he is a very famous painter in Israeli and Jewish history. In fact, in the Knesset, the Israeli parliament hall, there is a hall solely dedicated to his artwork. The Ishag painting I chose because after touring the museum for a hot minute, Tasnima, Sabeehah, and I wanted to sit down and rest. During my research, I found that Ishag was an influential artist in Sudan, and helped establish the modern art movement in Sudan. We coincidentally sat in front of this painting, and as I was reading the description, I noticed many striking comparisons to Chagall’s.The main similarity I noticed was that both works depicted spiritual aspects of religion. Many of Chagall’s most famous works portray Jews in their Eastern European villages, or shetels (as they are called in Yiddish). They are very abstract and fantastically, almost psychedelic in appearance. Ishag’s painting illustrates a Sudanese women’s spirit possession cult named Zar. Both paintings also represent elements of nature. In the description of I and The Village, it stated that Chagall wanted to show the connection between humans and animals, and highlight the Hasidic belief that animals were humanity’s link to the universe. Ishag also utilized nature in her piece by using earthy colors, which helped enhance the motif of ancient African folk religions. The main difference between the two paintings is the perspective of the artists in relation to their works. Chagall grew up in the setting of his artwork. This is most likely why it contains a very diverse and vibrant array of colors. Chagall has a more personal relationship to this work, and by using these strong colors, the audience sees the childlike and lively perspective he does. Ishag, however, has a significantly more analytical position on her work. Although Ishag does have an interest in Zar, this was gained from her anthropological research on the community. While Chagall intends to show the audience his perspective as an insider, Ishag is attempting to show the audience the Zar community as an outsider. This is why Ishag uses earthy colors, and why she shows the faces of the women instead of painting from the perspective of the women. Ishag is painting the earthy, outer shell of this experience while painting in an abstract manner to attempt to explain to her audience what the experience is like. While both paintings are abstract depictions of religious communities, Chagall paints with more lively colors to show his insider childhood perspective, and Ishag paints in earthy, muted colors because since she is an outsider, she can only paint the exterior of the situation.

The main ways both debaters explained their arguments was to show the perspective of the Black man in America. In this field, Baldwin has inherent ethos over Buckley and the audience because he was most likely the only Black person in the room. He utilized pathos by explaining that his ancestors helped build America as slaves, financially, and literally because slaves were responsible for many pieces of infrastructure across the country. He also explained how when he was a child, he was taught that his ancestors were essentially worthless because they weren’t the famous figures of white history, and how American heroes, such as Gary Cooper, were seen as fighting Black people. He finally employed logos by stating the hypocrisy in having built the country, yet not being able to completely enjoy the privileges of it. 

Buckley possesses an ethos to discuss the plight of African Americans because he is a well respected academic and political commentator. However, this pales in comparison to Baldwin because he is not Black, and he grew with significantly more privilege than Baldwin. Therefore, when he shares experiences of a black man getting harassed by the police or getting kicked out of a bar, it doesn’t appear as genuine as Baldwin. For pathos, Buckley mostly made quippy remarks. One in particular I found to be somewhat amusing is when he said “I assume that if you all were to become the governors of the United States, then the problem of racism will end immediately.” This is a good form of pathos because through humor, he is able to engage the audience, and if he becomes likable enough to them, he can make them agree with what he is saying. Two arguments Buckley made while using logos stuck out to me. First he said that “Everything has to come at the expense of something else.” and “Things are changing in American society because Baldwin is able to share the problems of the Black community, and people show concern about it.”

1. Father son: To what extent does father involvement in a child’s life impact their romantic relationships?
2. Speaking Hebrew at home: To what extent is the Hebrew Language richer than English? 
3. Jewish family dynamics: To what extent is the role of the grandmother in the jewish household different from other cultures?

  As a four year old, my best friend was an 80 year old woman; my grandma Lakie. Everyday, my dad brought me to her mid 20th century time capsule of an apartment, which I considered to be a second home. Every morning when I came, I saw her in a floral bright colored shmatta (old house dress in Yiddish) carpet sweeping the rug in the living room. Then, when she heard me open the door, I saw her short white hair, wrinkled face, and pleasant smile greet me. “Shalom khamudi, shalom boychik, ma nishma” (hello cutie, hello my boy, how are you) she said as I ran into her arms. 

Everyday, I was enchanted with tales of her as a young girl, running through the streets and Jerusalem and the characters at the Shuk (market). My grandfather, alev hashalom (may he rest in peace in Hebrew) my namesake, who was the director of a children’s marching band, and had a strong passion for music. And the hardship of raising that little manyak (asshole in hebrew) who would become my dad.

 The mix of Hebrew, Yiddish, and English she spoke remains music to my ears to this very day, my mama loshen, mother tongue in Yiddish, as she would say. One of the classics was “Ata rotze nosh?” (You want in Hebrew, a snack in yiddish) To this day, I can still hear her singing along to the catchy tunes of Shoshana Damari and Yaffa Yarkoni. Even during the period when my parents’ relationship was coming to a very severe and bitter end, and my dad became a much less frequent character in my life, my grandma became a source of normalcy, comfort, and stability that I couldn’t easily access at home. In that sense, I really did have an idyllic childhood. However, one day this would abruptly come to an end. 

I remember it like it was yesterday, January 22, 2014 7:57 AM. I was in third grade that snowy morning, and my mom barged into the living room to wake me and my brothers up. I was very adamant about not attending school because I woke up late, and I dreaded walking to school by myself in the tundra of a New York City snowstorm. However, several minutes later, my mom received a call from my dad, who had since become friends, saying grandma was in the hospital, and therefore, we didn’t have to go to school that day. Relief flooded over me that we were released from school, and I got to spend time with my grandma. My dad apparently said that she fell off the bed that morning, and was in immense pain, not necessarily life threatening. Knowing that, in no particular rush, we headed over to Kings County Hospital to bring her home. When we arrived, some nurses pulled my parents aside while my brothers and I sat in the waiting room. I remember being very annoyed because I knew Grandma Lakie hated being in hospitals, and I knew that she just wanted to be home. 

Then, the nurses called us into the room with my parents. I remember sitting on a velvet leather couch, with my dad on the phone with my uncle. Moments later, I started grabbing the arm of the chair and beginning to cry. I realized that this was it, I would never get to see her again. I would never get to hear her warm laugh when my dad tried to speak his regrettable Hebrew to her. I would never get to hear another oy vey or oy va voy from her. I would never get to hear her tell my dad “Gey kakn oyfn yam” (go shit in the ocean in Yiddish, a very common expression). I would never eat her food again. I would never see her wrinkled yet beautiful face ever again. That’s it, she’s gone, and I never even got to say goodbye. I never got to tell her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me, and how empty I would feel without her. 

  Then, my dad pulled me out of the room into the hallway. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember tears almost coming down his eyes (the only time I’ve ever seen him cry) as he told me it was all going to be ok and that we will cope with this loss together as a family. Shortly after we returned to the room, I remember the doctor asking us if we wanted to see her, and that the rabbi was already there. A sheet covered her head, and continued weeping hopelessly.

After my grandma died, my family became closer than ever. To cope with the death of imenu ahuva (our beloved matriarch), we spent more time with each other, telling stories about the many ways she impacted us. And in particular, my dad became my closest friend. We had our little ongoing jokes that continued for years. I remember he would ask me what I learned in school, and I would always say “You know.” to which he would quickly reply, “No, I don’t know. That’s why I asked”. Or everytime he asked what I wanted for dinner, I would reply “I don’t know, what do we have?” I don’t think he ever understood their jokes, but I always found them funny. For many years, my dad and I became inseparable. We both realized that as Lakie’s two favorite men, we needed to stick together to honor her memory. While my mom was at work and my brothers became teenagers, too cool to even glance at their embarrassing younger brother, it felt as though it was me and my dad against the world. 

During the period when I aged out of childhood and began the very arduous journey of adolescence, I began to prepare for my bar mitzvah.While simultaneously learning the Hebrew prayers and Torah portion, I had to write a speech about the values the portion, and how some important principles I follow in my own life. Immediately, I thought of my family. If it wasn’t for my grandmother, I wouldn’t have such a strong appreciation for my language and culture. And finally if not for my dad, what would I have. I wouldn’t have my determination, stubbornness, humor, enjoyment of life, desire to get out of the house and do things, to make great friends and cherish them for life, and many more. My Bar Mitzvah gave me the opportunity to reflect on the previous chapter of my life, and I stepped into the new one. I also came to the realization that the death of my grandmother made me appreciate my family and all they have provided me. I know that she would have been very proud to see me on the bima (stage) reading my haftorah. Although I still miss her everyday, and I always tell stories about her, with the love of my family, it has gotten a little easier to say Zey Gezunt (goodbye).

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

English 2150

September 12 2023

Writing Exercise Reflections

Writing Mimesis: After I finished writing a passage from one of my favorite books, We Stand Divided by Daniel Gordis, I was more focused on the words I was using, and wanted to sound as professional as possible. This is most likely because this is a nonfiction book, which makes me feel very intelligent. Therefore, I most likely wanted to reflect that sentiment in my writing by using very sophisticated language. I remember on several occasions googling synonyms for words to sound as intellectual as possible, like a classical author. I wouldn’t necessarily want to implement this method into my writing style because I did think it was a waste of time, and instead of writing down a passage, I would simply rather read something academic or intellectual to get the creative juices flowing. 

Writing following Hormesis: For this stress exercise, I decided to go on a run, something I usually never do because I have terrible stamina. When I returned home, I had no intention of writing more because I was exhausted, but I wrote anyway, simply because I wanted an A. I definitely think that rushed, inconsiderate style was prominent in my writing style for this activity because I was just writing for the sake of writing. When looking back on what I wrote, it sounds very amateurish, and in certain instances, incoherent. I definitely do not prefer this style because when I write, I like to be comfortable, and I simply felt very out of my comfort zone. I would say however that when I was on my run, I thought of some ideas for what I wanted to write about. When I am alone, in the shower, walking home, etc, I have time to think, and oftentimes, some of my best ideas have come from these sessions. So, in that aspect, it was somewhat helpful.

Warren Israel

Professor Wilson Ding

English 2150

September 12, 2023

Teachable Moment Abstract

This is the story about how a child has to deal with an irreconcilable loss, and how he comes to appreciate his family and culture. The boy spent a significant amount of time with his Israeli-American grandmother, who taught him Jewish culture. However, when she unexpectedly dies, her family has to learn how to cope with this death, and how to continue on without their matriarch. However, as the boy got older, he started to truly understand and value the lessons of Jewish life that his grandmother told him, and became determined to study for his Bar Mitzvah to make his grandmother proud. While preparing for his Bar Mitzvah speak, the boy looked back on his life, and saw how everyone in his family positively impacted him, and made him into the person he became.