Yeshiva University High School For Boys - Elchanite Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Your number is I7653 - line up To The riohf - def your uniform - qo down To Company M - give The commander This cerfificafe - you've been accepfed - noble work you've chosen, boy - congraTulaTions. He lined up, gof his uniform, wenf clown To Company M, gave The com- mander his cerTificaTe, he had been accepTed, noble work he had chosen - con- graTulaTions. Congrafulafionsl ATTenTion! ATTenTion! March! PresenT arms! LefT! Righf! ATTenTion! Presenf arms! Congrafulafionsl ATTenTion! ATTenTion! March! March! March! Zero Hour! CongraTulaTions! March! CongrafulafionslATTenTion! CongraTu- laTions! March! March! -- His hoT blood sfifled The live grass. For a momenf, he lay on The scarred ground, hunched up, holding Tighfly The hole in his belly, as if he were guarding someThing precious in his arms, his moufh opening and closing. AfTer he died, his mouTh remained open as if he were grinning in curious asTonishrnenT. A clear sky illuminafed The rough gravel road Twenfy years laTer. The sTars pierced The earTh wifh Their brighf icy rays. BriTTle pebbles crunched under his sTiff soles as he sTreTched his sTrides Toward The quainf European village. He ThoughTs sfumbled in all direcTions: Here he was, seTTing forTh on The greaTesT advenfure of his life. He would give his life for his counfry. He sfepped info The cemefery briskly and began To whisTle. Inside The houses of The dead, The dead Talked. LeT's go up and sTop The boy who, aT This very momenf walks To join us. leT us Tell him abouf life. LeT us, who know all, who undersfand everyfhing, prevail upon him. LeT us make him live! shouTed a corpse - No. I7653. He had died bravely on The bafflefield, for his counfry. ,A brown, one-legged cadaver replied. No, Frifz Dubois, we dead cannoT warn The living. l have come To Think of life as an exfremely cooperafive arrangemenf where all members musT conform To rules. Deafh, or expulsion from This social arrangemenf resulTs when The expelled member has ceased To conTribuTe To The good of The whole, when his advice is no longer heeded. A Terror which is so exTraordinary ThaT iT cannoT be imagined by The living, kills The person who had experienced iT. Living people cannoT undersfand The sensafion of a Tremendously powerful elecfric currenf - elecfrocufed persons Therefore die. Seclusion is anofher phase of This Theory. A person who is shuT up by himself cannoT be socially acTive - he dies. A person, as he grows older, finds less and less sympafhizers and lisfenersi he deparfs from his world. We. boy, have had a Terrifying frighT3 we died, for no one could undersfand our sufferings and moreover, no one would follow our advice - noT even you in your day. BuT ThaT ifself is The very reason we died. Now you Too know, for you Too are dead. Do noT repeaf The ridiculous aTTempT we made To save you. The dead cannoT speak To anyone. Only by a long painful evolufion El-Cl'lANlvlE R has V Y liwenTy-nine

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oT all kinds: squaT corpses, lanky corpses, corpulenT corpses, all oT whom had some conspicuous physical deTecT. , ' A conTender Tor place in The army, where only physical Torce is undersTood, he now remained hypnoTized by The absTracTness oT menTal paralysis and awe. The Ten bodies approached him Trom Tour TronTs, Triple Tile, making a Tarce OT his conceal- menT. When his dead visiTors had come wiThin a Tew yards oT him on all sides, They halTed, and The TirsT brown cadaver Trom The mausoleum, evidenTly Their general, opened his TooThless mouTh. A bubbling purlinq sound rose up ouT oT Thar TwisTed caviTy as a warning ThaT he was preparing To speak. Boy , he said, Ie+ us inTroduce ourselves. We are humaniTy's mosT ludicrous riddle. Oue hands have been Torn oTT Tor noughT. OuT eyes have been gouged ouT in vain. Our skins have been ripped away To saTisTy a whim. Our heads have been bashed in Tor silver, our hair pulled ouT Tor money, our Tlesh sliced up Tor gold, AT The heighT oT our days we were cold-bloodedly murdered beTore we had a chance To live, To see, To love, To read, To work, To Think, To creaTe. We were gladly killed so ThaT - so ThaT you could again be called upon only Two decades laTer To repeaT our performance, and To become like us. We heeded and believed The Trenzied war-cries oT our poliTicians and - we died. We are The paradox. We are The soldiers oT The lasT war. Don'T go, boy: donT live Through our experience and die Through iT. Don'T! Don'T! The dread and revulsion The body TelT Toward his sTinking advisers were choked down by his hoT, paTrioTic impulses. l-le knew Their argumenTs well. l-le had Tiercely debaTed The maTTer wiTh cerTain social ouTcasTs who had spoken Those selTsame words. BUT , he Tlung back aT Them savagely, buT The glory oT my naTion, iTs. powers, iTs presTige, iTs honor - whaT oT Them? Shall They perish meanly only because l am a dasTardly coward - aTraid To risk my liTe Tor my counTry. The dead men sTepped back as if They were aTraid of The TruTh in his words. They Tell back as if They were Tired, Tired, - and quickly he leaped Through Their weary ranks, dodging roTTing Tingers, avoiding The sick scraTch oT nails and nerveless hands aTTempTing To deTain him. BreaThless, heaving, The soTT Thump oT dead TeeT pursuing him, he ran all The way To The recruiTing sTaTion in The village. He sTopped ouTside a while pouring ouT his exciTemenT in gurgling gulps oT breaTh. When his agiTaTion had abaTed, he sTepped proudly inTo The oTTice and answered The surly voice which challenged his enTrance: Name? 'il:riTz Dubois. Age'? EighTeen. TwenTy-eighT ELCHANITE

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can There ever be gained on earfh The knowledge we grasped so quickly affer deafh. Then shall fhe frue peace come - fhe peace of living men, when fhe land shall be worked and men shall love, and ideas shall progress foward fheir Creafor. Then - shall we foo, live. The boy above proceeded unmolesfed fo fhe recruifing office in fhe village and answered haughfily, fearlessly, as fhe churlish voice sfabbed: Name? DUST By Morfimer J. Rubin Thaf man comes from dusf, And fo dusf will refurn, Wifh fhaf ancienf adage I have no more concern Since fafe so decreed, Thaf is a final page. Of whaf avail appeal By prophef or by sage? Sfill fhaf decree. Though final in scope, Bears in ifs making A fair ray of hope. Coming from dusf, ere To dusf we are senf, There is in befween A pause fo fermenf. A pause fo creafe, To grow, fo mafure, Thaf a mere speck of dusf May long well endure. In ancienf walls Of learning Fires of Torah flicker Yef burning. Sifs fhe sfudenf As of yore Delves info Torah Law and lore. Gazes info fhe flame's Dying embers THE ETERNAL FLAME Sfirred, He fhinks Remebers. Of a world oufside Calling Serene, beaufiful Yef appalling, Of charming ensnaring Offers Of luring enficing Proffers The Torah calls To reckoning Tenaciously whispering Beckoning. By Saul Leifer Quickly approaches The onslaughf Decisively fhe baffle ls foughf. The pleasure of many He decries 'Tis inane, foolish He sighs. Thoughfs of Torah He minds Mundane fhings He rescinds. He refurns once more To his desire The flame bursfs again lnfo efernal fire. Thfffv ELCHANWE