February 2021

Volume 47, Issue 3

I Don't Want to Unify

By Daniel Grushcow, S5 Editor

Even for a cynical Bernie Bro like me, seeing Biden’s inauguration was a relief - at least until his speech showed that he still doesn’t understand what’s happening around him. Biden was unequivocal, insisting that “unity is the path forward.” Throughout his presidential campaign, he kept emphasizing this theme of being a unifier, of healing a broken country, of bridging the divide between liberals and conservatives so we can all be friends again.


I couldn’t disagree more. Republicans themselves are a threat to democracy and a malignant force making the lives of Americans worse. They have worked to suppress the votes of non-white citizens or - citizens who are not white because they believe those votes shouldn’t count, to shield Trump from any sort of accountability for his bigotry and corruption (not to mention the bigotry and corruption of his cronies), to slash taxes for the rich and cut social services for everyone else, to keep the Senate mired in gridlock, to block COVID-19 stimulus from ordinary people struggling to pay for rent and food, to pack the judiciary with hacks that follow the party line no matter how shoddy their reasoning, and to promote racist and anti-Semitic conspiracy theories while empowering a global far-right movement, putting me and my Jewish family in danger every time we go to shul for the High Holidays - in short, they have worked against the vast majority of Americans to protect a small, wealthy, white elite. Somehow, this is only a short summary of the horrific things Republicans have done rather than a complete list.


The utter amorality of Republican politicians predates Trump, and it will continue after him. From Nixon’s Southern Strategy and the disastrous War on Drugs to Reagan’s thinly-veiled dog-whistles on “states’ rights,” racist stereotyping of “welfare queens,” and willful neglect of the AIDS crisis to George W. Bush’s lies about the Iraq War and criminal response to Hurricane Katrina, Republicans have actively made the world worse for decades. As writer Osita Nwanevu observed, “Donald Trump is not a departure from the values defining the Republican Party, but the culmination of its efforts to secure power.”


When Abraham Lincoln famously proclaimed that “a house divided against itself cannot stand,” he was not preaching a message of cooperation with his opponents. The following sentence, while less well known, is far more illuminating: “I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free.” In other words, Lincoln believed the country must unite not with slaveholders but against them, or the union would fail.


I’m under no illusions about the sanctity of American institutions, or how often the country has fallen short of the high ideals it was supposedly founded on. But if your goal is to make America a better place, you shouldn’t cooperate with those who seek to destroy whatever vestiges of liberty and democracy America has. You must fight against them for the good of the country - a goal far more important than the appearance of unity.

Murder Mystery of King Tut

By Wendy Huang, S6 Editor

Was it a natural death? Infection? Blow to the head? How did the young pharaoh die so early?


Tutankhamun, famously known as King Tut, was the 12th pharaoh of the 18th Egyptian dynasty, in power from approximately 1332 to 1323 BCE. At the time of his death, Tut was around five foot six and his build was slight. It is thought that Tut came to the throne at eight years old and died at age eighteen, during the tenth year of his rule.


The cause of Tut’s death in 1323 BC is still unknown to this day. However, the indicators of a sudden death leads historians to speculate the possibility of murder. The foremost evidence was the burial of the young king in a substitute tomb as his tomb was still in the process of being constructed. The substitute tomb was at the center of the valley and was not suitable for a king as it had only four rooms and an incredibly narrow hallway. Another piece of evidence supporting the sudden death theory was that Tut’s brain had not been extracted conventionally; rather, his brain had been liquefied with an intact ethmoid bone. Furthermore, not all the shabtis in the tomb bore Tut’s name which further suggests a rushed burial due to an untimely death.


Many theories try to postulate the cause of the young king’s early death. Some theorize that Tut died in a chariot crash which broke his legs and levis, resulting in an infection and perhaps death by blood poisoning. Another theory suggests that the king died from a blow to the head; this is supported by an X-ray of his skull that revealed a calcified blood clot at its base. Finally, some believe that he succumbed to a preexisting health condition as he was a victim of in-breeding within the royal family.


Funnily, whatever caused King Tutankhamun's rushed burial in a small tomb enabled it to be the only one discovered with a mummy intact. This makes Tut’s tomb the greatest treasure ever discovered and also the most historically interesting. There are still many mysteries surrounding the life and death of King Tut, and we can only hope that with time more information will be revealed!

Heart in a Box? Hot Diggity!

By Janet Fu, S5 Editor

In a famous Grey’s Anatomy scene, the uninspired surgeons of Seattle Grace Mercy West entered the residents’ lounge, one by one, and a few moments later, they exited, lifted from their cloud of stupor, electrified. They have just witnessed a medical miracle—a live, beating heart in a box.


Traditionally, organs awaiting transplants are rinsed with preservative solutions, laid across a bucket of ice, and stuffed into a cooler to be transferred to the recipient in the hospital. The process would have to be completed in just four hours, with every second counting, as the organ begins to deteriorate the moment it’s removed. As a result, many donor hearts suffer due to bad weather and transport conditions. Over the years, despite a lot of change in the medical field, this method of transferring has remained in use since the first organ transplant took place in 1954.


But that will soon change. New technology (dubbed “The Organ Care System”) allows hearts to function on their own outside of the donor patient while still at body temperature. This form of preservation took nearly twelve years to perfect.


How it Works

The sterile box (an OCS container) is heated, and the heart is connected to a perfusion pump that supplies the heart with oxygenated and nutrient-rich blood. This allows the heart to continue pumping, even outside of the human body (ex vivo)! Should the heart pump irregularly, the settings on the device can be adjusted. The window of time for transplanting is drastically increased from just four hours to twelve, which allows for more time for physicians to assess the heart. An increased window of time also expands the potential donor pool for patients, as a patient can now accept a heart that is further away. Many perfectly viable hearts in Hawaii are unused simply because the travel time to the mainland is too much for the icebox method. This mode of preservation also reduces the number of cells in the heart that die.


History and Procedure

Beating heart technology was developed by UCLA which led a stage 2 clinical trial called EXPAND Heart, along with the medical device company that developed OCS, TransMedics. The trial was carried out at ten heart transplant centres scattered across America and Europe. They selected 130 random heart transplant candidates to receive either hearts that were stored in an OCS container or hearts that were transplanted through traditional icebox means. In 2015, those who worked on the trial determined that the hearts stored with the beating heart technology had similar outcomes to the traditionally preserved hearts, proving their trial run to be a success. Later on, doctors at St Vincent's Hospital made world history by successfully transplanting a heart that had stopped beating for 20 minutes.


The Future of Medicine

An estimated 30% more transplants will be performed thanks to this ex vivo heart perfusion technology. On average, four hundred people die per year waiting for a heart transplant. With heart in a box, the number of organ shortages will be reduced.


I’m not sure about you, but I can’t help but be inspired by such a revolutionary advance in medical technology.


Works Citedhttps://sites.psu.edu/nguyenwilliamq/2013/11/10/heart-in-a-box/https://www.nbcnews.com/mach/technology/beating-heart-box-promises-major-revolution-medical-care-n770236https://med.umn.edu/news-events/medical-bulletin/heart-boxhttps://www.victorchang.edu.au/news/heart-transplant-breakthroughhttps://www.uclahealth.org/transplants/heart/beating-hearttransplant#:~:text=After%20a%20heart%20is%20removed,maintained%20at%20an%20appropriate%20temperature.https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(15)60261-6/fulltext
Figures 1 and 2: Diagrams detailing the functions of an OBS container.

The Science Behind Heartbreak

By Jessica Yu, S5 Editor

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

—Olivia Rodrigo, Driver’s License


Turn on your Spotify and you might hear the nation’s newest heartbreak anthem, “Driver’s License” by Olivia Rodrigo. Flip through literature— poems, plays, novels, short stories —whether classic or contemporary, and likely you’ll find loss as a central theme. We’ve all felt grief, for reasons ranging from broken relationships to the death of someone close. We’re familiar with the emotional aches so intense that it translates into physical pain. But, have you ever been curious about why events such as breakups can make us feel so weak, sometimes for weeks, months, or even years? Science helps shed light on what heartbreak does to our body and what we can do to help ourselves feel better.


According to Helen Fisher, Ph.D., biological anthropologist, high attachments such as romantic love aren’t merely emotions, but a “drive that is deeply primordial and primitive.” Such feelings are controlled by the reward pathway of our brain: the caudate nucleus and ventral tegmental area. Thus, when we experience loss through, for instance, breakup, we’re depriving our brains of an aspect it craves. How our brains then process this heartache is highly similar to how they do physical pain—through the anterior insula portion of our brain. This fact is supported by a 2010 study conducted at the University of Kentucky, when Tylenol, a common pain reliever, was interestingly found to also reduce emotional pain stemming from heartbreak; the placebo given to the control group failed to offer similar relief.


But what dictates emotional pain in the first place? The answer is simple: hormones. You hear a lot about these chemical messengers when studying puberty, but they’re not only important to teenagers! Hormones influence your metabolism and growth, touching upon areas such as love and bonding. Relationships can release floods of specific chemicals designed to make you feel good. Oxytocin, commonly known as the “love hormone” facilitates bonding, which makes us feel more “attached” to the other person. Other hormones include dopamine, a drug-like neurotransmitter associated with pleasure, and serotonin, which is associated with happiness and emotional regulation. When breakups, or any deep form of loss, occurs, our brain loses a significant supply of these chemicals. This withdrawal period is what spurs misery and desperation—the ubiquitous notion of “heartbreak.”


Now that you’re aware of the science behind your emotional pains, how can you use this knowledge to facilitate a quicker recovery when you’re hurt?


1) In the case of a breakup, stop contacting your ex!


Oxytocin is such a powerful neurotransmitter, your brain has likely created deep bonds with your previous significant other. The key is to break that bond if you want to healthily move on. Set a goal for yourself; for example, for one month, no matter how hard it is, you will resist the urge to scroll through their social media, read past text exchanges, and call or reach out to them in any shape or form. In the meantime, remind yourself that there are a lot of people out there. Feel free to start getting to know others, not necessarily to get into a relationship again (you’re likely not ready at this stage), but to give your anxious brain a confirmation that yes, there are plenty of fishes in the sea!


2) Self-care


Do what makes you feel good. Due to the depletion of feel-good chemicals in your brain, you need to engage in some form of activity as a supplement. Are you happy spending time with friends and family? Perhaps you have an adorable dog you love cuddling with? Any other healthy ways for stress relief will go a long way too. Remember, you should take some time for yourself because you’re worth it and don’t deserve anything less. In the meantime, make sure you’re taking care of other aspects of your health such as getting enough sleep, eating healthy, and getting your regular exercise.


In the end, remember as painful as heartbreak is, this is a natural process. Your emotions are valid—scientifically so!—and there is no shame in reaching out to family, friends, and other trusted adults for help. Also, even if it seems like your world will forever be bleak and dismal, take to heart the famous saying, “Life goes on.” It’s true, despite how difficult it is to accept during your periods of hardship. Your broken heart will eventually mend itself, scars and all, and you will be able to continue on your journey stronger than you were before.


ReferencesDonadio, G. (2017, December 07). The Science of Heartbreak. Retrieved January 25, 2021, from https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-science-of-heartbreak_b_9511498 Fisher, H. E., Brown, L. L., Aron, A., Strong, G., & Mashek, D. (n.d.). Reward, addiction, and emotion regulation systems associated with rejection in love. Retrieved January 25, 2021, from https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/20445032/ Hormonal system. (2019, July). Retrieved January 25, 2021, from https://www.healthdirect.gov.au/hormonal-system-endocrine Mark, C. (2018, April 06). Broken heart, broken brain: The neurology of breaking up and how to get over it. Retrieved January 25, 2021, from https://www.cbc.ca/life/wellness/broken-heart-broken-brain-the-neurology-of-breaking-up-and-how-to-get-over-it-1.4608785 Winch, G. (2018, August 07). How to Recover from Romantic Heartbreak. Retrieved January 25, 2021, from https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-to-recover-from-romantic-heartbreak/
Art by Diane Gui

My Sister's Big Fat Muslim Wedding

By Mohammed Hussain, S6 Editor

The phone kept ringing that day.


It was a three-hour drive to Niagara Falls. And every half hour, with the consistency of sunrise, the phone rang.


Our family considered this trip an annual pilgrimage. Accordingly, the car was overflowing with Cheetos, ketchup chips, and dozens of water bottles between my sister and I in the back seat. Whenever the battered 2006 Chevrolet Malibu swerved at an intersection, the water bottles moved with it, slamming one of us.


And even with all windows down and the car going at 100 km/h, it was like a jungle inside with how humid it was. So it wasn’t a surprise that everyone’s foreheads glistened with drops of sweat. But what really pushed us over the edge was that phone. My father’s phone was located on a suction cup attached slightly above the radio. He had pledged before the ride that since this was a day of relaxation, he would not take any calls. But once the name Asma Ali flashed across the screen, we all knew what the real reason was for not picking up. After what felt like the thousandth time of hearing the same Big Ben ringtone, my head felt a gong, and the phone was the mallet.


“Pick it up!” my sister, Sayeda, screamed.


Father glared at her for a split second and returned his eyes to the road. Just when it seemed like the ringtone would end, he extended a slightly trembling arm to press the green telephone symbol.


The low-pitched voice that roared from the phone instantly cut through the sound of the wind:


“You’re not explaining to me why Henry has to convert!”


My stomach began to churn. This was not a conversation I wanted to hear about. I glanced at Mother; she was steely-faced.


“Asma, you know not to call when I go to Niagara,” father hesitantly said.


“Do you know how weird this is for me? For me to say that he has to change his entire religion to marry me?”


“Asma, I will say this once more and not again. He has to convert to marry you, otherwise this marriage is haram.” -- And as soon as he got the sentence out, he hung up. Mother and I briefly observed each other from the side view mirror before she hastily averted her gaze towards the rolling meadows.


All was forgotten when we saw the first glimpse of Lake Ontario, looking like a sea of diamonds under the harsh sun. When we arrived at the Falls, the dramatic, chiseled cliff face took our breath away, as it did last year, and the year before that. Our years of experience informed us to find parking first rather than continue on the scenic, hilly road. It took us twenty minutes, but we found an empty spot in front of one of the tourist-trap malls. Strangely, the veritable mountain of chips remained untouched, so we decided it was best to go in the mall for a quick lunch. The atrium featured a twenty foot statue of a gaunt looking man, its gold painting chipped, revealing the plastic it was actually made of. Right as we all laid our eyes on it, the phone rang again. Father, fed up, immediately answered it and angrily whispered:


“Don’t call me again!”


There was a pause, and I saw his eyes briefly pop out before he became calm. I stayed close to him so I could hear the conversation.


“Asma, baby, what do you mean you don’t want an Imam to officiate the wedding?”


Another three second pause.


“No, he won’t judge you. It will be easy, five minutes, and he’s gone! Now, I’m trying to relax here but I can’t if you keep on calling like this. Do you know how selfish this is when I’m trying to spend time with the family?”


I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation; as soon as I saw the McDonald’s, I rushed to Mother, tugging her arm to plead for a Filet-o-Fish.


***


It wasn’t until the next day when we returned home that I found out about the particulars of the wedding, produced after a breathless three hour negotiation which extended to 1 A.M. There would be a civil ceremony at a chapel, which both Henry’s and our family would attend, followed by a small Muslim wedding at our house. The dates were worked out so that both events would take place in a month.


For that one month, father was always on the phone, talking with home decorators, negotiating prices with caterers, or calling Henry to get to know him better. But whenever the subject of Asma’s marriage was even broached, Mother’s ever present smile would flatten into a stern line, and her face would lose its radiance. When Asma rang up, Mother would immediately rush outside and sit on the lawn chair, staying in the backyard until the call was over. No one asked her about what she thought of the wedding; everyone knew better. All the aunts swiftly understood that to know the latest about the wedding, they had to kindly ask her to give the phone to her husband. The only time I remember Mother directly talking about the wedding was when father asked if she was attending the civil service. The blood immediately drained from her face, but she numbly nodded, before proceeding to stare blankly out the window for the next hour.


On the car ride to the civil service, her face became even paler. It was overcast outside, cooler than it was when we went to Niagara Falls, but Sayeda and I were sweating just as much. It felt like an entire day had passed when we arrived at the town hall, where the service would take place. The square in front of it was eerily deserted. Inside though, you could almost mistake the lobby for a four-star hotel; there was a ritzy looking restaurant, dark wooden chairs and desks, and a black marble floor. We took a quick elevator ride up four floors, walked to the door at the end of the hall, and were greeted with a small room that was entirely decorated in drab brown carpet. Mother immediately marched to the chair located on the end of the first row, blowing past Aunty Salma’s attempt at a hug. Aunty rolled her eyes at me before kissing the cheeks of our family. She then led us over to the adjoining dressing room to see Asma. Her eyelashes were thick with mascara, and she wore a blazing, billowy white dress that extended halfway across the room. The dress was so thick that it looked as if she was floating on a cloud. She did a small twirl for us, while father looked on wearing a sheepish smile. We took photos in as many combinations as we possibly could; Asma and me, then Sayeda and Asma, then Sayeda, Asma, and me, and Aunty decided at the last second she wanted photos as well…


I decided to head back to the main room after the photos were taken. The chairs were divided by an aisle, which would be where the bride walked down. Mother had the entire left section of the room to herself, while Henry’s family, who just arrived, struggled to fit into the right section. I felt self-conscious walking in front of them to sit beside Mother. I gave a small wave and managed a quick hello to Henry before my face began blushing. I wondered if Henry’s parents were thinking of getting up to greet Mother, but the cold, defiant fury in her face made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. I felt the side-eyes that Henry was making in my direction, and finally he got the courage to come to me. He was sweating profusely, and it seemed like it was taking all the willpower he had to stop his eyes from darting to Mother, sitting beside me like a stony bodyguard.


“Hey...I heard you watch the Raptors. Think they’re going to win the championship this year?”


What? I didn’t have the first clue about basketball. Asma must have said to him that I liked basketball instead of baseball. All I could blurt out was:


“Didn’t the Kawhi guy leave?”


But both of us were saved from this painfully awkward discussion when the wedding officiator arrived in the room. In a poised manner, she walked up to the front of the room without looking at anyone and introduced herself as Mumtaz. Once the other family members trickled from the dressing room and sat in the same section as me, Asma came out, crying and holding a bouquet of flowers. The vows were swift, but I will never forget what happened when Mumtaz started talking about what it meant to be husband and wife: Mother started crying. I had only once seen her like this before, when she found out her father died. Asma and Henry, lips locked together, didn’t notice, but all the spectators were looking on at Mother instead of the new couple. When the ceremony was finished, the two families warily intermingled with each other. I found out that Henry had a charming sister, and a brother who was a budding photographer. His father nervously went to my father and said:


“I guess kids don’t listen to their parents anymore when it comes to marriage.”


All my father could do was anxiously laugh along, and change the topic to their background. Henry’s dad explained with more confidence that he was an immigrant from Macau who had opened a successful small business that lasted for twenty-three years. Father was slowly warming up to him when Mother stormed out of the room to head for the car. That’s when we knew to leave.


There was one final hurdle to clear: the wedding at our house. When we were planning what flowers to have at the entrance, Mother strangely spoke up and said we should have hydrangeas, before swiftly pursing her lips back together. She clearly saw that father was out of his league when it came to planning how the house would accommodate the few close relatives we would invite over. Day-by-day, she would give more hints on what fabric to choose, what colour, which vases looked the best, until she de facto took over the entire process. When the hydrangeas were delivered, and the house ready, I saw her smile for the first time in weeks. The wedding went off without a hitch. Mother looked on approvingly, with the slightest grin when the Imam pronounced that they were wedded in the eyes of God. After we had eaten the delicious kabobs, Sayeda suggested we go to the backyard to play a wedding game. That’s how we spent the entire evening, until Asma decided at 7 PM that she had to get back to her apartment to prepare for work tomorrow. Mother and I watched Asma and Henry drive off into the soft sunset with a “Just Married” sticker emblazoned across the bumper.


“Do you love Asma again?” I whispered.


Mother’s tranquil face broke, and she peered into the lavender sky, before quietly saying:


“She’s not my daughter anymore.”