An exclusive investigation into the suspicious number of Jewish couples emerging from a supposedly educational trip. JERUSALEM, ISRAEL — For decades, Birthright Israel has advertised itself as a free 10-day trip designed to connect young Jewish adults with their heritage, culture, and ancestral homeland. However, a groundbreaking investigation suggests the program may be operating under an entirely different agenda: finding Jewish mothers their future sons- and- daughters-in-law. Each year, thousands of young Jewish adults go on flights to Israel expecting historical landmarks, cultural experiences, and maybe even a deeper understanding of their identity. What they don’t expect is to find themselves discussing baby names with a man named Ben from Los Angeles after knowing him for, like, 72 hours. According to completely unverified statistics, 87% of Birthright participants develop romantic feelings for someone on their trip, while the remaining 13% are reportedly still recovering from their previous Jewish relationship. “I came to Israel to connect with my roots,” said one anonymous participant. “I just didn’t realize those roots would lead me to a Jewish man with curly hair and commitment issues.” The Ten-Day Relationship Experiment Relationship experts have long suggested that meaningful romantic connections take time to develop. Birthright participants, however, appear determined to disprove this theory. By day two, participants have identified their romantic interests. By day four, they’re inseparable. By day six, they’ve discussed marriage, children, and whether their future household will observe Shabbat. By day eight, the couple has already survived their first major relationship obstacle: one of them sitting next to someone else on the bus. Researchers believe the accelerated timeline can be attributed to a phenomenon known as Birthright Delusion, a condition in which sleep deprivation, shared trauma from 4 a.m. wake-up calls, and prolonged exposure to attractive Jewish singles create the illusion of a three-year relationship in under a week. “It’s a fascinating psychological phenomenon,” explained a relationship expert who was not at all consulted for this article. “Under normal circumstances, these people would spend months getting to know each other. But put them on a bus in Israel with limited sleep and unlimited hummus, and suddenly they’re soulmates.” The Bus: A Matchmaking Machine While Birthright claims its buses are simply a means of transportation, investigators have identified them as the primary location of romantic development. Participants spend hours sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing headphones, falling asleep on each other, and pretending not to notice when their crush chooses the seat beside them. “She fell asleep on my shoulder somewhere between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv,” recalled one participant. “That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” The couple had met approximately 36 hours earlier. Additional evidence suggests that tour guides may unknowingly contribute to the matchmaking process by repeatedly telling participants to find a partner before leaving the bus. The Airport: Where Ten Days Become Ten Years Perhaps the most alarming findings emerged at Ben Gurion Airport, where participants were observed crying uncontrollably while saying goodbye to individuals they had met less than two weeks earlier. Witnesses described scenes resembling the final moments of a tragic romance film, complete with prolonged embraces, tearful declarations of love, and promises to make long-distance relationships work. “We’ve been through so much together,” said one participant, referring to a relationship that had lasted nine days and included two Shabbat dinners, one camel ride, and a minor disagreement over air conditioning. Sources confirm that several couples had already begun researching flights between Los Angeles and Miami before their plane even departed. Experts warn that the return to normal life can be particularly devastating, as couples must learn to maintain their relationships without constant supervision, scheduled activities, or 38 mutual friends cheering every time they kiss. The Jewish Geography Conspiracy Further investigation revealed that many Birthright couples discover they were never truly strangers. In one case, a couple learned they had attended the same Jewish summer camp, followed 23 of the same people on Instagram, and had grandmothers who played Bingo together in Florida. “It’s almost like the Jewish community is incredibly interconnected,” noted one researcher, visibly shaken by the discovery. Investigators have not ruled out the possibility that Jewish mothers have been secretly coordinating these encounters for generations. A Call for Transparency Despite mounting evidence, Birthright continues to market itself primarily as a cultural and educational experience. Critics argue that future advertisements should more accurately reflect the program’s potential outcomes, proposing a revised slogan: “Ten Days. One Homeland. One Potential Husband.” At press time, Birthright had not been contacted for comment, and several participants were reportedly planning their next trip to Israel to celebrate their six-month anniversaries. Editor's Note: The author maintains that Birthright is a cultural and educational experience, not a matchmaking service. She would also like to announce that she met her boyfriend on Birthright. These two statements are completely unrelated.

By Maya Kaye I knock my knee down to the sharpest degree. May my mouth declare between kotzim: Out of my chest leap six tilapia As their holy-leavened throats run dry – Crisping, panting, dive into the pool Between a complex arrangement of basalt. The gorge has canines made of basalt, Buzzing with fever, to a certain degree. Drips of ram wool at my feet, pool. Every ripple (is (a (soft (bite (of (kotzim). Sun-charged steam in those eyes crease dry, [So don’t look at me], I’m just a tilapia. (A spiral is an eddy), (( a cycle is tilapia)), (((and the spin of the Earth cooled lava to basalt))). Fish for definitives and come up dry. But harvest high fruits of the sweetest degree, Sew their seeds in soil [guarded with kotzim] In reservoir, these loose threads pool. A tiny universe reflects back in every pool. Gazing down, I’m wearing the head of a tilapia, Juggling autumn’s yield amidst kotzim. carving [a residence out of basalt], knowing {divine magic to a sort of degree}, Diverging streams so this tongue doesn’t lap dry. And while the flow of this life cannot turn dry – I can’t seem to avoid any pool. These waters endorse my sentience at every degree. This heartbeat, moving faster than tilapia, Erodes permanence and |columns| |of | |basalt| So that the pinnacle of Ema’s tongue won’t form kotzim. As if August isn’t the time of > the sharpest kotzim, Or this hot embrace >> leaves golden landmines dry. In this world where our {covenant} is made of {basalt}; And the faults we release deepens the pool Of mitzvot, m u l t i p l y i n g like tilapia, Embodying revolution, to a scaled degree. A fate carved into basalt with crumbling kotzim. The highest degree turns apologies dry. But this is the forgiveness pool, the year of tilapia. God forbid a girl wants to swim.

By Maya Kaye “He would always take me to play basketball and soccer with him. He was super into sports and he got me into liking Maccabbee Tel Aviv … which also helped me get to know his friends and other people in Israel.” Balaban spoke about Roy’s ability to always be at the center of attention, as well as his unrelenting kindness and care as well. He described how at family gatherings, Roy was always helping his grandparents and younger siblings with anything they needed. “He was a family man.” Roy was drafted to the Golani unit of the military in 2022. He quickly found that his background was much different than other soldiers in his unit. While Roy was from Tel Aviv, most of the people around him came from Orthodox communities. Despite their differences, Roy befriended everyone he shared his service with. “Roy was a סתלבטן (stalbeitan), someone who could poke fun at anything. That was the word people would always use to talk about him.” Roy was stationed at Kibbutz Nahal Oz, a community near the border with Gaza. On October 7th, 2023, Roy found himself among fifteen soldiers against hundreds of Hamas terrorists. Roy and the soldiers used an armored vehicle to protect the kibbutz, until it stopped working. Then, they all ran by foot to the base, where there were many soldiers without guns. Roy and other combat soldiers were able to get many of them out alive. They fought for hours on end. In this battle, Roy lost his life. The communities that love Roy have been doing everything they can to honor his story. “Roy was in the tzofim, the scouts, and had a pretty big role there. Everyone knew him there. So whenever I talk to someone from North Tel Aviv, they know him from either that or from school. They have a lot of events there, like soccer tournaments and runs, in memory of him. They’ve also made shirts with his name and face on it . . . it’s really cool to see people who didn’t even know him heard his story and were touched enough to come [to these events] wearing his shirt.” Balaban also spoke about his wide network of friends that continue to show up in his memory. “After he passed, they would come to be with the family. [There were people at Roy’s home] every day for a month. It became a tradition that every Friday, even now, they’re still doing it. Every Friday they’re with Roy’s parents and siblings, sitting at the house, drinking beers, talking. Friends from the army, friends from home, friends from other places, became friends from these mornings together. It’s crazy that [Roey] moved so many people. Three years later, not only are they coming to the house every Friday, they are also doing new things together in memory of him.” Roy was a jokester, an athlete, and a soldier. A cousin, a brother, a son, a grandson, and a friend. No matter what role he was fulfilling, he had a special ability to make people feel at home in his presence. May his memory be a blessing. Follow @remember.roy.bareket on Instagram to see how his loved ones are honoring his life.

By Lee Ellis The first rule of a Halloween sleepover was that you had to tell ghost stories after midnight. The second was that you weren't allowed to chicken out when things got scary. And the third, which Nancy made up that evening, was that whoever screamed first had to eat an entire bowl of candy corn. "I hate candy corn," Misha announced, flopping onto Nancy's bed. "That's the point," Nancy replied. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, sorting through our Halloween candy. Christie and Amanda were arguing over which horror movie to watch, while Sarah sat at Nancy's vanity, removing her makeup. Kacey stood by the window, peering through the curtains at the darkened street. "Come on, Kace," I called. "You're missing the candy." She turned. "Sorry. I thought I saw someone outside." Nancy immediately sat up. "Someone?" "Probably just a neighbor." "Or a ghost," Misha suggested. We laughed, and Kacey joined us on the floor. It was October 31st, 1998, and we were thirteen years old. Nancy's parents were away for the weekend, leaving us the entire house to ourselves. We'd been friends since elementary school, and as far as I was concerned, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. At eleven o'clock, we'd eaten most of our candy, abandoned our movie halfway through, and started looking for something else to do. That's when Kacey found the box beneath Nancy's bed. It was small, wooden, and covered in dust. Strange numbers and crescent moons had been carved into its lid. "What's that?" I asked. "I've never seen it before," Nancy said. Inside were several yellowed photographs, a folded newspaper clipping, and a handwritten booklet bound with faded red string. Nancy opened the booklet. THE HALLOWEEN GAME. "Oh, absolutely not," Sarah said. "Oh, absolutely yes," Misha replied. Nancy read the instructions aloud. "The game may only be played on October thirty-first, after midnight. Six players must be present. No more, no less." She turned the page. "Before beginning, each player must leave the room. One player remains behind to extinguish the lights. All players must return together. Once inside, count the players present." "That's it?" Amanda asked. Nancy continued reading. "If the number is incorrect, do not count again." We stared at the page. Misha burst out laughing. "That's the stupidest game I've ever heard of." "Maybe it's supposed to summon a demon," Christie said. "Or maybe it's a prank," I suggested. Then Nancy turned to the final page. Written in smaller letters was a sentence none of us had noticed before. IF YOU COUNT SIX, ONE OF THEM IS NOT YOURS. We should have stopped there. Instead, because we were thirteen and it was Halloween, we decided to play. We followed the instructions exactly. Nancy left first, followed by Christie, Amanda, Sarah, and me. Misha stayed behind to switch off the lights before joining us in the hallway. Then we all returned together. Nancy counted us. "One, two, three, four, five, six." We laughed. "Congratulations," Christie announced. "We can count." But Nancy didn't laugh. She was staring at the booklet. "What?" I asked. She pointed to another sentence, written beneath the instructions. SHE MUST BE COUNTED TO STAY. A floorboard creaked in the hallway. We all turned toward the door. A girl stood there. She looked about our age, with dark hair falling around her shoulders and a white dress tied with a black ribbon at the waist. Her face was pale, but she smiled as though she'd known us for years. "Hi," she said. Nobody moved. Nancy swallowed. "Who are you?" The girl's smile faltered. "I'm your friend." "I don't know you," Nancy replied. The girl looked confused. "But you invited me." "We didn't," I said. She turned toward me, and suddenly her expression softened. "Oh," she whispered. "You remember me." I felt a chill crawl up my arms. "Remember you from where?" The girl opened her mouth, then stopped. "I don't know." Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't remember my name." For a moment, I forgot to be frightened. She looked so lost, sitting on the edge of Nancy's bed with her hands folded in her lap. I sat beside her. "It's okay," I said. "We'll figure it out." She looked at me for a long time. "You used to sit next to me at lunch," she whispered. "You always gave me the red sweets from your lunchbox." I hated red sweets. I'd never liked them. But before I could ask what she meant, Nancy picked up the Polaroid we'd taken earlier. "Guys," she whispered. "Look at this." The photograph showed six girls standing together in front of the bed. Except there were seven figures. The girl in the white dress stood behind us, her face blurred. We turned toward the doorway. She was gone. On the back of the photograph, someone had written a name. EMILY. And beneath it, in handwriting that looked decades old: SHE WAS THE SIXTH GIRL. We searched the house, but Emily had vanished. Then Sarah noticed something in the wooden box we'd found beneath Nancy's bed: an old newspaper clipping. The headline read: LOCAL GIRL DIES IN HALLOWEEN ACCIDENT. The article described the death of Emily Rosen, aged thirteen, who had disappeared during a Halloween sleepover in 1985. Her body had been found the following morning in the woods behind her home. At the bottom of the clipping, someone had written: THEY SAID THERE WERE ONLY FIVE OF THEM. Sarah went pale. "I think I know her," she whispered. She explained that her mother had once told her about a childhood friend named Emily. They'd been inseparable, but after Emily died, Sarah's mother had stopped talking about her. "She couldn't even remember what Emily looked like," Sarah said. "It was like she'd never existed." We found another photograph in the box. It showed six girls standing together in front of a house. One was a younger version of Sarah's mother. Five names had been written on the back. The sixth had been scratched out so violently that the paper had torn. Suddenly, the lights went out. A soft knock came at the bedroom door. "Please," Emily whispered from the other side. "Please remember me." Sarah began to cry. I looked down at the booklet. Beneath the final instruction, another sentence had appeared. SHE MUST BE REMEMBERED TO LEAVE. I understood then. Emily wasn't trying to hurt us. She had returned because the people who once loved her had forgotten her. Her name had disappeared from photographs and memories, and she had been left alone. "We have to find out what happened," I said. Nobody argued. We opened the door. Emily was standing in the hallway, her expression frightened. "Emily," I said softly. "What happened to you?" She shook her head. "I don't remember." Then Sarah's mother arrived. Sarah had called her earlier, and this time she'd answered. She came into the house wearing her dressing gown, her face pale when she saw the photograph. "I thought I'd forgotten," she whispered. She told us what had happened in 1985. She and four other girls had attended a Halloween sleepover at Emily's house. They'd found the same booklet and played the same game. During the game, Emily had become frightened and wanted to stop. The others teased her. When the lights went out, Emily disappeared. The girls searched the house, then assumed she'd gone home. The next morning, Emily's parents reported her missing. She was found in the woods later that day. "After the funeral, I tried to remember that night," Sarah's mother told us, tears streaming down her face. "But the memories kept slipping away. Eventually, I couldn't even remember what she'd looked like." "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Sarah asked. "We thought it would make things easier if we stopped talking about her." She looked at the photograph. "We forgot her because it was easier than remembering." The room fell silent. Then Sarah stepped forward. "Emily Rosen," she said. The girl in the white dress looked up. "Will you remember me?" Emily whispered. "Yes." "Will you tell people about me?" "Yes." "Will you say my name?" Sarah took her mother's hand. "Emily Rosen. Our friend." The lights flickered. A soft breeze moved through the room, though every window was closed. Emily smiled. For the first time, she looked peaceful. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she disappeared. We never played the Halloween game again. Sarah's mother found Emily's photograph in an old school yearbook and placed it in a frame on the mantelpiece. She began telling stories about their friendship: the games they'd played, the songs they'd sung, and how Emily always insisted on carving the first pumpkin every Halloween. For the first time in thirteen years, Emily was remembered. The following October, Sarah invited us to her mother's house. The photograph still stood on the mantelpiece, showing six girls smiling together. I looked at their faces, then turned the frame over. Six names had been written on the back. Nancy. Misha. Christie. Amanda. Sarah. And Emily. I smiled. Then I heard a familiar voice behind me. "You're still here." I turned. Emily stood in the doorway, wearing her white dress and black ribbon. She looked thirteen years old, just as she had the night we met her. She smiled at me. "Thank you for remembering me." Before I could answer, she disappeared. On the mantelpiece, beside the photograph, sat a single piece of candy corn. I laughed. After all, Nancy had made a rule that whoever screamed first had to eat an entire bowl of it. And I'd never been particularly fond of candy corn. The End

By Erica Sherkin life called on the yellow phone the sparkling landline with the long white extension cord and life called today to tell [you] to understand the|warmth|of |the|sand| the pebbles and undergrain and what you gain underneath your feet life smiled and it wondered how bubbly seafoam worked its way into a circle around your ankles and did you giggle when shells turned to stepping ___ stones you hopped you closer to the thing called joy life leaped with pride today the cord e x te n d e d into the next {room} it felt your heart bubble up from the back of your throat warm blush !e x p l o d ed! throughout your cheeks honey sun touched the tippy tops of your shoulders —--------------------------------- the sun told life that it stayed there for a while made itself comfortable and danced on your collarbones —-------------------------------------- life understood today how your under eyes felt like weighted sandbags with crimson gravel skin as deep as purple indigo life tried to loosen ///knotted\\\ knuckles/// even if it resulted in crackles and snaps full of ? static fuzzy as a television screen life talked to the little drummer men marching on in your head told them that you had the only drum you need they agreed to show you the march to your own beat life burrowed its eyebrows clenched its fists, cord almost snapped it wondered why seeing the soul in reflection //noitcelfer in the [room] where you bathe where tangles come out and cinnamon —------------- honeysuckle is sprayed was the hardest part of the day —-------- life wrapped the cord it within its hands and explained in a soft voice that God was on the other line but He would get to you soon

By Charlotte Breier Wait, it's only week three right? Plus, the signs as Halloween costumes. Aries - Taleh Nisan (Mar. 21 - April 19) Daylight savings time change is approaching. You’ll be going to class in the sunlight and emerge in 4pm darkness, but don’t let the darkness consume you. At least Shabbat dinner will be earlier! No more going out tops at Chabad, you can finally be a little modest with time to get ready and get to the pregame. Make light in the dark. Wearing the same firefighter hat from the past 5 years. Economical and sustainable! Taurus - Shor Iyar (April 20 - May 20) It's time to be brave. No more skipping Chabad because you don’t have anyone to go with. You typically resort to acting like you’re helping in the kitchen when you have nobody to talk to even though the kitchen is already swarmed with the pregamers and the volunteers who have been laboring away in there all day. Showing up alone is like, cool and mysterious. Put yourself out there! It’s so nerdy we can’t remember what the hell it is. Gemini - Teomim Sivan (May 21 - June 21) Girl, it’s not week one anymore. That iClicker is not gonna do itself, and hangovers don’t count for sick absences. Grab those electrolytes and aspirin cause this year we are playing hard and working harder. Prison Jumpsuit Cancer - Sarton Tammuz (June 22 - July 22) The situationship is not getting a new label anytime soon. The situation is y’all don’t want to talk about your feelings. It’s okay, we’ve all been there. We’re basically in situationships with our roommates, our parents, our coworkers. Talk to your ships, clear the situations. Unspecified Wild Animal Leo - Ari Av (July 23 - Aug. 22) Yom Kippur was only a month ago, you’ve got a long way to go before the next day of atonement and the material to atone for is building up. Spend some time with your elders, you’ll gain valuable insight and learn from their years of atonement. Soon those elders will graduate and you’ll never talk again as they embark on their unc life, so now is the time. Playboy Bunny (a feminist!) Virgo - Betulah Elul (Aug. 23 - Sept. 22) Take some time to focus on you. #selfcare. You’re like the therapist of Hillel, but what about your own problems? Perhaps you are trying to fill the rabbinic void, but perhaps you are focusing on the flaws and drama around you to uphold your own facade of perfection. Or maybe you’re just a chiller with no drama and you should go to rabbinical school and be the new Hillel Rabbi? Idk, just throwing things out into the stars. Queen Esther; only conceptualization of Halloween is Purim. Libra - Moznayim Tishrei (Sept. 23 - Oct. 23) Tired of spending 8 hours in the lib on weekends? We’re here to tell you that you don’t have to! You’re doing all your socializing on the fourth floor, when you could be doing it outside. No more longing through the ocean side windows, do your work and then touch some grass. In the lib on Halloween Scorpio - ‘Akrab Cheshvan (Oct. 24 - Nov. 21) ‘Tis the season of the Scorpios! You are beginning a new season of your own. We know you’re more of a Talmud gal, but the Torah opposes divination and predicting the future. You must make your own decisions, pave your own path. Going as an angel and a devil with their roommate, forgot to coordinate so they’re both angels. Sagittarius - Kasshat Kislev (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) This week’s parsha, Vayera, includes the circumcision of Abraham at age 99. It’s never too late for you! To go for your dreams and goals, that is. It is definitely late to get circumcised, but anything could happen. Life may be discouraging, but don’t feel behind, a breakthrough is coming your way. Bob Ross Capricorn - Gedi Tevet (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19) You’ve been working hard to open up and talk to more people, well, let people talk to you. The yenta gene certainly skipped over you, people tend to get more of a Buddhist monk vibe from you. Your spiritual strength is commendable, allow that spirit to fuel some spontaneity, get silly! Bedsheet ghost Aquarius - D’li Shevat (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18) Love the passion. Love the energy. Make some of that energy tangible. Pick one thing this month and really try it out. You may fantasize about the aura of getting barreled, but you should probably touch a surfboard first. Vaguely a Mermaid Pisces - Dagim Adar (Feb. 19 - Mar. 20) Perhaps you’ve missed the stability and guidance of these detailed horoscopes while Fig & Vine was away for summer. What guidance did you find in your own spirit? Let your spirit entwine with the stars, revealing a path toward great revelations. You’ll feel it. Is going as Santa’s (slutty) little helper; “We always celebrated both growing up.”

By Sara Altmark Fall is officially here, and there’s nothing better than something warm and homemade, especially with midterms and sick season going around. In Jewish tradition, food has always been a way to bring people together, whether it’s for Shabbat or simply sharing something homemade with friends. These pumpkin chocolate chip muffins are super easy to make and perfect for a cozy morning, a study break, or a little Shabbat treat! Ingredients: .1 cup pumpkin purée .1 cup flour . ½ cup brown sugar .1 egg . ¼ cup vegetable oil . 1 tsp baking powder . 1 tsp cinnamon . ½ cup chocolate chips Directions: Preheat your oven to 350°F. Mix the pumpkin, egg, oil, and brown sugar in a bowl. Stir in the flour, baking powder, and cinnamon. Fold in the chocolate chips. Pour into a lined muffin tin and bake for 18–22 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out without wet batter. Whether you’re making them for yourself, bringing them to a Shabbat dinner, or sharing with friends, these muffins are an easy fall recipe to try!

As you may know, Fig and Vine has recently undergone a major transfer in power, effective immediately. Newly named dictator-in-chief, Maya Kaye, is looking ahead to big changes in how things run at Fig and Vine magazine. Kaye’s position as editor was previously held by Lily Karofsky, of the article Who is Behind Fig and Vine. It is well known that Kaye is quite the outdoor adventurer. First on the list of executive orders Kaye plans to enact is more field trips. Look out for a Fig and vine field trip to Herzog winery in the Chabad van, which will be the pregame for wildcat, which is a pregame for the real party at dictator editor Kaye and Morgan Guttman’s house (known for its signature Maya-tinis and Borg-an). The Herzog field trip will serve as a perfect research opportunity for Kaye’s bigger plans - Fig and Vine’s own line of fig wine! She’s already been sterilizing her bathtub in preparation. Also in the works is a secret menu for Fig and Vine’s most dedicated fans, accessible only through an email prompting you to verify your bank account information. Kaye has generously shared a sneak peek of the first secret menu recipe – Grandma’s homemade wood chip kugel (with real wood chips). While she misses co-authoring adventure chronicles with former staff writer Allen Schultz, Kaye still has plenty of adventures to write about, and perhaps we will even see a guest writer or two in the coming year. This leads us to the question I’m sure we were all wondering – whether or not the former president of Hillel (the ginger one) had anything to do with this Fig and Vine overhaul of leadership. “No comment” Oh wait… hold on. This interview has just been interrupted by a call from said ginger. “Oh my gawd. Really? Oh my GAWD! Oh my g-d, woah.” “Holy fuck thats really… fucked” They must be talking about how Lily Karofsky got totally screwed by that one staff writer who has been plotting this takeover of Fig and Vine for like, ever. I hear she bribed the Comms Academic advisors so that Lily would just graduate already. Well as far as leadership, it seems Kaye will be taking a slightly different approach for the future of Fig and Vine magazine. When asked about her leadership in an interview, former editor Lily Karofsky states “I just want people to love what they are doing.” In response, Kaye states “BFFR, no one should love this, it’s writing.” When it comes to writing, Maya Kaye feels most at home expressing herself through poetry. “Its actually really, really hard for me to write. I feel like I can only write something that I care deeply about.” One thing Maya cares deeply about is the Jewish community here in Santa Barbara. One month into Maya’s freshman year was Simchat Torah, and the one year anniversary of October 7th. Coming to Santa Barbara was a daunting change after a gap year in Israel interrupted so early on by the attacks of October 7th. But on this night of reclaimed joy, strangers became her community and support system. “I basked in the fact that everyone came from different places, but knew all the same songs that we sang from Picasso to DP.” Singing and dancing throughout Isla Vista encapsulates the pride that the Jewish Gauchos have for their community. We sing for each other's successes and losses, we dance in celebration and in commemoration. Maya, Lily, and the Fig and Vine staff are honored to be here singing, dancing, and telling stories through it all with the Jewish Gauchos. Keep following along for all that Maya has to share with the community and beyond!

On May 12th, 2026, I sat down with Fig & Vine’s creator and co-editor-in chief, Lily Karofsky, in Hillel’s student lounge. Together, we reflected on the past two years of growth of the magazine, and the positive impact of having a platform for Jewish journalism and creativity. Fig & Vine has been such a fundamental part of my Jewish experience at UCSB, so interviewing Lily was very bittersweet. We touched on the immense joys that we’ve felt over the years, but also the difficulty of the constant turnover of the people we love entering and leaving this college town. As always, we reminisced on so many iconic moments, and shared lots of laughs. Without further ado, this is Lily, on the record, for the last time as editor-in-chief of Fig & Vine. What inspired you to create Fig & Vine? Lily: Fig & Vine was created in the antisemitic aftermath of October 7th. I realized very quickly that people were talking about Jewish students and people were talking for Jewish students. But not a lot of people were actually talking to Jewish students and letting us have a platform to speak for ourselves. I came up with the idea for Fig & Vine because the night of the Girvetz police raid and the encampment being taken down at UCSB two years ago, a reporter asked me to give a statement. I mentioned in it that I was Jewish and they seemed genuinely surprised by it. I don’t really know why but he was like, ‘oh, are you scared being here?’ And I said, ‘well, it’s as off-putting as it would be for anyone.’ Then I realized, we should really be having our own space to be sharing our own thoughts and feelings. Then I also realized that a lot of the fun in writing was lost for me because I was writing about depressing shit constantly. Although these things are important to talk about, writing should also bring people together and be fun. So, I thought Fig & Vine should be a place for art, poetry, and satire. Just a place for Jewish students who love writing to be able to express themselves in a way that feels good, and whether that’s addressing the sad and scary stuff, or if it’s just being funny on the page. And thus: Fig & Vine! Maya: Yeah, I can relate. I had a journalism internship in Tel Aviv during my gap year and it was very heavy. I had to constantly write about hostage updates and terror attacks in Israel. It’s a lot. Lily: Exactly. We need a place for that, but we also need a place where Jewish joy can just exist without guilt. Maya: I’ve felt so much joy through Fig & Vine. Lily: Yeah, I’m gonna miss it. I also love how Fig & Vine is so encompassing of the Jewish community because, as a community, we have to hold both. We can’t let our entire world collapse every time something bad happens, or we’d never feel any joy. But we also can’t turn our backs on the ongoing antisemitism in the world and I think that being able to hold both is the epitome of being Jewish right now. I hope that Fig & Vine has represented that. What’s one of your favorite memories of this Jewish community? Lily: I had so much fun at the Shabbat crawl! I thought it was such a good idea, and I talked to more people than I usually do because everyone was moving around. I also had a good time at prom and I’m glad we were able to pull it off before I graduated. Overall, my favorite thing is walking into Shabbat and seeing so many people I know either super well or maybe just within Shabbat. Everyone is happy to be there, and I think it represents such a safe space for our community. I just love that even college students feel an attachment to that tradition, that you can slow down for a couple hours and go have Shabbat with your friends and reconnect for a little bit. Maya: Do you plan to celebrate Shabbat in the future? Lily: I’m hoping to be involved with CBB after graduation. I still want to be rooted in my Jewish life. That’s so much easier in college because there’s always Hillel and Chabad, and things like Sinai Scholars and Hillel art classes. I'm just constantly involved in Jewish things without having to put much effort in. I’m curious to see how that changes after graduation. I’m realizing I might have to put more effort into having Judaism in my life, and that is so important to me. So whether it’s coming back here to visit every once in a while or having Shabbat at CBB, I definitely want to keep up with this tradition. What’s something you’re going to miss about IV? Lily: I just love living so close to my friends. I think the realization finally hit me the other day. This is probably the last time I’m going to live within walking distance of all of my best friends. And that’s just crazy. I love that I can just text people and we can hang out in just a few minutes. Yeah I’m gonna miss that. Maya: What is the first thing you’re doing after you graduate? Lily: Moving the fuck out of IV. Maya: Do you have any side quests planned for the summer? Lily: Hopefully going back to Boston for a week. My east coast friends are getting a house on the cape for a week so I’m hoping I could go spend a few days with them. And, um, trying not to obtain another cat. I think three is my limit but… who knows. The nights get lonely. What are you most excited for, post college? Lily: Well, I’m excited to move out of IV and move somewhere new. While it’s been a ride, this town is starting to feel a bit small, and I’m excited for some more growing room. I’m also excited to never take a comm class again, that feels great. Maya: That’s so exciting. Lily: Yeah, but I’m in that weird phase where I’ve felt so excited to be done for years. But as soon as you take your senior photos, the graduation goggles get stuck on your face. I don’t understand how there’s four weeks left in the quarter. That makes me want to throw up a little bit. There’s so much I’m excited for after, but right now, all I can think about is everything that I’m going to miss. It’s a little brutal. Maya: Yeah, I can’t think of a tougher transition. (Another one of our graduating writers, Simone Elliot, then enters the room.) Lily: It’s crazy. I’m looking at these people and wondering what it’s going to be like not living right by them anymore. Also, so many of my friends are graduating but also so many aren’t, so I’m wondering what that’s going to be like. It’s going to be a transition for sure. Maya: It’s so bittersweet watching all my senior friends graduate too. Yeah, brutal. Lily: You know what else is brutal? Being terrorized by this fly. It keeps buzzing in my ear. What a little bitch. Where’d he go? He keeps landing on my shoe. Simone: Dude, I was sitting in here, but it keeps landing on me. I wasn’t going to let it bother me but it keeps on buzzing in my ear! I’m leaving. Would you rather be attacked by 1,000 little flies, or one big fly? Simone: Honestly, one really big fly. Bye! Lily: How fast is he? Can I outrun him? Maya: Yes… but barely. Lily: Hmm… I don’t know because with the 1,000 I can go crazy with the electric swatter insert flailing motion until I kill them all. But one big one… Maya: Maybe it can be a David and Goliath situation? Lily: But I feel like they’re so gross, like, imagine a big fly looking at you… Maya and Lily: EWWWW. Lily: Yeah, I’ll take the little ones. Assuming I have a swatter. Maya: And do you think you’re skilled enough to get them all? Lily: Who’s to say? But the thought of one massive one is so much more terrifying. How did he get so big? Where did he come from? Are there more of him? Who created him and why? I feel like that’s more of an issue. Maya: Well, this fly that’s been terrorizing us in the lounge will be remembered forever through Fig & Vine. Lily: Amen. Maya: Amen. Maya: So Lily… What’s the craziest thing you’ve done in IV past 2:00 am? Lily: Willingly still spend time at the AEPi house. That was a choice that I made. Ohhh also probably driving to LA at 2 am. Like, starting the drive at 2 am. I probably just should have gone to bed. Like that one quote in How I Met Your Mother… Maya and Lily: NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS AFTER 3 AM. What’s the worst class you’ve taken at UCSB? Lily: There’s this class that counts as a writing credit or a French credit but it’s technically under the French department. It’s called ‘Fantasy and Fantastic’ and I thought it was going to be the coolest thing ever because of the title but the professor is this little old woman and her instructions were so unclear. We’d have these interesting conversations about these short stories but then her quizzes would be like ‘what day was this published’ and ‘what day was this author born.’ Nobody fucking knows that shit. So I very quickly started failing it and then I dropped the class. I think half the class dropped. Maya: Wow, that’s not fun and fantastic at all. Lily: Yeah the class sounded like it would be whimsical as fuck and… it wasn’t. What’s your go-to Hillel snack? Lily: Oh, those little chocolate panda cookie things. The Hello Panda. I also love Cheez-its. Fuck, Marry, Kill… Hillel, Chabad, and AEPi? Lily: I’m fucking AEPi. Because one and done and it’s a fun night and then you don’t make eye contact at the next Shabbat. Everyone’s been there. But marry and kill is hard because I do love them both… I think I have to marry Hillel because they literally publish this magazine. Maya: So you kill Chabad? Lily: Ugh I can’t! But I can’t fuck Chabad because they’re orthodox! Maybe I do wanna marry Chabad… but then do I have to be orthodox? Maya: Probably yes. Lily: No comment. What’s been your silliest antic in the Hillel building? Lily: No comment. Do you have a favorite article that’s been published in the past two years? Lily: Some of my favorites of mine were the mini-series I did with Geroge Rusznak, a Holocaust survivor. I learned so much from him. Even though they were very short and sweet, it felt good to put some of his wisdom out there. ‘Jewish or Journalist,’ the piece I wrote when the encampment was going on, I still personally love because of how much hate it got, haha. When I think of Fig & Vine classics, I always think of your duo articles with Allen. I was laughing so hard when I was editing those. This was also during the rise of your relationship so I felt what I imagine what a director might feel when two of their actors fall in love on set. And omg, Allen’s piece about the Cabo trip was one of my favorite things ever! That was so good. And Charlotte’s astrology pieces! Those were so good too! Also, I do have a soft spot for the recipe section. I know we don’t do that much anymore, but it was always fun to hear what peoples’ favorite family recipes were, but, those were some of my favorites. Maya: Awee! Yeah, those were all so fun. Were you involved with any other orgs in college? Lily: Lowkey, not really. I feel like my world here has been so defined by the Jewish community. I’ve been involved in Hillel, Chabad, Achayot, and then running Fig & Vine was my main thing. Maya: Yeah, I’ve never felt this much love from any other community. Lily: Yeah, not really! I look back and wonder if I should have done more. But no, I did what made me happy! I also spent so much time with my friends and so much time with my family! I feel like I had a very good school/work life balance, and that’s more important to me. Also… I don’t like a lot of people. Maya: That’s not true. Lily: You’re right, that’s not true at all! I just don’t like organized activity, I like my downtime. Maya: And what do you like to do with your downtime? Lily: I love to be with my cats. Those little gremlins take up a fair amount of time. I also read a lot. One of the reasons I wanted to live alone was because I wanted my own little space. I’m at my apartment a lot, but I love it. It’s so cozy, and I sit outside and I read. I’m content and happy. My brother and his wife live downtown and I spend a lot of time with them. They got married last November, so lots of time went into that. Also spending time with my friends! Yeah, most of my activities are pretty chill, but they make me happy. Maya: That’s so nice. Sitting down in the sun and reading with your cats sounds perfect. Lily: Oh it’s so lovely. Maya: Do you have a book rec for us? Lily: One of my favorite books is The Five People We Meet in Heaven. I’ve read it multiple times throughout college because I learn something new every time. It’s based on the author’s uncle’s philosophy about what happens after you die. I’ve always found that very interesting because in Judaism, there’s so many theories about what happens after you die. In this theory, heaven is getting to understand how and why your life played out the way it did. So the theory is that in heaven, you meet five people that somehow altered your life with or without you knowing. Maya: That sounds like an amazing book. I’ll let you know if I get a chance to read it! Do you have any regrets from college? Lily: Yes but I don’t name names. Okay but really, I think regrets are a waste of time. You should think about what you should do with your life moving forward. We don’t have much control over everything but we do have some control over what we do next, and I think that’s most important. Someone should put that on a fortune cookie. Any closing remarks as you get ready to graduate and bequeath Fig & Vine? Lily: On a personal note, through the ups and downs of personal stuff and community-wide antisemitism, Fig & Vine has given me something to feel proud of. Nothing feels better than when someone tells me that an article made an impact, or it’s so sweet to see something like that. I get to take pride in something I got to create and the community it has become. When I see two people in our meetings working on something together, just knowing that all of that is happening because of an idea I had one night to fill a hole that I was feeling… that’s such a good feeling. Fig & Vine was almost selfish in its nature of its creation. It was filling a hole that I felt. I didn’t know if anyone else was feeling what I was feeling, but it turned out that a lot of people were! I think that also brought a lot of community into my life, that a lot of people were feeling the emptiness that I was feeling, and the need to have more self-expression. So I think Fig & Vine kept me grounded in the past few years, in that I always had something that I cared about. So even if school was rough, or, social life or personal life was rough, I feel like I had something that was bigger than me that I cared about, and it kept me going. I love it and I’ll miss it. I’m really proud of you for taking it over, and I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with it. It’s weird, it’s like a baby bird leaving the nest. I don’t know if I’m the bird or Fig & Vine is the bird in this metaphor. Maybe we’re both the bird? Maya: Hmm… maybe we need a better metaphor? Lily: It almost feels like Fig & Vine is the nest I built and I’m leaving the nest. Bye nest! Maya: So you had your children and you… left them in the nest? Lily: Maybe? We need a better metaphor. I don’t know who’s the bird and who’s the egg and who’s the nest. But either way, I love all of them. But you’re gonna kill it. I’m really excited to see where it goes, and to keep reading it! I’m really proud of what we’ve built together. Maya: Awee, thank you! Thank you for bringing me into this community at the start of my freshman year. I’ve had Fig & Vine for my entire college career and that’s meant a lot. Lily: Yeah that’s crazy. I’m so glad that you had that experience. And my experience was needing it and making it, and for others, it’s been there. That’s how important things get started. It’s a lesson that when you see an empty space, don’t be afraid to fill it. There’s a chance someone else sees it too. Thank you Lily for filling that space, and creating a magazine that will continue to live on with us. You will be so missed, as well as Simone Elliot, Junior Bases, and Jacob Rosen, our other graduating staff writers. Thank you for sharing your voices, and congrats on everything you’ve accomplished. With love, Maya and the rest of the Fig & Vine team

I finally dragged Abaynesh out of her home studio and onto a hike with me. After spending a lot of time applying sunscreen, packing snacks, and tugging on our boots, we finally made it out to our hiking spot. I picked a spot I had explored before, keeping Abaynesh’s lack of athleticism into account. It was a gorgeous hike, with thick foliage marking the path to a small valley with a creek to swim in and a gorgeous waterfall. Abaynesh didn’t complain too much about the hike; it was easy, a meandering path that would take us to a gorgeous destination. We talked about the farm, our lives over the past year, and all of a sudden, Abaynesh paused. “I know we’ve always talked about kids, and we both want kids. But how do you feel about soon?” I turned to look at her, “Of course. I love you so much, and I know we’ve always wanted to expand our family.” We continued walking, and questions began to surface. Who would carry the baby? We decided. Abaynesh wanted to, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready, especially after her mother described how difficult all of her pregnancies were. Who would we want to get a donation from? Family? Friend? Abaynesh suggested we should ask her older brother. By the end of our conversation, we were at the creek, practically buzzing with excitement and possibility. The idea came up accidentally. Or at least that was what Beth would insist later. One minute, they were helping clear dishes after Shabbat dinner at Abaynesh’s parents’ apartment in Oakland, the next, they were standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink while Abaynesh’s younger brother, Yonatan, dried plates with theatrical incompetence. “You’re making them wetter,” Abaynesh observed. “I’m giving them emotional support,” Yonatan replied. Beth laughed despite herself, stacking bowls beside him. The apartment still hummed with post-dinner warmth—voices drifting from the living room, someone arguing affectionately in Hebrew over tea, music low in the background. It should have felt easy. Instead, Beth could feel the conversation sitting between her and Abaynesh like an unopened letter. They had talked about it privately for weeks and circled it carefully. Turned it over from every angle. Known donor. Anonymous donor. Genetics. Family resemblance. Boundaries. And now here they were. Abaynesh dried her hands slowly on a towel. “Yoni,” she said. Something in her tone made him glance up immediately. “Oh no,” he said. “That’s your serious voice.” Beth looked down at the counter, suddenly fascinated by a water ring near the sink. “We wanted to ask you something,” Abaynesh continued. Yonatan leaned against the counter. “Okay…” Beth could feel her own pulse in her throat. Abaynesh looked at her briefly—checking in, silently asking if she wanted to continue. Beth gave the smallest nod. Abaynesh inhaled once. “We’ve been talking about IVF.” Yonatan’s face brightened instantly. “Wait, really?” Beth laughed softly at his immediate excitement. “Really.” “That’s amazing.” He looked between them. “Why do you both look like someone died?” “Because there’s another part,” Beth said. “Ah.” The room suddenly seemed quieter, though the living room was still noisy. Abaynesh folded the dish towel carefully, buying herself another second. “We were wondering…” She paused. “How would you feel about being our donor?” Silence. Not hostile silence. Not shocked, exactly. Just stillness. Yonatan blinked once. Then twice. Beth’s stomach tightened immediately. “You absolutely do not have to say yes,” she rushed to add. “And if this makes things weird or uncomfortable, please forget we asked—” “Beth,” Abaynesh murmured gently. “No, because we talked about how this could be a huge thing to put on someone, and maybe we shouldn’t even have asked during dishwashing—” “Beth.” She stopped. Yonatan was staring at both of them now, a dish towel hanging limp from one hand. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed once under his breath. “You really rehearsed this conversation, huh?” Abaynesh groaned softly. “For days.” “It shows.” Beth covered her face briefly with one hand. “This is going terribly.” “No,” Yonatan said immediately, his expression softening. “No, it’s not.” He set the plate down carefully. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need a second.” “Of course,” Abaynesh said quickly. “Take all the time you need,” Beth added. “You’re both talking very fast.” “Sorry.” Yonatan leaned back against the sink, thinking. The sounds from the living room drifted in and out—his mother laughing loudly at something, a chair scraping across the floor. Finally, he looked at Abaynesh first. “You’d want the baby to have a biological connection to your side?” Abaynesh nodded slowly. “If possible.” “And you’d both be the parents.” “Obviously,” Beth said before she could stop herself. Yonatan smiled faintly. “Right. Obviously.” Beth felt heat rise into her face. “Sorry. That sounded intense.” “It was a little intense.” “She’s been anxious all day,” Abaynesh translated. “I can tell.” Beth crossed her arms. “In my defense, this is a very vulnerable conversation.” “It is,” Yonatan agreed quietly. That settled over them for a moment. Then he looked down at the dish towel in his hands. “I think…” He paused. “I think I’d want to understand what boundaries would look like.” Relief flickered through Beth so quickly it almost made her dizzy. Not a no. Not immediately impossible. Abaynesh nodded. “Yeah. Us too.” “I wouldn’t want the kid confused.” “They wouldn’t be,” Beth said softly. “You’d be family. But not…” She searched for the right word. “Not the parent,” Abaynesh finished. Yonatan studied both of them carefully. “You’ve really thought about this.” “We’ve thought about almost nothing else,” Beth admitted. That made him smile again, shorter this time. “And you’d actually trust me with this?” he asked Abaynesh. Her answer came immediately. “Yes.” Something shifted in his expression at that—something touched and slightly overwhelmed all at once. Beth suddenly realized this conversation wasn’t only about them wanting something from him. It was also about what they were offering: trust, permanence, a place in a future they were trying to build. Yonatan exhaled slowly. “I can’t answer tonight,” he said. “Of course not,” Beth said quickly. “But…” He glanced between them again. “I’m not saying no.” Abaynesh’s shoulders loosened visibly for the first time all evening. Neither she nor Beth spoke for a second. Then Yonatan pointed the dish towel at them both. “Also, for the record?” “What?” Beth asked. “This is the most married conversation I’ve ever witnessed.” Abaynesh laughed immediately. Beth groaned. “What does that even mean?” “You came in here with emotional preparation, bullet points, visible panic—” “I did not have bullet points.” “You absolutely had bullet points in your soul.” Even Beth laughed at that. From the living room, Abaynesh’s mother called out, “Why has dishwashing become a committee meeting?” Yonatan grinned toward the doorway. Then he looked back at Beth and Abaynesh, his expression gentler now. “I’ll think about it seriously,” he said. And for the first time since the conversation began, Beth let herself believe that maybe this strange, complicated, deeply loving thing they were building might actually be possible. The clipboard is heavier than it should be. Beth shifts it from one hand to the other as they sit side by side in the waiting room, the hum of the air conditioner filling the space between muted conversations. The forms are clipped in neat, official stacks—white paper, black ink, clean lines. Orderly. Reassuring, almost. Until she actually reads them. “Patient Name,” she murmurs under her breath, scanning. That’s fine. Address, insurance, medical history—she moves quickly, grateful for the familiar rhythm of boxes and blanks. Then she reaches the next section. Mother’s Name:Father’s Name: Her pen hovers. For a second, she thinks maybe there’s another version of the form. Maybe she grabbed the wrong packet. She flips a page, then another. The same language repeats, slightly rearranged but unmistakable. Across from her, a couple leans toward each other, whispering, the man pointing at something on their own clipboard. The woman laughs softly, nodding, and writes something down without hesitation. Beth looks back at her paper. “Mother’s Name,” she repeats, quieter now. Abaynesh leans closer, her shoulder brushing Beth’s. “What is it?” Beth tilts the clipboard so she can see. “It’s just… this.” Abaynesh reads it, her expression shifting—not surprised, exactly—more like… unsurprised. “Ah,” she says. “Ah?” Beth echoes. “That’s your reaction?” Abaynesh smiles faintly. “What did you expect? A beautifully designed form that understands nuance?” Beth exhales through her nose. “I expected… I don’t know. Something that at least pretends to.” Her pen taps once against the paper. The box is still empty. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than to Abaynesh. “So what do we do? Do I put my name here?” She points to “Mother.” “And you here?” She points to “Father,” then immediately winces. “That feels—wrong.” “Yeah,” Abaynesh says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s father.” Beth lets out a small, involuntary laugh, then sobers. “But we have to put something. They need… information.” “Then give them information,” Abaynesh says simply. Beth looks at her. “That’s not helpful.” “It is,” Abaynesh insists, nudging the clipboard back toward her. “You’re very good at systems. Adjust the system.” Beth stares at the form again. The lines don’t change. The boxes don’t widen. She presses her lips together, then draws a single, decisive line through Father’s Name. The pen scratches louder than she expects. Next to it, in careful, deliberate handwriting, she writes: Parent She hesitates, then adds a small “2.” She glances at Abaynesh. “Is that… ridiculous?” Abaynesh tilts her head, considering. “A little.” Beth groans softly. “But also accurate,” Abaynesh adds, her eyes warm. “Which one am I?” Beth looks back at the page, at the two spaces now—imperfect, slightly crowded, undeniably theirs. She writes her own name under Mother. Then, more slowly, she writes Abaynesh’s under the new label. Parent 2. She leans back, studying it. It doesn’t match the rest of the form. It’s not aligned. The spacing is off. “It looks messy,” she says. Abaynesh shrugs. “So does everything important.” Beth huffs a quiet laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. Around them, pens continue moving. Boxes continue being filled. Beth flips to the next page. More questions. More blanks. She adjusts the clipboard on her lap, steadies her pen, and keeps going. The box had been sitting on the kitchen table for three hours. Beth had moved it twice—first away from the fruit bowl, then farther from the edge of the table, as if positioning it correctly might somehow make its contents less real. Now it sat between them under the warm glow of the pendant light, untouched. Abaynesh poured tea into two mugs and slid one across the table. “You’re staring at it like it insulted your family.” Beth folded her arms. “It’s holding a needle.” “A very small needle.” “That’s still technically a needle.” Abaynesh bit back a smile and sat down across from her. Outside, the last of the evening light faded over the hills beyond their windows, turning the dry grass blue-gray. For a while, neither of them spoke. Beth wrapped both hands around the mug. “I know this is irrational.” “You don’t like injections,” Abaynesh said. “I hate injections.” “You survived all the bloodwork.” “Barely.” Abaynesh leaned forward slightly. “Do you want me to do it?” Beth looked at the box immediately, then away from it just as fast. “I don’t know.” That was the problem, really. She didn’t know how to do any of this yet. There were instructions folded inside the package, diagrams online, and calendar reminders on her phone. But none of it had prepared her for the strange intimacy of willingly bringing a needle into their home. Into their life. Abaynesh reached for the box at last and opened it carefully. Beth’s stomach tightened. Everything inside looked aggressively medical—alcohol swabs, capped syringes, printed labels in sterile fonts. It all felt out of place on their worn wooden table, beside a half-finished loaf of bread and a vase of drying wildflowers Beth had picked on a hike three days earlier. “It’s strange,” Beth admitted quietly. Abaynesh looked up. “What is?” “That something so clinical is supposed to help create a family.” The words settled between them. Then Abaynesh nodded once. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It is.” She unfolded the instructions while Beth watched with increasing dread. “You’re reading those way too calmly.” “I like instructions.” Beth narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’t.” “I like instructions when you’re panicking enough for both of us.” Despite herself, Beth laughed. It loosened something in her chest. Abaynesh prepared everything slowly, narrating as she went—not clinical, not overly cheerful, just steady. “Okay. Alcohol wipe.”Pause.“Then injection.”Another pause.“Then we’re done.” “You make it sound very simple.” “I think the goal is for it to be simple.” Beth looked down at her hands. “And if I pass out?” “You won’t.” “And if I do?” “Then I’ll make fun of you a little, but lovingly.” Beth groaned. “Terrible bedside manner.” “The worst.” Abaynesh moved her chair closer until their knees touched. “Hey,” she said gently. Beth looked up. “We don’t have to be good at this tonight.” Something in Beth’s expression softened immediately. The pressure she’d been carrying all day—the need to do this correctly, bravely, gracefully—eased just enough for her to breathe. Abaynesh handed her the alcohol wipe. “You want to try?” Beth stared at it for a moment before taking it. Her hands trembled slightly as she swabbed her skin. “There,” Abaynesh said quietly. “Perfect.” “It absolutely was not perfect.” “It was completely acceptable.” Beth gave her a look. “You’re lowering standards for me.” “I’m adapting expectations realistically.” Beth inhaled sharply as Abaynesh uncapped the needle. “Oh, I hate that part,” Beth whispered immediately. “I know.” “I really hate that part.” Abaynesh reached for her free hand. “Look at me.” Beth did. “You’re okay,” Abaynesh said. “You’re safe. We’re just doing one step.” Beth nodded once, though her eyes had already started watering from nerves alone. “This is deeply undignified,” she muttered. Abaynesh smiled softly. “A lot of meaningful things are.” Beth laughed again—a shaky, unwilling laugh, but real. “Ready?” Abaynesh asked. “No.” “That’s fine too.” Beth squeezed her hand harder. “Just do it before I develop a speech about why we should adopt twelve-year-olds instead.” Abaynesh snorted. Then, gently, carefully, she gave the injection. Beth flinched immediately. “Ow—” “It’s done.” Beth blinked. “What?” “It’s done.” “That was it?” “That was it.” Beth looked down in disbelief. The needle was already gone. “You’re kidding.” “I would never joke during a medical procedure.” “You absolutely would.” “Fair.” Relief arrived so suddenly that Beth almost felt embarrassed by it. Her whole body loosened at once, adrenaline draining away in a rush. Abaynesh pressed a small bandage against her skin. “There,” she said softly. Beth looked at her for a long moment. Then she laughed—full this time, exhausted and incredulous. “I spent all day terrified of that.” “I know.” “It took five seconds.” “Mmhm.” Beth shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “I feel ridiculous.” Abaynesh stood, carrying the used supplies toward the trash. “You’re going to have to stop saying that every time something is hard.” Beth watched her move through the kitchen—the familiar ease of her, the quiet steadiness. When Abaynesh returned, Beth automatically reached for her hand again. “Thank you,” she said. Abaynesh brushed her thumb across Beth’s knuckles. “For stabbing you?” “For staying calm enough for both of us.” A small smile tugged at Abaynesh’s mouth. “Well,” she said, glancing toward the darkened windows and then back at Beth, “that’s marriage, isn’t it?” It was still dark outside. Not fully night anymore, but the thin, colorless hour before dawn when the house felt suspended outside of time. The hills beyond the windows were only outlines, the kitchen still carrying the faint smell of last night’s tea. Beth sat on the closed toilet lid holding the pregnancy test in both hands like it might break. Three minutes, the instructions had said. Three minutes suddenly felt cruelly long. Abaynesh sat cross-legged on the bath mat in front of her, hair still tangled from sleep, wrapped in one of Beth’s oversized sweatshirts. Neither of them had spoken much since the timer started. Beth stared so hard at the small testing window her eyes hurt. “Maybe it’s too early,” she said quietly. Abaynesh glanced up at her. “Maybe.” “Or maybe this one didn’t work either.” The words came out flatter than she intended. Months ago, she would have cried immediately after saying something like that. Now the disappointment lived in her body differently—quieter, heavier, sediment settling layer by layer. Abaynesh rested her chin against Beth’s knee. “We don’t know yet.” Beth nodded once. The timer on the counter ticked forward in tiny, unbearable movements. She hated how much hope had become tied to objects. Needles. Calendars. Appointment reminders. Bloodwork numbers. Tiny plastic tests are sitting on bathroom counters before sunrise. She looked down at the test again, then looked away immediately. “I can’t do it,” she whispered. Abaynesh’s brow furrowed softly. “Can’t do what?” “Look first.” For a second, neither moved. Then Abaynesh held out her hand silently. Beth gave her the test almost instantly, relief and terror arriving together. Abaynesh looked down. Beth watched her face instead. Nothing happened at first. No immediate smile. No sharp inhale. Just stillness. Beth’s stomach dropped. “It’s negative.” Abaynesh didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes lifted slowly to Beth’s. And Beth saw it before she heard it—that fragile disbelief, the kind that enters a room so quietly you’re afraid to disturb it. “Oh,” Abaynesh said softly. Beth blinked. “What?” Another pause. Then Abaynesh laughed once—small, breathless, almost startled. “Beth.” The room tilted. “No,” Beth said immediately, already shaking her head. “No, don’t do that unless—” “It’s positive.” Everything inside Beth went completely still. “What?” Abaynesh turned the test toward her with trembling fingers. Two lines. Clear enough that there was no searching for them, no squinting, no bargaining with shadows. Two lines. Beth stared at them so long that they almost stopped looking like lines at all. The air in the room changed. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough. “Oh my God,” Beth whispered. Her voice cracked on the last word. Abaynesh was laughing now in that disbelieving way people laugh when reality arrives too suddenly to process properly. “Oh my God,” Beth said again, quieter this time. She pressed one hand against her mouth. Months of appointments flashed through her all at once—the clinic waiting rooms, the injections at the kitchen table, the failed cycle neither of them knew how to grieve correctly, the cautious rebuilding of hope afterward. All of it leading here. Abaynesh reached for her free hand. Beth grabbed it immediately, hard enough to hurt. “We’re okay,” Abaynesh murmured instinctively, though Beth hadn’t realized until then that she was crying. “I know,” Beth managed. But tears kept slipping down anyway. Abaynesh climbed awkwardly to her feet, still holding the test carefully between two fingers like something sacred and absurd at the same time. Beth laughed through her tears. “I can’t believe it.” “I know.” “We made a person.” “Well,” Abaynesh said, her voice trembling now too, “statistically speaking, we made the beginning of one.” Beth let out a watery laugh. Then suddenly she was standing too, and they collided in the tiny bathroom, half-hugging, half-holding each other upright. The pregnancy test got trapped awkwardly between them. “Careful,” Abaynesh said immediately. Beth pulled back just enough to stare at her. “You’re already protective.” “Obviously.” Beth laughed again, pressing her forehead against Abaynesh’s shoulder. For a long moment, they stayed like that in the dim bathroom light, breathing each other in. Outside, dawn had begun quietly spreading over the hills. The world was becoming visible again. Eventually, Beth pulled back enough to look at the test one more time. Two lines. Still there. Still real. A strange sound escaped her then—half laugh, half sob. “What?” Abaynesh asked softly. Beth shook her head slowly, overwhelmed beyond language. Then finally: “Our kid is going to hear this story someday.” Abaynesh smiled immediately. “The story where you were too scared to look at the test yourself?” “I was emotionally delegating.” “You handed me a stick of urine and outsourced the trauma.” Beth covered her face, laughing helplessly now. “That cannot be how we tell it.” “It is absolutely how I’m telling it.” Beth looked at her wife—sleep-rumpled, crying a little herself now, still holding the positive test in shaking hands. And suddenly the future no longer felt abstract. It was here already, small and invisible and impossible to fully understand. Not perfect. Still theirs.

In this extremely bitter sweet season of life, one of my post dreaded tasks was finding the words to say goodbye to this beautiful magazine that I created only two years ago. Fig & Vine wasn't simply an extra circular to me, but an extension of myself and an escape from a world that didn't want my voice to be heard. Fig & Vine came to fruition during a time when we as a community were being pushed out, harassed, abused, and silenced. Although our fight is far from over, that's what makes us so incredible. Jews have this amazing ability to hold so much pain and sadness in one hand, and all this joy and love in another. We know how to dance through our grief and honor our fallen with love and light. We as a people are more resilient than ever given credit for, and nothing inspires me more. I’ve learned more from all of you than from any class I attended over the past four years. Whether it's unmitigated kindness, unwavering bravery in the face of hatred, a sense of family that outlasts any kind of antisemitism we face, or how to make a 6-strand challah. This community has not only made me a more educated and involved Jew, but a better person. Despite the bitterness of this goodbye, I couldn't be prouder of Maya and how she's grown as a writer into an incredible editor and leader. I met Maya when she was a quiet freshman and watched her grow into a confident, silly, amazing woman. Leaving Fig & Vine in her hands is the easy part; saying goodbye is not. But, I would like to formally bequeath Fig & Vine to Maya and wish her luck for this next stage of our beloved magazine. I want to take this moment to remind our lovely readers and family of the meaning behind the name “Fig & Vine”: the biblical quote from Micah 4:4- “They shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.” I hope Fig & Vine did just that: give people a space to write and feel and express without being afraid. This beautiful Jewish community at UCSB has given me that in spades. More than anything, I hope Fig & Vine gave just a slice of that back. I will always remember Fig & Vine, not only because of the Fig branch tattooed on my arm in honor of the magazine, but because it showed me that everyone has a story to tell. I owe so much of my happiness over the past few years to this amazing publication and watching it grow and change is something I am most excited for. I love you all forever. Officially teary-eyed and logging out of Wix, Lily G. Karofsky Creator and former editor-in-chief of Fig & Vine Magazine

At most colleges in the US (UCSB included), most students graduate in about 4 years; however, the range oftentimes varies in the amount of time taken to complete college. Myself and many others in the Jewish community here at UCSB ended up graduating in only three years. The decision to have an early graduation has many advantages, disadvantages, and emotions attached, so I made the decision to both share my experience and to interview several members of the Jewish community to provide people’s reasoning for graduating early, their hopes, fears, and advice for students wanting to graduate in three years. Graduating from college and moving on to greater things is an emotionally loaded topic for practically everybody, but this is especially true for those who have one fewer year to experience at college. For me, personally, it is very bittersweet, as I’m excited to move into the real world and happy with all the money I saved, but would have liked another year worth of college memories and another year to spend with my friends. Jewish community member Daniela informed me that she shared this sentiment, as while she is excited to move back to her hometown of San Diego, she ultimately feels saddened that she is going to be leaving some of her best friends and will no longer be living next door to them. She also reminisced about UCSB Chabad, and how she feels sad that she won’t be able to spend time with Miri and the kids anymore. Another pillar of the Jewish community, Leah, shared that although she felt sad leaving, since she had grad school, she isn’t quite moving on to the “real world” just yet, and she’s sure that ultimately this is the correct move for her. Another member of the community and Chabad campus liaison Jake shared that while he is excited to move on to greater things, he feels weird about not graduating with (most of) the same people he started school with.An important facet of graduating early is that it has many strategic advantages, such as getting into the workforce earlier, and saving money. Personally, I wanted to save money, and have hated academics my entire life, so graduating a year early fulfilled my dreams that I’ve had for the last decade plus of skipping a grade (I asked my parents so many times as a kid and they told me I wasn’t allowed). Daniela told me that she decided to graduate early during fall quarter because she was going to have finished all of her classes, and therefore did not have any sensible reason to stay in Isla Vista afterwards, and she gets an extra year head start in the workforce by graduating early. Both Jake and Chabad events board member Keren had similar stories, that they both had the idea when they realized that they were on track to graduate in three instead of four years, and it made more financial sense to graduate early than to experience college for four whole years. Graduating early has its advantages and disadvantages, but one thing for certain is that it is pretty difficult to do so. I was able to do so because I came in with slightly less than a year’s worth of credits, and put in a tiny extra effort to graduate a bit earlier and get decent grades, and I decided to ask everybody for their advice for anybody who is planning on an early graduation. Keren suggested that you should always be on top of things, and that taking summer classes is a huge help and it is worth it to be in IV over the summer. Daniela also mentioned to not sacrifice internships and networking opportunities for extra classes, as ultimately those will be what get you into your profession in the future. Jake recommended that whenever you are taking GE classes, always take those that fulfill multiple requirements, and Leah discussed the importance of talking to your advisor, as they can help you create an in depth plan for graduation. Ending college a year early means that you enter the “real world” a year earlier too, so it is important to make sure that one has their plans ready before graduating. Personally, I am going to get a Masters of Science in Data Science from UT Austin’s online masters program so that hopefully I can concurrently have a job, and I wanted to see what my fellow 3rd year graduates had in store. Leah told me that she is going to be working remotely for a law firm and then applying to law school, which sounds very exciting. Keeping up with the law theme, Jake is going to be going up to Nor Cal, attending law at UCSF. As previously mentioned, Daniela is going to be moving home to San Diego, and looking for Marketing and Sales jobs both there and in OC. Keren is choosing to spend next year traveling and backpacking, hoping to get a “hopefully-relevant-to-[her]-major job” and apply to grad school. With many reasons for graduating, and many plans for the future, it will be both exciting to see what is in store for our soon-to-be graduates and is sad to wave them goodbye. Having been alongside all of these students from the start to now, I can truly see how valuable each and every one was to the Jewish community, how much they will be missed, and how much their presence will be appreciated wherever life takes them in the future. Good luck to all the graduates, third year and beyond!