By now, I hope you have read my nephew, newly graduated medical doctor-in-training, Ari Shapiro’s Jewish Journal Op/Ed column, Film for Thought: Israel’s Moral Might published a few days ago.  My friends, there lurks yet another of my nephews within cyberspace, Chaim, Ari’s younger brother, a Junior studying Marine Biology at Rutgers University, whose writing skills are no less capable if I may be so bold, and therefore, should be no less recognized, than the essay-driven, passionate yours truly and cerebral Ari.  Chaim’s writing leans more toward the artistically creative, as evidenced by one of his latest poems, which follows below and which I am sure you will enjoy.

Millennials by Chaim Shapiro

I am sure some of you have read or heard some poetry about technology or social media having negative effects on how we live and communicate.  This is my take on my generation, the Millennials.

We stare at these screens that we have in hand, not worrying about our crime onto the land.

We walk from place to place, never remembering even one face.

Stumbling around we narrowly miss the women and her clothed dog, just so we can quickly update our ever so interesting blog.

Heads bobbing to the sounds that emanate from our headphones, we forget that deep down that we are just bones.

Plugging in everything we get our hands on, hoping we will find that friendship that we feel is gone.

We go from online to inline to offline, but rarely do we ever remember to go seek out the sunshine.

Our world revolves around those little and now ever so prevalent large devices, hardly ever looking at those zeros on the prices.

We Instagram our Snapchats while our Facebook feed gets more Pintresting along the way, trying to get LinkedIn as the hashtags and handles take over our day.

Four years of trying to discover our course of study, drinking up that knowledge through the tap with your buddy.

Covering our tank tops with the flowing gown, throwing up our cap as if it were a crown.

We move back home and sit on our ass to the delight of our mom and dad, hoping one day we will remember that we are a post grad.

Framed and hanging in the hall is the certification to communicate, a piece of paper to help us self motivate.

This fantasy with KD on the shelf and AP sitting on the bench, collecting those points week in and out to try and dig us out of that last place trench.

No more grass or turf or hardwood is needed, just head to head or rotisserie to feel succeeded.

We sit by the microwave waiting for our lives to beep, this way that we live is much too cheap.

Breaking out of this mold that has been created since the 80s, the path that has been set by Hades.