Working with kids for five summers in a row, I was a little dubious about choosing office work for my summer activity, isolated from sun and civilization. My understanding of multiple hours at a desk meant sitting reserved for September through June. Notwithstanding the “coolness factor” in interning for The Jewish Link of New Jersey, copyediting the paper before it’s printed and making my friends open the paper to read my articles, I was voluntarily giving myself summer homework.
Relieved to learn that “office” does not have to be synonymous with “paperwork,” I soon discovered that cubicles are only three-sided, despite their geometrically inaccurate title, and can be quite unifying. A conglomerate of simultaneous keyboard clicks reassures you that you’re in it together until the typing becomes a predictably comforting lull, the sound only faltering when somebody gets up to use the microwave.
The Jewish Link is its own kind of Amazon Prime, a cart full of articles waiting to be pitched, and promptly shipped two days after Monday’s order. Climactic end-of-week Wednesday, like most people’s Friday, is our weekly Guttenberg remembrance day, as the paper ships itself off to the printer that distributes to all parts of New Jersey, Monsey and the mountains.
Although we are one big newspaper machine, shooting out issues like a possessed toaster, The Jewish Link is the fun and fulfilling kind of busy. I could really just end this article here by saying that The Jewish Link allots food its own cubicle. There was a fruit platter from someone’s son’s bar mitzvah on my first day. Not long after, the cantaloupe and honeydew medley was haunted by its munchkins replacement. Little did they know that their birthday doughnut successors were imminent. Contrary to popular belief, the food was not everything. In fact, it took a back seat to the friendly camaraderie and laughter looping throughout the miniature walls as we stuck our heads out to partake in the welcoming conversation.
Despite the gaiety in the office, journalism is not all office. But the gaiety follows you to other places, especially when your job is to have your restaurant meal paid for so you can write about it. This, of course, was after getting to publish my life’s theories in a teen-tech article. Throughout, I was guided and trained under the caring auspices of everyone in the office, ensuring I felt included and in the know. Elizabeth Kratz, associate publisher and editor, graciously edited all my pieces, tweaking until she was sure I was ready to submit. Moshe Kinderlehrer, co-founder and publisher, suggested and confirmed pitch ideas, diversifying my skill set. As issues were printed, the weeks weren’t the only thing that progressed. I felt myself becoming more adept in organization and confident in the expectations of me because of the consistent feedback.
Rule number one: Words are words, not the floral pirouette of a moving screensaver. While flamboyant diction and convoluted phrasing may seem the safest way to sound like more than an intern, the real professionalism is in “not trying too hard to make ‘cup’ mean ‘cup’ with three adjectives preceding it,” as Elizabeth Kratz coached me. The paper is not a Shakespearean sonnet, it’s an informative and entertaining vehicle to unite the community for whom it is written. Journalism is not always so much about finding the meatiest scoop, but delivering that scoop coherently and in fewer than 800 words. I soon began to realize that every form of writing holds a different purpose that requires its own kind of execution.
However, my education was not limited to word choice alone. Rule number two revealed that serial commas and indentation were my instinctive nail biting, a habit terribly maddening to break under the authority of AP style. There are rules and there are rules, none of which are suggestions. It’s almost like learning German after Yiddish; they may be from the same family, but just because you know one, doesn’t mean you know the other fluently.
Rule number three was “write what you know,” because that is your greatest advantage. You are what makes the same topic, meme or milkshake fresh news. Even so, it’s important to discover your niche, whether it’s in features, op-eds or editorials, in sports, politics or food, and then mix and match anyway.
There is a responsibility in fusing originality with relatability that only a journalist is forced to undertake. My standpoint and taste buds are what made my restaurant, film and book reviews divergent from another writer’s. As an axiom, though, every individual is born with individuality, so the “special” must come from attaching yours to your readers.’ Uniqueness may be inherent, but knowing that isn’t. Journalism is not just a medium of communication, it’s an art that transfers personal orientation, even if unbiased, to another mind.
Rule number four was learning to use the Keurig.
By Rachel Liebling
Rachel Liebling was a summer intern at The Jewish Link and is a rising freshman at Stern College for Women.
