Wednesday, September 1, 1993
"So, How Was the Summer?"
September, 1993
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
I often wonder what people expect me to say when they ask, "So, how was the
summer?" Do they really expect me to answer that? The fact is, I can hardly
remember what the summer was like. I know that camp was full, and that it
rained for the first five weeks of the summer. That everyone at camp worked
incredibly hard and that spirit was high. That the summer came and went in a
blur (as I get older, they seem to get blurrier and blurrier). Kids went to
the emergency room, kids had fun, kids learned, kids made friends, some grew up
a lot, some a little, some fell in love, some didn't. It was a summer of life,
intense life.
We were touched by two profound tragedies this summer. Five of our staff
members left camp to attend a fraternity brother's funeral in St. Louis. I
believe it must have been like an episode of "The Twilight Zone" for them to
leave camp, participate in such a difficult and emotionally draining
experience, and then to return to camp and assume the posture of counselor or
unit head. I am often surprised at the strength and maturity of our staff.
Two days after OVFTY Institute ended, we received the news of Josh Lerner's
death. As you may know, Josh was one of our kids; camper, Avodahnick, staff
member. Even though we knew it was coming, it was crushing news. The events
of the summer so paled in comparison to the magnitude of these tragedies, that
it is hard for me to recall much of what happened prior to going to Chicago for
Josh's funeral. I will tell you this though, about thirty camp staff people
came to the funeral. It was a completely gut-wrenching experience. But
watching our staff comfort each other, and care for each other, filled me with
a sense of pride. I was proud of them, and, to be honest, I was proud of the
work we are doing. Their love for each other told the story of camp. At the
most difficult of times, they were the best that a family can be; a Jewish
family, sometimes at each other's throats, but never-the-less there for each
other when the chips are down. Through the tears, it was a beautiful thing to
see.
So, that's how the summer was. And now we turn to 1994/5754. I wish you all
the best for a Shannah Tova. How has the year started? The Bears are 0 and 2;
things can only get better.
Ron
Monday, February 1, 1993
Tempering Sadness
February, 1993
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
Sometimes, in the midst of saddness, comes a blessing. Early this morning, I
was distracted from my grumbling at a particularly miserable shower of snow and
sleet and ice, by the loud chirping of a beautiful female cardinal, perched in
our front yard tree. She just sat in all of that cold and wet and sang her
heart out. I was startled by her beautiful song.
Last month in Israel, on a rainy and cold afternoon, 45 professional U.A.H.C.
Youth Directors and I sat silently in a meeting room at Jerusalem's Yad V'Shem
Holacaust Memorial mezmorized by the words of a Survivor. I venture to say
that every one of us had done "Shoah" programs in our camps and regions; and
that we had all brought in Holacaust Survivors to speak to our kids, probably
more than once. We all knew the stories, had seen the films, understood the
history, etc. But that afternoon it was different. The woman who sat before
us spoke the unspeakable in a clear and unavoidable voice. We were changed by
what we heard, turned inside-out emotionally. Her voice, her words, her horror
will be with me. As her 90 minutes came to an end, I wondered how the group
would respond. Most in the group were younger than me; enthusiastic, creative,
sometimes sarcastic people. How should such a group respond to this difficult
experience? Any response seemed inappropriate. I was touched by the fact
that, without any discussion or message, without any concensesus, we responded
in unison with complete silence. We rose and silently left the room. We
walked through the gardens outside individually and in small groups, but all in
silence. Later, on the bus we returned to ourselves, to our group. Everything
was the same, but each of us was a little different.
Sometime after returning to the States I received the devestating news that one
of my comnfirmation class students had been killed in an automobile accident.
She was 14 years old. I went to her funeral. The next week I spoke to the
class about the fragility of life and the ideas in the book, "When Bad Things
Happen To Good People."
So, you see, there have been some black clouds in the past few weeks. But
every once-in-a-while you hear a bird, out in the sleet, singing sweetly, and
it makes you smile. Two weeks ago, I was invited down to Bloomington, Indiana
to speak at Erev Shabbat services at the Reform synagogue. We have many staff
and former staff members studying at Indiana University (including one very
special red head who shares my name, my finances, and my love). When Yael
Splansky and David Burkman found out that I was coming down,they arranged a
little staff get-together at Yael's place after Temple. I was happy to see
that about 25 of our kids showed up for services. Their spirit and enthusiasm
had an immediate affect on the small congregation. During the slide show after
services there were howls of laughter and constant chatter as these counselors
saw themselves and their campers and other friends on the screen. You could
hardly hear the soundtrack. I'm sure that presentation didn't bring in one new
camper, but it certainly was fun.
Afterwords, we all met at Yael's house for coffe and cake. That's when the
magic happened. As I look back on the evening it seems to me that were three
distinct segments to this unplanned and informal event. At first we all sat in
the living room and swapped favorite, funny camp stories. We heard about being
busted by Shmira, we laughed at unusual-camper tales, camp jokes, Machon
meetings, and on and on. Next, we shifted gears and moved into the camp Jewish
geography segment of the evening. People asked me about their former Unit
Heads and other long lost staff. Everyone wanted to know how Marc Lerner was
doing in his new job, where Shirley Idelson had gone, had I heard from Arie
Cohen, Susie Moskiowitz, Mark Glickman, Sandford Kopnick, etc. With the
mention of each name came another camp story. They were funny and warm and
family-like.
Finally, late in the evening, after some staff had left, someone asked me about
my recent trip to Israel. We began a lenghty discussion of Israel and her
current problems along with other Jewish issues. We spoke of the problems of
secular vs. orthodoxy in Israel, of tradition vs. modernity in Reform
synagogues, of the status of Reform Judaism in Israel and the success of our
own U.A.H.C. Youth Division there, of the problems faced by female rabbis. I
couldn't have planned a better Shiur if I had wanted to. The discussion was
lively, the kids were interested, and I left feeling uplifted. I walked into
Yael's place at 10:00 p.m. that night and left at 1:30 a.m. wondering where the
three and a half hours had flown to. Those kids gave me a boost just when I
neded it the most.
This morning, when that cardinal caught my attention, I thought of that evening
with my staff. Sometimes in the midst of saddness comes a blessing.
Ron
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
Sometimes, in the midst of saddness, comes a blessing. Early this morning, I
was distracted from my grumbling at a particularly miserable shower of snow and
sleet and ice, by the loud chirping of a beautiful female cardinal, perched in
our front yard tree. She just sat in all of that cold and wet and sang her
heart out. I was startled by her beautiful song.
Last month in Israel, on a rainy and cold afternoon, 45 professional U.A.H.C.
Youth Directors and I sat silently in a meeting room at Jerusalem's Yad V'Shem
Holacaust Memorial mezmorized by the words of a Survivor. I venture to say
that every one of us had done "Shoah" programs in our camps and regions; and
that we had all brought in Holacaust Survivors to speak to our kids, probably
more than once. We all knew the stories, had seen the films, understood the
history, etc. But that afternoon it was different. The woman who sat before
us spoke the unspeakable in a clear and unavoidable voice. We were changed by
what we heard, turned inside-out emotionally. Her voice, her words, her horror
will be with me. As her 90 minutes came to an end, I wondered how the group
would respond. Most in the group were younger than me; enthusiastic, creative,
sometimes sarcastic people. How should such a group respond to this difficult
experience? Any response seemed inappropriate. I was touched by the fact
that, without any discussion or message, without any concensesus, we responded
in unison with complete silence. We rose and silently left the room. We
walked through the gardens outside individually and in small groups, but all in
silence. Later, on the bus we returned to ourselves, to our group. Everything
was the same, but each of us was a little different.
Sometime after returning to the States I received the devestating news that one
of my comnfirmation class students had been killed in an automobile accident.
She was 14 years old. I went to her funeral. The next week I spoke to the
class about the fragility of life and the ideas in the book, "When Bad Things
Happen To Good People."
So, you see, there have been some black clouds in the past few weeks. But
every once-in-a-while you hear a bird, out in the sleet, singing sweetly, and
it makes you smile. Two weeks ago, I was invited down to Bloomington, Indiana
to speak at Erev Shabbat services at the Reform synagogue. We have many staff
and former staff members studying at Indiana University (including one very
special red head who shares my name, my finances, and my love). When Yael
Splansky and David Burkman found out that I was coming down,they arranged a
little staff get-together at Yael's place after Temple. I was happy to see
that about 25 of our kids showed up for services. Their spirit and enthusiasm
had an immediate affect on the small congregation. During the slide show after
services there were howls of laughter and constant chatter as these counselors
saw themselves and their campers and other friends on the screen. You could
hardly hear the soundtrack. I'm sure that presentation didn't bring in one new
camper, but it certainly was fun.
Afterwords, we all met at Yael's house for coffe and cake. That's when the
magic happened. As I look back on the evening it seems to me that were three
distinct segments to this unplanned and informal event. At first we all sat in
the living room and swapped favorite, funny camp stories. We heard about being
busted by Shmira, we laughed at unusual-camper tales, camp jokes, Machon
meetings, and on and on. Next, we shifted gears and moved into the camp Jewish
geography segment of the evening. People asked me about their former Unit
Heads and other long lost staff. Everyone wanted to know how Marc Lerner was
doing in his new job, where Shirley Idelson had gone, had I heard from Arie
Cohen, Susie Moskiowitz, Mark Glickman, Sandford Kopnick, etc. With the
mention of each name came another camp story. They were funny and warm and
family-like.
Finally, late in the evening, after some staff had left, someone asked me about
my recent trip to Israel. We began a lenghty discussion of Israel and her
current problems along with other Jewish issues. We spoke of the problems of
secular vs. orthodoxy in Israel, of tradition vs. modernity in Reform
synagogues, of the status of Reform Judaism in Israel and the success of our
own U.A.H.C. Youth Division there, of the problems faced by female rabbis. I
couldn't have planned a better Shiur if I had wanted to. The discussion was
lively, the kids were interested, and I left feeling uplifted. I walked into
Yael's place at 10:00 p.m. that night and left at 1:30 a.m. wondering where the
three and a half hours had flown to. Those kids gave me a boost just when I
neded it the most.
This morning, when that cardinal caught my attention, I thought of that evening
with my staff. Sometimes in the midst of saddness comes a blessing.
Ron
Wednesday, January 20, 1993
My Israel
January 1993
Dear GUCI Staff:
Twenty-four years ago this month I began a short, but illustrious career as a schoolteacher in an inner city Chicago school. I had just graduated from the University of Illinois and faced the jungles of either Vietnam or Chicago. I taught (refereed, de-armed, self-protected etc.) and learned to love some of the poorest Black and Hispanic and Greek kids on Chicago’s West Side. Emmet School, once almost completely Jewish, now a crockpot of minorities, was a typical three-story, red brick, Chicago elementary school, K through 8. I taught everything from Kindergarten to Library to Gym to eighth grade and used every camp technique I could possibly conjure up. It was an experience! In any event, I left in June for camp (the Oconomowoc, Wisconsin variety) and this is where my story really begins.
That summer of 1969 I was both a Unit Head and Waterfront Director; we often had to double up on jobs in those days as we were always short staffed. I didn’t care about doing two jobs. If there had been 30 hours in a day, I would have worked 25 of them for camp and been happy as a pig in ----. This was the summer before Jerry Kaye, the present Director of Olin-Sang-Ruby, came on to the picture. Rabbi Allan Smith was the acting Director. That was the summer that I decided to become a camp director, and based on that thought Smitty convinced me to go and study in Israel at Machon Hayim Greenberg at the end of camp. Incorrectly thinking that my teaching contract would not be renewed, I went. Three days after saying “Yes” I was on a Greyhound bus bound for NYC and a date with El Al. What freedom!
That year in Israel was the start of many things for me. I learned a lot of Hebrew, began a love/not-love relationship with the land of our ancestors, and met a Brazilian girl named Juelci Zeltzer – the infamous Juca. We were young, Israel was young, and it was a hell of a year. I also had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I spent an afternoon with David Ben Gurion, on his kibbutz, Sde Boker. We drank coffee together (he drank tea) and talked about Israel and Aliyah. I never understood why he smiled so when I told him I was from Chicago, some warm memory came to his mind, I guess.
I returned in June, an engaged man, about to become the Assistant Director of Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute, on my way to family and career.
Three years later, Juca and I spent another year in Israel, this time as a rabbinic student studying at the Hebrew Union College. We once again returned in June, went straight to camp for the summer, and anticipated another monumental adventure; Juca was six months pregnant. Jeremy made his debut in Cincinnati the following October, during the Yom Kippur war.
Since those days I’ve been to Israel two more times. In December 1979 I led a group of 36 college kids on a one-month trip of touring and kibbutz living. Jim Bennett and Joel Block were first year HUC students that year and we spent much time together. My last time in Israel was in 1987, for just a week to interview Israelis for our camps’ staffs. Sandford was a first year rabbinic student then and hosted me around the city of Jerusalem.
In all these years, Jerusalem has had its own particular kind of tug at my heart. So many important events in my life and so many important people in my life are intimately connected with the times I spent there. Why am I telling you all this? Well tomorrow I embark on a ten day UAHC staff trip to Israel, and I am filled with feelings of nostalgia, excitement, and anticipation. I feel like I am going home, but to a strange place, if you can understand that. My first time there I turned 24, this time I’ll celebrate number 47. Then I was a kid, now I’m not. But still, I feel a rush, a sense of butterflies, an anticipation of the familiar and unknown all rolled up in one. It’s about the way I feel each year in the beginning of June, as I approach another camp season. I’m going back to the future to touch base with my identity. It is sure to be an exhausting and emotional trip. I’ll be traveling with Josh Bennett, Jim’s younger brother. That somehow seems most appropriate to me.
I wish you all the best for a wonderful 1993. I’ll let you know how the hummus is on Rehov Ben Yehudah.
Ron
Dear GUCI Staff:
Twenty-four years ago this month I began a short, but illustrious career as a schoolteacher in an inner city Chicago school. I had just graduated from the University of Illinois and faced the jungles of either Vietnam or Chicago. I taught (refereed, de-armed, self-protected etc.) and learned to love some of the poorest Black and Hispanic and Greek kids on Chicago’s West Side. Emmet School, once almost completely Jewish, now a crockpot of minorities, was a typical three-story, red brick, Chicago elementary school, K through 8. I taught everything from Kindergarten to Library to Gym to eighth grade and used every camp technique I could possibly conjure up. It was an experience! In any event, I left in June for camp (the Oconomowoc, Wisconsin variety) and this is where my story really begins.
That summer of 1969 I was both a Unit Head and Waterfront Director; we often had to double up on jobs in those days as we were always short staffed. I didn’t care about doing two jobs. If there had been 30 hours in a day, I would have worked 25 of them for camp and been happy as a pig in ----. This was the summer before Jerry Kaye, the present Director of Olin-Sang-Ruby, came on to the picture. Rabbi Allan Smith was the acting Director. That was the summer that I decided to become a camp director, and based on that thought Smitty convinced me to go and study in Israel at Machon Hayim Greenberg at the end of camp. Incorrectly thinking that my teaching contract would not be renewed, I went. Three days after saying “Yes” I was on a Greyhound bus bound for NYC and a date with El Al. What freedom!
That year in Israel was the start of many things for me. I learned a lot of Hebrew, began a love/not-love relationship with the land of our ancestors, and met a Brazilian girl named Juelci Zeltzer – the infamous Juca. We were young, Israel was young, and it was a hell of a year. I also had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I spent an afternoon with David Ben Gurion, on his kibbutz, Sde Boker. We drank coffee together (he drank tea) and talked about Israel and Aliyah. I never understood why he smiled so when I told him I was from Chicago, some warm memory came to his mind, I guess.
I returned in June, an engaged man, about to become the Assistant Director of Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute, on my way to family and career.
Three years later, Juca and I spent another year in Israel, this time as a rabbinic student studying at the Hebrew Union College. We once again returned in June, went straight to camp for the summer, and anticipated another monumental adventure; Juca was six months pregnant. Jeremy made his debut in Cincinnati the following October, during the Yom Kippur war.
Since those days I’ve been to Israel two more times. In December 1979 I led a group of 36 college kids on a one-month trip of touring and kibbutz living. Jim Bennett and Joel Block were first year HUC students that year and we spent much time together. My last time in Israel was in 1987, for just a week to interview Israelis for our camps’ staffs. Sandford was a first year rabbinic student then and hosted me around the city of Jerusalem.
In all these years, Jerusalem has had its own particular kind of tug at my heart. So many important events in my life and so many important people in my life are intimately connected with the times I spent there. Why am I telling you all this? Well tomorrow I embark on a ten day UAHC staff trip to Israel, and I am filled with feelings of nostalgia, excitement, and anticipation. I feel like I am going home, but to a strange place, if you can understand that. My first time there I turned 24, this time I’ll celebrate number 47. Then I was a kid, now I’m not. But still, I feel a rush, a sense of butterflies, an anticipation of the familiar and unknown all rolled up in one. It’s about the way I feel each year in the beginning of June, as I approach another camp season. I’m going back to the future to touch base with my identity. It is sure to be an exhausting and emotional trip. I’ll be traveling with Josh Bennett, Jim’s younger brother. That somehow seems most appropriate to me.
I wish you all the best for a wonderful 1993. I’ll let you know how the hummus is on Rehov Ben Yehudah.
Ron
Tuesday, December 1, 1992
Be Your Own Best Friend
Here is an old post . I put it up again in response to a conversation I had with a student here at IU. Still a good thought, I think.
Dear Family and Friends: March, 2017
Here's a question I'm pretty sure you haven't been asked before, "What's your
ace in the hole?" An ace in the hole, you know? That's the one thing that
bails you out when all else fails. The one thing that only you know, that is
sure, that you can always count on. What is your personal ace in the hole?
Let me give you a couple of tips. ONE: everyone needs one, and TWO: if you
haven't thought about this, you should.
The real point here is that life is hard and often filled with disappointments. What do we do when things fall apart? What is our last line of defense when the blitz is on and there are no more blockers (sorry for the football analogy, but I'm still grieving over this Bears' season)?
I think it is crucial that we all realize how important we are to ourselves. That's
right! No matter what happens, I am going to continue to be my own best
friend. I like me. And even at those times when I don't like me that much
because I have screwed something up (impossible, not the great Ron Klotz?), I
try to pep myself up, regroup, so to speak, and inevitably I regain my
friendship with myself. I'm not talking about being conceited, cock-sure, full
of myself, or anything like that. This is a personal thing - no one else knows
about it (until now). It's strictly between me and myself, and it certainly is
my ace in the hole.
right! No matter what happens, I am going to continue to be my own best
friend. I like me. And even at those times when I don't like me that much
because I have screwed something up (impossible, not the great Ron Klotz?), I
try to pep myself up, regroup, so to speak, and inevitably I regain my
friendship with myself. I'm not talking about being conceited, cock-sure, full
of myself, or anything like that. This is a personal thing - no one else knows
about it (until now). It's strictly between me and myself, and it certainly is
my ace in the hole.
If you're interested, find a copy of Paul Simon's recording of "One Trick
Pony." It is not a very well known album, actually the soundtrack from the
movie he starred in (I digress). You will find a song there called, "Ace In
The Hole." I have been thinking about that song and this idea for a long
time. Paul Simon always asks important questions - you won't be disappointed
in this record. He says, "Ace in the hole - lean on me - don't you know me,
I'm your guarantee." And that is just what we all need, a guarantee.
Pony." It is not a very well known album, actually the soundtrack from the
movie he starred in (I digress). You will find a song there called, "Ace In
The Hole." I have been thinking about that song and this idea for a long
time. Paul Simon always asks important questions - you won't be disappointed
in this record. He says, "Ace in the hole - lean on me - don't you know me,
I'm your guarantee." And that is just what we all need, a guarantee.
We all know another great songwriter's work, Rabbi Hillel, who wrote, "Im Ain
Ani Li Mi?" If I am not for myself who am I for? The rest of the song is
important too, but without this first statement we are lost. I think it is
good for a person to talk to him/herself (not out loud or people will start
looking at you funny). Remind yourself of just how good you are, when things
are bad. Be good to yourself. Be a friend. Do for yourself what you would do
to help someone else who is down in the dumps. It's a private thing, and it
helps.
Ani Li Mi?" If I am not for myself who am I for? The rest of the song is
important too, but without this first statement we are lost. I think it is
good for a person to talk to him/herself (not out loud or people will start
looking at you funny). Remind yourself of just how good you are, when things
are bad. Be good to yourself. Be a friend. Do for yourself what you would do
to help someone else who is down in the dumps. It's a private thing, and it
helps.
If this all sounds silly to you, well you can just toss this letter. After
all, it's a private thing. It's about MY ace in the hole - what's yours?
all, it's a private thing. It's about MY ace in the hole - what's yours?
Ron
Sunday, November 1, 1992
A Best Friend
November, 1992
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
I must confess that delivering my son to Indiana University has had a profound
affect on me. Along with all of the normal feelings of "I can't believe he's
going away" (read: "I can't believe I'm old enough to actually have a son old
enough for college") that this occasion brings to the forefront, come a whole
host of memories. Lately I've been remembering the unique relationship I had
with my roommate, Gerry Fink. Gerry (pronounced Gary, his mother didn't have
Spellcheck when he was born) and I were best friends all the way through high
school and roomed together for our first three years in college. Many great
friendships meet a jagged end when the friends devolve into "roommate-ness."
Not so with Gerry and me. We were the most opposite two-of-a-kind in
captivity.
As I think back on how we managed to stay best friends, even grow closer during
our college years, I am struck by how different, yet alike we were. Where
Gerry was meticulous with his clothes and supplies, I used to say, "The world
is my closet;" where Gerry studied accounting (the class that ultimately put me
on the 4 1/2 year plan) and was a wiz, I labored through any class that
involved numbers; where Gerry was a peripheral Christian, I was a pretty-
involved Jew; where Gerry lived his summers in the city, I lived for my summers
at camp. But we had two incredible things in common, one was our senses of
humor. We were so equally caustic in our outlooks, so sarcastic, and I believe
so funny that we never ceased to amuse each other. At times we were like a
comedy team, knowing what the other was thinking, finishing each other's
thoughts and sentences, and always laughing. This all started in high school.
We loved to look at the world from unusual angles. We renamed things and so
developed our own dialogues. I'm sure other people thought we were strange at
best, but we had great fun.
The other thing we had in common was a love of jazz. Gerry and I brought our
records to college and somehow managed to put together a decent stereo as
well. We taught each other what little we knew, and shared an incredible
excitement for Count Basie, Dave Bruebeck and Paul Desmond, Oscar Peterson,
etc. The years 1964 to 1968 were very difficult years to be in college.
Friends were drafted right out of college and wound up in the jungles of
southeast Asia. There was tremendous pressure to make grades in order to keep
one's student deferrment. Being a good student was almost a matter of life and
death. Along with the usual not knowing what in the hell we wanted to do with
our lives, the joys and heartaches of many affairs of the heart, and the
pressures of school, we managed to keep each other laughing and snapping our
fingers to the beat. We had only two arguements in our three years together
(the subjects of which are so insignificant I won't mention them other than to
say that one had to do with the best way to get the beer cold).
I was Gerry's best man, and he was mine. Our lives have grown apart, but I
certainly can't avoid thinking back warmly on those days at this time. Thanks
for the memories, Ger.
Ron
Tuesday, September 1, 1992
Camp is Not Enough
September, 1992
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
I want to tell you all something that you already know. This camp thing of
ours, it's not enough. That may sound funny coming from me. Don't get me
wrong, there is no one more committed to what we do here at camp, its long
range effects etc., than I am. But I hear from so many of our staff people
that camp is their place to be Jewish, or that camp's the only place they
really feel Jewish, or like that. Well I'm going on record here saying that
this is just not enough.
For many years I have lived my life from one summer to the next. When I was a
college student I literally could not wait for each successive summer. One
would end, and I would already be anticipating the next. What about my Jewish
life between summers? It was practically non-existent. I didn't participate
in any Hillel activities, hardly ever showed my face at services or any other
Jewish functions. Participating in family holiday celebrations, when I found
myself home from school, was about the extent of my Jewish life. Now that I
think back on that time, I realize how Jewishly empty it was. Those years
could have been much richer if I would have been involved more. Also, think
about the things we teach our campers here at camp. How can any of us feel
other than hypocritical if we put on our Jewish faces while we're at camp,
play that part in front of our campers and fellow staff members, and then
remove the face when we leave in August? No! It is simply not enough. If we
really love camp, if it is not just a bunch of words, then we are compelled to
live out camp's teachings throughout our lives. That, to me, means reaching
out to others, joining the Jewish community, affiliating, teaching, joining in
prayer and celebration, social action, etc. Do something, one thing that
ignites the fire you felt at camp. Remember the difference you made in someone
else's life at camp? Do the same thing for yourself. That is the only way to
make camp real and not some sort of fantasy.
When I was a senior in college, for some reason I couldn't get home for
Pesach. A couple of friends and I decided to do our own Seder. We ended up
with 18 people, about half of them non-Jews, all pitching in with the cooking,
then the reading of the service, the explanations of the symbols, teaching the
songs. It was a grand night. One that I will never forget. More experiences
like that would have made my college days more fulfilling, but I didn't see it
then.
The High Holidays are about to descend upon us. Don't let them drift by
unnoticed. It really is an important and emotional time for Jews everywhere.
Be true to the spirit of camp. Join the rest of the Jewish world as we marvel
at the passage of time, and once again dedicate our lives to all that is
honorable and good. I bet it will make you feel good. And it will make our
summer words ring true.
I wish you all a Shannah Tova U'Mitukah, a good and sweet year. Happy 5753.
Ron
Saturday, August 1, 1992
Camp Nostalgia
August 1992
Dear GUCI Staff:
Camp has come and camp has gone. A great summer, but a whirlwind. People often made mention of the fact that it was my eighteenth summer in Zionsville (the staff even threw a surprise Oneg Shabbat in my honor, and honoring Susan Dill’s fifteen years as our secretary, gave us gifts, special food, etc.; a gala and much appreciated occasion) but I didn’t dwell on this thought as the summer raced along. Rather, it was a summer filled with the usual tumult of camp, complicated by terrible weather (rain and cold). It was a “Regular” i.e. magnificent camp season.
But today, two weeks after the yippers have fled; I did something so utterly radical (for me) and as a result was transported back through my years as Director. The experience was both emotional and somewhat overwhelming. What was that radical act? Was it rummaging through old staff contracts, or digging up a time capsule? No. I simply, for the first time in all these years, cleaned out my desk. More years ago than I can really remember, my friend, teacher, and employee (now that I look back on it I’m not sure who was working for whom), Earl Beeler presented me with an old wooden desk that he had sanded and refinished for me. Earl was our camp’s caretaker for 37 years, and I was lucky enough to work with him his last 8. I treasure the desk and have used it all these years. Today, I tried to open the center drawer and couldn’t because it was so crammed with papers, photos, slides, letters, receipts, etc. etc. So I decided to clean it out. What a trip!
I cannot begin to describe the contents of that drawer. I was blown away by the pictures I found, of my boys predating their Shoresh years (since I just this week delivered Jeremy to Indiana University to begin his college career, you can imagine how I was struck by seeing those pictures), of Earl on his tractor, Jim playing bass guitar in a rock band on the stage of the Oolam, of Gert in the kitchen. Pictures I had “Put away” to look at later. And what about those letters I found? Letters signed Bruce, Linda, Joel (Moose), Sandford, Susan Malman, Alex Schindler, Paul Menitoff, etc. Letters thanking me, letters asking for jobs, letters telling me jokes, letters alive with the joys and the struggles of other years at camp.
With each new envelope that I opened, and each slide I held up to the light to see, a memory jumped to mind. The top deck wars of the late 70’s, the training and subsequent contributions of each new Program Director, Mike Weinberg and I designing the new Chadar Ochel in my study carol in the library at HUC. The song leaders: Lee and Ian and Dawn, David and Leslie and Joe, Elliot Strom and Steve Sher, Mike and Rob Weinberg. Building the cabins, fixing the pool, coaxing another year out of the truck or the van. Laughing with Amy, Shirley, the Vigrans, the Watermans, the Snyders, the Wolfs, the Rosses, Glickman, Schwartz, Hertzman, Kamin, Gottlieb, Cincinatus, Goodman, Gottlib, Freedman, Moskowitz, Bennett, Lerner. Out of my drawer jumped the names Tzvika, and IshTov, and Barsade, and Ari Cohen. The sudden swarm of years made me dizzy. Each time I think of the desk, my own personal time capsule, more names march into my mind, more memories, more lives adding to camp and being touched by it. Today I felt in my heart the whole of my eighteen years at camp. It was a good feeling.
One other thing. Father’s Day is always in June, while we are at camp. Today I re-found years and years of Father’s Day cards, some handmade (by very small hands), given to me by Jeremy and Michael. Yes, I had quite a trip today.
Ron
Dear GUCI Staff:
Camp has come and camp has gone. A great summer, but a whirlwind. People often made mention of the fact that it was my eighteenth summer in Zionsville (the staff even threw a surprise Oneg Shabbat in my honor, and honoring Susan Dill’s fifteen years as our secretary, gave us gifts, special food, etc.; a gala and much appreciated occasion) but I didn’t dwell on this thought as the summer raced along. Rather, it was a summer filled with the usual tumult of camp, complicated by terrible weather (rain and cold). It was a “Regular” i.e. magnificent camp season.
But today, two weeks after the yippers have fled; I did something so utterly radical (for me) and as a result was transported back through my years as Director. The experience was both emotional and somewhat overwhelming. What was that radical act? Was it rummaging through old staff contracts, or digging up a time capsule? No. I simply, for the first time in all these years, cleaned out my desk. More years ago than I can really remember, my friend, teacher, and employee (now that I look back on it I’m not sure who was working for whom), Earl Beeler presented me with an old wooden desk that he had sanded and refinished for me. Earl was our camp’s caretaker for 37 years, and I was lucky enough to work with him his last 8. I treasure the desk and have used it all these years. Today, I tried to open the center drawer and couldn’t because it was so crammed with papers, photos, slides, letters, receipts, etc. etc. So I decided to clean it out. What a trip!
I cannot begin to describe the contents of that drawer. I was blown away by the pictures I found, of my boys predating their Shoresh years (since I just this week delivered Jeremy to Indiana University to begin his college career, you can imagine how I was struck by seeing those pictures), of Earl on his tractor, Jim playing bass guitar in a rock band on the stage of the Oolam, of Gert in the kitchen. Pictures I had “Put away” to look at later. And what about those letters I found? Letters signed Bruce, Linda, Joel (Moose), Sandford, Susan Malman, Alex Schindler, Paul Menitoff, etc. Letters thanking me, letters asking for jobs, letters telling me jokes, letters alive with the joys and the struggles of other years at camp.
With each new envelope that I opened, and each slide I held up to the light to see, a memory jumped to mind. The top deck wars of the late 70’s, the training and subsequent contributions of each new Program Director, Mike Weinberg and I designing the new Chadar Ochel in my study carol in the library at HUC. The song leaders: Lee and Ian and Dawn, David and Leslie and Joe, Elliot Strom and Steve Sher, Mike and Rob Weinberg. Building the cabins, fixing the pool, coaxing another year out of the truck or the van. Laughing with Amy, Shirley, the Vigrans, the Watermans, the Snyders, the Wolfs, the Rosses, Glickman, Schwartz, Hertzman, Kamin, Gottlieb, Cincinatus, Goodman, Gottlib, Freedman, Moskowitz, Bennett, Lerner. Out of my drawer jumped the names Tzvika, and IshTov, and Barsade, and Ari Cohen. The sudden swarm of years made me dizzy. Each time I think of the desk, my own personal time capsule, more names march into my mind, more memories, more lives adding to camp and being touched by it. Today I felt in my heart the whole of my eighteen years at camp. It was a good feeling.
One other thing. Father’s Day is always in June, while we are at camp. Today I re-found years and years of Father’s Day cards, some handmade (by very small hands), given to me by Jeremy and Michael. Yes, I had quite a trip today.
Ron
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