Saturday, February 5, 1994
Tuesday, February 1, 1994
Camp Directors' Debate
February, 1994
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
About a year ago all of the directors of our U.A.H.C. camps, along with the
leadership staff of our Youth Division engaged in a great debate over the
ethics of supplying our staffs with condoms at camp. This debate took place at
one of our regular camp director meetings at which we usually discuss more
mundane things like budgets and insurance. But this was a great "Sicha," in
which I was (also, as usual) on the minority side. We were deciding camp
policy, so it was an important discussion. The majority opinion held that
freely supplying condoms at camp, even through the privacy of the Mirpa'ah,
could be perceived in many ways as our encouraging, or at least condoning,
premarital sexual intercourse. Of course, as a movement, and even as
individuals, that is not our message. The minority view argued that we should
be realistic and realize that, regardless of message, many of our staff members
are sexually active, that these activities happen at camp, and so we should be
doing all that we can to ensure safe sex is being practiced. That was my
opinion (along with a few others). The final policy decision was that condoms
were not to be distributed by the camps.
I have no real argument with the policy. It is what most felt is appropriate.
I'm beginning to think that (as hard as this may be to admit) they were right
and I (heaven forbid) was wrong. For me the issue is less one of image and
perception as it is one of doing what is right. If we are perceived as being
too liberal (I sometimes am), that's OK. We should be able to take the heat,
if we believe our actions are moral and "good for our kids." In this
particular case, though, I am beginning to think that the, "They're going to do
it anyway" argument is secondary and not primary. I am enclosing an editorial
by Paul Greenberg. He has opened my eyes to the other side of the issue. The
primary stance by parents, clergy, movements, etc. must be one that encourages
abstinence instead of reliance on a condom for protection from AIDS. Please
read this important editorial. Let me know what you think. I need to hear
from you on this.
As Greenberg points out, many parents have said to their kids, "Don't drink!
But if you do, call us and we will pick you up." Have you heard a statement
like that from your folks? We don't want our kids to drink, but realize that
sometime they may, and the ultimate concern must be for our children's safety
and well-being. Doesn't this apply to sexual activity as well? As parents,
shouldn't we be telling our children the truth? That the ONLY way to be really
safe is to refrain. That even safe sex isn't completely safe. That there is
value in the old morality of being with one partner in whom you have complete
confidence and trust. That your life may be threatened by casual sex.
Does the camp director have the same responsibility as the parent? It is clear
to me that the camp director has even greater responsibilities than the
parents. Why? Because as leaders of religious institutes, we try to uphold
the highest of principles. We are bound by the ethical, and can only assume
that our staffs' parents hold just as high an ethical stance. In this condom
controversy our actions speak much louder than our words. Yet, like that kid
who is not allowed to drink, but has the safety net of calling home for a ride
if he/she does, our kids should have access to condoms. Neat dilemma, eh?
For those of us who grew up in the 60's, this sexual dilemma is ironic. The
ultimate morality isn't changed, but the reasons for it have. One could
maintain that sexual morality is always going to be high on the ethics hit
parade because it involves such universal values as love, commitment,
responsibility, etc. But now, the stakes have been raised to the limit. When
I was a kid, what scared the hell out of us was the realization that premarital
sex meant the possibility of creating a life; now it presents the possibility
of losing one.
Ron
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
About a year ago all of the directors of our U.A.H.C. camps, along with the
leadership staff of our Youth Division engaged in a great debate over the
ethics of supplying our staffs with condoms at camp. This debate took place at
one of our regular camp director meetings at which we usually discuss more
mundane things like budgets and insurance. But this was a great "Sicha," in
which I was (also, as usual) on the minority side. We were deciding camp
policy, so it was an important discussion. The majority opinion held that
freely supplying condoms at camp, even through the privacy of the Mirpa'ah,
could be perceived in many ways as our encouraging, or at least condoning,
premarital sexual intercourse. Of course, as a movement, and even as
individuals, that is not our message. The minority view argued that we should
be realistic and realize that, regardless of message, many of our staff members
are sexually active, that these activities happen at camp, and so we should be
doing all that we can to ensure safe sex is being practiced. That was my
opinion (along with a few others). The final policy decision was that condoms
were not to be distributed by the camps.
I have no real argument with the policy. It is what most felt is appropriate.
I'm beginning to think that (as hard as this may be to admit) they were right
and I (heaven forbid) was wrong. For me the issue is less one of image and
perception as it is one of doing what is right. If we are perceived as being
too liberal (I sometimes am), that's OK. We should be able to take the heat,
if we believe our actions are moral and "good for our kids." In this
particular case, though, I am beginning to think that the, "They're going to do
it anyway" argument is secondary and not primary. I am enclosing an editorial
by Paul Greenberg. He has opened my eyes to the other side of the issue. The
primary stance by parents, clergy, movements, etc. must be one that encourages
abstinence instead of reliance on a condom for protection from AIDS. Please
read this important editorial. Let me know what you think. I need to hear
from you on this.
As Greenberg points out, many parents have said to their kids, "Don't drink!
But if you do, call us and we will pick you up." Have you heard a statement
like that from your folks? We don't want our kids to drink, but realize that
sometime they may, and the ultimate concern must be for our children's safety
and well-being. Doesn't this apply to sexual activity as well? As parents,
shouldn't we be telling our children the truth? That the ONLY way to be really
safe is to refrain. That even safe sex isn't completely safe. That there is
value in the old morality of being with one partner in whom you have complete
confidence and trust. That your life may be threatened by casual sex.
Does the camp director have the same responsibility as the parent? It is clear
to me that the camp director has even greater responsibilities than the
parents. Why? Because as leaders of religious institutes, we try to uphold
the highest of principles. We are bound by the ethical, and can only assume
that our staffs' parents hold just as high an ethical stance. In this condom
controversy our actions speak much louder than our words. Yet, like that kid
who is not allowed to drink, but has the safety net of calling home for a ride
if he/she does, our kids should have access to condoms. Neat dilemma, eh?
For those of us who grew up in the 60's, this sexual dilemma is ironic. The
ultimate morality isn't changed, but the reasons for it have. One could
maintain that sexual morality is always going to be high on the ethics hit
parade because it involves such universal values as love, commitment,
responsibility, etc. But now, the stakes have been raised to the limit. When
I was a kid, what scared the hell out of us was the realization that premarital
sex meant the possibility of creating a life; now it presents the possibility
of losing one.
Ron
Thursday, January 20, 1994
Be Good to Your Parents
January, 1994
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
The thought has often crossed my mind that these staff letters offer me an
opportunity that most adults never have, the chance to communicate with a
sizable group of young people. Not that I am feeling old, even though tomorrow
is my birthday. No, I don't feel old at all (well, not too old anyway), but in
these the last hours of my forty-seven-ness, I can safely announce that I am no
longer a "kid." And yet, I am my mother's child and will always be so. And I
am, more than ever, influenced by my father's words, which I hear in my mind
every day though they have not entered my ears for several years.
As I think back on my childhood I realize how little I was aware of the trials
and tribulations I presented to my parents. Nor did I understand how invested
parents are in their children's lives. I imagine this may be a new thought for
you as well. Now that I am a parent (and have been for twenty years) I finally
understand it. We parents can't help but take pride in our children's
accomplishments. We also cannot help worrying to the "nth" degree about our
kids' problems. Maybe part of the reason for this is the wonder of life.
Given all of the great things a person may accomplish in his or her life, there
is nothing as awesome as giving life, as raising a child, as being a part of
the miracle. And it is not just the miracle of birth; it's the miracle of life
and growing and thinking and loving. All of it.
What I don't think I understood as a child is how scary it is as well. Every
day we parents read and hear about the tragedies of life and think about all of
the ways things can go wrong. As we grow older we understand too well how
frail and fragile we all are. It scares us for our kids.
Parents of older kids walk a particularly difficult tightrope. It is hard to
keep your balance between giving the freedom your child thinks he/she should
have, and exercising the authority that comes with the responsibility of being
a parent. When to step in, and when not to, is often a tough call. And kids
really cannot appreciate their parents' dilemma. My dad used to say that when
he was eighteen years old he thought his father was the dumbest person in the
world. But he also said that when he turned twenty-two he was amazed at how
much his father had learned in just four years. As difficult as it is to grow
up, to be a teenager, to be someone's child; it is at least as difficult to be
a child's parent.
Most parents come to understand that there are few right and
wrong answers to the questions that life throws us; but you do the best you
can, you love your kids, try to be a good person and teach them to be good too.
Pete Seeger once said that being a parent is the only job where one doesn't get
paid in dollars; rather, parents collect their salaries in the smiles they see
on their children's faces. We can all be better sons and daughters. Perhaps
we should give our parents a raise. Add a hug to their paycheck.
Ron
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
The thought has often crossed my mind that these staff letters offer me an
opportunity that most adults never have, the chance to communicate with a
sizable group of young people. Not that I am feeling old, even though tomorrow
is my birthday. No, I don't feel old at all (well, not too old anyway), but in
these the last hours of my forty-seven-ness, I can safely announce that I am no
longer a "kid." And yet, I am my mother's child and will always be so. And I
am, more than ever, influenced by my father's words, which I hear in my mind
every day though they have not entered my ears for several years.
As I think back on my childhood I realize how little I was aware of the trials
and tribulations I presented to my parents. Nor did I understand how invested
parents are in their children's lives. I imagine this may be a new thought for
you as well. Now that I am a parent (and have been for twenty years) I finally
understand it. We parents can't help but take pride in our children's
accomplishments. We also cannot help worrying to the "nth" degree about our
kids' problems. Maybe part of the reason for this is the wonder of life.
Given all of the great things a person may accomplish in his or her life, there
is nothing as awesome as giving life, as raising a child, as being a part of
the miracle. And it is not just the miracle of birth; it's the miracle of life
and growing and thinking and loving. All of it.
What I don't think I understood as a child is how scary it is as well. Every
day we parents read and hear about the tragedies of life and think about all of
the ways things can go wrong. As we grow older we understand too well how
frail and fragile we all are. It scares us for our kids.
Parents of older kids walk a particularly difficult tightrope. It is hard to
keep your balance between giving the freedom your child thinks he/she should
have, and exercising the authority that comes with the responsibility of being
a parent. When to step in, and when not to, is often a tough call. And kids
really cannot appreciate their parents' dilemma. My dad used to say that when
he was eighteen years old he thought his father was the dumbest person in the
world. But he also said that when he turned twenty-two he was amazed at how
much his father had learned in just four years. As difficult as it is to grow
up, to be a teenager, to be someone's child; it is at least as difficult to be
a child's parent.
Most parents come to understand that there are few right and
wrong answers to the questions that life throws us; but you do the best you
can, you love your kids, try to be a good person and teach them to be good too.
Pete Seeger once said that being a parent is the only job where one doesn't get
paid in dollars; rather, parents collect their salaries in the smiles they see
on their children's faces. We can all be better sons and daughters. Perhaps
we should give our parents a raise. Add a hug to their paycheck.
Ron
Saturday, January 1, 1994
Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf
January, 1994
Dear GUCI Staff:
Rarely does it happen that someone, in a few words, spoken privately, creates a moment that the listener remembers for a lifetime. Perhaps you remember an encouragement you received from a mentor or role model; a sentence or two that remains in the mind and the heart.
These encounters may happen in the strangest of places, always best when unexpected. Those of you who have been reading these ramblings for a long while may remember my relating just such an encounter between myself and my beloved, 95 year-old professor of American Jewish History, Dr. Jacob Marcus. We exchanged memorable words to each other as we stood urinating next to each other in the downstairs Men’s room of the Plum Street Temple (this story is soon to reprinted in a future edition of the scholarly journal, “Historic Jewish Excretions”), a few moments before Sandford Kopnick became a “Rabbi in Israel” (the Israel job must have been filled as Sandford instead became a Rabbi in Chicago). My point is simply, that one never knows when someone might hear something that will knock her/his socks off.
Last month, I had occasion to return to my home synagogue, B’nai Jehoshua-Beth Elohim, to celebrate its 100th anniversary. Only five of its sons and daughters had entered the rabbinate, and were all invited back to participate in this historic Shabbat Service. Also in attendance were, Rabbi Alexander Schindler, President of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (my ultimate boss), Rabbi Mark Shapiro, the spiritual leader of the congregation for the last 31 years, and Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, one of the former rabbis of the old B’nai Jehoshua (the temple of my youth).
Rabbi Arnold Wolf is an impish, genius of a man; a rabbi’s rabbi who had a profound impact on my life as I was growing up. I came under his spell after he had left my congregation (he served there as rabbi during the time I celebrated my 6th through 10th birthdays). It was later, throughout the summers of my camper and staff years at Union Institute camp in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, that I really got to know Rabbi Wolf. You see, Arnie Wolf was no ordinary rabbi, he was a rebel. He was a radical. He challenged my every belief. He made me think and question. He was my teacher and the expander of my horizons. And, so many times he made me laugh. I hadn’t seen Rabbi Wolf in 20 years. We met again that night when I returned to “BJBE” where I could still hear the voices of my father and grandfathers, my aunts and uncles and cousins; the tumult of my confirmation class and youth group.
Prior to the arrival of the 600 or so congregants who would gather for the Shabbat service, the special guests were invited to a small Shabbat dinner. Before the meal I re-introduced myself to Rabbi Wolf. When he heard my name he looked at me as if he couldn’t believe his eyes (I guess I’d grown up a bit). His first words knocked off my right sock. As if he had kept track of me all of these years, he said, “You created the perfect career for yourself.” His eyes were bright. He was proud of me, one of his long, lost, camp kids. I smiled, but didn’t exactly understand what he meant and was about to ask, when he hit me with the second punch of this verbal one-two combination. This one left me completely sockless.
Rabbi Wolf told me that even though his congregation was in Chicago, and that most of his kids attended Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute, several of his temple children had come down to Zionsville. He went on to say that each of those GUCI campers had returned telling tales of love and enthusiasm, for friends and Judaism. He poked his finger at my tie (I was nicely dressed), leaned a little forward and proclaimed, “Ronnie, you’re really doing it!”
I said, “Rabbi, you taught me well in the early days of Union camping.” But he wouldn’t hear of it. His next words are the ones I will always hold dear.He said, “It was easy back then in the early 60’s. Everyone was into it. But you are really making it happen for our kids now- and it’s not happening in many places.”
He was almost immediately swept away by other guest who wanted to talk, reminisce, and laugh with this beloved rabbi. I couldn’t get his compliment out of my head. That Rabbi Wolf would even remember me, let alone appreciate my work, our work. I must admit that, personally, the rest of the evening paled in the shadow of that moment. I had made my rabbi proud; and he had made my decade.
Ron
Dear GUCI Staff:
Rarely does it happen that someone, in a few words, spoken privately, creates a moment that the listener remembers for a lifetime. Perhaps you remember an encouragement you received from a mentor or role model; a sentence or two that remains in the mind and the heart.
These encounters may happen in the strangest of places, always best when unexpected. Those of you who have been reading these ramblings for a long while may remember my relating just such an encounter between myself and my beloved, 95 year-old professor of American Jewish History, Dr. Jacob Marcus. We exchanged memorable words to each other as we stood urinating next to each other in the downstairs Men’s room of the Plum Street Temple (this story is soon to reprinted in a future edition of the scholarly journal, “Historic Jewish Excretions”), a few moments before Sandford Kopnick became a “Rabbi in Israel” (the Israel job must have been filled as Sandford instead became a Rabbi in Chicago). My point is simply, that one never knows when someone might hear something that will knock her/his socks off.
Last month, I had occasion to return to my home synagogue, B’nai Jehoshua-Beth Elohim, to celebrate its 100th anniversary. Only five of its sons and daughters had entered the rabbinate, and were all invited back to participate in this historic Shabbat Service. Also in attendance were, Rabbi Alexander Schindler, President of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (my ultimate boss), Rabbi Mark Shapiro, the spiritual leader of the congregation for the last 31 years, and Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, one of the former rabbis of the old B’nai Jehoshua (the temple of my youth).
Rabbi Arnold Wolf is an impish, genius of a man; a rabbi’s rabbi who had a profound impact on my life as I was growing up. I came under his spell after he had left my congregation (he served there as rabbi during the time I celebrated my 6th through 10th birthdays). It was later, throughout the summers of my camper and staff years at Union Institute camp in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, that I really got to know Rabbi Wolf. You see, Arnie Wolf was no ordinary rabbi, he was a rebel. He was a radical. He challenged my every belief. He made me think and question. He was my teacher and the expander of my horizons. And, so many times he made me laugh. I hadn’t seen Rabbi Wolf in 20 years. We met again that night when I returned to “BJBE” where I could still hear the voices of my father and grandfathers, my aunts and uncles and cousins; the tumult of my confirmation class and youth group.
Prior to the arrival of the 600 or so congregants who would gather for the Shabbat service, the special guests were invited to a small Shabbat dinner. Before the meal I re-introduced myself to Rabbi Wolf. When he heard my name he looked at me as if he couldn’t believe his eyes (I guess I’d grown up a bit). His first words knocked off my right sock. As if he had kept track of me all of these years, he said, “You created the perfect career for yourself.” His eyes were bright. He was proud of me, one of his long, lost, camp kids. I smiled, but didn’t exactly understand what he meant and was about to ask, when he hit me with the second punch of this verbal one-two combination. This one left me completely sockless.
Rabbi Wolf told me that even though his congregation was in Chicago, and that most of his kids attended Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute, several of his temple children had come down to Zionsville. He went on to say that each of those GUCI campers had returned telling tales of love and enthusiasm, for friends and Judaism. He poked his finger at my tie (I was nicely dressed), leaned a little forward and proclaimed, “Ronnie, you’re really doing it!”
I said, “Rabbi, you taught me well in the early days of Union camping.” But he wouldn’t hear of it. His next words are the ones I will always hold dear.He said, “It was easy back then in the early 60’s. Everyone was into it. But you are really making it happen for our kids now- and it’s not happening in many places.”
He was almost immediately swept away by other guest who wanted to talk, reminisce, and laugh with this beloved rabbi. I couldn’t get his compliment out of my head. That Rabbi Wolf would even remember me, let alone appreciate my work, our work. I must admit that, personally, the rest of the evening paled in the shadow of that moment. I had made my rabbi proud; and he had made my decade.
Ron
Friday, October 1, 1993
A Beautiful Sunset
October, 1993
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
Well, I have once again taken to the highways with slide projector in hand, to
converse with kids about coming to camp, and persuade their parents to part
with their progeny by sending their sons and siblings and savings to us for
another summer ("A" for alliteration). So, I'm out promoting camp, right? So,
it's weekends around the region, long stretches on the road, usually a familiar
face or two at each destination, and a lot of time to think.
So, an amazing thing happened to me on this, my first trip. I left camp about 4:00
in the afternoon last Thursday, heading west to St. Louis, on my way to K.C.
and Des Moines. It was the beginning of a 1300 mile trek, probably the longest
weekend trip of the year. So, I'm westbound on I-70, around Terra Haute at
5:30 P.M., and the sun is setting right into my eyeballs. So, I pull down the
visor and focus on the few yards of highway I can see between it and the dash.
It was a beautiful fall day and Indiana was breathtakingly technicolored. So,
about a hour goes by when I decide to raise the visor and see if there is a
world out there beyond the highway immediately in front of my bumper. That's
when it happened.
As I raised the visor, I was confronted, no, surprised by a most magnificent
sunset. While hidden behind my visor it had spread its pinks and reds across
the entire horizon. In and of itself, this sunset was remarkable, but my
immediate response to the surprise gift of seeing it is what lingers in my
mind. I would have expected the first words to jump into my mind to be, "Holy
cow," or "Wow," but my mood had moved me to a different place. My first
thoughts at that moment (I kid you not) were the words, "Ma'ariv Aravim,"
("...who makes the evening fall"). It's from the prayer we say each evening,
"Baruch Ata Adonai Ha Ma'ariv Aravim." " Blessed are you Adonai, who makes the
evening fall." That I should respond to the sudden beauty before me with a
prayer, in an almost automatic kind of way, was as eye-opening as the sight
itself.
So, I watched the reds become purples and the blues blacken. I thought of
another line, this from the morning T'filla,"... Michadesh B'chol Yom Tamid
Ma'asey B'raysheet," "...Who renews daily the acts of creation." These were
the words in my heart at that particular moment in time, expressing my feelings
of gratitude for the gift of that beauty.
So, for 45 minutes, while evening became night and headlights replaced the
sunset, I thought about these prayers and how naturally they came to me there
in the front seat of my Pontiac; and how real they felt. I decided that my
liturgical response made me happy. It was like the first time I responded to a
question in Hebrew, without having to think in English. The Hebrew had become
a part of me; so had the prayer.
So, now it's on to various parts of our camp region, north, south, east, and
west. With long stretches of highway before me, jazz and cups of coffee for
companions, and lots of time to think.
Ron
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
Well, I have once again taken to the highways with slide projector in hand, to
converse with kids about coming to camp, and persuade their parents to part
with their progeny by sending their sons and siblings and savings to us for
another summer ("A" for alliteration). So, I'm out promoting camp, right? So,
it's weekends around the region, long stretches on the road, usually a familiar
face or two at each destination, and a lot of time to think.
So, an amazing thing happened to me on this, my first trip. I left camp about 4:00
in the afternoon last Thursday, heading west to St. Louis, on my way to K.C.
and Des Moines. It was the beginning of a 1300 mile trek, probably the longest
weekend trip of the year. So, I'm westbound on I-70, around Terra Haute at
5:30 P.M., and the sun is setting right into my eyeballs. So, I pull down the
visor and focus on the few yards of highway I can see between it and the dash.
It was a beautiful fall day and Indiana was breathtakingly technicolored. So,
about a hour goes by when I decide to raise the visor and see if there is a
world out there beyond the highway immediately in front of my bumper. That's
when it happened.
As I raised the visor, I was confronted, no, surprised by a most magnificent
sunset. While hidden behind my visor it had spread its pinks and reds across
the entire horizon. In and of itself, this sunset was remarkable, but my
immediate response to the surprise gift of seeing it is what lingers in my
mind. I would have expected the first words to jump into my mind to be, "Holy
cow," or "Wow," but my mood had moved me to a different place. My first
thoughts at that moment (I kid you not) were the words, "Ma'ariv Aravim,"
("...who makes the evening fall"). It's from the prayer we say each evening,
"Baruch Ata Adonai Ha Ma'ariv Aravim." " Blessed are you Adonai, who makes the
evening fall." That I should respond to the sudden beauty before me with a
prayer, in an almost automatic kind of way, was as eye-opening as the sight
itself.
So, I watched the reds become purples and the blues blacken. I thought of
another line, this from the morning T'filla,"... Michadesh B'chol Yom Tamid
Ma'asey B'raysheet," "...Who renews daily the acts of creation." These were
the words in my heart at that particular moment in time, expressing my feelings
of gratitude for the gift of that beauty.
So, for 45 minutes, while evening became night and headlights replaced the
sunset, I thought about these prayers and how naturally they came to me there
in the front seat of my Pontiac; and how real they felt. I decided that my
liturgical response made me happy. It was like the first time I responded to a
question in Hebrew, without having to think in English. The Hebrew had become
a part of me; so had the prayer.
So, now it's on to various parts of our camp region, north, south, east, and
west. With long stretches of highway before me, jazz and cups of coffee for
companions, and lots of time to think.
Ron
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)