January, 1996
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
As far back as I can remember, I have been a fan of a particular band, the
Dukes of Dixieland. I liked Dixieland, but I really fell in love with the
Dukes. The original Dukes of Dixieland (other groups have used the name) began
in 1947 when brothers Frank and Fred Assunto formed their first highschool jazz
band and began playing their native New Orleans music. They later turned pro,
were joined by their father, Papa Jac Assunto and the Dukes of Dixieland were
born. Somehow, when I was about twelve years old, I became a fan. It seems
funny to me now, looking back on it. I had never been to New Orleans, never
seen the group on TV, new nothing of that form of jazz. Must have heard them
on the radio and became an instant admirer. I bought several of their records,
knew their names, absolutely adored Fred's trombone playing along with Papa
Jac's (he doubled on banjo). Their music was alive.
In 1960, out for Sunday dinner with my family, I spied a poster on the
restaurant wall advertising a show the Dukes were performing that night at an
American Legion hall way out in Maywood, Illinois. I begged my father to take
me. My Dad was anything but a music lover (cars and the Cubs were his
passions), but after many words he caved in. So, on that cold and snowy,
February night we were off to the far West side. We found it to be a small
gathering, mostly Legion members, mostly interested in the open bar. There was
a tiny portable stage set up in the social hall. An audience of about one
hundred adults, and one kid, me, bubbling over with excitement, holding record
covers in my hand for possible autographs.
And then they appeared. It was really them. Fred on trumpet, Frank and Papa
Jac on trombones, backed by a bass/tuba player, clarinet, drums, and piano. I
was psyched! After their first set I got them to sign my album covers. I felt
that they understood that I was there because I was a fan, not just someone out
for a nice evening; and so, we had a special relationship (now I'm sure that
thought never crossed their minds. But hey, I was a kid). Toward the end of
the evening Papa Jac stepped up to the mike to ask for requests. My hand went
up like a shot. They were used to people asking for well known Dixieland
numbers like, "When The Saints Go Marching In," or "Basin Street Blues," but
were surprised when Papa Jac said, "Let's hear what the kid wants," and I
requested an old New Orleans funeral tune (Woody Allen would have been proud of
me) called, "Oh Didn't He Ramble." It's the tune played on the way back from
the cemetery when a New Orleans jazzman dies. Its tempo starts out slow and
steadily gains speed. It is at first a dirge, then a march, and finally it
breaks into a swinging Dixieland romp. It celebrates the life that was. They
began playing. When the tempo picked up to a march, they began marching around
the room. When they approached my seat, they paused, pulled me up and made me
the "Grand marshal" of that tiny New Orleans parade. As silly as it sounds
now, it was quite a thrill for a fourteen year old fan.
Yesterday, thirty-five years later, I was walking on my treadmill, listening to
the intricate blend of harmonies from one of those old albums taken from a
jacket with the Assuntos names scrawled on the back. My mind wandered. I
began thinking of how similar our camp Leadership Staff is to a Dixieland band
(I know, a mind is a terrible thing to waste). No, but really, the Program
Director is the lead, like Frank Assunto with that brassy, high-toned trumpet.
Closely follow the second leads, the Shoresh, Gezah, and Anaf Unit Heads on
clarinet and trombones. All are supported by the Avodah-Unit-Head-Assistant-
Unit-Head-rhythm-section on bass/tuba, piano, and drums. It's perfect. Like
the Dukes, this Leadership Dixieland band plays in harmony (usually), with the
second leads blending behind the lead, playing the intros and the fills, the
rhythm section supporting them all. And like the Dukes, each player has
his/her opportunity to take a solo or two and lead the group. All are aiming
toward a common goal and bringing their own talents to its achievement.
Sometimes members of the band play in contrast to each other, against one
another, and tensions arise. That's when Papa Jac raises his old trombone, and
blows a sweet solo bringing everyone back to the melody and to the realization
that, ultimately the tune's more important than any one part of it. The
harmonies return and all blend together, swinging toward the final stanza
.
But this is more than just a musical analysis and a thought about camp. It's a
memory of a snowy, February evening, my Dad and I out for an adventure
together, my chance to lead the parade for a moment or two. It's the emotional
impression made by melodies gone by, and the anticipation of those yet to be
played; of slow tempos steadily gaining speed.
Ron
Saturday, January 20, 1996
Friday, December 1, 1995
Thanks to Staff
December 1995
Dear GUCI Staff (As Count Basie said, “One more time…”):
In my travels around our regions and wherever I encounter one or more of the 500 alumni now receiving these staff letters, I am always impressed with the tremendously warm feelings that we have for our camp and the friends you’ve made during your summers here. Personally, I have always felt that even one summer here as a staff member cements a connection that most other experiences never approach. I feel a very special relationship with people who have shared that staff struggle and programmatic and personal victory we realize during the course of each summer at Goldman Union Camp.
The struggles and ultimate growth in character and knowledge and commitment continue for our staff members, summer after summer. We reap the rewards today, for the gifts former counselors and unit heads gave so abundantly to their campers in the past. How so? As plans take shape for our Leadership (formerly Top Deck) Staff for 1996, it is heartwarming to report that our Shoresh, Gezah, Anaf, Camp K’ton and Avodah Unit Heads, along with our Program Director, all began their involvement here as either Shoresh or Gezah campers. Perhaps they were in your cabin, or Chug, or swim class somewhere along the way. Now these former campers take over the helm. They will be making it all happen for the next generation of campers/staff/leadership staff.
We need your financial support to maintain this Jewish continuity here at our camp. This winter we begin a project to rebuild the rooms and apartment over the Beit Am. The new living quarters will house Unit Heads and Specialists. The old rooms and apartment are not usable now, and we need the space desperately. This $25,000 project would just about be covered if each of sent in a $50.00 check. Your contribution, more or less than the $50.00 I mentioned, will be greatly appreciated. If the GUCI Staff Letters mean anything at all to you, please help us with this most important project.
Thanks,
Ron
Final Havdalah
December, 1995
Dear GUCI Staff:
There is a little known tradition, which has grown here at camp. It’s a long beautiful tradition, which never ceases to move me and stay on my mind long after the joys, and trials of the summer subside. For the past several summers, the staff that has remained in camp after Kallah Bet, to work OVFTY Institute (now called NFTY Institute) has come together on that final Saturday night for a festive meal and last Havdalah service. It’s the Havdalah that clings to my emotional memory.
The week of NFTY Institute is a sort of detox for the staff who have been in the camp the proceeding nine or ten weeks. To some degree we experience withdrawal from the intensity of regular camp. Although we miss the action and involvement of Kallah, the need fulfillment we provide our younger campers (and the ego gratification they often give us), it is good to slowly come out of the fog of fatigue that has engulfed us. During “Tute” we are still involved in program, we still attend T’fillot, do Shmira, live at camp, work in the Chadar Ochel, etc. But the pace is slower, Aruchat Boker later, we sleep more, we recover.
As the week nears its end, it is inevitable that the full-summer staff begins to turn its thoughts to the fall and school or work; the profane. The Havdalah service that week separates more than just that Shabbat from the coming week, it marks the end of camp and the beginning of life after camp. It seems to have a lot more significance than most Havdalah services. This summer the twenty or so of us sat on the benches and floor of the Merkaz Tochnit, the porch of the Chadar Ochel for the service. It was around midnight. We lit just the Havdalah candle, sat in a circle, tasted the wine, smelled the spices, admired the flame. It was a quiet and somewhat poignant moment. The tradition is to spend some moments during the service talking about the summer. Anyone is free to speak, and most are moved to do so. It has become a lovely interlude in which we collectively express our pride for the accomplishments of the summer, our strong sense of community and friendship, our hopes for health and happiness in our out-of-camp lives which are about to commence. This particular Havdalah has become for me, in a very positive sense, an emotional highlight of the summer. It is a good way to close.
To some degree the staff that works that last week feels as though they are the “survivors” of the summer. Many of them began as part of the opening crew, arriving at camp before even the Leadership staff. They cleaned; moved bunk beds, painted, and in general, dug the camp out of a long winter of inactivity. Then these same kids became counselors, unit heads, and specialists for the long haul of camp. Now they find themselves sitting on the floor of the Merkaz, looking at the reflection of the Havdalah candle on the faces of their colleagues, closing a chapter in GUCI’s history. It is at once a triumphant and somewhat sad moment.
It seems to me that during that final Havdalah of the summer, the wine is a little sweeter, the spices more pungent, and the flame a little brighter than usual. But when the flame is extinguished, the darkness seems unusually deep as well.
Ron
Dear GUCI Staff:
There is a little known tradition, which has grown here at camp. It’s a long beautiful tradition, which never ceases to move me and stay on my mind long after the joys, and trials of the summer subside. For the past several summers, the staff that has remained in camp after Kallah Bet, to work OVFTY Institute (now called NFTY Institute) has come together on that final Saturday night for a festive meal and last Havdalah service. It’s the Havdalah that clings to my emotional memory.
The week of NFTY Institute is a sort of detox for the staff who have been in the camp the proceeding nine or ten weeks. To some degree we experience withdrawal from the intensity of regular camp. Although we miss the action and involvement of Kallah, the need fulfillment we provide our younger campers (and the ego gratification they often give us), it is good to slowly come out of the fog of fatigue that has engulfed us. During “Tute” we are still involved in program, we still attend T’fillot, do Shmira, live at camp, work in the Chadar Ochel, etc. But the pace is slower, Aruchat Boker later, we sleep more, we recover.
As the week nears its end, it is inevitable that the full-summer staff begins to turn its thoughts to the fall and school or work; the profane. The Havdalah service that week separates more than just that Shabbat from the coming week, it marks the end of camp and the beginning of life after camp. It seems to have a lot more significance than most Havdalah services. This summer the twenty or so of us sat on the benches and floor of the Merkaz Tochnit, the porch of the Chadar Ochel for the service. It was around midnight. We lit just the Havdalah candle, sat in a circle, tasted the wine, smelled the spices, admired the flame. It was a quiet and somewhat poignant moment. The tradition is to spend some moments during the service talking about the summer. Anyone is free to speak, and most are moved to do so. It has become a lovely interlude in which we collectively express our pride for the accomplishments of the summer, our strong sense of community and friendship, our hopes for health and happiness in our out-of-camp lives which are about to commence. This particular Havdalah has become for me, in a very positive sense, an emotional highlight of the summer. It is a good way to close.
To some degree the staff that works that last week feels as though they are the “survivors” of the summer. Many of them began as part of the opening crew, arriving at camp before even the Leadership staff. They cleaned; moved bunk beds, painted, and in general, dug the camp out of a long winter of inactivity. Then these same kids became counselors, unit heads, and specialists for the long haul of camp. Now they find themselves sitting on the floor of the Merkaz, looking at the reflection of the Havdalah candle on the faces of their colleagues, closing a chapter in GUCI’s history. It is at once a triumphant and somewhat sad moment.
It seems to me that during that final Havdalah of the summer, the wine is a little sweeter, the spices more pungent, and the flame a little brighter than usual. But when the flame is extinguished, the darkness seems unusually deep as well.
Ron
Rebuilding the Beit Am
December 1995
Dear GUCI Staff (As Count Basie said, “One more time…”)
In my travels around our regions and wherever I encounter one or more of the 500 alumni now receiving these staff letters, I am always impressed with the tremendously warm feelings that we have for our camp and the friends you’ve made during your summers here. Personally, I have always felt that even one summer here as a staff member cements a connection that most other experiences never approach. I feel a very special relationship with people who have shared that staff struggle and programmatic and personal victory we realize during the course of each summer at Goldman Union Camp.
The struggles and ultimate growth in character and knowledge and commitment continue for our staff members, summer after summer. We reap the rewards today, for the gifts former counselors and unit heads gave so abundantly to their campers in the past. How so? As plans take shape for our Leadership (formerly Top Deck) Staff for 1996, it is heartwarming to report that our Shoresh, Gezah, Anaf, Camp K’ton and Avodah Unit Heads, along with our Program Director, all began their involvement here as either Shoresh or Gezah campers. Perhaps they were in your cabin, or Chug, or swim class somewhere along the way. Now these former campers take over the helm. They will be making it all happen for the next generation of campers/staff/leadership staff.
We need your financial support to maintain this Jewish continuity here at our camp. This winter we begin a project to rebuild the rooms and apartment over the Beit Am. The new living quarters will house Unit Heads and Specialists. The old rooms and apartment are not usable now, and we need the space desperately. This $25,000 project would just about be covered if each of us sent in a $50.00 check. Your contribution, more or less than the $50.00 I mentioned, will be greatly appreciated. If the GUCI Staff Letters mean anything at all to you, please help us with this most important project.
Thanks,
Ron
Dear GUCI Staff (As Count Basie said, “One more time…”)
In my travels around our regions and wherever I encounter one or more of the 500 alumni now receiving these staff letters, I am always impressed with the tremendously warm feelings that we have for our camp and the friends you’ve made during your summers here. Personally, I have always felt that even one summer here as a staff member cements a connection that most other experiences never approach. I feel a very special relationship with people who have shared that staff struggle and programmatic and personal victory we realize during the course of each summer at Goldman Union Camp.
The struggles and ultimate growth in character and knowledge and commitment continue for our staff members, summer after summer. We reap the rewards today, for the gifts former counselors and unit heads gave so abundantly to their campers in the past. How so? As plans take shape for our Leadership (formerly Top Deck) Staff for 1996, it is heartwarming to report that our Shoresh, Gezah, Anaf, Camp K’ton and Avodah Unit Heads, along with our Program Director, all began their involvement here as either Shoresh or Gezah campers. Perhaps they were in your cabin, or Chug, or swim class somewhere along the way. Now these former campers take over the helm. They will be making it all happen for the next generation of campers/staff/leadership staff.
We need your financial support to maintain this Jewish continuity here at our camp. This winter we begin a project to rebuild the rooms and apartment over the Beit Am. The new living quarters will house Unit Heads and Specialists. The old rooms and apartment are not usable now, and we need the space desperately. This $25,000 project would just about be covered if each of us sent in a $50.00 check. Your contribution, more or less than the $50.00 I mentioned, will be greatly appreciated. If the GUCI Staff Letters mean anything at all to you, please help us with this most important project.
Thanks,
Ron
Wednesday, November 1, 1995
This Land...
November, 1995
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
The most well known American folksong ever written is undoubtedly Woodie
Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land." I've been thinking about the song. Since
camp ended last August, I have seen much of this land and marveled at its
beauty and diversity. Soon after camp ended, Juca and I traveled on the Blue
Ridge Parkway into North Carolina to spend the Labor Day weekend with Rabbi
Jim(bo) Bennett and his family and congregation. Three days in a beautiful
mountain top retreat. The program itself was fun; I told stories, played the
banjo, and we got to spend time with the Bennett family to boot. But the
setting was mind boggling. We watched the sun set each evening over the Blue
Ridge mountains. We drove down winding mountain roads, thick with evergreen
trees. I could not open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. After a long,
hot, mid-western summer, the cool and clear mountain breezes refreshed the
spirit.
A week after our mountain romp, we found ourselves back in the Mecca of the mid-
west, Chicago. It is always thrilling for me to return to the city of my
birth. This trip was a special treat as we participated in a dinner honoring
Jerry Kaye for completing 25 years as the Director of our camp in Wisconsin,
The Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute. I was at that camp for 14 years before I
migrated south to Zionsville. As Jerry's first Assistant Director in 1970 when
he came to the camp, I was asked to speak at the dinner. Honoring Jerry was an
easy thing to do. Many of the 150 people in attendance had been my campers or
staff members in one of my units in the old days of Union Camping. The
nostalgia flowed, and being back in the heart of my old hometown made it even
better. Did I mention that the dinner was held at Commisky Park, home of the
White Sox, the dream team of my childhood (oh! how I remember that 1959
season). I returned to Chi-town last weekend and had the good fortune to take
a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. It was a cold and blustery day, but what a
piece of work that city is, and what a sight from a mile out on the lake. We
stood out on the top deck of that boat, hunched over, leaning into the wind. I
pointed out a beautiful old brown and tan building, dwarfed by the tallest
skyscrapers. It was the hotel in which my parents were married.
The day after the Jerry Kaye dinner, I headed down to Kentucky for four days of
sailing and sun on Kentucky lake. We sailed over 30 miles down that lake and
anchored each night in a different deserted cove on the shoreline of the state
park called The Land Between the Lakes. The sights we saw were many; fish
jumping, sun setting on the water, moon rising, calm evenings, windy and wavy
mornings. We sailed in strong winds and calmer breezes, always marvelling at
the beauty around us.
In-between each of these trips I returned to Zionsville to witness the
progressing October techni-color performance put on by our trees here at
camp. Quite a show! From our beautiful camp to the tops of those magnificent
blue mountains of North Carolina, to the currents and coves of Kentucky, with a
few turns around the Loop in between, I'd say I had a quick lesson in
appreciating the words, "This Land Was Made For You And Me."
Ron
Dear G.U.C.I. Staff:
The most well known American folksong ever written is undoubtedly Woodie
Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land." I've been thinking about the song. Since
camp ended last August, I have seen much of this land and marveled at its
beauty and diversity. Soon after camp ended, Juca and I traveled on the Blue
Ridge Parkway into North Carolina to spend the Labor Day weekend with Rabbi
Jim(bo) Bennett and his family and congregation. Three days in a beautiful
mountain top retreat. The program itself was fun; I told stories, played the
banjo, and we got to spend time with the Bennett family to boot. But the
setting was mind boggling. We watched the sun set each evening over the Blue
Ridge mountains. We drove down winding mountain roads, thick with evergreen
trees. I could not open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. After a long,
hot, mid-western summer, the cool and clear mountain breezes refreshed the
spirit.
A week after our mountain romp, we found ourselves back in the Mecca of the mid-
west, Chicago. It is always thrilling for me to return to the city of my
birth. This trip was a special treat as we participated in a dinner honoring
Jerry Kaye for completing 25 years as the Director of our camp in Wisconsin,
The Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute. I was at that camp for 14 years before I
migrated south to Zionsville. As Jerry's first Assistant Director in 1970 when
he came to the camp, I was asked to speak at the dinner. Honoring Jerry was an
easy thing to do. Many of the 150 people in attendance had been my campers or
staff members in one of my units in the old days of Union Camping. The
nostalgia flowed, and being back in the heart of my old hometown made it even
better. Did I mention that the dinner was held at Commisky Park, home of the
White Sox, the dream team of my childhood (oh! how I remember that 1959
season). I returned to Chi-town last weekend and had the good fortune to take
a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. It was a cold and blustery day, but what a
piece of work that city is, and what a sight from a mile out on the lake. We
stood out on the top deck of that boat, hunched over, leaning into the wind. I
pointed out a beautiful old brown and tan building, dwarfed by the tallest
skyscrapers. It was the hotel in which my parents were married.
The day after the Jerry Kaye dinner, I headed down to Kentucky for four days of
sailing and sun on Kentucky lake. We sailed over 30 miles down that lake and
anchored each night in a different deserted cove on the shoreline of the state
park called The Land Between the Lakes. The sights we saw were many; fish
jumping, sun setting on the water, moon rising, calm evenings, windy and wavy
mornings. We sailed in strong winds and calmer breezes, always marvelling at
the beauty around us.
In-between each of these trips I returned to Zionsville to witness the
progressing October techni-color performance put on by our trees here at
camp. Quite a show! From our beautiful camp to the tops of those magnificent
blue mountains of North Carolina, to the currents and coves of Kentucky, with a
few turns around the Loop in between, I'd say I had a quick lesson in
appreciating the words, "This Land Was Made For You And Me."
Ron
Friday, September 1, 1995
Premature Sermon
September 1995
Dear GUCI Staff:
Those of you who know me may recall that I do not often prepare well in advance of an event. It seems that I work better under pressure. I’ll usually be putting the finishing touches on high holiday sermons, for example, just a day or so before the delivery date. Not so this year.
Two weeks ago I was reading an article and was struck by the amazing announcement that the New Year was 5776. My mind started to play with that number. Throughout history, Jews have played numbers games; we call it “Gematria.” Gematria is the manipulation of numbers and letter in order to understand their hidden meanings. A Jewish mystical game. Being a mystic myself (right!), the number 5776 caught my attention.
Kallah Bet’s theme this summer was Jerusalem 3000, celebrating 3000 years since the founding of the city by King David. King David reigned around the year 1000 BCE. My mystical mind did a somersault and landed on the idea that if you add the 3000 years of Jerusalem’s history to the year of King David’s reign, 1000, and subtract that (4000) from the new year, 5776, you arrive at the number 1776. So, by adding and subtracting Jewish numbers we see a connection between two significant years. 5776 and 1776. Of course, 1776 is a year dear to the hearts of all Americans (and one the British remember as well). It brings to mind the struggle for independence and value of freedom. What does this mean to us Jews?
It was easy for my magical-mystery-tour mind to conclude that during the year 5776 we Jews need to think about and appreciate the religious freedom we enjoy. We celebrate Jerusalem 3000 this year, but let us do so with a sense of pride and thanksgiving that Jerusalem is a free city in our Jewish homeland. How many times during its history did the Jews in Jerusalem long for independence, suffering under the harsh rule of some foreign power? But today, our children study in its universities, our rabbis and cantors take their first real Jewish steps up the stairs of the Hebrew Union College there, in the heart of our ancient city. Jerusalemites and all of our brothers and sisters in Eretz Yisrael breathe the clean air of freedom. 5776/1776 reminds us to be thankful for that freedom.
And we certainly can’t avoid relating the year 5776 and its declension into 1776 with our own sense of religious freedom and independence. The number of the year demands that we pause to give thanks for the opportunities we have to pause and give thanks. Our country stands on the ideals of religious freedom and we Jews bask in that light. How lucky we are to be able to openly and proudly gather to usher in this new year, with songs and prayers (and even sermons), in Hebrew and in English, with friends and family.
One other 5776-freedom mystically appeared to me. I think we should appreciate the freedom of creativity our Reform Jewish heritage affords us; the freedom of choice, the freedom to mesh our 90’s life-styles with our religious value system and choice of Jewish practice. Reform Judaism has provided us with a modern spin on our ancient religion. As modern thinkers, without this freedom of Reform Judaism to experiment, to learn, to adapt, to choose that which has relevance and meaning, and to reject that which does not, how many of us would be gathering to worship on this eve of the year of our independence, 5776?
But hold on. Could it be? Soon after I read that article I realized that it is not the year 5776. That was a misprint. The real year, the correct number is 5756. My Gematria was off the mark, twenty years premature. Well, the ideas stand, but I’ll have to hold on to them until the year 2015 and pray in the meantime that Israel, American and Reform Judaism continue to bask in freedom’s warmth. Hey! Who says I don’t prepare in advance?
Shannah Tovah from camp to home to home.
Ron
Monday, May 1, 1995
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