Call Me Switzerland
Upon receiving s’micha, I ceased being a private person. In one singular moment, in gaining the authority to serve the people Israel, I lost certain freedoms. An exchange that I made willingly.
As an American citizen, I vote. I vote in every election and take the right and responsibility very, very seriously. As an American citizen, I follow the candidates with a great deal of interest, watch conventions like a hawk, and listen closely to both what is said and what left unsaid.
As a rabbi, however, I cannot and will not publically endorse a partisan candidate. To do so is both foolish AND just this side of illegal.
I find it just shocking that a number of my colleagues forget that anything they put on the internet might as well be written in their synagogue bulletin. So when I read comments on their Facebook status regarding one candidate or another, I blanch.
And hope that the IRS isn’t reading it.
Games Children Play
My recent time at camp was a growthful one and I foresee several more entries about my experience before we are all said and done.
A troubling fact was shared with me concerning today’s generation and their inability to handle unstructured time.
When I was a kid at camp, the daily schedule resembled something like this:
8:00-8:30am Morning T’fillah (prayers)
8:30-9:00am Aruchat Boker (breakfast)
9:00-10:00am Morning program
10:00-12:00 noon Chugim (electives)
12:00-1:00 pm Aruchat Tzohoraim (lunch) and song session
1:00-2:00pm M’nucha (rest hour)
2:00-4:00pm Chofesh (free choice)
4:15-5:15pm Shower hour
5:25-5:55pm Evening T’fillah (prayer)
6:00-7:00pm Aruchat Erev (dinner) and song session
7:00-9:30pm Evening Program
9:45pm Closing Circle
10:00pm Laila Tov (“lights out!”)
A schedule with plenty of time for flexibility. Perfect for kids.
But something has changed. Kids are no longer equipped to handle large blocks of unstructured time. Every moment must be scheduled for them because when faced with free time, they are at a complete and total loss. In fact, the staff reported that the amount of unscheduled evening time was causing (not relieving) stress.
What has changed? For starters, at least 40% of all schools have eliminated (or are attempting to eliminate) recess from the school day. The increase of childhood obesity and its related health concernse (such as Type II diabetes, high cholesterol, and asthma) can be directly tied to the decrease in physical activity of our children. It’s in the news frequently. What is not mentioned is that along with the physical health concerns that arise from the lack of activity is the stunted psychological and emotional development of kids who do not have enough time to play.
Jean Piaget defines imaginitive play as “a symbolic transposition which subjects things to the child’s activity, without rules or limitations.” This allows the child to safely assert control over situations that mimic real life. In her essay “The Role of Play in the Development of Thought,” author Loraine McCune contends that “the capacity for consciousness of self and others arises from developing representational and perceptual activities, especially during play.” Again supporting the idea that a child will learn how to properly negotiate social situations as a result of unfettered play which is supported by developmental psychologist Dr. Hans Furth wrote about the ways in which play prepares children for societal norms.
In other words, all those hours of dress-up, cops-and-robbers, and doctor were necessary in our development as social beings.
Imaginitve play is important for other reasons. It can provide a safe environment in which kids can work through their fears.
Case in point: as a young girl, I used to play Holocaust with my younger sister (who shall remain nameless because she thinks people will think we are weird. Should I tell her that they probably think that anyway…and this isn’t going to make or break that notion? Nah.).
How does one “play” Holocaust? We would each pack one small rucksack and then hide in the closet. For hours. Without making a sound.
And we’re not even Second Generation because (thank God) our family had already come to America before the Shoah (“catastrophe” — the Hebrew word to describe the Holocaust). But the collective memory of our people’s tragic past left an indelible mark on our young psyches and it was through our play that we were able to come to terms with the reality that had we been born in a slightly different time and in a slightly different place…
A great deal of research has been done on the stages of development and the role that imaginative play has on them. Piaget believed that children take a very active part in
their growth and acquisition of intelligence, which he defined as “an individual’s ability to
deal with the world based on how they mentally process their experiences.”
My children made up a new game. It is called “Visiting the Poor.” Poppyseed dresses up as a rich lady with lots of money in her purse. Beernut gets into bed and pretends to be a poor man on his deathbed. Poppyseed come to his home to make him feel better and to give him tzedakah.
Wonder what Piaget would have to say about this?
Aftermath
Laundry. Emails needing replies. Phone calls to return. Piles of work on my desk. A to-do list that is never ending.
Coming back from a week away from my study = exhausted chaos.
Shabbos — take me away!!!
Haveil Havalim…a day late!
So the frumettes and I have returned. I’ll write later but for your reading edification, here is this week’s terrific edition of Haveil Havalim.
Symbolism
We spend a lot of time talking about our family up here at camp. Not our family of origin but our larger Jewish family. How we are all connected though we live in different places and may have different ways of expressing our Judaism. It gives the campers (who range in age from 6-13) a special sense of belonging.
On our hike tonight, which was led by our unit’s mishlachat (the word they use here for the Israelis who serve as counsellors and specialists), the campers were asked to name several Jewish symbols. One camper volunteered “a chamsa” which was an incorrect answer according to Niv, our tour guide. “A chamsa is a Muslim symbol,” he said.
Well, he’s not exactly right and he’s not exactly wrong. It would be most correct to say that it’s origins are Middle Eastern and that it has widespread use in both the Muslim and Jewish communities.
But how interesting that these Israelis viewed it as Muslim and for us, it just seems so Israeli.
Connections
As I sat with a group of campers at shira last night, an image of another rabbi flashed quickly through my mind. Clean-shaven, youthful, and energetic. The campers flocked around him, listening. Learning. Enjoying being in the presence of a rabbi who was simultaneously wise and approachable.
I see my dad every day and I see the same rabbi today that he was then — with just one exception. His hair is completely white now, though for some reason I still see it as dark brown with some white streaks. He is still wise and he is still approachable. But he is not the camp rabbi this summer. I am.
I think I learned how to be a camp rabbi by watching him. Though we never talked about it, I think that he saw the role of the camp rabbi as the opportunity for the kids to get to know a rabbi in a casual, relaxed setting. That meant being with them as much as possible. Hanging out with them at shira. Or eating at their table. Or just being present.
Not every rabbi approaches camp this way. Many colleagues take this time to connect with one another. Some use time to write sermons. And, of course, we all spend time with our units.
It is still work. Different from our day-to-day tasks at our home congregations, to be sure. But it some respects, it is even more important. We have the opportunity to help connect these kids to their Judaism is a unique and beautiful way.
What a gift…
Intent
Adults joke around and tease as a normal part of communication. Beernut, however, misses a lot of it because he is just so literal.
Beernut stubbed his toe on Tuesday morning on the way to breakfast. One of the staff said “hey, we could just cut off your toe and then it won’t hurt. In fact, we could cut the whole foot off and then you NEVER have to worry about stubbed toes.”
Beernut just stared at him and blinked a few times. As if he recognized that there was something he wasn’t quite understanding.
And then there was a flash of pink as Poppyseed shot past me.
“HEY! Stop teasing my brother!” she shouted. “It’s not nice to tease people. When people tease me it really hurts my feelings!”
“Cut it out, Poppyseed,” mumbled Beernut, “it’s ok.”
“NO, it is NOT ok. It is never OK to tease!” she repied.
Yes, Beernut needs to learn that teasing is often good-natured. But Poppyseed wasn’t wrong. Teasing more often leads to hurt feelings. And in this age of e-communication, tone of voice, facial expressions, and other non-verbal forms of communication are removed. Making it even harder to distinguish between good-natured teasing and hurtful teasing.
Poor Poppyseed was subjected to a sermon at lunch about the difference between teasing and sarcasm. But I think that the teacher would have been better served being the student and learning from the child.
Letting Go
We see our kids at close-range. This limited perspective oft-times prevents us from seeing their growth. We continue to see them as they were and and not as they are, placing outgrown limitations on them.
[See here for an earlier experience.]
Leaving one’s regular surroundings can provide situations to push our kids beyond their boundaries. It is all too easy to stay safe and snug in one’s comfort zone. But it’s our job to gently, but firmly, push them just past that line.
At yesterday’s breakfast in beautiful Napa), Poppyseed and Beernut finished long before me and the baby, and were getting antsy to return to the room. Beernut thought he needed a grown-up to accompany them back to the room. His younger sister thought she could go on her own. I wasn’t ready to leave and neither was Peach. So I gave the kids a key to the room and, knowing that the sitter was there to meet them, sent them on their way.
“Are you sure it’s OK to send us alone? I mean, we’re just kids.” Beernut’s eyes darted nervously around the room.
“You’re right,” I thought, “what am I thinking? They’re just little kids.” But they’re really not. I wasn’t sending them into the middle of the city on their own. Just about 20 yards. (Yes. I made up that number. You KNOW I have no concept of distance.)
“Yes, I am certain it’s OK. I am confidant that you two can make it back to the room safely,” I say in the hopes of convincing myself.
**************
Fast forward to today. After breakfast, one of the moms on the medical staff invited Beernut to join some other staff kids who were playing on the mirpeset. Though initially reluctant, Beernut allowed himself to be convinced to join in the fun.
“I’ll come back to check on you in 30 minutes when my meeting is over,” I said.
Ever known a meeting with a rabbi to end on time? Imagine a meeting made up of rabbis. Forty-five minutes later, I return to the mirpeset and my kid is nowhere in sight. The other kids have no idea where he is. I hike — not a sarcastic euphemism because it really is an uphill hike — back to my room and Beernut is happily cavorting with his sister. I was late so he found his own way back!
Who is this kid?
We drive over to the Boys’ Village and unload his stuff. He meets his madrichim and picks a bunk. One of his madrichim self-identifies as an RK and they share a knowing glance. A point of commonality has been established.
At lunch, he asks if he can sit with his friends. And please, will I “make certain that Poppyseed doesn’t bother us?”
Two hours later, I drop him off. He turns to hug me. Give a fake cry and laughes. And walks away.
And I let go…
Shattered
I spent a lot of time on it. Carefully shaping and moulding it. Allowing the mushy clay to take shape. After the necessary time in the kiln, I selected colours that I was surprised to find were radically different when the glaze dried.
“What. Is. That.” asked my kindergarten teacher.
[Never, NEVER ask a child “what is that?”.]
“It’s an alligator,” I replied, thinking that the long stout should have been a dead giveaway.
Something about her non-verbal language made it clear that what I had created bore little observable correlation with any member of the family Alligatoridae.
I went straight home and threw my alligator into my closet with all my might. The stout broke off. Never again would I approach an artistic endeavour with carefree joy.
So you can imagine how delighted I was to learn that group painting was the staff opening activity was at camp last night.
“You look a bit apprehensive,” observed the art specialist.
“Oh no. It’s nausea. You’ve mistaken it for apprehension. Happens all the time.”
She chuckled. “I believe that everyone is an artist. Tell me your favourite colours and I’ll get them for you.”
“No, I’m OK thanks. I think I’ll just watch.”
“You will create something beautiful. See what the others have done? Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”
Well that was a loaded question because I wouldn’t have chosen the word ‘beautiful’ for the hodgepodge of colours and designs. I mumbled something I hoped would be taken as positive validation.
“Here you go. Now just push the paint around. I really believe that everyone is an artist.”
She said this with such ease and such conviction that I knew it was something that she had said to many a reluctant camper. And I also knew that she really believed it to be true.
But I don’t. Because I’m not. After “pushing” the paint around the tapestry, it was clear that my artistic talents lie elsewhere. Like the home bang trim that gets worse and not better the more one tries to even out things, it was time to stop before my little section of the staff tapestry became quite the eyesore.
“How are you feeling now?” she asked.
“I really need to find my Imitrex,” I responded, leaving as quickly as I could before she had a chance to see evidence of my “talent.”
And the alligator? Like the broken tablets in the portable ark, the broken alligator sits on the desk in my study as a reminder.
TANSTAAFL
Robert Heinlein quoted it. Milton Friedman wrote about it. And they were right. There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.
Took the kids on the Jelly Belly Factory Tour. It was a really interesting tour. We learned that they make 140,000 jelly belly beans A DAY and that their jelly beans differ from other beans because the inside contains flavour. Other jelly beans have a plain, uncolored pectin center that is sweetened with sugar. Who knew.
The tour is free and really is quite substantial. It lets out in the candy shoppe where visitors are encouraged to taste samples. Those really are free.
But this free excursion ended up costing about $62.00. The souvenir picture looked really cute. And they don’t tell you the price until after you decide that you like it. It was lunch time and I figured we might as well just eat at the Jelly Belly Cafe. It was without question the worst food we’d eaten on this entire trip. And really, a jelly belly bean-shaped pizza is just a slice of pizza. And in this case, a really bad slice of pizza.
One of those ideas that it better left on the drawing board.
Frume Sarah is Shabbos-observant -- in a Reform way, that is. Please note that from Friday afternoons until one hour after sundown on Saturday evenings, Frume Sarah will be unavailable, in observance of the Jewish Sabbath.
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