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Jan. 13, 2006
Fast food and fast camping
Parental lessons learned during an Israeli scout camp experience.
BRIAN BLUM
Parents' visiting day is a time-honored camp tradition. But what
about when the camp in question is all of three days?
You can imagine that we were a bit skeptical when our 10-year-old
daughter Merav insisted that we come up to check out her quickie
summer camp with Israel's version of the Scouts. Especially since
the time allotted to visiting comprised little more than two hours.
It was a long drive and it wasn't like she was even going to be
away from home long enough for us to start missing her (and vice
versa, presumably). But it had been a while since we'd been out
of Jerusalem and the promise of some fresh air in the lower Galilee
hills sounded promising. And so, on a hot Thursday afternoon, my
wife Jody, 12-year-old Amir, six-year-old Aviv and I took off in
the car for the Tzipori Forest, where the Jerusalem Scouts were
holding their annual machane kayitz (summer camp).
As we passed a shopping mall with several restaurants not far from
the campsite, Jody remarked that the place seemed quite crowded.
When we arrived in the parking lot for the camp, we realized why.
Nearly every parent was carrying a large plastic bag stuffed with
fast food: McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Burger King, Pizza
Hut. Brand names only. And kosher, too. Some parents came armed
with coolers overflowing with a wide assortment of goodies entirely
of the junk variety. Apart from a couple of cut up watermelons,
there wasn't a healthy snack in sight. We, on the other hand, had
a Tupperware container full of sliced red and yellow peppers and
a half-eaten box of 96-per-cent-fat-free organic soy and linseed
corn thins. Guess you have to have been to a few of these parent
days to learn the ropes ... which was the real point of inviting
us, we soon discovered.
As we passed through the security post (the camp was completely
fenced in and armed to the teeth with guards), we were confronted
with hundreds upon hundreds of intricate wooden sculptures. Well,
not exactly sculptures, but scouting projects on a truly massive
scale.
There must have been thousands of campers milling about in the woods
(there are 60,000 campers nationwide, and this was just the Jerusalem
division). Each age group had chosen a theme and constructed a large
number of towering structures, makeshift buildings and other highly
creative works ... all out of thin logs of wood tied together with
rope. Now we understood what Merav meant when she said the scouts
"build their own camp."
The counsellors, we learned, had painstakingly planned everything
out in meticulous detail during the preceding weeks, using skewers
lifted from several local grilled meat restaurants to design tiny
models of what were now mind-blowing feats of teenage engineering.
The counsellors laid everything out and the campers tied the wood
together using that standard of scouting worldwide – knot-making.
Merav's troop had chosen to build an entire world relating to the
theme of Monopoly. Strewn among the sleeping bags and tents, I spied
a pair of floating wooden dice, a makeshift railroad station where,
presumably, you could ride on the Reading Railroad, a large ship
that I was told was supposed to resemble one of the game tokens
and a life-size blue and white Community Chest perched on a mound
of rocks. There was even a jail which doubled as the camp's synagogue.
Before I could remark on the irony of that juxtaposition, Merav
came bounding at us, clearly delighted that we had made the trek
and eager to show off everything they had done. Despite the fact
that she had only been able to nod off for a couple of hours the
night before ("the boys kept trying to paint our faces whenever
we went to sleep," she reported), she was her usual bundle
of enthusiasm and positive energy.
We walked through the campsite to enjoy the Disneyland-like ingenuity
on display, passing all manner of construction and creatures, from
knotted wooden spaceships to giant Ninja Turtles. We passed a spirited
volleyball tournament, with kids drumming and cheering on their
teams from the sidelines.
We also passed all those parents we had seen earlier, now sitting
down with their children and enjoying their fast food fix.
I noticed Merav checking out our belongings. Her eyes darted around
my backpack, then to Jody's purse. She was too polite to demand,
"What, no Big Mac?" But still....
"We didn't know, Merav," I said, not entirely apologetically.
Even if I had known, I might not have partaken in this very Israeli
indulgence. I remember the rules for visiting day when we sent our
kids to overnight camp a few summers back in North America: no outside
food allowed. There was even a special section in the parents' manual
warning against sewing a hidden pouch inside a stuffed animal to
smuggle candy inside.
"Did you bring anything to eat?" Merav asked.
"Carrot sticks?" Jody offered.
Merav accepted this feeble token of our love. There was no time
to argue. The loudspeakers were already blaring: "All parents
must leave. Visiting hours are over." I thought back to the
synagogue/jail.
We hugged Merav and made our way to the car. We wondered if she
would sleep that night. Was there more to build? And who was going
to take it all down?
As we headed back to Jerusalem, I spied the mall we had seen on
the way up. I put on my signal and pulled in.
"Hey, where are we going?" Amir demanded from the back
seat. Aviv looked up from his Game Boy.
I had a plan. I figured if we couldn't bring fast food to Merav,
at least we could do the next best thing ... eat it ourselves.
Brian Blum writes about family life in Israel at his blog
This Normal Life (www.ThisNormalLife.com).
Contact him at [email protected].
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