len SUMMER
1998 JCC

JCC 5wnn e Comps

A Camping tradition
Since 1935

CAMPS

Something fun
for everyone!.

JCC Summer Camps offer
a wide variety of exciting fun-filled
camp choices for children and teens
pre-school through age 14.

Kick-Boxing. Golf
l_acrosse.• Obstacle.Courses
Rock Climbing. Pool Slide
Sand Volleyball Courts
Horseback Riding • Mountain Biking
Sand Boxes • NF\ Flag Football

Session I • June 22-July 16
Session II • July 20-August 13

Transportation provid - ed
from designated areas.

The JCC 5 urnmer
Camps Open House ,W
will take place at both JCC locations
on 5 undcw, March 22 from 12-330 p.m.
Meet the camp directors, participate
in fun activities and tour the campsite
(weather permitting).

For a detailed brochure, please call one
of our two convenient locations in
West Bloomfield (248) 661-1010
rc or in Oak Park (248) 967-4030.

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The Jewish Comtnuntty Center of Metropolitan Detroit

D.Dan Betty Kahn Building 6600 W. Maple Road. West Bloomfield
Jimmy Prenti5 Morris Budding. A. Alfred Taubman Campus. 15 50 w.Ten Mite Road. Oak Pork

EditoR's NoTe

f the many skills I do not
possess, perhaps the most
debilitating is my inability
to say goodbye.
I'm sure there's an art to it —
poignant but optimistic phrases cou-
pled with languid eyes giving off a
wistful gaze. I've seen actors han-
dle these scenes so well. I certainly
wish I could. Whenever I say good-
bye, I stumble.
In the morning when my children
go to school, I kiss them repeatedly,
check to make certain their coats
are tightly buttoned, call, "I love
you! I love you!" as though we
won't see each other for years.
Conversely, when friends and
family return home to Kansas City
or Atlanta after visiting here, I tend
to be casual. "Well, see you soon!"
I say, as though it will be hours, not
months, until we meet again.
I arrived at this approach after
numerous (failed) attempts at mean-
ingful farewells. I finally came to the
conclusion that there is nothing to
dull the awkwardness of such
moments. When I was 21 I could
not wait to try out my wings and so
flew far, far from home — all the
way to Israel, where I was a stu-
dent for three years. How well I
remember long phone conversations
with my parents, made from pay
phones in the bottom of Hebrew
University dormitories on Mount
Scopus. It was safe to walk around
alone in Israel back then, though
invariably I met up with at least a
handful of other American students
who, like me, couldn't wait to
speak to the parents we had only
months before been so eager to
cast aside.
Saying goodbye on these calls
was always a struggle for me, and
so I would linger, drawing the con-
versation on for way too long. I
imagine my parents could have vis-
ited Israel many times for what they
paid in phone bills.
I have long since left Israel,
though none of my family lives in
town, or even near. I'm envious of

those who have grandparents,
uncles and aunts in metro Detroit.
First, there is the inarguable bless-
ing it brings to a child's life to have
so much close family nearby.
Second is the issue of how much it
could help me ("If I lived here," my
mother has often said, "I would be
able to bring challah on a busy
Friday or take the children for an
afternoon.") And, of course, then
casual goodbyes would be com-
pletely legitimate.
Often I hear of troubled good-
byes, of families who had harsh
words just before a loved one died
suddenly. I've never experienced
this, thank heavens. Most of my
goodbyes have been utterly forget-
table, fading out like sand carried
into the great ocean, gone with the
lightness of air exhaled. For no real
reason I stopped exchanging letters
with girls with whom I swore I
would be best pals for life, or sim-
ply drifted apart from friends who
once meant a great deal to me.
There is, however, one farewell
conversation I remember. It was
with my grandmother. Blessed with
the ability to sew, she had sent me
a hand-made nightshirt for which I
called to thank her. I didn't finish up -\
the call with the usual, "Well, see
you soon!" but rather, "I love you."
And then I said goodbye. Two days
later my grandmother was dead of
a heart attack.
I'm not certain what it was that
made me tell my grandmother I
loved her that day, but I distinctly
recall the feeling just before our
conversation ended. I was thinking
"I must tell her now," with the kind
of urgency one might feel with
prayer. And to this day I think of
that moment as almost holy, as
though God were guiding me, and
I was walking with a light down a
dark path.

❑

Elizabeth Applebaum
AppleTree Editor