mountains and valleys — and you walk all of them. It took us a good 30 min- utes just to get from our cabin to the chadar ochel, dining hall. That is, unless we were able to procure a golf cart. To you, a golf cart might not sound too exciting. But at Camp Ramah, a golf cart is like a gift from the Almighty. It means that for one blessed moment you don't have to walk up, up, up a steep hill to get somewhere. I mean us adults, of course. Whenever I heard one of the campers complaining about the topography I would thrust my chest forward, fill my lungs with air and heartily proclaim, "I LOVE walking here! The hills are gor- geous! The air is pure! You can just feel your body thanking you! Move forward, young man!" I rode in the golf cart from time to time, but not often. First of all, only a very select few have their own golf carts — and once they get their little hands on them, they don't always share. Second, I didn't want to look like I was privileged just because the camp director is my brother-in-law. Which brings me to one of the most important discoveries I made at Camp Ramah: what, exactly, does the director do all day? The answer, in a word: everything. I pretty much thought, before work- ing at Camp Ramah, that being a camp director was perhaps the most challeng- ing job in the world. Now I know it is. From the moment he drives through the camp gates until the moment he leaves at the end of the summer, the camp director is responsible for every- thing, from a homesick camper to two staff members who don't get along to the sheets a visiting board member does- n't believe are soft enough to the chicken delivery that didn't come to the broken telephone in an office to pieces of litter found along a nature walk to the camper who has forgotten the medicine without which he cannot live. He deals with the administration, the maintenance, the paperwork — but most important, all the needs of all those children, each of whom is the cen- ter of his parents' world. I got wise to this my very first day. I was helping welcome campers and their parents, directing them to cabins where "your counselor will be happy to answer all your questions!" when a parent casu- ally asked, "Is my little Bobby in the same cabin as Joey Stein?" I looked at the list. "Actually, Bobby is in Cabin 10, and Joey is in Cabin 11 — so they'll be right next to each other. Isn't that great!" (Perky, even in the face of certain doom. That's the camp spirit!) "What do you mean they're not together?" the parent yelled. "I specifi- cally told Rabbi Sykes that Joey and Bobby had BETTER be together in a cabin. Now you get on that walkie-talkie of yours and you get Rabbi Sykes here now Do you understand me? Do you?" Perhaps you are thinking, "I bet she took care of the situation and saved her brother-in-law anguish over such a small matter. Friends, I picked that walkie-talkie right up and said, "Loren, please come over here — now. There is no such thing as privacy for a camp director. 'I-hough Loren has his own house, staffers feel free to come in and out, without knocking, any time. They come just to talk, for a break, for meet- ings and, of course, for food. Almost every evening, Loren and Rebecca were hosting late-night par- ties for staff, that always included tons of delicious treats which my sister prepared herself. I was always amazed that, through it all, Loren was in a good mood, because he genuinely loves camping. Best of all, he was never too high and mighty for any aspect of the job, as I quickly saw when I watched him spend a long time helping clean up a mess in the dining hall. At camp, you become dependent on people in a way you never would in the real world. While normally I eschew baby-sitters, on many occasions I left my children with Janet because of vital camp newspaper business. I was always borrowing stuff from my neighbors and using my new friends for psychiatric help. This is a key element to maintaining sanity at camp because there is much that conspires to drive you stark-raving mad. It is usually little stuff, like other adults who never clean up after themselves after eating. But, if you don't have friends with whom you can whine, and laugh, you cannot make it. And yes, laughter is vital. If you Top: Shane the maintenance man takes a Ramah camper for a ride. Left Hallie Katz, Talya, Yitzhak and Adina Applebaum, and Jamie Katz get a ride on the "sacred" golf cart. Above: Camp director Loren Sykes with nephew Yitzhak Applebaum and son Elan. don't have a sense of humor and a sense of fun, don't go to camp. I remember one hot afternoon when the pool was closed. My children, and my sister's two, decided to start play- ing in a small circle of mud. Rebecca and I just sat, watching, as they soon discovered a hose and the small circle became bigger and bigger and bigger and the mud was everywhere. At last, the rosh aides, unit head, Aaron Alexander, passed by. "Hey!" he called. "Can I play?" Of course, our tiny children were delighted. Aaron jumped in and soon had mud everywhere from his T-shirt to his shoes and even in his hair. To this day, my children remember this as one of the highlights of camp. Three other things you should know about camp: First, it's physically beautiful. I have worked at other camps, and invariably they are held tightly by the most glorious blue-green mountains, and surrounded by fresh grass and a lake (a camp always has a crisp-blue lake). At Ramah, my children actual- ly played in a waterfall from which you could drink. Second, the campers are the center of the world. There is nothing their coun- selors (who are rarely paid much) won't do for them. They are listened to, enter- tained, encouraged, educated and loved. They may get homesick, but this has nothing to do with the extraordinary amount of care they receive at camp. Third, everyone in the world has a connection to metro Detroit. All the way down there in Atlanta I thought surely I was as far from home as I could be. If only I could have had $1 for every kid who said to me, "You know, I spent a weekend in West Bloomfield," or "Do you know my uncle? He's rabbi at ..1" ❑ 12/1 199 10