For Rav Judah Mischel and his staff and campers at HASC, the past two months are the fuel to keep the next ten months just as warm
B lue poured into summer blue
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower
The roof of the silo blazed and I knew
That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north
Clangs open: birds leaves snows
Order their populations forth
And a cruel wind blows.
(from “End of Summer ” by Stanley Kunitz)
You don’t really see silos around the frum summer camps and bungalow colonies of Sullivan County New York but the impending return to the city shows itself in other ways: the storewide clearance sale at the Woodbourne seforim store the softest of sighs couched in every word.
Well almost.
It’s somewhat heartening to pull up to Camp HASC in Parksville New York against the depressing thought of summer’s end because there you hear a different poem a song that tells you summer isn’t the exit but the gateway to the new year.
Moments after I park a young boy goes speeding by on a small red bicycle his smile seeming to float behind him like a ribbon off the handlebar. A counselor keeps step urging the boy on as he pedals frantically as if he might never get this chance again.
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