Visiting Daze

You’re probably imagining that the first time visiting kids in camp is a heartwarming, emotional experience and you’re quite sure it’ll be a treasured family memory for years to come. In the spirit of solidarity, I’ll swallow the lump in my throat, quell my nausea (and no, that’s not my allergies, those are actual tears), and try to overcome my PTSD to share the truth.

The highlight of Visiting Day is definitely the endless amount of time spent in the car, with the younger siblings and babies either throwing up, needing a bathroom, or having an ear infection and screaming the entire way — and that’s on a good day. We’ve had flat tires, overheated radiators that necessitated driving for three hours with the heat on in 90-degree weather, and we’ve run out of gas.

One year, Shmuli overturned an entire water bottle over himself in the car, then insisted on stripping down to his skivvies because his clothing was wet. Yossi was mortified when his little brother walked into camp clad only in shorts.

But the excitement doesn’t end with the car ride. (Which, incidentally, will end. Probably. Some day.) Once you reach camp, more excitement ensues. After every kid finally uses the bathroom, you trek to each bunkhouse with a case of water bottles in tow to see… I’m not really sure what it is we need to see. His bed, perhaps? You look at it for a few moments, and wonder what the appropriate comment is. “Oh, that’s your bed? How nice.” Or maybe, “How come you never change your linen?” Or possibly, “Why is there a shoeprint on your pillowcase?” But it’s part of the program, and see his bed you must.