The kibbutz has people on it now. Lots of them. We’ve transformed ourselves from an oligarchic group of 50 to a quazi-socialist community of 250 or so.
There are people here.
One of them has torn sweat pants, a lace shirt, pink hair, and four blue fringes hanging out of the corners of her shirt.
One has an earing in each of his ears, board shorts, and stands in front of me as we silently read the amidah while the rest of the room bustles through their own reading of the prayers.
One of them is a friend from years ago, who I haven’t seen in quite some time.
One knows none of the prayers. One knows all of them. One is what some might deem “awkward.” One will likely hookup with more than one girl. One, with more than one boy. Perhaps one will hookup with both. But these are just casual assumptions at this point.
Where do all these people come from? How the hell did they hear about this place and decide to come here? For the life of me, I can’t remember how I first heard about Kutz and why I decided to come here. That’s been troubling me lately. I’ve invested so much of myself into this place, and yet, for some odd reason, I can’t remember my first connection to this place.
This group is full of individuals, yet at this point, they are one giant blob to me. Which itself is strange to me, as I’m used to being directly involved with the lives of these people as soon as they arrive at camp. Instead of being up in a hot and sticky cabin with a group of them, I’m down in my (air conditioned) office working on tomorrow’s programming.
Strange, yet nice.
Friends went bowling down the mountain tonight. Kids are settling into their cabins up the mountain. I’m in the middle(ish).
I’m not a fan of sitting on the fence (and I have no intention of doing that this summer), but it’s nice to be here in the middle. Gives some added perspective.
Strange, yet nice.