My Soul In The Berkshires

5:50 PM

Devils and Dust, just played on WFUV, sounds pretty good. Springsteen really is Springsteen. Who else should he be?

I’m sitting at home for the first time in twelve days. Got home at four-ish, dropped off my seven bags, went to pick up the mail, stopped to eat a falafel and then came home. Mom called. Called back, spoke to dad, who reads the blog regularly. He emailed me about the last entry, am curious about what he wrote, but I haven’t logged on yet, am typing this in Word, offline.

6:10 PM

I haven’t been typing slowly. Took a break. The falafel was a mistake.

Before leaving Camp Isabella Freedman, while Doreen the program director was doing one more one more thing I decided there was one more thing I had to do. I got this idea in my head that I wanted to ride a bike. In part I just wanted to know if what "they" say is really true. It is. But it’s deeper than "they" tell us. It’s not simply the skill of riding that came back that moment my feet hit the pedals, it was the joy of riding. Bike riding is a magical act. What a fond farewell it was to ride up and down the roads from the hen house to the entrance.

Last night Julian and I talked about blogs as his girlfriend/my colleague Sarah scurried to get last minute things done. He wondered who reads these things, commenting that it takes patience to read about someone’s life. The truth is that I love reading when people write openly about their lives. His site that he showed me was very real. It’s amazing how the people I tend to get along with are all quite similar and yet also not like most people in the world: you know- artistic, reflective, somber, smart, self deprecating, funny.

When I asked to use a bike, Sarah said she’d ride too. So we had our final chat for now and said goodbye riding up and down camp. I haven’t ridden a bike along with someone else on a bike in many years. In fact, I only remember ever doing it once or twice. Once: to the Bayside Theatre with Ephram, Mark, and Alan. Twice: with a girl named Joycee, the daughter of my parents’ long lost/long time friends, somewhere in Long Island.

It’s great to work with good, kind people. Doreen, the assistant director of the camp is incredible. Mutual respect and affection is a wonderful thing. The ride back and forth from the city with her was a joy. May G-d bless Doreen always. And, in Sarah, the camp has finally re-found someone right for the job of program director. She is kind, caring, and likes seniors.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who is among the people whom Adam, the executive director, is putting up quotes from around camp (along with Mother Teresa,) has a fresh take on tefilat haderech, the brachah-prayer Jews say when we travel. He says that the idea behind the prayer we say before entering a new atmosphere is that whenever one travels from one realm to another it is a time of spiritual vulnerability, a time which calls for extra Divine supervision. I forgot to say tefilat haderech for the trip home. Maybe that’s why I feel like I left my soul in the Berkshires.