"Why are you so big on sending us to camp?" I asked my rabbi one afternoon. Not that I minded-I religiously counted down the months, days and hours until could return to camp each summer, reuniting with other Jewish kids from around the country.
"Well," he said, "honestly, the goal is for little Jewish boys and little Jewish girls to meet and grow up and have little Jewish babies."
"Oh," I responded, taken aback by his honesty. "That makes sense."
His view was shared by most of the adults at camp. Nothing too risque went on-some holding of hands and maybe a little kissing. The adults often turned a blind eye, their passive acceptance enough for us. But the counselors, many only a few years older than the campers themselves, encouraged us.
The end of camp was always the worst-no one wanted to leave and we fought back tears for days at the mere though of saying goodbye. On one of the last nights, our counselrs led us to another one of the girls cabins for some late night bonding-we sat cross legged on the beds, reliving of favorite moments of the summer and discussing plans for next.
We were all absorbed in our conversations, but when the door open our heads whipped around, turning to face the door.
The boys cabin, led by their counselors, began filing in, soon filling up an entire half of the cabin. Some of us saw our "summer boyfriends"-we waved and smiled, maybe even blew a few kisses.
Our counselors gave them a knowing smile, as the boys, in unison, got down on one knee.
We were still confused, but soon we understood.
"You've got your ball, you've got your chain..."
The boys began to sing, their off-key voices forming into the most awkwardly sweet melody many of us had ever heard.
"In a boys dream..."
The tears were now streaming down our faces.
"Crash, into me."
The song ended and we rushed the other side of the cabin, holding on to not only them, but the last night of summer.
We carried that memory with us for the next year, eagerly anticipating the coming summer, and following the plan exactly as my rabbi had hoped.
This post is in response to a prompt at Write on Edge-Flash memoir based on the word "crash"