Who Is The Meltzer?
By Yochanan Gordon
Winter and summer aren’t just defined by digits on a thermometer—they usher in entirely different mindsets. Winter, with its frigid grip, is rigid and serious. Summer, with its heat and light, thaws that rigidity and encourages expansion, relaxation, and a more easygoing rhythm to life.
I remember the seasonal shift vividly in yeshiva: what we learned changed, and how we learned it changed, too. My rebbe, who spent the winter wrapped in his suit jacket, would show up to shiur in the summer jacketless, wearing what was then the twenty-year-ago version of Natives. He’d explain that summer lends itself to a looser, more open attitude—even when it comes to serious things like learning Torah.
In that spirit, my father often uses the summer weeks to journal his childhood memories—camp stories, family vacations, nostalgic slices of a simpler time. So when we found ourselves last Sunday walking through the bunkhouses in Camp Munk for visiting day, I knew I had to try my hand at the style of writing my father has become well known for—finding a worthwhile and serious message within a more relaxed, meandering summer storyline.
This summer marks a first for our family: all four of our boys are in camp. The two older ones are on staff, and the two younger are campers. At the time of this writing, camp is barely ten days in—not quite long enough to say we miss them (or they, us)—and yet, visiting day was already upon us.
As kids, visiting day was magical. The anticipation, the sightings of family cars rolling up the camp’s steep hill, the moment we’d jump in to greet them while they continued on to the designated parking on the baseball field. And then came the rituals: stuffing shopping carts in Walmart with snacks and soda (despite the untouched balance of our canteen accounts), squeezing into an overcrowded pizza shop, or maybe heading to a local bowling alley where someone was bound to end up in tears after being scolded for repeatedly flinging the ball into the gutter.
Children of all ages are always trying to best their parents. Although it can easily be misunderstood as an act of chutzpah, the truth is, healthy parents are eager to be surpassed by their children. The Gemara in Bava Metzia famously records a dispute between Rebbi Eliezer and the Chachomim about the validity of a halachicruling concerning an oven known as tanur shel achnai. Rebbi Eliezer went to great lengths to validate his position—uprooting a carob tree, toppling a wall, and even calling upon a bas kol to proclaim that the law followed his opinion. But Rebbe Yehoshua stood firm and thundered: Lo baShamayim hi—“Torah is not in heaven!” Years later, Rav Nosson encountered Eliyahu HaNavi in the marketplace and asked him what G-d had done at that moment. Eliyahu replied: “He laughed and said, Nitzchuni banai—My children have vanquished Me!”
As such, in full view of the visiting days of our childhood, we’ve decided to do things a little better—and if not more exciting, then at least a little less tense. Lately, our plan has been to stay on campgrounds for as long as possible, talking to counselors, JCs, and division heads, giving off the impression that we’re genuinely invested in the one-week progress report of our children’s development.
Given that the Camp Munk canteen is far more advanced than the one we had during our own camp years, we’ve started purchasing lunch and eating it on the spacious seating area just outside the canteen, near the parking lot. From there, we head over to Bethel Creamery and Pelleh Poultry, where the kids enjoy hayrides and get to watch cows being milked. We then head to one of the local eateries for dinner before looping back to camp.
All the snack shopping? That gets done in advance, at home. The goal is simple: spend the day together, enjoy each other’s company, and make it to the end of visiting day without losing anyone to a full-blown meltdown.
Our oldest son is working as a junior division counselor this summer. He told me he spent two hours over Shabbos counseling a first-year camper who was homesick to the point of vomiting. The boy’s parents had warned him: if he throws up, it’s not a medical emergency—it’s just homesickness. Even our 18-year-old son understood that seeing his parents on visiting day would only make things worse for that child. Sometimes, not visiting is the kindest thing.
Our second son, Yehuda, registered as a waiter for the first half of the summer. Let’s just say—he wasn’t thrilled about it. If you know Yehuda, you know he was born to be a counselor. He’s the life of the party. He juggles, rides a unicycle, and commands lead roles in the camp cantata and circus every year. He’s a natural color war general, not someone who thrives serving soup in the mess hall.
He tried, unsuccessfully, to switch out of the waiter job. And sure enough, when we spoke to some of the senior staff on visiting day, they told us that Yehuda had voiced his frustration about it. But they also said they felt this experience—doing something he didn’t want to do—was important for his growth. Learning to lean into discomfort, they said, helps build resilience and character.
The Yiddish word for waiter is meltzer. For years, there’s been an ongoing joke in our home about “who’s the meltzer,” as if it’s some mythical archetype. Ironically, Yehuda is usually the one assigning the title to one of his younger siblings.
But this summer? We’ve finally answered the question.
Who is the meltzer?
It’s Yehuda.
Yochanan Gordon can be reached at [email protected]. Read more of Yochanan’s articles at 5TJT.com.
