Mix and Match Cousins

PING.

I think I may finally understand what Family Camp is really about.

It's not just the activities. It's not the chocolate factory or Color War or the Jordan River or the late nights or the prizes or the hikes or the endless games.

It's Mix and Match Cousins. Every activity we did was an opportunity to mix up the cousins.

At Color War, cousins from different families ended up on the same teams. At the De Karina Chocolate Factory, other cousin combinations slurped chocolate malteds together. One night, we stayed up until who-knows-what-o'clock, with parents and kids from four different families - city folks and farm folks, each on their own path - all hanging out together.

And now, looking through the pictures, I see it everywhere. Natah's Ammi holding Moshie's baby. Google-y google-y gooing her to smile. Natah's Itai with his arm around Moshie's Binyamin. I gotcha, pal. Moshie's little Elisheva deciding that she only wants to stay with Bati's Lavi and Natah's Tali. And the older kids, well, B"H, they are really besties.

This is what I was hoping for. Because I don't think I'm only trying to give my grandchildren a magical week. I'm trying to give them one another.

The activities are the vehicle.

The silly announcements, the art, the foam, the bikes, the late nights, the Jordan River - all of them are opportunities to create something that will last much longer than the activity itself.

SHARED HISTORY

Because kids grow up. They go to different schools and different kinds of shuls. They make their own friends in yeshiva or college or work. And I know that. But I also know that right now, they love each other. Right now, they love being together.

And I wish I could freeze time.

So I shop for weeks. I plan and plan and plan, trying to think of the most fun, engaging, ridiculous and memorable things we can do. But more than anything else, I want them to have adventures together. I want them to have stories that belong to all of them.

“Remember when Savta made those announcements every morning at breakfast? The whole dining room was listening in - and laughing right along with us.”

“Remember how scared Savta was to get into the Jordan River? Then she eeeeeked through every gush of mud between her toes. I will never forget her face.”

“Remember the chocolate factory? You drank your malted and the leftovers of everyone else's.”

“Remember when we stayed up until...”

And after 120, if I'm not around to organize Family Camp, I hope they'll still have each other.

They'll have stories nobody else quite understands. They'll have memories that belong to them. Maybe one cousin will recall something another cousin has forgotten.

Someone will say, “Remember when...?” Someone else will say, “Oh my gosh! Yessss, I remember!”

And they'll laugh. And they'll tell the story again. And that's the gift.

So I slosh through the mud of the Jordan River. I slide along the algae-covered springs of Beit She'an. I walk farther than my legs think they should have to walk. I smile along the fly-filled cow path. I stay up later than my eyes allow.

I do it because I want to be with them. I want to see them as something bigger than individual families. I want to see them as a blended family of the very best sort - a grandchild from this family with a grandchild from another family, trading their ices, their prizes, their jokes and their smiles.

They don't only share the same nose or blue eyes. They share the same heart.

I want them to look out for one another. I want them to look for one another. And I want those connections to continue for their whole lives.

Because maybe the greatest gift cousins can give one another is each other.

And maybe that's the greatest gift I can give them, too. ❤️