JEWISH SINGLES WEEKEND RE-LIVED

You can't make up what I'm about to share--

We're going back to the early part of the decade. In the poconos, the New Jersey Y Camps held mini-vacations on both Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends. Roughing it in the woods. Unlike the Catskills, where men and women wore their best oufits at dinner. More scaled-down. Shorts and t-shirts. Also,  this is before the internet allowed people to hide behind firewalls and engage in virtual socializing.

At this weekend of about fifty singles, on the next to last night, people were congregating in the dining hall, playing cards and schmoozing.  Next to me was a nice man named Moishe, a real mensch, who helped me carry my bags to and from the car. In addition, he was fascinated with my juice extractor--both the machine itself and the fact I had schlepped it some ninety miles.

 At another table, I saw a man in his 40's looking like Rip van Winkle,, who appeared to be counseling a young man in his 20's. Later I asked the young dude what was up. He said that Rip was trying to recruit him for.....are you ready for this?......Jews For Jesus.

I say nothing. I'm in shock. Recruitment for...Jews... For... Jesus?...at 1:00AM...at a Jewish Singles weekend...?...in the poconos......... somebody pinch me. I say nothing. I'll pass it off as an hallucination.

The next night, the final night, same scenario. I'm at the table next to Moishe, we're spectators to a card game. Off in the corner, is the Rip van Recruiter with his materials, only now he's got an audience of four. He's multiplying. My conscience is gnawing.  I look at Moishe,yarmulka and all.  I can't resist. For the record, I am motivated by both fiduciary duty and mischief. I decide to snitch.

Me: Moishe, you see that guy over in the corner? You're going to think I'm crazy, but he's Jews For Jesus. He's laying his rap on that kid.
Moishe: Get out of here! No way!
Me: Yes way. He's got materials, I saw them. I kid you not.

Well, to put it mildly,Moishe goes nuts. He immediately recruits me as his lead investigator. He wants to know Rip's name, rank, serial number, the name of the mohel who performed at his briss, etc. (ok, maybe not all of that, but you get the picture).

Now, at our table is another nice man named David, who bears a striking resemblence to Jerry Garcia. David served in the Israeli army. Wouldn't know it. Very laid back guy. Moishe lets him in on what's up.

David calls Rip into the kitchen. Now, I'm not expecting violence but nevertheless am curious. I join them.

David tells Rip on no uncertain terms, that what he's doing "isn't very nice", and then  states, "do you know what you are? You are a verbal ham-and-cheese sandwich",  a line which reduces me to a usless blubbering hulk the remainder of the weekend. Rip, meanwhile, rebutts David, standing on his first amendment privilege. We head back to our bunks well past midnight. No casualties.

On the front porch of my bunk, sprawled out in a lounge chair,  is my roommate, whose capacity for alcohol is oceanic. He says to me, "what's with you"? I plead ignorance. He replies, "I hear you're attending Jews for Jesus meetings. I just checked the schedule and I don't see it listed." 

I need to get home. And my roomate needs AA.

The next morning, we pack and go our seperate ways. But the story's not over!

FLASH AHEAD 8 MONTHS LATER.....

Memorial Day weekend. Back in the poconos. First day. I see David, our good Israeli soldier in the dining hall. He seems disturbed. He's pacing back and forth, seems he's muttering some expletives under his breath, totally out-of-character for him.

I approach him, tell him it's good to see him, hope he had a nice winter, etc.

Me: Dave, what's wrong, man? You seem upset. Did you see that Jesus head-hunter again? Don't tell me he came back after you confronted him.
David: It's worse.
Me: What do you mean?
David: He's my roommate

Now I'm really fighting for self-control. And I manage to get it, until David continues...

"He's really not a bad guy. I just wish he'd stop 'jesus-ing' everybody"

I have to excuse myself. I spend most of the weekend walking around like a giggling idiot.

Bring back the good 'ole days!

A.-