The 1950s

Camp Yavneh in the 1950s.

Yavneh in the 50s was magical place. It was Camelot before the Kennedy’s. The Ackermans were Yavneh’s first family, and no couple was adored more than Frannie and Ackie of blessed memory. Ackie directed the camp with a machismo sense of raw power, tempered by the warm nurturing care of his beautiful wife Frannie. If you wanted permission to do something, that you weren’t sure you should be doing- you always went to Frannie first- she would then intercede on your behalf with Ackie (in those days campers always asked permission before they stepped out of line.)
Camp was full at 90 campers and we were truly a family, where you knew everyone (and everything there was to know about everyone!) The bunks were called by the names of cities in Israel. None of us had traveled to Israel as yet in those days, and so Yavneh was like Israel for us. Eilat, Tzfat, Ein Gev, were the girls bunks, that followed the path to the water front. These architectural marvels, graffiti covered, still stand today but are used for the boys. The boys bunks, Tel Tzofim, Etzion and Afikim are currently used for boys as well. “Tel Tzofim”- now called the “big white bunk” always housed the youngest girls and we fondly remember the apple fights that were waged out front as the crab apples fell to the ground in late August- from the old tree in front of Tel Tzofim. The Ackermans and other adult staff lived in the white house and the kitchen boys lived in tiny cabins (that are now in Zilch!) The “marp” today looks and smells much as it did then. The public buildings were much smaller. The Beit Am, later renamed “Hertzl” and even later torn down, was the single building for all camp gatherings. Even in the 50’s the Beit Am looked ready for demolition but it served us well from early morning Shacharit Services (where boys and girls sat separately but with no formal “mechitzah”) through afternoon peulot of rikud and indoor sports, and well into the evening for the all camp tachnit erev- evening activity.

Major activities of the summer were a foreshadowing of the big events in the years to come. We had a shuriyada (later renamed zimriyah!), a one day maccabiyada (later years a full week maccabiah!); but our Rikudiyada was much like our rikudiah is today. The dramatic productions, the camper play and the counselor play, were ambitious presentations that highlighted every season.

Classes were held all morning, rain or shine Sunday Through Thursday. And although almost every camper went to Prozdor, we received no credit in Brookline for our studies. My favorites on the teaching staff were Rav Regeur, an extremely dignified yet short and very round man who huffed and puffed around the table in our outdoor classroom, cajoling us, and then admonishing us to do better, read louder, study harder, and then later in the day would stop at our tables at lunch to make sure we were eating enough. And Mr. Hillel Price who taught Hebrew in the morning and “hitamlut” in the afternoon, long before anyone had invented the term aerobics. Our Hebrew classes were intensive, rigorous and yet fun. Because Hebrew was the mother tongue of Yavneh- we spoke only Hebrew and heard only Hebrew in all public settings. All plays were performed in Hebrew. All announcements on the ram kol, preceded by “hakshivu, hakshivu” were always only in Hebrew. You never heard any English word spoken out loud, outside of the bunks, so we all learned to speak Hebrew fluently.

On Friday morning the frantic pace of the week slowed as we began to ready ourselves for Shabbat. We were allowed to sleep an hour later and after breakfast, made sandwiches for our outdoor picnic lunches so that the chadar ochel could be prepared for Shabbat. We cleaned our bunks as though the Messiah was actually going to visit. We shlepped our mattresses outside to air in the sun, used pine sol to wash the floors and the rafters and then began to prepare ourselves for the major event of the week- Erev Shabbat. The girl’s area was always chaotic as we trooped to the kitchen to beg Izzy (the cook) for sugar. We then stood in line at the sinks to “starch” our petticoats and then pinned them up to dry on the screened walls of the tennis courts. Watching the flies buzz around our underwear was part of the pleasure of our Friday afternoon rest hour on the mattresses still lying on the grass. We breathed in the smells of the pine sol drying on the bunk walls as we mused about who would ask us to dance that evening. Scurrying around late Friday afternoon, collecting still damp and very sweet horsehair petticoats from the tennis courts, retrieving a white blouse that you lent someone last week and combing out your curls that were still wet (no hair dryers in those days!) are all part of the wonderful memories. Fluffy haired and balloon skirted girls would parade to the flagpole peering and giggling and calling Shabbat Shalom. After a hurried mifkad and Tzedakah collection we walked up to the grove for Kabbalat Shabbat Services. This outdoor Beit Knesset was up the path in the woods (near the current road by the Director’s house). This place is now grown over and become woodlands once again but I can still hear our soft voices chanting L’cha Dodi on those wondrous Friday evenings so long ago. Shabbat dinner was followed by amazing Shabbat Zmirot- the highlight of the singing was Rav Reguer getting up and leading Yismchu- he received a roaring ovation each and every Shabbat. Earlier we had left our bunks for services- all lights extinguished. Our sneakers and white socks were waiting under our beds so that we could retrieve them quickly in the darkness and then rush to the tennis courts for the most exciting time of the camp week, Shabbat dancing. The boys would fly across the courts to ask us to dance, and relationships that would often last a lifetime began with a well rehearsed “would you like to dance?” The pattern was the same every Friday night- one large circle with lovely Shayna Chashean, the dance teacher, in the middle. She uttered Shabbat Shalom Machaneh Yavneh, and all of us uttered back “Shabbat Shalom Shayna” and so began the sounds of “histavevu, ” “paam achat bachura yatza” and all the dances that we had learned that week in Rikud. (Many years later in the 80s, as director of Yavneh I would greet the camp after the Kabbalat Shabbat Services with “Shabbat Shalom Macheneh Yavneh” holding the image of Shayna and the tennis court in my heart.) Our feet clad in “Naalai Goomi” romped across the tennis court with our partners smiling and flirting. All too soon, Shayna would raise her hand and shout “Laila tov “Eilat” v’ “Tel Tzofim” and the groans and cries of the youngest campers sounded throughout the camp, as the boys and girls paired off and walked back to their bunks. Tripping over the tree roots in the Shabbat Darkness and fighting off the mosquitoes and begging your counselor for 10 extra minutes to say good night, was all part of the magic of Friday night at Yavneh.

We are flooded with memories of watching the candles melt wax on the sides of the tipped over benches as we sat for hours on the hard wood floor of the Beit Am, chanting Eicha on Tisha B’av and ending the long fast with delicious chocolate cream pie. Returning each summer, looking for our graffiti scrawled names on the bunk walls now covered over by generations of names that were yet to come. Leaving each summer in tears begging the Ackermans to turn Yavneh into a year round camp, clutching our autograph books crammed with silly messages of nostalgia and wonderful prophecies of the years to come.

The last breakfast on the last day of camp in those days was mournful, as Izzy, our beloved cook, came out of the kitchen to receive our applause and tributes for a job well done. He would hop up on the tables and sing in broken English “Camp is oiver, camp is oiver, and now we go home.” But we all knew Izzy was wrong. We may be returning to our parents and our winter lives, but it would not be till next summer, till we returned to Yavneh that we would be coming home!