I’m going to tell you a story of a father and son who love each other very much. 

 The story began this past March, when the boy said to his father that he wanted to go to camp. He was eager to go to a place in the north where Jewish boys would sleep in old, flimsy cabins and play capture the flag in the surrounding woods.

 The father agreed. He was elated about the idea of his son attending sleep-over camp, something he had done in his younger years. He was delighted that his pre-bar mitzvah boy would be a camper at the same camp he had spent summers in and might just see his name scribbled on a beam in a cabin.

 All of the boys’ clothes had his name sewn in. His bag was packed with the things on the camp list, including Jewish books for learning. Everything was Jake.

 The two of them, father and son, were the first ones to arrive at the spot where the bus would take the campers northward.

 The father was ready for this day, at least in part. He had heard from friends that he may be lonely while his son was away. A friend told him that his father had slept in his bed while he was in camp, because he missed him so much. But the father was okay.

 The boy was all ready. He laughed and joked with his dad while they loaded his stuff on the bus. He appeared to be happy about leaving the city, heading to our beautiful north, and hanging with guys in a Jewish summer place.

 A day went by. The father was happy to have received a call that the bus had arrived safely. The first round was over.

 Two days went by, then three. The son phoned his father, but missed him twice. He sounded upset on the message.

 Finally, after four days, the two spoke. The father missed his son a lot but didn’t let on. He felt like the energy of youth was missing from his life. His boy was in tears on the phone and said, “Daddy, I want to come home. I miss you.”

 The father told his boy he missed him, too, and held back his tears. He let his only son know he should do his best to hang in there, to stick it out, but if he really wanted to come home, he could.

 A day went by and his boy called again. He was crying. Camp wasn’t nearly as much fun as being with his dad, and not all the guys were nice. The boy was just so homesick and cried every day.

 The father spoke softly to his son, telling him he might try to stay until visiting day. The boy said he would. Shabbat was approaching and the father was so down, feeling so lonely for his boy. He said the silence volume at home was high, and he was searching for ways to turn it down.

 The phone rang. The father answered hurriedly. The young boy was in tears. The father held back his. He told his son that whatever he wanted to do was okay by him and he would come pick him up on Sunday if he wanted. “Don’t feel badly about coming home,” Dad said.  “A lot of kids do.”

 The boy said he would try and stay for a bit.

 The father said, “Soon we will be together again, hugging, kissing and playing. But today I have love in my heart that I can access anytime I want.”

  Shabbat was coming and they had to hang up.

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