Screens light up every pocket. There’s always a new game, a new video, a new thrill. Fun comes packaged, polished, and ready to consume; delivered instantly, without effort, without connection. It’s loud. It’s bright. It’s everywhere.

But the thing about that kind of fun is that it fades. You enjoy it, and then it’s gone, leaving you looking for the next thing. What lasts are the moments that are real; the ones shared with people you care about, the ones built out of nothing but energy, imagination, and togetherness.

That’s where camp, and especially Camp Kol Torah, comes in. Here, the magic doesn’t come from flashing lights or special effects. It comes from people. From campers and counselors who create something out of nothing, who can turn a quiet, even disappointing evening into a celebration; who find joy in the simplest things.

That’s exactly what happened on our trip to Fun ‘n Stuff.

The night began like something out of a summer camp brochure; bumper boats splashing under a warm August sky, go-karts roaring down the track, batting cages, roller skating, video games, air hockey. The boys flew from one attraction to another, their counselors right beside them, laughing and competing like they were seven years old again.

By the time the place closed, everyone was happily exhausted. We made our way to the parking lot, prizes in hand - including the one lucky winner of a stuffed animal - where ten buses were supposed to be waiting.

But only eight were there.

Two drivers had misunderstood and gone home after the drop-off, leaving almost a hundred boys stranded.

There was nothing to do. Mistakes happen.

But it was late. They were tired. And yet… no one complained. No one slouched against the fence or asked, “When are we leaving?” They just looked at each other, shrugged, and decided to make something happen.

This summer we’d been bringing back the old-time favorites—tag, hide-and-go-seek, walk ball. Standing in that empty parking lot, someone suggested the granddaddy of them all: Duck, Duck, Goose.

At first, it was a small circle. A few boys chasing, a few cheering. But within minutes, more joined in. Counselors too. Soon, the lot was alive with running feet and shouts of laughter. No scoreboard, no neon—just the glow of streetlamps and the sound of a hundred kids having the time of their lives.

And that’s when one counselor came over and told me, “It’s Moshe’s bar mitzvah tonight.”

I turned to look. There he was—our bar mitzvah boy. Affable, easygoing, the kind of kid who’s always smiling, who can slip in a little mischief and make everyone laugh. The kind of boy everyone likes.

The game stopped instantly. Without a word, the boys formed a massive circle around him. The singing began with a dose of energy, then grew louder, faster, full of life. Arms over shoulders. Feet moving together. Voices filling the night air.

It was pure camp; one boy in the center, the others celebrating him with everything they had. No fancy meal, no band, no decorations. Just friends, counselors, and a parking lot transformed into the happiest place in the world.

It’s hard to describe.

It was … well…magical.

When the buses finally arrived, the boys climbed aboard. But as we drove away, I realized something: we hadn’t been stranded. We’d been gifted one of those rare moments where the real beauty of camp shines through.

At Kol Torah, we don’t rely on the artificial. We have something better; counselors and campers who know how to create the magic themselves. And when they do, it lasts far longer than anything you can find on a screen.

The story could end here.

It is beautiful enough to stand on its own.

But forgive me for taking it one step further.

We find ourselves in the days of Nechama, the season when we are reminded that even after destruction, comfort is promised. And in a way, that memorable night in the parking lot feels a lot like a living mashal for our lives in golus.

It so often feels as though we’ve been left behind. Stranded. The world moves on and we’re still here, waiting for something to take us home. It can be dark. It can be late. It can feel endless.

But maybe that’s the message.

We are not alone. We have each other. Bothers, sisters, friends, rabbeim, counselors, campers. And together, we can find the strength, the creativity, the heart to make something beautiful right where we are. Even in the waiting. Even in the darkness.

That’s what Klal Yisrael has done for thousands of years. We’ve created that kind of joy, a connection that can never be taken from us.

Don’t despair; the buses are coming.

It may be later than we want. The ride home may still be ahead of us. But we are almost there. Hold on to each other. Keep singing. Keep dancing.