For the past several summers, I've found myself in a familiar rhythm. Krystal and the kids head off to camp, and I stay behind to keep things running at Temple Jeremiah.
I've come to know that version of summer well.
My evenings stretch a little longer at work. I tackle the projects around the house that never seem to get done during the year. Dinner becomes an exercise in creativity, or perhaps desperation, as I piece together whatever happens to be lurking in the freezer or pantry. It's my annual version of bachelor life. This year was different.
Eden headed off to camp, but Krystal and Levi stayed home. For the first time, they experienced what I have quietly lived through for years: having someone you love disappear into the wonderful bubble that is Jewish summer camp.
It has been fascinating to watch.
Krystal became an expert detective, checking the camp Instagram account for every new batch of photos, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eden. "There she is!" quickly became, "Why is she only in the recording studio?" Every trip to the mailbox carried the hope that a letter might finally arrive.
Levi surprised me even more. I expected him to enjoy having a little more space around the house. Instead, he missed his sister. He missed camp. Some days he was excited for her adventures. Other days he simply wished she were home. His emotions seemed to change by the hour, and he wasn't always sure how to explain them.
It struck me that this was something I had never really experienced before. In previous summers, everyone else was away together while I was home alone. Whatever emotions I felt stayed mostly inside my own head. This year, our family experienced them together. We talked about missing someone while also being genuinely happy for them. We learned that pride, loneliness, excitement, curiosity, and anticipation don't cancel each other out—they often arrive together.
That realization brought me to this week's Torah portion, R'eih. The opening word is simple: r'eih "see." At first glance, it sounds like a command to look. But our tradition often understands seeing as something much deeper than simply observing with our eyes. To truly see is to notice what lies beneath the surface. It is to recognize complexity where we might otherwise settle for simplicity.
Moses tells the Israelites, "See, I place before you today blessing and curse." He doesn't tell them life will be neatly divided into one or the other. Rather, he invites them to look carefully, to discern wisely, and to recognize that every choice carries consequence. Real life rarely offers only one emotion or one perspective.
This summer reminded me that we can miss someone deeply while celebrating the experiences they're having. We can feel the emptiness of a quieter house while also appreciating the unexpected routines that emerge. We can experience change as both a loss and a blessing.
Perhaps that is one of R'eih's greatest lessons: blessing often begins with learning how to see more completely. When we pause long enough to notice the full picture, not just our own experience, but the experiences of those we love, we discover a richer understanding of ourselves, our families, and our community.
By the time you read this, Eden will be enjoying her final night at camp. Krystal, Levi, and I will be eagerly counting down the hours until we can hear every story, see every photo, and learn about every adventure she couldn't quite fit into a letter or an Instagram post.
I have a feeling our house is about to get a little louder again.
And I don't think any of us will mind.
Shabbat Shalom,
Danny Glassman