Last week, the Jewish world lost another legend, Mel Reisfield, z”l, the man who made Israeli dancing cool.

Mel may be known best for his work at Camp Tel Yehudah, a Jewish sleepaway camp in Upstate New York. The camp is part of Young Judaea, a Zionist youth movement, and Mel helped the movement stay in motion.

Mel, the electric educator, had an irrepressible passion for teaching coupled with an inexhaustible love for Eretz Yisrael. He exuded Zionism and oozed Ahavat Yisrael from every pore, which helped fuel his high-octane style and unending drive for others to share in his Jewish joy.

Mel, the loveable live wire, regaled campers with heart-tugging tales of Jewish history and heroism, especially regarding the creation of Medinat Yisrael, leaving his listeners spell-bound. Mel’s delivery was inarguably over-the-top but his madness was not without method. He used showmanship to capture and captivate campers who were diametrically opposed to learning anything during the summer. Mel knew their seasonally dormant minds needed a jump-start so he served as a cerebral defibrillator. His explosive sermons, peppered with just the right mix of history, Hebrew and hilarity, were a master class in menschy manipulation. He provoked even the most unreachable campers, leaving no Jewish soul untouched.

Mel, the magical Maccabee, often exhibited superhuman strength and fortitude. Defying his age (and likely doctor’s orders), he often ran up and down the basketball court with campers and staff members, nailing impossible three-pointers with an unusual combination of ruthlessness and righteousness. His athletic escapades left indelible marks on opponents (sometimes quite literally), proving that the term “Jewish jock” is not an oxymoron.

Mel, the manic maestro, reveled in sing-alongs during camp meal-time. As the chief instigator, he would transform the camp’s keyboardist and accordionist into (what seemed like) his own personal Jewish jukebox. Mel cleverly conducted his mini-orchestra, knowing precisely the songs to play and the order in which to play them. All of the music was in Hebrew and Mel made sure that every camper, especially the uninitiated, received a songbook (the “Hashachar Shiron” sponsored by Hadassah) which had every song in both Hebrew and corresponding English transcription. For Mel, passivity was not an option.

Mel, the delightful dynamo, enthusiastically led the singing with reckless abandon. What he lacked in vocal talent and technical training he more than made up for in fervor and volume. He insisted on belting out the classics, including hard-core Hebrew tunes such as “Yerushalayim Shel ZaHahav,” “HaKotel,” “Lach Yerushalayim,” “Yesh-Li Yom Yom Chag,” “Chorshat Ha’Ekaliptus,” “Im Tirtsu,” “Erev Shel Shoshanim,” “Rak B’Yisrael” (which, as turns out, is not about a rock) and “Lu-Y’hee” (which, contrary to popular opinion, is not about a guy name Lou). Mel also appreciated the hipper, snazzier hits, like “Tesha Bakikar,” “Heenay Ba-Hashalom” and “ Yom Shishi At-Yodaat,” which he would strategically save until the end as crowd-pleasing closers. Within just a few notes, Mel had nearly every camper singing at the top of their lungs with unbounded glee. The raucous ruach turned every camp meal into a Broadway musical and Mel (à la his namesake Mel Brooks) was the producer. It was all beautiful brainwashing on Mel’s part, indoctrinating campers from all walks of life into the camp’s Land of Israel lovefest.

Mel, the sweetheart supernova, did not stop there. He encouraged (and sometimes dared) campers to dance on the benches and tables and then up and down the aisles, like inmates taking over the asylum. To Mel’s unending delight, the frenetic frenzy inevitably flowed out to the grassy field next to the Chadar Ochel where hundreds of campers, of all ages and social circles, freely and joyously threw themselves into the menschy-est moshpit imaginable. Certain dances, like “Sovev lo, sovev hafinjan” and “Yo-ya,” involved some choreography but, under Mel’s watchful eye, any missteps were quickly overlooked or forgiven. Mel somehow created an alternate universe in which the “coolest” campers sang and Israeli-danced like superstars while other campers did their best to keep up. The biggest “losers” were those who sat on the sidelines and refused to join the joyous Jewish jamboree. Any such apathy, however, did not last long because Mel eventually coaxed the most reluctant misanthropes into riding his meshuga merry-go-round. By summer’s end, Mel had even the most cynical introverts Israeli-dancing the night away.

Mel, the eternal optimist, hoped that his legions of campers would make their contributions, large and small, toward “tikun olam,” perfecting the world. It therefore feels fitting to conclude this tribute with one of Mel’s favorite songs (and the Young Judaea anthem) written by the late, great Arik Einstein:

Ani ve’ata, neshaneh et ha’olam

ani ve’ata, az yavo’u kvar kulam

Amru et zeh kodem lefanai, lo meshaneh,

ani ve’ata, neshaneh et ha’olam.

Translation:

You and I, we’ll change the world

you and I, by then all will follow

Others have said it before me, but it doesn’t matter

you and I, we’ll change the world.

Mel should rest assured knowing that he most certainly changed the world.

By Jonathan Kranz