I am the Toran today. I lead the meals from the front of the dining hall, trying simultaneously to measure the tone, volume and speed of the meal. I tell the setters what to set. I make sure that the kitchen is ready to serve before I call the children in for the meal.
Even at the front of the dining hall, with my right hand raised high in the air to signify that I need the people who are talking to stop so that we can say Hamotzie, with the food trayed and ready to be served behind me, the noise of a full camp is exciting and energizing. As soon as the final syllable of Amen is out, the low hum of whispering children surges back into animated conversations, and unit by unit the "hoppers" from each table are invited to come to the kitchen windows and pick up their trays of food.
Meals are family style, large plates of each course passed down the length of the table for campers to serve themselves (with help from the staff if needed). The staff waits until every camper has been served to serve themselves. There are spills: juice and water and soup and anything else that can possibly be on a plate one moment and then on the floor the next. There are dropped pieces of silverware and plastic plates and cups, noisily clattering.
From the front of the room, staring out on table after table of children who are eating and laughing and talking and screaming and dancing and drinking and spilling, I happily eat while standing, communicating messages from the kitchen to the campers over the microphone. From the moment the kids enter, until they stream out of the doors towards their next activities, the dining hall is filled from the floor to the high, vaulted ceilings, with busy, happy energy.