IN

hindsight, perhaps we weren’t realistic.

Dangle a mini car in front of a teen and… well, your keys will be swiped before you can blink. I get it, it’s super tempting, the freedom, the thrill of it. But tempting doesn’t mean okay.

For the first week of the summer, things were fairly calm. People stuck to the rules, stuck to the road, stuck to some sort of speed limit. Yes, there were electric bikes and scooters — more than last year, if I recalled correctly — but the kids were careful, wearing helmets and sticking to the roads. Everything was fresh and new and the landscapers had just been and the summer was still young.

But it didn’t take too long before things started heating up — fast and furious.

There were more golf carts being driven by teens than their parents. Groups of kids would hang onto the carts as they careened by, on some errand or another — or just going for a joyride.

One night, when I took a late-night walk with Nechami, we counted at least three groups of teens out on golf carts, just hanging out while they sped their way around the place.

More than once, the golf carts skidded off the main path. Here and there, a bush was half-crushed at the side of the road. The neat mulch lining the road was scattered.  More frighteningly, we watched kids on electric scooters swerve past the golf carts — no lights, dark clothing, whizzing out of the darkness with little notice — and we saw several near-collisions. The partying while speeding down the road in the dark country night wasn’t safe.

I

took a few pictures, uploaded them to the Summit men’s chat. It was past midnight, but the responses flooded in: Yes, it’s mamash a sakanah, we’ve got to stop this. Leib Hirsch took things particularly seriously; he sent a 6.5 minute voice note on the subject that I doubted anyone would play.

In any case, it was definitely an issue — still — and that meant it was time to speak to the other board members.

“Yes, yes, and yes.” Avi Friedman, the board’s chairman, was adamant. “It’s not okay, it causes issues every year. Let’s do something.”

The other representatives agreed wholeheartedly. Shmuel Kanner had ChatGPT write up an email, signed by the board, asking everyone to please refrain from allowing their children — even teenagers — to drive golf carts at all, to limit the use of electric bikes and scooters to daylight hours, and emphasizing the potential dangers and the damages that had been caused in the past.

The letter looked good — if a little wordy, but who had the headspace to start trimming it down, and hey, people would actually get the message this way, no? — and we emailed it out.

Responses began popping up on the chat — great email, thank you, let’s hope it stops the craziness at 2am, last night they kept driving past and we couldn’t sleep.

Sure, there were a few dissenters, mainly on the women’s chat, and Nechami kept me posted on all the relevant goings-on.

There was someone who liked to let her kids drive themselves to the main entrance each morning, and someone whose bungalow was far from her sister’s and her kids were always hanging out there. A couple women complaining that the restriction on electric scooters was just another rule that their kids would resent. And of course, there was the one who took the new rule as a platform to share her view on parenting in general, and how taking away the golf cart keys wasn’t actually teaching kids anything about handling vehicles responsibly.

“Good thing that’s not my goal then,” I said, shrugging, when Nechami read that gem out. “I just want to keep Summit safe, clean, and whole. And setting a strong communal standard is the only way to do it.”

A

nd it was working. Until it didn’t.

I think it started with the Steiner kids. I saw their oldest — a teenage girl — driving her family’s golf cart down the perimeter road every morning, three younger ones seated in the back. The first time I saw it, I wondered if they hadn’t gotten the email or something. But then Nechami mentioned that Simmy Steiner had been one of the vocal opponents of the rule on the chat.

Why? Why did they refuse to conform, choose to buck the norm before it even got a foothold?

“She says she needs her daughter to take to the kids to the camp bus,” Nechami said.

For real? She couldn’t do that herself? Sure, it took a few minutes, but this was for the community, to keep to the standards we were setting, to keep everyone safe. Or the kids could walk!

Besides, it wasn’t just the camp bus run. I saw the older daughter pick up her friends on the way back, drive around slowly licking ice creams. One morning, it was the newly bar mitzvah son who was driving his younger siblings.

And it didn’t take long before other families, here and there, were breaking the rule to send the kids out in their carts again.

“Just this once,” one of the mothers told Nechami a little guiltily.

“My children begged, they said all their friends are. I told them to be super careful.”

“Only before 10 p.m. And they’re coming right back.”

And that was it, the rule was a joke before it was even established.

A

nd then came the Erev Shabbos incident.

It was right before Minchah, and I was already heading for shul with my kids. My youngest, Binny, was skipping ahead. And then, out of nowhere, it seemed, a golf cart came hurtling past, packed with boys in their Shabbos clothing hanging from the seats, the roof, the poles.

It was heading straight at Binny.

“Watch ooout!” I screamed.

At the very last minute, the golf cart veered, missing my son by a hairsbreadth.

And then, like a nightmare, it flipped over on its side — spilling maybe seven boys out onto the asphalt.

My kids screamed. I shouted something. Men came running from all directions.

“Who’s Hatzalah around here?”

“Where’s Ari?”

“Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

The kids were getting up, brushing themselves off. One, two, all seven of them. Sheepish smiles and scraped palms and breathing and alive and well, fine.

“All fine.” Ari, our resident EMT shook his head. “You’re lucky, boys. That could’ve been a lot worse.”

“And I’ll take the golf cart back,” one of the fathers said firmly.

The boys slunk off, abashed, but I knew that wouldn’t last long.

Motzaei Shabbos, they’d be back in the drivers’ seat — or someone else would, because the peer pressure was back, the everyone else is… doing something that nearly put lives in danger.

Everyone was okay. This time. But it could’ve been so much worse.

If I could tell the Steiners one thing it would be: Your refusal to adhere to the communal guidelines is putting everyone in danger of property damage — or worse.

Simmy

For some people — well, for kids, and for teachers — the summer means a total change of pace, break from the yearly grind, a chance to recoup and refresh….

It’s great, I’m happy for them. But for those of us in other fields, all the summer means is a frantic, ongoing rush to get everything done in half the time, with the kids off schedule, and the country air and sunshine teasing you from outside the window.

My job — covering calls for a mental health hotline for specific hours of the day — is not exactly a job, it’s a passion and a commitment. And I’m grateful for the flexibility to be able to do it from home, which means I can get away with the kids. But what’s not so flexible are the hours. The organization I work for is short-staffed during the summer, so there’s no stepping away from my desk for brunch or a shopping run. Calls can come in at any time, and we need to be there to take them. The kids are in day camp — a must — and most days, I can’t even take them to the front gate to wait for the bus to camp; Bracha, my oldest and my right hand, takes them.

Bracha’s the type of kid who thrives in the long, quiet, structure-free days — but she’s still up early, davening and flipping pancakes for the family. I’m blessed; having Bracha here instead of partying at a sleepaway camp with her friends means that I can start working each morning on time, while she handles the grand camp send-off. Then she’s back at home, with her books and her music or walking with some of her Summit friends — there’s a group of them who love to just hang out, no intense programs or pressures.

“There’s the pool, the grounds, books, friends, what could be better?” she’d once said. That pretty much summed Bracha up — and it was great.

She had her chilled summers, I had a hand in the mornings, and once I could log out in the afternoon, the kids and I could spend the rest of the day outside, enjoying the company, the scenery, the air.

Okay, I’ll admit it: Even with my hotline hours, there’s nothing like summer in the country.

K

napsacks, snacks, swim stuff, check. The morning marathon was almost over, camp gear all lined up by the door, and I let out a whew as I logged into my email.

From the other room, I could hear Bracha calling to one of the younger ones to put their sneakers back on, herding them out the door.

I clocked in, donned my headset, and ran my eye over my inbox while I waited for my first appointment of the day to show up on Zoom. Hmm, nothing urgent, some email blasts….

Wait — an email from Summit? Subject line: IMPORTANT — NEW SAFETY GUIDELINES

The hotline was quiet; no emergency calls this early in the morning, apparently. I clicked on the email.

Dear Summit Meadows Families,

As we begin another beautiful summer in the country… Et cetera, et cetera, AI had probably drafted this fluff. I skimmed on.

We want to address a recurring concern that impacts both safety and property: golf cart use by children and teens. Over the past summers, we’ve seen incidents involving unsupervised or reckless driving that resulted in damage to property, and more importantly, created dangerous situations….

We understand how tempting it can be for teens to hop on a golf cart for a quick ride, but golf carts are not toys. They are vehicles that require caution, responsibility, and adult supervision. Effective immediately, we are asking all parents to ensure that children and teenagers do not drive the golf carts at all.

Additionally, we ask that electric bikes and scooters only be used during daylight hours, for safety reasons.

The email went on for a few more lines, the running theme being caution on the roads, responsibility, safety. And it was signed by the board of Summit Meadows.

I glanced out of the window. Our bungalow was the furthest one from the front gate; it would take the kids 20 minutes to walk down there with all their stuff. Right now, Bracha was herding them all onto the golf cart, making sure everyone was seated before she climbed onto the front seat and set off.

She was a super cautious driver. Safe, responsible, speed aware. And I needed her to do this run, sometimes the pickup, too. There was no way we could manage without it.

Static sounded in my ears. A call was coming in on the hotline’s number.

I snapped back into professional mode. “Hi, Shalva Hotline, Simmy speaking,” I said.

Golf carts and board emails would wait.

I

brought up the subject later that day, when a group of us were sitting in a circle on the grass.

“Great move, banning those wild golf cart rides late at night,” Suri was saying. “About time, too.”

“And they mentioned the electric bikes and scooters, too. A bunch of kids were racing on one of the paths yesterday, they literally almost knocked us over.”

One of the other mothers waved a hand. “Eh, they can’t ban electric bikes, it’s literally what the kids do all day.”

“They just said not at night,” Suri countered.

“Yes, well, what do you think, the teenagers are going to take that seriously? Night is when all the action happens.”

“Agreed,” Dina Lemmer said. “My son’s been saving up all year for an electric scooter, finally bought it for the summer. He’s working in a day camp all day, the evenings are his time. And he’s careful, too, he’s not knocking anyone or anything over. I’m not fighting with him over this.”

“I think the rule’s really about the golf carts. And you have to agree the kids riding those is just getting out of hand.”

“And so unsafe!” Tzippy chimed in. “They have like ten kids squeezed into one. These things aren’t built for that.”

“It’s just some kids who do that, though. I agree that that should be banned,” I chimed in. “But saying no teens can drive, ever? Personally, I need my daughter to do some errands for me.” My voice was more strident than I wanted it to be.

The circle went quiet.

“I hear you,” Mimi said finally. “I mean, my kids are too young altogether. But, like, your Bracha is not a fourteen-year-old boy on a joyride.”

“Yeah. She and Aliza went on a drive the other day to pick up my little ones from the pool. They’re super careful, they ride slowly.”

“I don’t think the board members meant kids like her,” Suri said. “It was more about the speeding around at night, or knocking things over. Ruining the landscaping. Some kids knocked over one of my trees the other day.”

The women tutted.

“Tell your husband to speak to Mr. Schwartz, or one of the other board members,” Tzippy suggested. “I’m sure they’ll understand that you need it for this.”

“Yeah, I would do the same, no one cares about Bracha doing a day camp run for you,” someone else said.

I shrugged. I was happy they understood, but truthfully, I couldn’t change anything even if they didn’t.

B

racha continued to do the drive each morning. Sometimes, she used the golf cart to get the pool, too; it was a long walk, and hot, and honestly, why not?

No one mentioned it — at first.

But then came the Friday incident.

I don’t know exactly what happened — a golf cart flipped? A kid nearly got hurt? — but the end result was a delegation on Motzaei Shabbos, knocking on my door. Three of the board members stood there with grim looks on their faces.

“We wanted to clarify something about the golf carts,” Mr. Schwartz said. “The new rule. About not having children — even teenagers — driving them around here.”

“We put those rules in place for safety,” Mr. Kanner put in. “And unfortunately, there was a near accident on Friday afternoon, which means it’s even more important to follow through on the Rules.” He placed an emphasis on the last word, like he was speaking in capital letters.

“I understand that, but my children weren’t involved in the incident on Friday at all,” I said. Meir came to the door, too — thank goodness it was a weekend, and he was up in the country.

“We know that. But the kids who were riding — they’re only doing it because not every family is agreeing to abide by the rules.” Mr. Schwartz fixed both of us with a penetrating stare. I had a weird déjà vu to school, getting pulled over by the principal. But we hadn’t done anything wrong.

“The rules— I understand where you’re coming from, but it doesn’t work for us. I need my daughter, who is mature, responsible, and capable, to drive a golf cart and take my kids to the bus stop.” I said. All very nice for Schwartz and Kanner, both of whose wives don’t seem to do anything other than chill by the pool, to come make draconian rules that were impossible for us to keep.

“If your daughter drives, the other kids don’t take the rules seriously,” Mr. Kanner said. “What are their parents supposed to tell them? If they say the Summit rules are no kids in golf carts, fine. But then they see your daughter doing it, your son, your kids… and suddenly it’s all over, everyone’s doing what they want again.”

Meir cleared his throat. “With all due respect, maybe the parents whose kids are causing damage and accidents should be the ones getting… personal visits. Maybe they should be told not to allow their kids to drive. Why is it our daughter’s problem that other kids can’t control themselves behind the wheel?”

“It’s very hard to enforce a rule for some and not others.”

“But I can’t do this. I have a commitment, there’s no way to get my kids to the camp bus without my daughter helping. And I’m not asking her to walk a bunch of kids, including my three-year-old, all the way up the hill in this heat.”

Stalemate.

Schwartz finally cleared his throat. “Look, I know this is a predicament, Mrs. Steiner. But we’re in this together, and we need the place to stay safe for everyone. Wild danger on the roads is not something you want, either. Imagine your daughter was driving and another kid hit her? Chas v’shalom,” he tacked on.

“Either way,” he continued, rather pompously I thought, “we are not going to be allowing this to continue. If there are kids playing around in golf carts, unfortunately, we’ll have to call the police.”

What?

“Ignore them,” was Meir’s advice, after the board had ceremoniously departed. “They can’t call the police. And they won’t — not on Bracha. She’s not doing anything wrong. It’s totally legal for her to drive a golf cart on private property.”

“But — ” I trailed off. Threats or not, I didn’t have a choice. Meir was going back to the city, I had work, Bracha needed to drive in order to help me out with the mornings, with the pool runs, with everything. We lived at the very bottom of the hill — let Schwartz switch our place for his summer home right in the center. And then let him pontificate about golf carts and rules.

If I could tell Mr. Schwartz one thing it would be: My children have never caused damage, danger, or risk by using the golf carts — how can you impose arbitrary rules that make our summer schedule impossible? 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1073)