The Chol Hamoed Minivan דער חול המועד מיני-ווען

Every father knows: Chol Hamoed doesn't start at the zoo, the lake, or the train. It starts with packing the minivan.

Packing

• One cooler of sandwiches. Father made forty. They will vanish before you've left the block.
• Two bags of nosh, "only for the way home." They are opened at the first red light.
• One big bottle of water, which nobody wants until you're in the middle of the highway.
• A sefer for Father, "in case there's a minute to learn." There won't be.

Who Sits Where

This is the first sugya of the day, and it's harder than a Tosfos. Every boy wants the window. The oldest argues "I'm the oldest," the youngest argues "I'm the youngest," and the boy in the middle argues that he's both. Father rules, like a dayan, that they will switch every half hour. Nobody switches.

"Are We There Yet?"

The question is asked for the first time at minute five, and then every two minutes, until Father starts singing a chasunah niggun and the whole minivan sings along. For one minute it's quiet. Then: "Tatty, are we there yet?"

At the Destination

When you arrive, you see the whole town had the same plan. At the entrance stand hundreds of fathers with boys, with coolers, and with the same tired smile.

Here you can also see the difference: the Chasidish father arrives with nine boys in gartels, a cooler the size of a small car, and "a kugel for the road." The Litvish father arrives with seven boys in white shirts and a Gemara in his pocket, to learn while waiting in line. Both wait in the same line, and neither learns — because both are counting boys.

The Way Home

On the way home it's quiet. All the boys are asleep, the nosh is gone, and Father drives in the dark with a smile.

Because that's the secret of Chol Hamoed: the boys remember the zoo, but Father remembers the minivan — and it is the sweetest nachas in the world.