Chuck Waxman z"l

Chuck/Charles Shachna Waxman passed away.

According to his blogger profile, he was in Betar from 1963-1973 in an active fashion. He first went to Camp in 1960 until 1964 and also 1966. He was in the dance group 1966-1972 and was the Mefaked of the Mishmar Honor Guard 1966-1973.

Some photographs:

Dancing in 2023

Participating in the Israel Folk Dance Festival 1969 (front row)

On the firing range July 1

As a camper with Counselor Dov Troy, standing, 2nd from right

Summer of 1964. Chuck is seated at the right end (next to Mel Laytner, second to right).  Bennyy Rosen - Madrich.

With his father

In Camp 1965

Visiting with some of the Chevreh in Jerusalem in 2022, first at right

and in Karkur

With Reuven Genn, 2026

A member of the Honor Guard at the reinternment ceremony for Rosh Betar 1964, Chuck is back row, 2nd from right

Leading the Mishmar Kavod at the Salute to Israel Day (Credit: David Gitler)

 A 2018 visit to Israel with his late wife Debbie

Shooting results

Assorted Betar scenes

Instructor: Barak Koffler

A recent snap while hiking

An appreciation from Reuven Genn:

Shachna Waxman  joined the Brooklyn Maoz of Betar and became part and parcel of that Maoz, of Camp Betar and of the whole of Machoz New York. Shach took Betar seriously and concretely. The uniform was important -  pride, history and meaning were wrapped in its color and it's symbols. The songs were important - in a movement in which songs were so deeply connected to events they needed to be learned and sung -  he made it his responsibility to collect, teach and share  those songs and songbooks. 

As part of Benny Rosen's "legendary" group of wonderful Kanaim at Camp Betar, he deepened and broadened his connection - the raids, the obstacle course, the sichot - Hadar-Tagar, the endless days and nights of a special brotherhood - the range, even the ת.ס [targilei seder].He became a madrich and took special pride in the movement dance group which he enriched through his friendships and dancing at the "Y". 

Like Nissan, Chuck had a "need" a "desire" whatever you want to call it, to record events. He went one step further by putting many of those photographs in albums - a special part of him that we hope Brian and Rachel will make available to Shachna's Betar family. This past year has been devastating. Harriet, Emily and now Chuck- gone- in what seems to be so short a period of time. Shach's death has made that pain deeper but also returns us to what brought us together. 

מנוחתם עדן

And from Winkie:

Like most of us, Chuck/Shachna was with us in almost every facet of our Betar involvement - from Camp to demos to dance group to Salute to Israel Parade to maoz activities and especially singing. A limb has been detached.

We in Israel looked forward to his visits and he made extra efforts to get to us. We followed his doings on Facebook where he faithfully updated his music performances attendance, shooting practice, photography, visits with his children, memorializing his parents and late wife and every once in a while a phone call.

Condolences to his family and friends.

Chuck - Tel Chai!

Mel Laytner adds a reminisce:

One of my enduring memories of Chuck Waxman is of his ash-covered face and clothes and his eyebrows singed by the flash fire of the gunpowder we were brewing in our bunk.

Why would a bunch of 14-year-old waiters and CITs be making gunpowder? Because we had run out of cherry bombs and M880s to arm in our “mortar”—a hip-high length of 2” galvanized pipe capped on one end. We’d drop a lit cherry bomb or M80 down the open end, throw in some pebbles or gravel and take aim at the bunk next door.

That the kids in the targeted bunk were terrorized only added to our adrenalized fun.

With our fireworks depleted, my cousin Avi Stavsky suggested we make our own gunpowder. The recipe is stupidly easy: chop charcoal briquettes into powder, add saltpeter (a common fertilizers available at any garden shop) and sulfur (believe we got ours at the local pharmacy). Mix with water, squeeze out the excess with a potato masher borrowed from the kitchen, and let the concoction dry.

The final step was mincing the brittle pieces into fine powder. That’s where Chuck stepped up. Using his surplus MK2 utility knife, a menacing implement of blackened carbon steel, he set about mincing and chopping the pieces into a fine dust on a small table covered with old newspapers to reduce the chance of sparks.

The bunkhouses in Camp Betar were divided down the middle by a high row of cubbies. While Chuck was engrossed with his task on one side of the bunk, a few of us retired to the other side to resume our perpetual poker game.

Some minutes later, a bunkmate, Ehud Sperling, appeared at the doorway cupping a lit cigarette behind his back. Seeing no counselor, he jauntily took a drag. To the left he saw us playing poker. But on the right side of bunk…what’s Chuck doing chopping up charcoal briquettes?

“Hey Chuck, what’s going on,’ Ehud asked as he casually rested the lit butt on the table’s edge.

We heard Chuck yell “NO!” followed by a very loud WHOOSH! A cloud of white smoke worthy of a Pope’s election rose to the top of the rafters.

We rushed to the other side of the bunk. I’ll never forget the look of shock on Chuck’s ash-smeared face. Or his singed eyebrows. Technically, what happened was a “deflagration”, not an explosion. Luckily, the powder had not been packed into a tight container.

That’s what it was like being a waiter in Camp Betar, in the summer of ’64.

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