Even now, there is joy in camp
In recent days, a breakthrough in hostage talks between Israel and Hamas crumbled yet again. The heartbreak of October 7 and the days since feels endless. Israeli hostages remain in captivity; many already are dead. Tensions with Hezbollah are escalating as Israel’s north burns. The fever of global antisemitism continues to rise.
We cannot ignore this pain. But neither can we let ourselves drown under its weight. Now is the time to embrace Jewish joy, and the hundreds of Jewish camps in full swing across North America are teaching us how.
Right now, more than 180,000 campers and counselors are filling their days with fun and friendship, creating Jewish memories that will last a lifetime. I know this because it happened to me. Fifty years ago this summer, in Wisconsin’s remote northern woods, I began to forge my Jewish identity in a camp community infused with Jewish joy.
Far from my home in Cincinnati, at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin, I felt embraced at Friday night services on the shores of Lake Buckatabon, where golden sunsets refracted off the water, through the branches of pine trees, and carried our community into Shabbat. I whispered, laughed, confided, and more than once, cried in the sacred space of my bunk. In that spartan wooden cabin, I met some of my closest friends, including one who, more than 49 years later, recently celebrated with me at my grandson’s bris.
I recognize that this summer isn’t a normal one. All of us, and all of our camp communities, continue to struggle with the trauma and grief that began on October 7. Many of the more than 25,000 college students serving as counselors have experienced antisemitism on their campuses, and close to 3,000 Israeli shlichim and displaced Israeli teens are spending time at camp after a long stretch of war and heartbreak.
Yet camp continues to prove that we can successfully pursue joy in tough times without denying that times are tough. As young campers in the mid-1970s, my friends and I weren’t immune to the turbulence of Vietnam, the Yom Kippur War, and Watergate, just as today’s campers aren’t immune to the world around them. But camp provided us with a momentary reprieve, a function it’s serving for many young Jews today, even after October 7.
Early reports from this summer’s camp season have been deeply affirming in terms of how little of the tension and rancor of campus has spilled over into our camp communities. Countless stories from camp leaders, counselors, and families make clear that camps already are healing wounds and giving precious air to breathe, navigating multiple roles as places to have difficult conversations, communities of in-person connections, and bubbles that offer respite.
Camps aren’t just showing us the power of joy. They’re teaching us how to pursue it, by disconnecting from technology and the news and connecting to our creativity and one another.
My experience at camp was tech-free because in the 1970s, there wasn’t much tech from which to be free. But even now, camps are cultivating rich experiences for Gen Z and Gen Alpha by dialing down the noise of the outside world. They’re acting as islands of in-person interaction for screen-addicted generations — one of the few spaces where young people are rediscovering their attention, directing it inward toward their feelings or outward toward people and nature.
Like Shabbat, camp reminds us that disconnecting does not mean disengaging from community. It’s the opposite. We disconnect so that we can be more present with our friends, family, and loved ones. In this regard, camps reveal and model the importance of sacred, Jewish-majority spaces.
Over the past nine months, many young Jews and Israelis have been mocked or dismissed for bringing up their pain, no matter their politics on Israel. These young people, like all of us, need opportunities to heal around people they are confident will accept them. Camps have long reported that shared Jewish identity enables campers and staff to explore complex emotions and opinions in a way they can’t anywhere else — and the same has been true this summer so far.
Difficult conversations remain a hallmark of camp. But so is putting our difficulties aside. In a time of communal crisis, camps are reaffirming that sometimes we need to remove our fingers from the pulse of the world’s trauma. Instead, we can listen more closely to our breathing and the birds in the trees by the lake. We can whoop, cheer, and stomp in frenetic song and dance sessions. And we can step into new roles that expand our character, whether it’s growing as a communal leader or discovering a love of theater, both of which I took part in as a camper, 50 years ago.
Joy does not paper over our problems. Rather, it replenishes the strength we need to tackle them. In their emphasis on tech-free spaces, the wonders of nature, in-person community, and fun activities such as sports, ceramics, hiking, sailing, and drama, camps provide a roadmap for pursuing joy, especially in difficult times. Tens of thousands of Jewish campers and counselors are finding joy right now. So should you.
Jeremy J. Fingerman has been the CEO of Foundation for Jewish Camp since 2010, and he is a vice president of JPRO Network, the network of North American Jewish communal professionals. He lives in Fort Lee with his family. Write to him at Jeremy@jewishcamp.org.
comments