My
Jewish Identity was formed two miles above sea level. Up where the air is thin,
that’s where my identity took shape. Up in the clouds, I learned how Judaism
works in the real world. My Jewish heart beats at 10,200 feet.
Let me
explain. I owe my Jewish identity to so many things. When I was here a few
weeks ago, I talked about the impact of weekly Shabbat dinners at my grandparents’
house in my hometown of Denver, Colorado. To this I would add a stimulating religious
school experience, close relationships with a number of rabbis, and participation
in youth group. I was also particularly influenced by my college experience at
the University of Maryland, where I discovered a Jewish community that was
larger and more diverse than anything I had encountered before. Hillel there
was a lesson in Jewish pluralism and the myriad of ways that Jewish identity can
be expressed. In particular, in my four years singing in a Jewish a cappella
group, with people whose practiced ranged for Orthodox to secular, I learned
the power of Jewish communities to create beautiful harmony together. Each of
these environments played an important role in the formulation of my Jewish
identity.
But one
special place stands out as having had more of an impact on my Jewish identity
than any other. One unique, magical place that made me the Jew I am today:
Summer camp. Not just any summer camp, a Jewish camp, high in the mountains of
Colorado, nearly two miles above sea level. A place called Shwayder Camp.
There, in the woods, in rustic cabins and an aging dining hall, I first
discovered a Judaism that spoke to me. If I were to point to one experience
that led me on the path towards being a rabbi more than any other, it would be
Shwayder camp.
I spent
seven summers as a camper at Shwayder and two as a counselor. And this past
summer, after exactly a decade away, now a “grown up,” I went back to summer
camp, to serve as the senior educator. At 29, I was the second oldest person in
camp. I got to be the veteran, coming home again after a long time doing battle
in “the real world.” And it was an incredible blessing to be back. An opportunity
to appreciate how much that place had meant and still means to me, and to try
and build that experience for others. And I came to better understand how much
my identity is informed by my time at Shwayder. The Jew I am today is a camp
Jew, a Shwayder Jew, a mountain Jew. And I want to share this Judaism with you.
We may not be able to pray at two miles above sea level, but I hope that my
camp Judaism will rub off on you a little over the course of my time here in
North Carolina. I’d like to bring some Rocky Mountain High to High Point. So
tonight I thought I’d share with you the top seven things I learned when I went
back to summer camp:
Number
7: What you say matters
When I
got back to camp I had the terrifying realization that most of the rest of the
staff were my campers 10 years ago. Nothing makes you feel old quite like
seeing your former campers take your old job. A few days into camp, I was
talking to a member of the senior staff who had been a camper of mine, and she
told me that when she was a camper, she and I had had a conversation which had
stuck with her all these years. She remembered exactly where it had happened. We
had been walking on the path out to the ropes course, and I had told her that
Jewish tradition says that if you ask someone for forgiveness three times and
they do not forgive you, then you are considered forgiven and you don’t have to
ask again. She said that she often thought about that conversation and the
Jewish obligation to forgive others and to let go.
Now I
have no recollection of this conversation. But it was meaningful to her, and
hearing it relayed back to me stuck with me all summer. Not only is the message
of what I taught her appropriate for this holiday season, but so too is the fact
that she remembered it. Our words have a profound impact on others, even in
moments that do not feel significant to us. Something you say to someone this
week might be a thing they are still thinking about a decade from now. What an
incredible power and responsibility. As we move through these days of repentance,
as we make our apologies and rekindle old friendships, let us remember that our
words have the power to hurt and to heal, and that they might be remembered,
not just today, but in the weeks, years, and even decades that will follow.
Number
6: Prayer is more powerful in the woods.
We have
a unique beit knesset, an outdoor sanctuary, at Shwayder. We sit on benches
that are carved out of old trees, facing the forest, with a stone alter. The
ark is carved from this hundred-year old tree. The creek that runs through camp
passes just beyond the sanctuary, so when you close your eyes for Sh’ma, you
can hear the gushing water. The roof of the sanctuary is just the blue sky,
edged by the mountains that surround our valley. Each night, when I said the
Ma’ariv Aravim in this sanctuary, and thanked God for the wonders of creation,
it was easy to find meaning in the words. Prayer can be powerful and meaningful
indoors, but there is something incredible about praising God while surrounded
by the beauty of creation.
There is
a Chasidic story about a girl who left the synagogue each morning during her
daily prayers to go into the woods. One day her grandfather followed her and
watched as his granddaughter prayed amid the trees.
“Why do you go outside to pray?” he asked.
“When I am in nature I feel closer to God,” the girl replied.
“Don’t you know that God is the same everywhere?”
“I know,” said the girl, “but I’m not.”
I know
that God is everywhere, but I feel blessed to have places in my life where I am
more attuned to God’s presence.
Number
5: The power of return: Or, why it’s not true that you can’t ever go back.
It was
strange to go back to camp, to my old stomping grounds. But it was also
wonderful. I got a unique chance to give back to a place that meant so much to
me as a child. And in doing so, I got to examine who I am and how I came to be
me.
The
Hebrew word for repentance is T’shuvah, which literally means return. We are
reminded that this time of year is an opportunity: not just to return to God,
but also to return to ourselves. I have a teacher who each year during the עשרת ימי תשובה, the ten days of repentance, calls one
person who has had an impact on his life and thanks them. Each year he picks
someone new, and in doing so he gets to reflect on who has contributed to his
development. In this way, the Ten Days become days not just of T’shuvah –
repentance, but T’shuvah, return.
Today I
scheduled a meeting to talk to my high school English teacher next week. She taught
me more about writing in one year than anyone else, before or since. She was
the hardest teacher I ever had, but only because she had high expectations of
us. Expectations she knew we could live up to. And she also cared about us
deeply. I remember that before the first weekend of the school year, she wrote
her home phone number on the board and told us that if we ever got in trouble
and didn’t want to call our parents, we should call her and she would come get
us, no questions asked. I cannot wait to call Mrs. McInerney and tell her what
a profound impact her teaching and her compassion had on me, both educationally
and personally.
Who is a
person who told you that you mattered? Have you ever thanked them? What about
finding 10 minutes sometime in the next 10 days to track them down and say thank
you. Maybe it was recently. Maybe it was long ago. But now’s the time to go
back and say thank you. Think what it might mean to them to know what they mean
to you.
Number
4: Shabbat comes alive
Shabbat
at camp is intense. We sing and dance late into the night. Most of the songs are
the same as when I was a camper, sung in the same order and with all the same
hand motions. It’s like a giant, two hour choreographed dance number. One of
the non-Jewish staff members told me it was like being in a real life Broadway
musical. But Shabbat is not restricted to Friday night. The entire 25 hours
feels different from the rest of the week. Our schedule changes, our meals are
different, our services are more creative. Each week, we set aside a whole day
to be different and full of joy.
Abraham
Joshua Heschel described Shabbat as “a sanctuary in time.” Human beings feel compelled
to mark time, to measure our lives in months and years, to celebrate birthdays
and anniversaries. But we Jews also see the value in sanctifying time, in
building sanctuaries in time where we and God can dwell, together. The thing I
miss most about camp is this pervasive sense of Shabbat, not just as an evening
for going to services or having a family meal, but a whole day set aside as a sanctuary
to God. My new year’s resolution is to work hard in my own life to create a
stronger sense of Shabbat this year, to do more to sanctify the time.
Number
3: Shutting off
When was
the last time you spent more than a few hours in a place where there was no
cell phone service and limited internet? The biggest blessing of Shwayder is
that, because we are so high up and so secluded, we do not get reception. It’s
a blessing in disguise. I found it as hard as anyone else to unplug. I had a
few days of withdrawal. But its impact on the campers is profound. Other camps
fight a constant battle with kids about when it’s appropriate to use their cell
phones. But at Shwayder, the kids don’t even bother bringing them up to camp,
because they know they will not work. And so, when the kids are outside playing,
they are untethered (unless they are playing tetherball). When the staff are
interacting with the campers, there are no screens to distract, no buzzes or
jingles to call them away from the moment.
I am not
on an anti-cell phone crusade. Far from it. I think that cell phones are a
great tool for connection. They allow us to draw close to people who are far
away. But sometimes, it comes as the expense of the relationships or the
experiences around us, and this summer taught me to appreciate the experience
of having places where you make it a rule to shut off. My challenge to myself,
and to all of you is to think of one or two times and places where you choose
to be untethered. A place where you decide to shut off, and disconnect, so that
you can reconnect with the people and experiences you treasure most. Maybe it’s
an hour every day, or at the dinner table, or even when you are in this
building. What are the places and times when you choose to set aside the
outside world so that you can be present for those around you?
Number
2: Dor L’dor
Shwayder
camp taught me the power of the Jewish value of Dor L’dor, passing tradition
from one generation to the next. When I was a camper at Shwayder I had a
remarkable time. But I was also sometimes teased. I was a nerdy kid, and an
easy target. One night, I had my fill of being taunted by one particularly
difficult cabin mate, and I went out on the back porch to get away. One of my
counselors, a guy named was Jason, was walking through camp, and he saw me. He
came up and said, “Hey, you need to be in the cabin. It’s late.” But I said I
couldn’t go inside. Not yet. He saw, in that moment, that I was in need, and he
sat down on the steps with me. He told me I mattered, and he told me I was
special, and he told me it would get better. And soon, I was able to go back in
the cabin, knowing that there were people in the world besides my family who
really got me and cared about me.
My first
summer as a counselor, Jason was the Assistant Director. A few days into the
summer I pulled him aside and told him what that moment meant to me. I told him
that I hoped that I would be able to do for a camper what he did for me. “Don’t
worry,” he said, “you’ll get your chance.”
One
evening, a few weeks later, I was walking through camp when I saw a kid sitting
on the steps of his cabin. I kid you not, it was the exact same cabin. I went
over to him and he looked up at me with tears in his eyes. So I sat down next
to him and told him that he mattered, and that he was special, and that it
would get better. I told him all the things that Jason told me, until he was
ready to go back inside. Afterwards, I ran to find Jason and tell him that I
had just had my porch moment.
Being
back this summer and being on senior staff like Jason, I had a lot of time to
reflect on this moment, and how I might help counselors to have their own
“porch moments.” It made me appreciate the great chain of tradition that we as Jews
participate in in. Pirke Avot says, “From all those who taught me, I have
gained understanding.” Each influential teacher in my life opened me up to new
possibilities, and I feel luckiest in the moments when I get to share what they
taught me with others. What is one important thing someone taught you or told
you that changed your life? On the drive home, I encourage you to share that
one thing with a loved one. Pass on that wisdom and understanding to the people
you care about, and they will keep passing it forward long after you are gone. Someday,
the young people who were comforted in times of need by the counselors this
summer will themselves be counselors who comfort others. And so the chain will continue.
Number
1: Magic is real
At camp,
we have something we call Shwayder Magic. It’s those little moments that you
realize that you are in a special place. Maybe it’s the moment when everyone is
singing together at services and the harmony sounds perfect. Maybe it’s when
you are dancing and jumping so hard on Shabbat that pictures fall off the wall.
Maybe it’s when a cabin full of middle school girls sneaks up behind you to
smother you in handfuls shaving cream (two times!). Maybe it’s a quiet moment
on a horseback ride, or a game of cards with your bunkmates. Maybe it’s a late
night talk on the steps of your cabin. There is so much magic in every moment. When
people tell me that Judaism is struggling in America or that the profession I
have chosen is anachronistic, I just want to fly them up to 10,200 feet, to
show them Shwayder magic. Call it magic, call it miracles, call it Jewish living,
but something special is going on there, and it informs every Jewish decision I
make. My dream is to create magical moments like these in as many ways and as
many places as I can. That, more than anything, is why I want to be a rabbi. To
share that magic with you.
On Kol
Nidre, we will read a prayer that speaks of the Yeshivah Shel Malah and the
Yeshivah Sel Matah – The heavenly academy and the earthly academy. Our rabbi likes
to say that Shwayder Camp is the Yeshivah Shel Malah – The academy on high. There
is so much to be learned in that sacred space. So many lessons for the Judaism
I hope to live. And my job is to take what I learned up at that academy in the
sky, and bring it back down to earth. To teach it here at the Yesivah Shel
Matah, our academies back down on the ground, so that everyone can know a
little bit of that incredible place that formed my Jewish identity. So that
everyone can experience a little bit of that Shwayder Magic. On Yom Kippur we
will pray that the Yeshivah Shel Malah and the Yeshivah Sel Matah be engaged in
the same task. My work this year is to
bridge the gap, to bring a little bit more of the Yeshivah Shel Malah to you.