Camp Ramah in Wisconsin

HaMirpeset Shelanu 182: From Deena Cowans

This week’s parasha, Kedoshim, is a grand-slam. The first chapter of the portion, Leviticus 19, contains many of the most essential teachings and commandments of Judaism: Honor your father and mother and keep the Shabbat (verse 3), do not worship idols (4), do not steal (11), do not profane the name of God (12), do not insult the deaf or place a stumbling block before the blind (14), love your neighbor as yourself (18), keep the Shabbat again (30), show respect for the elderly (32), and treat the stranger in your midst as one of your own (33). The next chapter goes into more laws, prohibitions and potential consequences for our relationships with other human beings.

All of these commandments deal with the central issue of the parasha - in fact, its title - which is holiness. In the second verse of chapter 19, as the parasha is just getting started, the lesson of the entire parasha, and arguably the entire Torah, is boiled down to one sentence: Kedoshim t’hiyu, ki kadosh ani (You shall be holy, because I, the Lord your God, am Holy).

How can we “be holy”? What does it even mean to “be holy”? The parasha explicitly suggests that by following God’s commandments, we can achieve holiness. I think that finding holiness is even simpler. To me and, as I understand it, the implicit message of this Torah reading, holiness is being deliberate in our interactions with others and with the world, and appreciating the beauty around us. This deliberation and appreciation can be most easily found on the holiest of days, Shabbat.

Over the past several years, I have been blessed to sing Kabbalat Shabbat in many holy and unexpected places, ranging from a converted bomb shelter in Jerusalem immediately after the rocket siren sounded during Operation Pillar of Defenseto complete darkness during regular blackouts in Kathmandu, Nepal. But the holiest place that I have ever celebrated Shabbat is by the lake at camp.

At camp, we bring in Shabbat by the lake with the entire camp kehila(community). The power of more than 600 voices singing together as we watch bald eagles swoop over the lake and feel the shadow of the green hills and trees behind us never fails to give me chills. I believe that it is the combination of community and nature that makes Shabbat at camp so holy. God made beautiful people and beautiful nature, and when we bring them together like we do at camp, we become holy.

HaMirpeset Shelanu 181: From Yael Bendat-Appell, Assistant Director

This past Tuesday, my six year-old son came home from school singing the quintessential song of this season:

שמחה רבה שמחה רבה, אביב הגיע, פסח בא

Simchah rabbah, simchah rabbah, aviv heegiah, Pesach ba! which translates loosely as: Immense joy, immense joy, springtime has arrived, Pesach is coming!

Hearing this familiar song in the sweet voice of a young child was exactly the trigger that I needed to take stock of the important shifts that are taking place at this moment. At long last, there are (at least some) lingering moments of warmth. Birds can even be heard occasionally chirping in the early morning hours. The hours of daylight are stretching longer.

In the Chicago camp office, this time of year marks the moment when we begin to shift our focus towards the intense, person-to-person, excitement-inducing work that represents the last stage of getting ready for camp.

Three significant events this week embodied this shift: We just had our first pre-summer conference call with this summer’s amazing group of nine Roshei Eidah. The energy and talent of this group is palpable and we feel so excited to be working with such a fabulous group of leaders. Second, we welcomed our summer Program Director, Deena Cowans, to our Chicago office team. Deena’s involvement from now through the summer will allow us to intensify our focus on essential programmatic elements of the summer. Finally, I spent last week in Israel participating in a JAFI (Jewish Agency for Israel)-run training program with this year’s mishlachat—a delegation of approximately twenty young Israeli men and women who either recently finished, or are almost-finished with, their army service. This diverse and impressive group will be working at camp this summer in various roles. Their excitement about the upcoming experience at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin—the opportunity to meet young North American Jews, to grapple with their own Jewish identities within the context of Conservative Judaism, to engage in serious dialogue about Jewish life in the Diaspora—was simply inspiring.

As Pesach approaches, let us remember that this holiday is Chag Ha’Aviv, the Holiday of Spring. May Pesach’s connection to Spring always remind us to be aware of the “immense joy” around us, and grateful for the freedoms to engage in our personal lives, our professional work, and our broader world with meaning and passion. Simcha rabbah indeed!

HaMirpeset Shelanu 180: From Joseph Eskin

When we arrive in our journey through the yearly Torah cycle at Parashat Metzora, we know that Spring has arrived. Pesach is just a couple weeks away, the sun has begun to shine brightly, and the weather hovers precariously above freezing (for the time being, at least). Just as we are beginning to let ourselves believe that Winter is finally coming to an end, though, the words of Metzora transport us backward in time to a moment at the very beginning of the Winter season: October 31, Halloween.

Indeed, the enduring image in this parasha is of a genuine haunted house, a house consumed by tzara’at, the mysterious skin disease first described last week in Tazria. In a plot fit for Edgar Allan Poe, a Kohen (priest) comes to inspect a house in Canaan, only to discover that its walls are consumed by red and green afflictions. Precautions are taken – the foundations of the house replaced, the walls replastered – but like a villain from a zombie flick the tzara’at refuses to die. Only by destroying the house entirely can the affliction be done away with for good.

What are we to make of this story? The tradition contains two different explanations. According to Vayikra Rabbah, being forced to destroy the house is a gift: as soon as the walls are knocked down, the Israelites living there discover buried treasure hidden within by the previous owners, the Canaanites. In this telling, what seems like a frightening ordeal is in reality a manifestation of God’s generosity. Trust in God, even in trying moments, and you will be rewarded in the end. Rambam (Maimonides), conversely, sees the tzara’at as a divine punishment for selfishness and lashon ha-ra (evil speech; gossip): to punish those who refuse to share their property with others or treat their neighbors kindly, God sends a warning shot, ruining a building before resorting to hurting the people inside of it. For Rambam, the horror of a house overcome by disease is the disgusting consequence of a vile transgression.

Though these explanations are far from similar, they share an important truth: the physical appearance of a home is usually a reflection of something deeper, something hidden. I remembered this lesson every week this past summer when, as a Rosh Aidah, I checked the cleanliness of cabins before Shabbat. Before I continue, I am happy to note that 2013 was, like every summer in Ramah history, tzara’at-free! However, most cabins I checked on Friday mornings were a far cry from the spotless, well-organized residences which are a requirement for the beginning of Shabbat. And so each week, I issued the same challenge to the campers in each cabin: Get this place clean. Campers responded in various ways. For some, the challenge of cleaning was a path toward a reward: the chance to play outside, to get the first shower, to gain a sense of personal satisfaction and accomplishment. For others, the challenge of cleaning was a moment which required self-reflection: Why did I ignore my Nikayon (cleaning) job this week? Why is it so hard for our cabin to work together as a team? Where are all my socks? For many, the last few moments of Nikayon on Friday could be quite stressful.

Though campers approached cleaning on Friday with a range of attitudes, the result was always the same: by the time we gathered to welcome in Shabbat, every cabin was sparkling. Week after week, cabin-mates worked together to build a space perfect enough to honor the holiness of Shabbat. This perfection went beyond simply physical cleanliness. All the “stuff” – arguments and jokes, successes and failures, hopes and concerns – which had piled up during the week was neatly tucked away, leaving a space for reflection and rest, for togetherness and peace. By purifying themselves, the campers were able to purify the spaces in which they lived. As we move past Metzora and begin the process of Pesach preparation in our homes, I pray that our cleaning be not merely about changing dishes and finding crumbs. Instead, I hope we are able purify our souls in preparation for redemption and freedom, this year and every year.

HaMirpeset Shelanu 179: From Elana Kravitz

This Shabbat, Shabbat Hachodesh, the Maftir reading (Exodus 12:1-20) recounts the instructions from G-d to the Israelites on the eve of yetziyat mitzrayim (leaving Egypt). This huge transition from slavery to freedom is accompanied by anticipation and anxiety for the Israelites as they are about to set off as a free people for the first time in hundreds of years. Following the account of what the Rabbis call “pesach mitzrayim" (literally: the Egyptian Passover), the reading goes on to describe Pesach as we know it today - a time in which we remember the exodus from Egypt and the many generations that came before us. The Torah reading serves as a wake up call for communities across the world that Passover is quickly approaching and preparations for the holiday must begin. This call may induce feelings similar to those of the Israelites. We are filled with excitement and anticipation for the holiday that is on its way, accompanied by some anxiety about all that needs to be done in the coming weeks.

Last year at this time, the weeks leading up to Passover were full of uneasy feelings for me. I spent the semester studying abroad in Copenhagen and would be heading to Milan on a class trip during the first days of Passover. Though I was excited to spend time in Italy, I became more and more nervous as the trip approached about how I would celebrate Passover in a foreign country (especially one filled with so much enticing chametz). I contacted a Rabbi in Milan who was able to set me up with a community Seder to attend.

When I arrived at the Seder the Italian Haggadot and foreign language surrounding me were overwhelming. I began to feel homesick knowing that my family and community were so far away. This feeling began to dissipate as soon as the Seder started. I was relieved to hear Hebrew and familiar tunes and was in awe of how quickly I felt connected to this unfamiliar Jewish community. Despite being thousands of miles away from home, the Passover traditions and ritual of the Seder helped me feel comfortable and connected to this community.

The countdown to Passover is accompanied by another one - the countdown to Kayitz (Summer) 2014. With only 81 days left until the first buses depart for Conover, excitement and anxiety for the summer are building. For new campers and returning campers alike, we might be unsure about what is in store as we enter a new aidah. Being at camp is a place away from home but we find comfort in the shared zmirot (songs), tefillot (prayers), sporting events, plays, and peulot tzrif (cabin activities). As we prepare for Pesach and prepare for the summer ahead, I hope everyone finds comfort in the communal Jewish experiences that they share.

Shabbat Shalom and Hodesh Tov (Have a Great Month of Nissan)!

HaMirpeset Shelanu 178: From Jeremy Fineberg

Parashat Shemini/Parah

Well, its that time of year again, when it’s obvious that Pesach is coming soon. Grocery stores around the country have begun the process of stocking up on matzah, gefilte fish, sparkling grape juice, and kosher l'Pesach Coca Cola. The displays, sales, and advertisements serve as another reminder that we need to start preparing our homes for Pesach and prepare our menus for the sedarim.

This week’s parashah, Shemini, which among other topics contains a list of kosher animals and principles for kashrut, is augmented by its proximity to Pesach by becoming Parashat Parah. In the special additional reading (maftir) this week, we are reminded about the ritual of the Parah Adumah, the red heifer. This puzzling and mysterious rite served as the ritual purification par excellence, and the level of purity it achieved was mandatory before giving the Passover offering. However, since in a post-temple world we cannot actually fulfill the ritual of the red heifer or the Passover sacrifice, we study them to spiritually fulfill them. The reading of the special maftir serves both the purpose of bringing us to a state of greater purity, as well as serving as a big reminder that Pesach is coming up and that we have lots of preparation still to do.

While the maftir is concerned with a particularly red cow, a sizeable chunk of the parashah is focused on regular cows, and more specifically the basic laws of kosher animals. While statutes about the splitted-ness of hooves are obviously important, the lists and laws can feel tedious. Whenever I come across a set of laws in Judaism that appear exacting and stale, I am reminded of a great friend and teacher who once explained that, “once you are familiar with the laws and rules, a practice can become more meaningful.” As we begin to learn and do more, especially in the way of observance, we bring a powerful level of intentionality to our lives. In Judaism we are incredibly intentional about everything we do, whether it is preparing for a huge feast, a powerful religious experience, or sitting down at the breakfast table.

The camp kitchen prepares over two thousand meals a day, and in a regular cafeteria environment that might just translate to a vast quantity of food. At Ramah we learn that knowledge of meals as our source of nourishment is necessary, but it is certainly not sufficient. Fun, friendships, and Jewish meaning are side dishes and entrees at every meal. We begin every meal with thanks to God for providing us with the means and ability to eat surrounded by community, and we end each meal in joyous and thankful song. Through the laws of kashrut we are taught that a meal is not just a meal, but also a way of bringing intentionality and connection to God and our Jewish community into our lives. And through the laws of the parah adumah, we are taught the value of looking ahead, spring-cleaning, and preparing for the communal experiences that bring great meaning into our lives.

In the aftermath of Purim and the run-up to Pesach, between the experiences of the festive Purim meal (se'udah) and the Seder, it is easy to get stuck in that classic Jewish cliché of “they tried to kill us, we won: let’s eat.” Our experiences at Ramah, however, help us see the value of every meal - the physical nourishment provided by God and the spiritual nourishment of being surrounded by friends. This knowledge helps enrich those moments during the year, like Purim and Pesach, when the value of the food and experience of the meal itself might be overlooked by the celebrations of historical victories. Our memories of those near-holy moments in the chadar ochel (dining hall) at Ramah help us realize the importance of communal meals, even if we are privileged to enjoy them on many “normal” days, not just holidays.

HaMirpeset Shelanu 177: From Adina Allen

The moment my campers arrived at davening on the 4^th of July this past summer, I knew that this would be a topsy-turvy day. They were all dressed in funky red, white and blue outfits, many wore silly hats and necklaces, and there was significantly more energy in the room than most mornings. During sport, everyone had the opportunity to jump and play in a moon bounce and there was a special chatif (snack) served on the kikar. The entire camp joined together in the afternoon to sing and dance, filling the kikar with crazy outfits and joy. In so many ways, this celebration reminded me of my celebrations of Purim growing up. There was always so much energy that filled the sanctuary as the megillah was read, and the Purim carnival the next day, complete with a moon bounce, were similar to my memories of July 4, 2013 at camp.

The holiday of Purim is often centered on these festivities and reminds us to let loose. We spend time thinking of creative costumes and engage in giving misloach manot (gifts of food and drink) to our friends and family. We are commanded to participate in a purim seudah (festive meal). Despite the focus on fun and games, Megillat Esther has many important lessons for us.

When Mordechai learned of Haman’s plot to destroy the Jewish people, he wanted Esther to help save them. In persuading Esther to make her identity known to King Achesverosh, Mordechai says to her,

ומי יודע אם לעת כזאת, הגעת למלכות (Esther 4:14),

roughly translated as “and who knows if it is not for just such a time that you reached this royal position.” Mordechai believes that it is not merely a coincidence that Esther is now queen and she must take advantage of her position. Mordechai’s belief in Esther’s action highlights something so crucial throughout this narrative: Esther becoming queen positioned her to make a difference in the lasting narrative of the Jewish people. With Esther, as with all of us, taking advantage of this opportunity meant taking a calculated risk and stepping out of her comfort zone.

Like Esther, we are faced with daily decisions about how to make an impact with the choices in our lives. This is true both at home, and in our day-to-day camp life. Camp becomes a safe environment for us all, nurturing healthy risk taking that leads to our growth and development, and we must learn that each moment given to us is sacred. We cannot let these moments pass us by, and must make the decisions that might force us out of our comfort zone.

In addition to the parallel festivities between Purim and the 4^th of July I observed this past summer, there were moments occurring that same morning at camp reminding us of the importance of exerting leadership and courage in facing new challenges. A counselor who had not read Torah since her Bat Mitzvah read Torah next to her camper to show support, forcing her outside of her comfort zone. Campers signed up for new tarbuyot (arts and outdoor education) activities, taking advantage of all camp had to offer. And there were over 70 kids that participated in the early morning polar bear swim. It is all of these moments that remind us how to take advantage of the opportunities and situations that we are put in. Although they may be out of our initial comfort zone, we all have the security of the camp community to encourage us to understand “who knows that if it is not for just such a time, that you have reached this position”.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Purim Sameach!

HaMirpeset Shelanu 176: From Maya Zinkow

Parashat Vayikra

Every Shabbat spent at camp, our campers engage in studying the weekly Torah portion. On Shabbat afternoons, the kikar is dotted with circles of campers. From the basketball court to the agam (lake), conversations about Jewish identity, the People of Israel, or our lives at camp fill the sacred Shabbat space. We just completed the book of Shemot, in which details for creating such a holy space – the mishkan – were outlined.

This week, we begin the book of Vayikra, its opening section a difficult one to approach given its nitty-gritty details surrounding the korbanot (sacrifices). God calls upon Moshe to relate to the people of Israel the laws of the sacrifice, giving unto Moshe yet another important task as the leader of his people. As we know from the book of Shemot, Moshe does not take his responsibilities lightly; he is humble and often hesitant, skeptical of his leadership skills.

This notable aspect of Moshe’s personality is poetically illustrated within the first word of the book of Vayikra. In every Torah scroll, the final aleph of the word vayikra, meaning “and God called,” is written noticeably smaller than any other letter. The midrash tells us that when God instructed Moshe to write down this word in the Torah, Moshe was reluctant to do so as the word so clearly reflected his unique, close relationship with God and his distinct role as leader of the children of Israel. The aleph is thus a symbol of the paradox of Moshe’s role as leader; its presence necessary within the word itself to indicate Moshe as rabbeinu, our teacher and prophet, but its size a marker of Moshe’s unwavering humility.

When I was a camper, I had no problem taking up vocal space during Shabbat discussion groups from week to week. I spoke freely and without hesitation, often failing to realize that I may not have been leaving space for my peers to share their insights. As I matured, I came to understand the importance of making yourself smaller when appropriate, when you find yourself forgetting that humility is a key piece of successful leadership. The small aleph of vayikra is a reminder that we should indeed reduce the size of the aleph in ani (I, me) when we find ourselves overstepping boundaries or devaluing and not listening to others.

Camp, like vayikra’s aleph, is itself a paradox in leadership; we share shelf space with our bunkmates, meals are served family style, the nikayon (cleaning) chart indicates every person’s daily cleaning task within the tzrif (cabin), the measure of a successful aidah musical is not the strength of individual voices but the power and energy of the chorus. Yet it is within this unique community that we each learn how to exercise effective leadership. Each of us has the opportunity to lead our team as a Yom Sport captain, to belt out the final song of our musical, to lead the entire camp in Kabbalat Shabbat overlooking Lake Buckatabon, or to share our thoughts on the weekly parshah in a circle of friends. In taking on the roles of leadership camp offers both on special occasions and in the day-to-day of camp life – acting as a meltzar (waiter) during meals, leading Shacharit (morning services), picking up a piece of trash – we learn that leading also means being a sensitive member of a team. Camp is a space in which we are sometimes empowered and other times humbled.

As we begin a new book of Torah, may the little aleph of Vayikra help us to remember this week and always to be mindful of the space we occupy as leaders, and to always leave room for the voices of others.

HaMirpeset Shelanu 173: From Jacob Cytryn, Director

The last few weeks, we have read in the weekly parshiot (Torah readings) the blueprints for the construction of the mishkan (tabernacle) that will embody God’s presence and the Israelites’ worship of God in the wilderness. This week’s Torah reading, Ki Tissa, begins with a shift from the lofty theoretical vision of the beautiful sanctuary to the mundane: how are the Israelites going to pay for its construction?

This challenge is familiar to anyone who pays any attention to … well, anything. Human beings are, by our very nature, dreamers, and yet we all live in a world of limited resources and the need for economic systems to enable us to realize our dreams. Whether it be a for-profit business, the not-for-profit world, Jewish causes, or discussions about the state and future of the country’s infrastructure, any conversation inevitably returns to the bottom line.

The Torah presents a beautiful vision for how the mishkan was evidently funded, one that, generations later, the Rabbis adopted as an annual reminder for how to support the goings on of society. In a few weeks, we will repeat the reading of the first section of Ki Tissa on Shabbat Shekalim, the first of five special Shabbatot that lead up to Passover. And the text is quite clear: we fund things through universal participation at a reasonable level for everyone to afford: the rich shall not give more, and the poor shall not give less (Exodus 30:15).

This reminder of the half Shekel commandment comes at an opportune time for our Camp Ramah in Wisconsin community. In the wake of the financial crisis of 2008 and the extended recession that followed it, our community responded in phenomenal ways to support the ability of campers to attend Ramah and the high level programming and staffing that is our calling card. In doing so, we drastically increased the amount of money we raised for scholarships (now over $250,000, not including additional contributions from Federations, synagogues, and other partners) on an annual basis while continuing to underwrite the Ramah experience for every camper through our annual campaign and targeted support of specific programs and initiatives. Because the times called for it, we made a strategic decision to focus on getting kids to camp in lieu of completing payment on the unprecedented capital investments to which we had committed ourselves. In the first decade of this century we dramatically expanded and enhanced camper cabins, staff housing, program areas, and our kitchen and dining hall, totaling more than $10 million. As a result of the economic downturn, coupled with the solidification of our partnership with the Ramah Day Camp and the mortgage undertaken to purchase that property, for the last five years we have been navigating approximately $2.5 million in debt.

Thanks to an amazing partnership with the Harvey L. Miller Family Foundation, as announced to our broader community yesterday, we have an amazing opportunity to secure the koach (strength) of Ramah Wisconsin moving forward by virtually eliminating our debt in less than two years through what we are calling the Koach Campaign. Last year, an initial matching grant eliminated $500,000; this year and next year, with your help, we will eliminate at least an additional $2 million.

The details of this matching opportunity can be found here as well as more background information, or you can find out more by contacting our Chief Development Officer, Sam Caplan (scaplan@ramahwisconsin.com).

Last week, Rabbi Mishael Zion, whose sister, father, and grandparents are all part of our Ramah Wisconsin community, laid out a Jewish argument for supporting campaigns like Koach by sharing the wisdom of his late grandfather, Rabbi Moshe Sachs, who led B'nai Emet synagogue in Minneapolis for many years. Rabbi Sachs (ז“ל), a Levite, understood the Biblical framework of supporting the Levites as a commandment to embrace our role in funding overhead, infrastructure, and debt retirement projects. You can read Mishael’s compelling piece here.

I hope that you will consider supporting Ramah Wisconsin however you can, either through our annual campaigns, a targeted gift, or by supporting the Koach Campaign. Having grown our annual number of gifts from a few hundred in the late ‘90s to over a thousand this past year, you - our parents, alumni, friends, and supporters - have increasingly adopted a version of the "half Shekel” approach introduced by Ki Tissa.

With your help we will continue to move the camp, through the successful completion of this Koach Campaign, from chayil to chayil - from strength to strength.

HaMirpeset Shelanu 172: From Jacob Cytryn, Director

We hear it from the world of politics: “One campaigns in poetry, but governs in prose.” We are now at the beginning of the long, winding, prosaic section of the Torah. Just a few weeks ago we recounted, with baited breath, the once-in-human-history moments of exodus, splitting of the sea, and God’s revelation. Now the final three-and-a-half books of the Torah begin, filled mostly with the minutiae of legal codes and architectural details, to be followed by the challenging episodes of everyday life during forty years in the desert.

But prose has its power as well. The founders of Camp Ramah in Wisconsin, in fact, understood and appreciated the power of prose. Because the camp they envisioned - the one from which we continue to benefit today, the one that is poetry to so many of us - is a place dedicated to the transformative power of the mundane and everyday.

It is no historical accident that Ramah was founded between the two most powerful Jewish moments of the 20th century, the closest thing we have to once-in-human-history impact. In the wake of the Holocaust, and with the founding of the State of Israel just around the corner, Ramah’s founders saw themselves, in 1946 and 1947, lacking a place where the prosaic power of everyday Judaism could reach a new generation of Jews. The ashes of the shtetls and the great Jewish cultural centers of Europe were still smoldering; the promise of a fully realized Jewish civilization in our ancestral homeland still an unrealized dream. They understood that what American Judaism needed was a secluded bubble in which Judaism as a way of life could be cultivated. That cultivation, they hoped, would lead to shaping a new generation’s outlook, like the power of a mighty stream cuts its way through stone.

In this week’s Torah reading, parashat Tetzaveh, God concludes the instructions for building the mishkan, the portable tabernacle that accompanied the Israelites through the desert. For two weeks we read the instructions and then, after a brief break, we spend another two portions actually building the mishkan itself. The details can be drearily dull and the mishkan itself represents constancy and a shift from the God of the plagues, the Red Sea, and the Ten Commandments, to a God who will be by us, at once less dramatically and more importantly, day in and day out.

As Rabbi Shai Held called to my attention to this week, sharing the insight of Bible scholar Victor Hamilton, the construction of the mishkan does more than merely represent the shift from epic moments to the everyday mundane. For the construction of the mishkan and, specifically, the number and type of individuals allowed into each of its cordoned off areas, exactly parallels the geography of Mount Sinai and its levels of increasing selectivity. At the base of Mount Sinai stood the entire Israelite nation, as all Jews are welcome into the forecourt of the Tabernacle to bring sacrifices. Farther up Sinai was a different level, reserved for Moses and his inner circle, including Aaron and his sons, the first priests; the Holy Place (הקדש, hakodesh) of the Tabernacle is the provenance of only the Priests. Finally, the top of Mount Sinai was where Moses and Moses alone communicated with God; the center of the mishkan is the Holy of Holies (קדש הקדשים, kodesh hakodashim) where only the High Priest may enter.

This connection of poetry (Revelation) to prose (daily worship) is what we achieve every summer at Ramah. We take our heritage that, for many of us, struggles to impact us significantly more than a few times per year during our daily lives in America, and transform it into a holistic setting that cannot help but impact us multiple times a day. The poetry and prose of Judaism are, indeed, one and the same; it is the opportunity that being in the nurturing cocoon of camp provides which amplifies its power.

Once the Israelites leave the foot of Mount Sinai, the Torah’s message for its final three-and-a-half books is quite clear: this religion is not only for the breathtaking moments in human history, it is a religion of the nitty-gritty and the day-to-day. It is a religion that governs minor architectural details, audaciously legislates to ex-slaves about how they will one day treat their slaves, and ingratiates itself into our lives multiple times a day, every moment we eat, and has something to say about every interaction with other human beings we may ever have. At Ramah we fuel this grand Biblical vision of Judaism (enhanced and filled-in by the Rabbis) and reap the rewards of the impact it has on our lives.

Shabbat Shalom

HaMirpeset Shelanu 170: From Yael Bendat-Appell, Assistant Director

Living Camp in the Here and Now

Usually, this space is used to describe the ways in which we are preparing for, and thinking about the summer. We latch on to words of inspiration from the Torah portion that remind us of the idyllic setting in Conover where we create an intentional and meaningful Jewish community from June through August. Writing this piece in HaMirpeset Shelanu usually allows that week’s author to suspend all of her realities of the current moment to focus on the culmination of our work—our summer months at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin.

However, this month, I find myself inspired and thinking about the exact reverse. Instead of writing about how the work we are doing now is preparing us for the summer, I will share how our summers have prepared us for this moment.

There has been a change at the camp’s year-round office in downtown Chicago. We learned that folks who daven in an egalitarian setting and need to say kaddish were at a loss for an appropriate mincha minyan in the middle of their work day. In response to this need, the Ramah Wisconsin office on East Wacker Place now hosts an (almost) daily mincha minyan.

Why is it that the Ramah Chicago office is the natural place to host an egalitarian mincha? The answer is precisely because the purpose of our work in the summer is to infuse our lives with Jewish meaning. Not “our lives” for eight weeks of the year, rather our lives in the largest sense of time and possibility. Camp reflects the values of, and our commitment to, Jewish practice, egalitarianism, and community—each of which is embodied daily in our conference room at 12:30pm. This opportunity to pray and to serve our community in the midst of busy days of e-mails, phone calls and meetings, is an amazing reminder of the bigger picture of why we do what we do.

We begin mincha with the words:

Ashrei yoshvei veytecha od yi’halelucha selah. Happy are those who dwell in Your House; they shall continue to praise You, Selah!

May the purpose of our work in the summer, continue to provide us with inspiration and opportunities to dwell in God’s house all the days of our year. Selah!

(If you are interested in joining us for mincha, please call the camp office to find out if the minyan is taking place that day!)