During our last tutoring session before he departed for camp, one of our pre-b’nei mitzvah students was chatting with me about how excited he was to get the summer started. I visit our movement’s camp as a faculty member every summer, so he and I will get to spend a few weeks together in that particularly impactful environment, and we were bonding over our shared enthusiasm. As he left, he said to me, “I always know it’s summer when I hear the first Chaveiri N’varech.”
Those words are the first of the Birkat HaMazon, the blessing of gratitude we offer after completing a meal. It is an essential part of the daily routine that becomes standard operating procedure for campers during the summer. It is no surprise that, after repeating the blessing three times a day for 24 straight days, the prayer is carved into a person’s memory. It is not uncommon for adults who haven’t set foot on the property in decades to instantly join in when they hear those first words, which translate literally to, “friends, let us bless.” Of all the aspects of camp life, it was this one that felt most natural to my congregant, the element that signaled something special was about to happen. And from a Jewish perspective, nothing makes me happier as a rabbi.
The long-term impact of Jewish summer camping is both well documented and well understood in our community. The Foundation for Jewish Camp reports that 94% of camp families identify that their time at camp deepened their connection to Jewish peoplehood and the broader Jewish community. Congregational and institutional boards are full of members who were positively impacted by their time at camp. The reason is embedded in my student’s love for Birkat HaMazon: in a world where Judaism is a supplemental part of a person’s identity, camp facilitates the kind of immersion that allows Judaism to flourish.
There is, after all, a reason we talk about “practicing” Judaism. Our religion embodies the principle of “in for a penny, in for a pound.” We say a blessing in order to lift up the meeting of a particular behavior. We create rituals to connect us both with ourselves and with those who came before us. We engage in study and community togetherness so that we might deepen our relationships, both with the Jews beside us and with those who left us a road map to a more meaningful life.
This is a holistic process, and one that is made more impactful with each additional element you add to the puzzle. By going to the kind of environment that camp offers, we allow our children to see what it is like to put everything through a controlled and thoughtful Jewish lens. And, as any rabbi, educator, or Jewish professional who has bet a career on it knows, that is when Judaism really gets to shine.
At camp, we allow every aspect of life to be Jewish. We eat Jewishly, we play Jewishly, and we pray Jewishly. The result is almost always not only a summer full of fun, laughter, friendship, and joy, but also one in which we are able to internalize Judaism at its finest. The religion is no longer a collection of obligations and “have tos,” but rather becomes the connective tissue that brings us together and infuses meaning into the mundane. And that is exactly what we ask of Judaism in our lives as practitioners.
It is not uncommon for kids to come home from camp and request that “services feel more like they do at camp.” The sad news is that we can’t just pick the right songs and readings to give the same vibes we get in that unique time and place. What makes camp services special aren’t the melodies, the words, or even the location. Rather, it is the sense of connection, intention, and passion that makes the experience so meaningful. And the best way to make that happen is by showing up. The best way we can make services feel like they do over the summer is by building a connection with your community, creating a long-term ritual that feels both comfortable and inspiring, and making the synagogue feel like an extension of your home. Luckily, that is exactly what we are trying to do as rabbis and staff.
I can’t wait to go to Zionsville next week and begin my 18th summer at a URJ camp in one capacity or another. And when the first meal comes to an end, I know that I will feel those words wash over me, not as a reaction to eating, but as a call from one to another: Friends, let us bless. Together.
Rabbi Austin Zoot is the Associate Successor at Valley Temple in Wyoming, Ohio.