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Author Julia Turnbow (left) and Program Director Julia Snyder (right) at the conference

When I attended camp as a chalutza (camper), it never crossed my mind that my counselors spent time outside of the summer thinking about their role at Ramah in the Rockies and how they can grow to be better leaders and role models. My first summer as tzevet (staff), however, has lifted a curtain for me, letting me in on the behind-the-scenes preparation that makes camp so great each summer.

I recently had the privilege of attending the Bert B. Weinstein Leadership Training Conference, a National Ramah staff training seminar that takes place each winter in California. From acting out camper care scenarios and working through challenging situations to discussing what makes inclusion programs successful, our cohort focused on how we can make the Ramah experience thoughtful, intentional, and fun for our chalutzim!

In our bunk dynamics session, I played the role of a counselor observing a group of chalutzim. In the scenario we were assigned, one of the campers was a camp veteran who had trouble making new friends in the bunk, one was shy, another was a social butterfly, and the last was excited and entirely new to camp. After paying attention to the interactions, we created a sociogram – a diagram our campers’ relationships with one another – in order to better understand the group dynamic. The exercise was a wonderful practice in being an attentive and involved madricha (counselor).

Our session on inclusion touched upon the deeper values that underlie the difference between meaningful inclusion and tolerance. Throughout the discussion, inclusion staff from across the country wrestled with this distinction. We concluded that tolerance views differences as inherently problematic; issues to be dealt with quietly. Meaningful inclusion, on the other hand, values each individual for what they can offer, and understands differences in personal limitations. As madrichim, the way we treat all our chalutzim should embody our shared Jewish value that each person is created b’tzelem elohim – in the image of God.

At the beginning of the conference, Rabbi Ed Feinstein told the story of the prayer Ma Tovu. He explained that when Balaam was hired to curse the people of Israel, he climbed to the top of a nearby hill overlooking the Israelites’ tents. From that vantage point, he was unable to see the challenges that were taking place on the ground, and was instead overcome with awe as he gazed upon the community the Israelites had created. When he finally opened his mouth to say the curse, he spoke a blessing instead.

From a place of perspective, Balaam was able to experience his environment in a new way – appreciating the big picture without getting distracted by the details. Similarly, at camp, it can be easy to get distracted by the details and lose sight of why our machane (camp) is so special.

Participating in the Bert B. Weinstein Leadership Conference has given me the tools I need to return to Ramah in the Rockies as the best counselor I can be. Next summer, I will remain aware of the dynamics of my bunk and how they are impacting the chalutzim. I will understand what meaningful inclusion looks like and why it’s so important. And most importantly, I will remember to seek places of perspective, from which I can appreciate the beauty of our community.

Campers on Masa posing

Author Julia Turnbow (left) and campers head out on masa (backcountry excursion)

By Julia Turnbow

Our Hanukkah Highlights series is an opportunity for tzevet (staff) from every corner of our community to share their favorite camp memories! For every day of Hanukkah we will be featuring a different staff member and a different wonderful story about what makes Ramah in the Rockies so special. 

Elana
Name: 
Elana Schrager

Job at Camp: Bogrim Yoetzet (Camper Care Staff)

Summers at Ramah in the Rockies: 3

Favorite Camp Activity: Backpacking – anywhere, anytime!

Occupation: Communications and Research Intern at End Citizens United PAC, a grassroots funded group dedicated to fighting for campaign finance reform

 

I drove to camp last summer. Vermont to Maryland to Colorado in five days. Campus to camp, student to graduate before Shabbat had time to roll around again.

College, I thought as I drove—college is a game played for and by yourself. Camp, though—camp is a place of utter self-abnegation. Camp is where you go—where I went—to give in ways that you can’t during the school year. But I hadn’t been at camp for any length of time in over a year, and I felt young and unprepared and wasn’t sure if I remembered, anymore, how to give in the ways camp required of me.

As I drove west I thought – am I old enough to do this? This summer, rather than returning as a madricha (counselor), I would be a yoetzet, a member of the camper care team – a small group of individuals who serve as parent liaisons, provide extra support for counselors, and connect one-on-one with campers who are struggling. Throughout my summers on staff I had looked up to the camper care team – I had trusted them, respected them, and valued their advice. Now I was about to be one of them.

After days of driving I finally arrived at Ramah in the Rockies, where I quickly discovered that I possess tools I didn’t know I had – tools I’ve gathered from books and friends and choices (good and bad) and personal history. They are the tools I use to sort and organize the goings on of the world and my reactions to them. My chalutzim (campers) I learned, are still acquiring those tools. They are utterly fragile and utterly sound, with bodies and minds that break and mend all at once in the split second that you look away. They are testing, always testing … you, and themselves, and their friends, and their parents. They are bundles of raw sincerity, a sincerity made even more obvious by their half-hearted cynicism.

And I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the worlds of these amazing kids. I got to talk with them and listen to them and work with them as they shattered and mended and shattered again over the course of minutes, hours, days. And, for the first time in my life, I got to hear from their parents—to hear from Real Adults, grownups whose very voices made my knees go trembly when I got on the phone. I realized that I am not yet a Real Adult and no longer a kid. As a member of the camper care team, I learned that the role I play as a kind of intergenerational translator is an essential one – one that I am uniquely qualified for in my confusing, post-collegiate liminality.

It is December now, and dark outside. I am not a kid, or an adult, or a student. I, like my teenage campers this summer, am at home, working and testing and probing to figure out what identity, what thing will define me as my life moves forward. And sometimes little gleams of memory float across my eyelids—of a camper this summer, turning his face up to me and asking in total sincerity: “But… how do I know that that’s really who I am?”

I don’t have an answer, and I didn’t have one this summer. And I can now accept that not having an answer is okay. In the end, our campers take care of each other, and our incredible counselors take care of them. And we in the camper care office, no matter our age, exist as support—as liaisons, as backup…safety nets to catch those who stumble, waiting hands ready to help them step back into everyday life at camp.

And that’s the way it should be.