Shlichim Connect Campers to Israel

There is a particular vocabulary familiar to those who frequent Jewish summer camps, an English sprinkled liberally with Hebrew words that shifts further into the latter language as adults attempt to keep campers from learning that today’s aruchat arba will be some kind of kinuach (that is, that snack will involve dessert).

Sit down amongst the Israeli counselors who come as part of the camp’s Summer Shlichim Program, however, and you will find yourself surrounded by rapid, fluent Hebrew conversation, suddenly aware that camp Hebrew is hardly any kind of Hebrew at all. Shlichim, which means emissaries in Hebrew, is a program run by the Jewish Agency for Israel. Its goal is to bring young Israelis to America to work in Jewish overnight camps across the country, their presence an attempt to connect campers personally to Israel and its surrounding issues, making the country feel less like an abstract political entity and more like home.

The Israelis are visually indistinguishable from their American counterparts and can be found throughout the camp; in addition to working with specific age groups, they are often deployed as specialists, running teva (nature) programs or martial arts or arts and crafts. They are typically in their late teens or early 20s, which means that many come in the middle of their army service, granted two months’ reprieve from the stresses of life as a soldier. This is not to say that their sojourn in America is any kind of vacation; after all, there are still children to work with, programs to run. Most of the participants have some background in the area in which they specialize; some are interested in further work with children or at camps. This is a job; it is, however, a job unlike any they’ve ever had before. This is mainly because overnight camps are not as common in Israel.

This is a particular challenge for the Israeli counselors: “I have kids who are two weeks out of home, and they are upset, but I’ve never been in this situation,” notes Einat Shtau, who works at Camp Alonim. “I need to learn fast how to talk to them, what to say to them.”

There are other differences: Shtau also describes the “large culture of dancing and singing” as uncommon in Israel. Israeli folk dancing in particular, oddly enough, is foreign to her and her colleagues. They appreciate the enthusiasm, though, and have learned to enjoy the singing and dancing as a unique part of camp culture.

Then there are religious differences to contend with. Rabbi Daniel Greyber, the executive director of Camp Ramah in California, notes that “in Israel, the sense of Judaism being divided into movements is not as strong as the divide between ‘the religious’ and ‘the secular,’” which can be uncomfortable for those who consider themselves secular and are unaccustomed to a regular schedule of prayers and services.

The flip side can be difficult as well, as Greyber explains: “There is the fact that men and women pray together, something foreign to the religious in Israel.” However, he continues, “what is amazing is that almost every time, both groups deeply enjoy the prayers, which are filled with beautiful singing and joy. Both groups enjoy the experience and are puzzled by their enjoyment, because they are both uncomfortable with a facet of the service.

“That dissonance and the learning that accompanies it continues at camp during the summer, as they learn about Conservative Judaism [at Ramah] and experience a Judaism that is compelling, yet quite different from what they have ever known.”

The counselors themselves tend to agree with Greyber; they say they see the experience as pluralistic and spiritual, a beautiful part of camp even if it isn’t a regular part of their lives.

Then, finally, there is the simple matter of atmosphere: a cushy American overnight camp is a far cry from army barracks and even farther from the demands of active service. Tom Shtoik, a 22-year-old counselor at Ramah, was called up from the reserves to serve in Gaza and Lebanon last year. He is clear on the differences between the two experiences, explaining that “camp is fun; war is not.”

All of the shlichim counselors emphasize the mental distance between the two experiences: they are so dissimilar as to be incomparable to one another. Shtoik’s campers often ask him questions about his experiences in the IDF, he said, particularly whether he’s ever killed anyone. While he’s reluctant to discuss the specifics of his service, he said that he tries to pose abstract questions to them, encouraging kids to think deeply about the difficult moral questions involved in armed conflict, rather than the physical violence.

Any national identity is necessarily multifaceted. Israel, though a tiny country, has a complicated enough history to warrant a reluctance to generalize. The shlichim were insistent about the complexity of their role in the camp community; they do not see themselves as advocates for Israel, per se, but representatives of it, not demagogues or politicians but ambassadors, there to learn as much as to teach.

As Tal Sabbah, a division head in Alonim’s program, put it, “We’re Israelis and all that, but eventually we fit in here. We’ve made great friends. We are doing our job, and we have this responsibility to Israel that comes with us. This is what we are.”