It was 6:00 on a Friday evening. My wife, myself, and 50 complete strangers had just managed to light two candles, each on one tiny table, without burning ourselves. Our names, printed in a groovy font, glistened under the nametags hanging around our necks. We were sitting in a circle, introducing ourselves and saying what the experience reminded us of. Was it any surprise that two-thirds of us answered, \”Camp?\”
There\’s an unusual program planned this summer for counselors and older campers at Camp Gilboa, Southern California\’s newest Jewish summer camp.
Miles Lerman said negotiators will focus on three areas. Currently, most visitors come only to the Auschwitz l site; Lerman said an overall plan must \”induce visitors to come to Birkenau, where they will learn that 95 percent of the victims there were Jews.\”
A pair of students — a traditional chavruta study partnership — grapple with a tricky piece of Gemara.
The story itself is a laconic autobiographical statement that not only describes Wiesenthal\’s experience as camp inmate, but joins that experience to an excruciating ethical question about forgiveness. Now that Simon Wiesenthal is a legend and an icon, his modest story seems larger, somehow, and the republication of the book is a kind of commandment to read it again.
In addition to the usual bathing suits,socks and shorts, as suggested by Camp Hess Kramer on its inventory list, my daughter, Samantha, needed an orange sweat shirt with blue (preferably royal) lettering\nspelling out the words \”Leadership \’97\” on the front and her name on the back. Right away, I could foresee trouble.
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