My closest friends in the world are my camp friends, and two of my younger siblings grew up in these same cabins. Four of those friends stood beside me at my wedding. Three now live in Israel, yet our group chat of thirteen girls is active every day. We still show up for one another, for weddings, new babies, and the harder seasons too: the losses and heartbreaks.
Ramah Darom gave me more than memories. It gave me the people, the language, and the sense of belonging that shaped who I became and the Jewish life I have built. Jewish summer camp doesn’t simply teach Judaism; it lets you live it until it becomes part of who you are.
Taking on a leadership role was a natural next step in my path with Ramah Darom. In May 2025, I joined the Board of Directors, becoming part of a growing number of alumni helping guide the organization’s future. At our Summer Board Shabbaton, I experienced Ramah Darom in a new way, with my husband and son by my side. It was so special for them to see firsthand the people, traditions, and spirit of camp I had spent years trying to describe. Watching them discover Ramah Darom made me realize just how much of it I have carried with me all these years.
Some of the most formative weeks of my own summers were spent with our Tikvah campers, children with disabilities who participate in a fully integrated camp experience with individualized support. The care, dignity, and compassion at the heart of that program remain, to me, one of the truest expressions of who we are. Every child should have the opportunity to know the friendship, confidence, Jewish connection, and joy that make Ramah Darom so special.
And sometimes, the ways camp stays with us are much smaller.
Every night, I sing Hamalach Ha’goel to my son before he falls asleep, the same song our counselors sang to us as we drifted off in our bunks.
I never consciously chose it as our bedtime song. It was simply the song that was already living inside me.
Now it is the last thing my son hears before he closes his eyes.
When I sing it, I realize I’m passing along more than a melody. That song carries with it the safety of those bunks, the voices of counselors who cared for us, and the feeling of belonging to something larger than ourselves. So much of what we’re given in those years stays with us in ways we don’t even recognize until much later.
My son Joey is 18 months. In just a few short summers, he’ll be a camper here. He’ll probably assume the magic of camp simply lives in these mountains. He won’t know how many people helped create the experience that means so much to me. He’ll just know that this is where he belongs. I thought I was bringing my son to see the place that shaped me. I didn’t realize I was watching the beginning of his own story.