Dispatches from Lesbian Vacationland
As it turns out, though, Jewish camp is pretty darn expensive, especially in a state that comes in on the decided bottom of any listing by income. This is not a rich state; we don’t serve a rich congregation. As it turns out, not all Jews are wealthy – but most of our institutions definitely function as if they were. That’s a feminist issue if ever I’ve heard of one, but I’ll not digress into the myriad ways that the Jewish community of America is discriminating (by volition and omission) based on geography and class. More on that some other time – because it’s what we’ve found instead that is so awesome.
For a week, R. and I ran what insurance concerns prevent me from calling a “camp.” But we had a gathering of Jewish kids (and some of their non-Jewish friends) who met every morning for a week at a beautiful lakeside piece of property, leant to us by a family in the congregation. They made challah covers and practiced cantillation (and seriously – have you ever seen a kid happy to be practicing cantillation?), played Shimon Omer (Simon says) and Or Adom, Or Yarok (Red Light Green Light) until they were exhausted, and careful recited the appropriate blessing over every snack and lunchtime sandwich. They were thrilled to bang their hearts out on our picnic table while bentching (saying the grace after meals), and they cuddled together to watch ancient episodes of Shalom Sesame when it rained. At the end of the week, every single kid asked when we were doing it again.
This whole Lesbian Chabad enterprise is a macrocosm of that camp – exhausting, logistically challenging, sometimes dirty and sometimes more work than I’d imagined – and without a doubt, the most fulfilling thing I’ve done.
