Decades later, I carry vestiges of that summer with me. Total immersion in a different culture prepared me to see beyond labels
Growing up, my father was a rav in Ahi Ezer, a Syrian congregation in Brooklyn, New York. One summer when I was a teen, my parents sent me and my brothers to Shivtei Yisrael. We were a handful of Ashkenazim surrounded by Sephardic campers, food, and pizmonim.
Initially, it was a difficult transition. The campers displayed enormous pride in their traditions — their pronunciation of every word in davening, their careful enunciation, a daily recitation of Bircas Kohanim, even their eclectic foods. Among many of the rich and beautiful songs we sang, I particularly enjoyed “Chabibi” and “Laner Velivsamim.” But even though I appreciated the culture, it was all new to me.
Over time, I acclimated to the environment, and when they asked me to be the chazzan, I realized I had become an insider — Sephardi havarah included!
Additionally, for reasons unbeknownst to me, the head counselor Rabbi Raphel Wallerstein and co-director Rabbi Shlomo Wadiche gave me and my brother the job of leading the Shabbos afternoon program, which was my first formal stint at public speaking and drawing others closer. We shared impactful stories and inspiring divrei Torah based on the weekly parshah, and the camp provided us with ample treats and snacks to augment this spiritual experience. It was profoundly rewarding to see how many campers opted in — rather than napping or playing a game, they happily chose to come learn.
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