Parashat Lech Lecha
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about names and legacies. Such is the nature of the last seven weeks in the life of my family: my elderly grandmother passed away, later that same week my second son was born, and earlier this week my sister gave birth to her first child, a girl, who will be named this Shabbat in Jerusalem.
It is at these ultimate life-cycle moments - births and deaths - that names are given added meaning. As Tamar and I went back and forth over naming possibilities for both our sons, we invested in so much in the unknown future: attempting to find the right way to convey our hopes for the future while being incapable of knowing anything about who our children might grow up to be. Similarly, the legacies of our beloved family members, close friends, and the resonances of Biblical characters and liturgical allusions all danced around those conversations. To bookend, one of the lasting memories of my childhood is of my father, a pulpit Rabbi, sitting at his computer or our kitchen table writing a eulogy, in which he always makes sure to prominently display the name, in Hebrew and English of the deceased. It is that name that will eventually be displayed on the gravestone.
This week’s parashah is also about names and legacies. Near the end of Lech L'cha Abram and Sarai have their names changed by God to Abraham and Sarah, reflecting a change in status and role. Throughout the weekly reading, from the first verses until the last, we are introduced as much to Abraham’s potential and destiny as we are to who he is, the original Jew. Famously, in the poetic opening of the parashah, God tells Abram: ואגדלה שמך - “I will make your name great." A hyper-literal Rabbinic reading of this verse understands it to mean that the shorter אברם/Abram will be lengthened to אברהם/Abraham. More metaphorically, we can take this promise with its partners, that God will make Abram into "a great nation,” “a blessing,” and that “those who bless [him] will be blessed; those who curse [him] will be cursed."
Names and legacies also permeate the culture of Ramah Wisconsin. One of our paramount tasks at the outset of each summer is to learn each others names, first the names of all the staff during our preparatory week, then the names of campers in our cabins, aidot, and throughout camp. During the eleven summers I spent working under Rabbi Soloff’s directorship, we came to expect the appearance during Staff Week of the Israeli poet Zelda’s masterpiece לכל איש יש שם, "Every Person Has a Name,” that explores all the different people in our lives and actions we do that give us a variety of “names." (You can read the poem in Hebrew or English.)
At camp, our names and our legacies intermingle. We acquire nicknames, which sometimes become the primary way people know us. We have the opportunity, each and every year as campers and staff members, to remake our reputations and legacies. We become, eventually, a part of one aidah as campers, associated with a collective identity. If we are blessed to have the opportunity to return for many years on staff, we may adopt additional identities as proud members of the aidot defined not by us or our peers but by our campers. In the end it is our names which outlast us at camp, displayed individually on our cabin plaques and on the hallowed walls of the Nivonim cabins,
The act of naming is essentially of ownership; Adam’s role as steward of the Earth is established by his naming of the animals (Genesis 2:19). Interestingly, God does not command Adam to name the animals but, as the text reports, follows Adam’s lead in naming them as Adam called each and every one.
This Shabbat, as my sister and brother-in-law celebrate their becoming a family and give their daughter a name and the mantle of legacy that name will evoke, I wish them the best as they begin to be parents in so many different ways.
And for all the solemnity and seriousness of the moment and these decisions, it is my twenty-plus year relationship with Ramah that continually reminds me to approach the world playfully. I still regularly correspond with former counselors who call me by nicknames long-forgotten by the rest of the world. And I think of the fun of names and legacies when I recall with different generations of Ramahniks their memories, the names - official and casual - to refer to different characters and aspects of the camp experience. In the debates many will have about various aspects of Ramah legacies: basketball teams, musicals, artists, supportive communities, and more.
And as Tamar and I sit down for Shabbat dinner this evening with two boys, known alternatively by the names we called them between their births and their brises (Peanut and Jellybean, respectively), their full names in English (Samuel Hirsch and Michael Noam) and Hebrew (Shimon Chayim and Meecha'el Noam) and countless permutations (Sam, Sammy, Shimmy, Sha"ch, Miggy, Mickey, Mike, Mikey, and many many more), I will do my best to remind myself of why we are so focused on names at the very beginning and very end of our lives: because at every moment in between we are and should be too busy living life to the fullest, whimsically interacting with each other so that our names and legacies reach their fullest potential.
Jacob Cytryn, Director
For the rest of the story, see part two of this post here.
My almost-16 year old blind son, Solomon, was supposed to spend 8 weeks in the second-oldest Aidah (age group) at Camp Ramah in Canada, a Jewish camping program affiliated with the Conservative movement. My wife and I went to visit him and our 12 year old daughter this week. While there, the camp director told us that he was sending Solomon home four weeks early at the session break because “the camp is not able to accommodate Solomon’s needs for the full 8 week session.”
This is Solomon’s fifth year at camp. Sol went for one session each summer for the previous four years, but this year, called the “Magshimim” year, required campers to enroll for the full summer. Solomon was thrilled to go for both sessions. He loves camp, and for the first four summers, it appeared that Ramah loved Solomon and was completely willing to assign extra staff and arrange for some Braille materials so Sol could participate fully in the camp program. There were some rough spots. Camp staff did not always do everything they could have to ensure that Sol had the proper materials and was fully included in every activity, but we were confident that the director was committed to full inclusion, and neither we nor Solomon let the small things bother us very much.
This summer, a new director took the helm just a month before camp started. He didn’t know Solomon and we didn’t know him. Nevertheless, we assumed that the camp’s prior commitment to accessibility and inclusion would be maintained. We were wrong. Part of the Magshimim summer is a five day overnight camping trip. Although the overnight has three tracks for kids of varying levels of fitness and ability, the counselors, Rosh Aidah (unit head), Yoetzet (advisor/parent liaison), and camp director met and decided, without consulting with Solomon or with us, that they didn’t have the staff to accommodate Sol on the camping trip. Further, they also decided that they couldn’t continue to accommodate Sol for the second four weeks of camp. Ultimately, the final decision to remove Solomon from camp rested squarely on the shoulders of the new director, who decided that the camp was not willing to either hire an additional staff member or redirect a small amount of current staff time to helping with Solomon’s special needs.
Among the reason he gave for sending Solomon home early was that Sol takes too long eating his meals and showering, and requires help moving from activity to activity, which he also does very slowly. He also suggested that the Magshimim program requires moving around camp and engaging in camp activities independently, something which is nearly impossible for a blind camper with no vision to do. Note that at no time did the Yoetzet (advisor/parent liaison) bother to contact us regarding these issues. Had she asked, we could have given her some simple solutions for speeding up Sol. Also note that while it is standard procedure to include 15 year old students with special needs in discussions of their public school Individualized Educational Program, the camp held all of these discussions about Solomon without including or consulting with Solomon.
The first thing that Solomon told us when we saw him on the first day of our visit was that he wanted to return to camp next year, and that he would do anything and give up anything, including a possible trip to Israel tailored to blind students, for the opportunity to return to camp for his final summer. Our conversations with the director took place at the end of the second day of our visit, while Solomon was on a one night overnight with 8 other campers, who also had not gone on the 5 day overnight. We told the director that he had to tell Solomon why he was being sent home from camp early and why he would not be given the opportunity to return to camp at all the following year.
On the final morning of our visit, we sat in the director’s office as Solomon heard the news from the director. Solomon was brilliant. After saying that he was heartbroken at hearing such totally unexpected news, he saw through the holes in the director’s flimsy explanation of why he needed to go home and asked the same question that Marisa and I had asked the night before: “The camping trip is over – what is happening in the second four weeks that would be difficult for me to participate in?” There was no real answer to that question. The director’s explanation boiled down to a statement that the camp is not willing to devote the resources to continuing to include Solomon fully in the program. During our conversation the previous evening, I had challenged the director’s lack of commitment to inclusion – he kept using the language of “not able to fully accommodate Solomon’s needs,” and I got him to admit that the honest answer was that the camp is no longer willing to fully accommodate Solomon’s needs. Solomon knew immediately that it was a case of “not willing to,” rather than a case of “not able to.”
I should note at this point that the Camp Ramah system, consisting of nine camps, has a special needs program called “Tikvah.” Each camp specializes in a subset of special needs, such as ADHD, Autistic Spectrum Disorders, learning, emotional, and developmental disabilities, neurological impairments, and physical challenges. Solomon, while blind, does not fit into any of these categories. He attends a public college preparatory high school and with minor modifications, completes the regular curriculum.
The major part of my Jewish identity was formed at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin. I loved Camp Ramah, and because of that my children went to Ramah. This director has betrayed the values of the Jewish camp that I love. The Conservative movement is on record supporting accessibility and inclusion in our institutions. Camp Ramah in Canada is now on record stating that if you have a physical disability and need greater support than the “typical” camper, they will not devote the resources to fully include you in their camp program. You might say that this is not true – they devoted the resources to giving Sol a terrific half summer, it’s just that asking them to accommodate him for the full summer is expecting too much. To this, I say ask Solomon if being the only camper asked to leave camp early, not being able to participate in the full overnight or in the second half of the program, not being able to celebrate the final banquet with his friends, is enough. You can guess what the answer is – being half way included is not enough.
After that painful meeting, sitting in the dining hall with Solomon eating breakfast, I watched the campers sing and dance to a contemporary version of a teaching of Rabbi Akiva:
“Love your neighbor as yourself – This is the fundamental principal of Torah.”
If I didn’t laugh, I would have started crying again. The camp can sing and dance all they want about loving one’s neighbor, but until and unless they back up the words with action, Camp Ramah in Canada will be a place that Rabbi Akiva would be ashamed to be associated with.
For the rest of the story, see part two of this post here.
Posted in Accessibility and Inclusion, Ethics - The Embodied Torah of Jewish Behavior
Tagged Accessible, Blind, Camp Ramah in Canada