The summer before seventh grade, my dad decided that I needed to do something with my summer that wasn’t sitting on the couch watching TV. He did some research and decided that a Jewish summer camp would be a good way for me to make friends and learn at the same time.
In Los Angeles, summers are hot—it is a desert, after all. He looked at camps in our area, but decided that four weeks in the LA heat was too much, and found a well-known camp in Washington State. For those unfamiliar with the geography of the U.S., Washington State is in the Pacific Northwest, a temperate area full of trees and lakes. That summer, I headed north, filled with trepidation about spending the next three weeks in a different state at a place full of people I didn’t know.
That was my first camp summer of many. I went to camp throughout high school, every summer. I would travel up to Washington before camp, and stay with my friends and their families.
After I aged out of being a camper, I was hired as a staff member, the summer before college, with all of my best friends. Being a staff member was a totally different experience, but we loved it just as much as being campers. Our experiences at camp were so unique, and we shared them together— that type of bond is incredible.
Our camp was religious, and that definitely created an atmosphere that was very special and spiritual. We overlooked a beautiful lake every day, and held hands as we watched spectacular Pacific Northwest sunsets every night.
I’m still very close with all of my camp friends, even those that I haven’t seen in a while. My camp friends are the ones that I call on the phone, just to chat with, who I go on family vacations with, and who cross state lines to visit me. I am so grateful for these people and for the experiences and moments we shared together, and I am even more grateful for the welcoming, loving environment that our summer camp provided us.Â