Camp Miriam

Reluctant kids loved camp

Generations of kids have “the best summer of their lives” at camp. (photo from Camp Miriam)

“There’s no way we are going to a Jewish camp,” my kids declared with absolute resolve. Wait. What? Why??? They explained that they knew “enough” Jewish people and plenty of culturally Jewish things, so camp was not necessary. OK, I thought, that’s completely, totally and utterly crazy.

While we’ve been involved at Temple Sholom for years, speak Hebrew at home and celebrate the holidays, my kids are the only Jewish kids in their classes at public school. They are often told they don’t look Jewish, let alone Sephardi. Whatever that means – there’s a huge span between Barbra Streisand and Ofra Haza. They weren’t excited about their identity, but begrudgingly went along with being Jewish. It was the equivalent of cultural, ethnic and faith feet dragging.

My disappointment couldn’t be missed because I literally said, “I’m so disappointed to hear you say that.” I thought guilt might move them – a powerful tool of every Jewish mother. They apologized. Yes. I was moving the needle. And then, they immediately asked me if they could go to a Christian horse camp. Nope. I failed, while concurrently being mortified. To be clear, I wasn’t horrified of considering a different faith camp, but because they are wildly allergic to horses. Who wants to be the parent that gets a phone call that their kids can’t handle equines? Not me. Too embarrassing.

Moreover, it was a complete reversal of my experience. I begged my parents to send me to a Jewish camp. I started going from the age of 10, eventually visiting Israel and managing to get a coveted staff position. My camp time was the most incredible and defining experience of my youth. I wished, hoped and prayed for my kids to have the same experience. They had shut down the idea, but before I wrote them off as blasphemers, I decided to let it sit and cook in their minds like a delicious shakshuka.

photo - kids in the pool at Camp Miriam — *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

For a couple of months, they pondered a tough year of COVID-19 shutting down so much of life – and the idea of being away for several weeks with a lot of independence became very appealing. They finally agreed to “let me send them” to Camp Miriam, which was very similar to the camp I went to back east. They diligently packed, were welcomed by friends at registration, got on the bus and did not look back. I got two postcards. The first informed me that they hadn’t been eaten by wild island dogs, and the second told me they were having the best summer of their lives.

The kids came back transformed both physically and figuratively. They both grew half a foot, and something in their psyche profoundly shifted. They loved, I do mean loved, all things Jewish because of Camp Miriam. They had a magical summer that every parent wishes their kid to have. A tight group of friends, a deep respect for their beloved staff and a passion for the programming. Frankly, they wouldn’t zip it about how much they adored Camp Miriam.

They bragged about doing avodah (work), one choosing garbage duty and the other cleaning the sherutim (bathrooms). Umm … what happened? I couldn’t get them to make their beds at home, and they were doing legitimate work at camp? It struck me. Camp Miriam had instilled a profound sense of pride. For weeks, and I do mean weeks, they would prompt a conversation with, “At Camp Miriam….” Some of their most profound moments were having Shabbat at the Point, feeling a deep connection of chevra (community) and telling me they felt understood for the first time. They didn’t have to explain themselves, and that was mind-blowing.

photo - two people playing guitars at Camp Miriam — *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

Going to Camp Miriam coalesced for my kids a sense of identity; they felt seen and heard, so could go deep into what this meant. We were able to have a shared generational experience, which was pretty awesome, considering my kids think electricity was barely invented when I was a kid. I corrected them and explained that the cutting-edge technology of faxing existed when I was a child.

Last week, I overheard them at Sunday Temple Sholom school bragging that Camp Miriam was the best camp ever. And there it is. My kids not only needed Jewish camp, but they also desperately wanted to be there. I feel utterly indebted to Camp Miriam for giving my kids such a brilliant and rich Jewish experience and, although I couldn’t say it to their faces, I was satisfied thinking, “Yes! In your faces. You suck. I was soooooo right about everything, and you were so unequivocally wrong.” Also, now I can breathe easy, knowing they can’t wait to go back to Camp Miriam and build a lifetime of memories and friendships.

– Courtesy Camp Miriam

Getting back into traditions

Camp Miriam adapted during the pandemic, but nothing quite compares to being back in the old stomping grounds of Gabriola Island. (photo from Camp Miriam)

Camp Miriam is a place that holds fast to tradition. This tendency is obvious if you just look around: tables in the chadar (dining hall) are signed and dated by the former chanichimot (campers) who painted them, with the oldest table proudly displaying an impressive “1997.” Besides the tables, Camp Miriam has been running educational and Labour Zionist-oriented programming since it opened in 1948. Camp Miriam has a solid foundation of tradition and is not a place accustomed to rapid or unexpected change.

If Camp Miriam is so deeply rooted in tradition, how, then, to return to its customs after they were so rapidly and unexpectedly interrupted during the past couple of years? With 2022 constituting the first year that Camp Miriam could offer campers a full-capacity summer on Gabriola Island since 2019, there were many traditions to get back to. I, for one, had started to forget what it feels like when all of camp holds hands on Saturday nights during Havdalah. I was also having a hard time recalling the early morning energy that fills machaneh (camp) at 8 a.m., when around 200 chanichimot and tzevet (staff) are just waking up, eager to meet the day.

Of course, I did get around to remembering both the longstanding customs and everyday activities that take place at camp. But I didn’t do it alone. This summer, I worked as a madatz madrichol (counselor-in-training counselor), one of four madatz madrichimot, meaning I spent a lot of time with youth aged 16 to 17. As future leaders of Camp Miriam, the madatz were grateful to have the chance to take part in the leadership development program, especially after having lost valuable experiences to the pandemic. Throughout the summer, I watched them grow, face challenges and become people who will be important guides in the lives of Camp Miriam campers for years to come. I was impressed and humbled by all they accomplished, and it is largely through them that I was able to remember what it means to be at Camp Miriam.

So what does it mean? Camp offers lots of opportunity for personal development and growth and, at the same time, it provides a nearly criminal amount of fun, both for chanichimot and tzevet. There is avodah (labour) and a chance to take care of their summer “home,” and there are chuggim (interest groups), where kids chose an activity that interests them, like pretending to be Vikings, or swimming or making friendship bracelets. We all explored Gabriola and Vancouver Islands on tiyul (out trips), shared Shabbatot together, and contributed to meaningful conversations in daily educational programming blocks, during which we covered topics from consumerist culture to antisemitism.

While Camp Miriam adapted during the pandemic, nothing quite compares to being back in the old stomping grounds of Gabriola Island. Sure, maybe madrichimot had to explain basic elements of camp to kids more times than usual, but the synapses of the Camp Miriam community were firing and, together, we remembered. It is not a far cry to consider the summer of 2022 as a triumph – both in recovering the institutional memory of Camp Miriam, and in providing campers with meaningful summers. I, for one, know that more than one madatz went home with stories they’ll be telling to their own children.

Reflecting back on the summer, I can’t help but feel a certain amount of pride. There is pride in remembering, and it is thanks to this recovered memory that Camp Miriam will continue to grow.

Emma Paidra has been a chanichol (camper) at Camp Miriam since 2009 and she is a fifth-year madrichol (counselor).

Back to the magic – Camp Miriam

Earlier this summer, I gave each of my Tzofimot (Grade 8 campers) metal kitchen tongs and told them that we were crabs. Then we all ran around the camp click-clacking our tong pincers and yelling “Crabs!” at the top of our lungs, to the amusement and confusion of everyone we encountered. Next, we headed to the pool for a nighttime crab swim. As we swam around our little “ocean,” I realized how wonderful it felt to be silly again, and it was clear my campers felt the same way.

In 2020, Camp Miriam pivoted and managed to run a day camp despite COVID. In 2021, we were able to return to Gabriola Island for a short time and spend three amazing weeks there. But this year was the first normal summer any of us – staff and campers alike – had had in three years.

It turned out that the thing we needed most was permission to be silly again; a release from the heaviness that these recent years have been. As crazy as it sounds, the simple joy of pretending to be a crab and, for a moment, not caring about anything else, was the perfect antidote to the fear and masks and insulation of the pandemic.

This summer was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, a phrase which, if I’m honest, I say basically every summer after camp ends. But the additional element of this summer was getting to help my campers – and me – remember and re-learn that silliness is a vital part of life. Sitting and talking with them was meaningful and special, running cool educational programming for them was exciting and interesting, but the most special parts of the summer were the times where all of us let go of our inhibitions and were just goofy. Being crabs, singing “Solidarity Forever” at the top of our lungs from our kayaks, or creating synchronized swimming routines in the pool, it all just felt so freeing.

Being a camp counselor is the hardest thing I have ever done. It requires late nights, constant emotional presence and endless amounts of energy and enthusiasm. The reward is that I get to hang out with incredible campers while we splash around in the pool, cheering and giggling and pretending – and that makes it all worthwhile.

It’s possible that I’m reading too much into a fun activity we ran for our kids. Maybe Crab Night wasn’t as profound as I’m making it out to be, but, for me, it epitomized the magic of this first full summer at Camp Miriam since the pandemic started. Small moments of silliness were what made it feel like a regular summer again. It felt like we had truly returned to camp’s essence: a space to be ourselves, to have fun and to connect with people who care about one another.

Shani Avrahami Saraf is a third-year student at the University of British Columbia and this was her 12th summer at Camp Miriam and her fourth summer as a camp counselor.

There’s no place like Miriam

Judah Altman, left, Daniel Fine and Marina Levy all packed up for the bus. (photo from Camp Miriam)

Returning to Camp Miriam every summer is like going home. The kids shouting and laughing for joy, the bright smiles of the counselors, beautiful Gabriola Island – there’s no other place like Camp Miriam.

My first summer at Miriam was 2013. I’ve returned every summer since, more in love with the place and the people each time. I’ve grown up at Camp Miriam. I’ve grown up with the people; they are some of my best friends. I’ve grown up as a person; I’m always learning about myself and the world in ever-changing new ways. Most importantly, I’ve grown up at Camp Miriam having fun – summers at camp are what I look the most forward to most and I never want them to end.

photo - Left to right are “Visionaries” Daniel Fine, Marina Levy, Judah Altman, Mira Macnair, Kieran Macnair and Mica Hastings — Left to right are “Visionaries” Daniel Fine, Marina Levy, Judah Altman, Mira Macnair, Kieran Macnair and Mica Hastings. *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

I’ve been a camper, a junior counselor, a counselor and, last summer, a counselor for the leadership training program. Last summer was my favourite summer yet, and I can’t wait for this coming summer. To me, Camp Miriam has always been special for two reasons: the first is the activities, and the second is the people.

This summer, as chinuch (educational director) on our youth-led executive team, or mazkirut, I will be in charge of activities for the entire camp. I could not be more excited. One of the main reasons I continue to return to Camp Miriam is the unique options it provides for campers. There are the classic undertakings – like swimming, soccer, art and music. But then there are the programs that few other summer camps have, such as special days where all camp activities run around a surprise theme, ocean swimming as the sun sets, Jewish learning, and a focus on social justice.

I’m also looking forward to seeing the new and returning campers bond with their cohorts and with their counselors. I know firsthand that Miriam friendships last forever. The people I’ve met at camp will undoubtedly remain my friends for the rest of my life. These are the deepest connections I have.

photo - Judah Altman with friends Meital Smith, left, and Rakeea Chesick Gordis — Judah Altman with friends Meital Smith, left, and Rakeea Chesick Gordis. *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

After two years of COVID, these connections couldn’t be more important: for counselors like me, and especially for kids. Camp Miriam empowers youth and provides a space for kids to be themselves and to continue to discover who they are. It is a place to make new friends and reaffirm old ones. It is a place to talk for hours on end about all manner of issues, and to play and be silly without fear of judgment. It is a place to learn what true friendship means.

I am excited for the summer because, once again, I will get to meet new campers and counselors and help create the community that is the essence of Camp Miriam. I also can’t wait to see all the familiar faces. I can’t wait to run memorable programming for the kids that will be fun, while also empowering them to grow as people. Camp Miriam is the most important place in the world to me – I feel so fortunate that my parents have given me the opportunity to return summer after summer.

Judah Altman is a student at Columbia University, studying philosophy and sociology. He will be chinuch, or director of education, at Camp Miriam this summer.

COVID-free camp summers

Camp Miriam offered both day and overnight camping experiences this past summer. (photo from Camp Miriam)

Camp Miriam is celebrating that, for the past two summers, its youth leadership has pulled out all the stops to provide programming for hundreds of campers despite the challenges of the pandemic.

“Coming into June of this year, we were all set to hold Kaytana [day camp] again in Vancouver and Victoria because at that time the provincial health restrictions did not allow overnight camp,” said Leah Levi, the camp’s registrar. “Then, in early June, the health orders changed and we learned that there was the potential to go back to our site on Gabriola Island.”

At that point, the camp – and especially its youth leaders who are responsible for everything from programming to logistics – had a decision to make. Would they continue with the plan they had been working on for months and hold six weeks of day camp, or would they try to quickly pivot and add overnight camp to the program?

“Honestly, if it had been up to the adults on the camp committee, I think we would have stuck with our original plan. The logistics of organizing overnight camp on Gabriola, with only a few weeks’ notice and at a campsite that had been empty for over a year was really overwhelming,” said committee chair Trilby Smith. “Camp needed to be cleaned from top to bottom, there were ferries to book, cooks, medics and lifeguards to hire, food to order and so, so many more details.”

But the young leaders knew that, as great as day camp is, overnight camp was what their campers needed after 18 months of pandemic living. However, they didn’t want to disappoint parents who had already planned for day camp. In the end, they voted to host two weeks of day camp in both Vancouver and Victoria – and three weeks of overnight camp on Gabriola.

The camp committee and many Miriam alumni supported the decision and volunteered hundreds of hours to help get the campsite in shape and assist in all kinds of other ways. In addition, Miriam’s donor community also rushed to help support Jewish camping in 2021.

In the end, 271 kids and 70 youth staff got to experience a COVID-free 73rd summer of “Miriam magic,” in a summer when the magic was needed possibly more than ever.

The effects of the pandemic on youth mental health have been well documented. The Canadian Mental Health Association notes, “Social isolation, removal from school and daily routines, as well as isolation and loss associated with illness are some of the top stressors children are facing.”

This fact was not lost on Miriam’s youth leaders, who reported that both campers and staff arrived at camp this past summer with greater mental health challenges than they had seen in previous years. However, they also saw that, after just 10 days of unplugged, in-person experiences in an inclusive environment, there was a noticeable change for the better in the mood of many campers.

“It was like someone released a pressure valve,” said camp director Marina Levy. “As the campers made friends, processed events going on in the world through our educational programming, and got to just be kids without the constant distraction from their phones and screens, we saw many of them settle and become less anxious.”

Parents noticed a change in their kids, too. One parent who responded to Miriam’s post-summer survey said, “My kid was soooooo excited that there was a sleepover camp this year. It felt like an oasis of near normality in an otherwise dystopian year. She came back so much more relaxed, with strong connections to the kids in their kvutzah [group].”

According to Project L’Chaim’s fall edition of Self-Care for Caregivers, it’s not surprising that camp would provide a balm to its campers and staff. Many of the suggestions offered by mental health experts in the booklet are embedded into Camp Miriam’s programming. For example, Miriam campers are immersed in nature and enjoy daily “forest showers” under the fir and cedar trees on the Gabriola site. They also receive a healthy dose of spirituality and mindfulness, especially through Shabbat and Havdalah traditions.

Finally, the experts say that feeling like you’re a part of something larger than yourself and forming meaningful social connections are keys to good mental health. Above all else, Camp Miriam prides itself on its focus on inclusion, community and tikkun olam – all of which contribute to many campers reporting that they have made lifelong friends at camp and that they feel more comfortable being themselves at Miriam than they do anywhere else in their lives.

Levy knows the respite of camp will not solve all the pandemic-related mental health challenges facing youth, but she believes it’s a start. “And, hopefully, next summer will be even more normal,” she said.

Apparently, many families are hoping the same. Miriam’s registration, which just opened last month, is already almost full. Anyone hoping to register their children for Camp Miriam’s 2022 session can get more details at campmiriam.org. To learn more about Miriam’s 2021 summer, the camp’s newly released annual report is also available on the website.

Vancouver-based writer Kelley Korbin is a Camp Miriam alum and Camp Committee member.

The magic behind kaytana

While Camp Miriam won’t be able to offer overnight camping sessions, it will once again be offering day camp experiences this summer. (photo from Camp Miriam)

I will never forget waking up in a puddle in the middle of the night, feeling water slowly dripping into my sleeping bag as I shivered and clenched my muscles, trying to maintain the tiniest shred of heat.

It was 2011, I was 14, and my kvutza (cabin group) was on a three-day hike that would take us through steep inclines and 30 kilometres of terrain. It poured every day and night, leaving us without a dry item of clothing by the first morning. We were wet, cold, blistered and exhausted. It was a miserable trip.

And we loved it.

On the final day, we emerged from the forest chanting a marching song and smiling with glee at what we had accomplished. To this day, I reminisce about this trip with that same giddy excitement.

And yet, I’ve always wondered, what allowed us to not only persevere, but to create a lifelong positive memory. Anyone who has spent time at Machaneh Miriam – the overnight Jewish summer camp on Gabriola Island – can attest to the magic each new summer conjures. The thing about magic is that we may not know how it works, but we know what it does. It’s what drove us forward, step by step through the mud with smiles and songs that summer. Everywhere you go at Miriam, you can feel the magic – from the building walls decorated with generations of camper art and poetry, to the dining hall filled with chanting and singing voices every lunch.

It’s the same magic that, last summer, propelled Miriam’s youth leadership to accomplish the seemingly impossible.

When the pandemic hit, these young leaders were several months into planning a six-week overnight summer camp on Gabriola. Not only did the pandemic erase months of hard work and preparation, it also posed a serious question: could camp’s magic exist outside of the island?

To most campers and staff, Miriam and Gabriola are inseparable. As the rosh (camp director), Marina Levy, said, “At Camp Miriam, we are connected to our community, to Gabriola and to our traditions.”

Envisioning a summer away from Gabriola was a daunting task. But, the tzevet (staff) rose to the occasion, creating not one, but three kaytanot (day camps) – one each in Vancouver, Victoria and Portland. By summer’s end, more than 200 campers, 60 staff and a whole bunch of parents resoundingly affirmed that camp’s magic can exist off of Gabriola.

To understand the importance of the kaytana, it is necessary to consider the context. At a time when campers had been confined to their homes and separated from their friends for months, the news that overnight camp was not happening came as a severe blow.

The immediate effect of the pandemic on kids’ mental health was profound. Research by SickKids hospital in Toronto showed that, in just the first three months of the lockdown, a majority of children showed a serious deterioration in their mental health.

According to Camp Miriam parents, the kaytana helped their kids overcome some of that stress. One parent said, “Last June, our daughter was really struggling with the impact of COVID on her life, it was significant. Camp Miriam’s summer camp in Vancouver brought her back to herself again. A combination of the social component, the programming and empowerment she felt, and the sense of purpose in her life helped her rediscover herself and revive herself.”

Another parent observed a change in her son after just one day. “I almost cried hearing him talk about it,” she said. “I think it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say it was a transformative experience.”

Counselor Rakeea Gordis said that, during the weekly Shabbat tradition where campers sit together and reflect on their week, “At least one, but usually up to five kids would say that they were devastated that today, Friday, was the last day of the kaytana for the week.”

So, how did the staff manifest the magic of overnight camp in day camps far from the quiet comfort of Gabriola? A huge amount of credit goes to the youth leadership who worked long days and then late into the night throughout the summer creating kishutim (decorations) for special days, planning peulot (educational activities) and even burying items for a treasure hunt the following day.

Financially, none of this would have been possible without the support of the camp’s community and the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, who stepped up at a time of extreme need, as well as the Grinspoon Foundation and the Heller Memorial Fund, who provided matching grants. It cost nearly three times as much to run the kaytana as to run the overnight camp.

So, perhaps, camp’s magic is not a complete mystery after all. As technical director Inbar Avrahami Saraf said, “[The kaytana] was an experiment, a proof of concept of the magic of machaneh, and how the magic is not in the physical space but in the chanichm [campers] and the tzevet and just the community that makes it so incredible.”

So, credit must be given to the force of will that the youth leaders and the wider Jewish community bring – the relentless push to build and dream; to create community and unforgettable experiences, whether they be on Gabriola Island, on a three-day hike in the pouring rain or in the midst of a pandemic.

“The magic of machaneh doesn’t just exist far away on an island, it exists where we choose to create it,” said Levy.

Unfortunately, once again Camp Miriam has had to cancel its overnight camp due to COVID-19, but, once again, the young staff are ready to create amazing kaytana experiences. To register for Miriam’s 2021 summer programs or to support the camp as it faces another challenging season, go to campmiriam.org.

Sasa Popovich is a writer and former Camp Miriam camper, counselor and technical director.

Camps plan tentatively

Normally, this issue of the Independent would feature our third Camp Guide of the season, with several camps advertising their summer sessions, and several articles on various topics related to Jewish camp. But COVID-19 seriously affected last summer’s programming and it’s making this year’s planning difficult, to say the least. Camp Hatikvah and Camp Miriam – which are overnight camps – have been particularly impacted by the pandemic.

With record camper enrolment, 2020 was slated to be Camp Hatikvah’s best year ever. By the third week of March, however, it became apparent that the summer wasn’t going to go as planned. By the end of May, the Provincial Health Officer had announced that overnight camps would be prohibited from operating and Camp Hatikvah had to cancel its upcoming season.

“It was devastating,” said Liza Rozen-Delman, the camp’s director. “My heart immediately broke for the 700 participants and 80 young counselors who were signed up for our programming. After such a hard few months in lockdown, I knew everyone was hanging on to the hope that they would still get to go to camp. The fact that this was no longer a possibility was so hard for everyone. I just wanted to fix this for kids but was helpless to do so. It was a very difficult time.”

The cancellation also created a financial crisis, as there was no program revenue to cover fixed costs, such as insurance fees, site maintenance and administrative expenses. Camp Miriam faced financial issues as well, and the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver provided emergency funding to both camps last April.

“Our community made it clear that we would not face this challenge alone,” said Joanna Wasel, Camp Hatikvah board president. “They knew we were in trouble and they immediately felt the call to action.” By the first week of June, Hatikvah had raised enough money to cover all of their 2020 fixed operational expenses.

“This was one of the hardest years in the camp’s history and yet, in a strange way, it was also one of our most meaningful,” said Wasel. “The way the community stepped up for us is an incredible affirmation of the value of our work and the impact Camp Hatikvah has had on generations of people. It has touched us beyond words and we will be forever grateful.”

“Last spring, as the reality of the pandemic hit, it was as if the rug had been pulled out from under us,” said Leah Levi, registrar of Camp Miriam. “We were scrambling to figure out how to provide what we do each summer on Gabriola Island – the fun, magic, community, friendship and Jewish experiences that our campers have come to expect from us. It was very overwhelming and we were sort of lost, until our youth staff stepped up and started planning for what was possible: day camps in Vancouver, Victoria and Portland, and even online programming for those who couldn’t attend the day camps. We rented space with the JCC’s Camp Shalom at Vancouver Talmud Torah, and in Victoria at the JCC. Donors and the Vancouver Jewish Federation backed our plans with financial support and, as they say, the rest is history!”

The camp’s staff, who are all between the ages of 17 and 22, got “to spend the summer being mentors and learning valuable leadership skills,” said Levi. “Parents and kids were grateful that we gave them a break from each other and a fun, unplugged, Jewish, social experience during COVID. For over 200 campers, COVID-19 took a backseat for six-and-a-half hours a day, and they were able to enjoy a physically distanced ‘normal.’ Even though they weren’t on Gabriola Island, campers and staff alike felt that they were at Miriam. As one camper put it, ‘We learned that Camp Miriam is not a place, it’s a feeling and we can take it anywhere.’”

For this coming summer, Camp Miriam has opened registration for three two-week sessions on Gabriola.

“All registrations are considered ‘pre-registrations’ and everyone is on a waitlist,” said Levi. “We will only accept campers when we have permission from the B.C. health authority, as their decision made last spring to not allow overnight camp still stands…. If we do not get permission to open … we will offer similar programming as last summer.”

Hatikvah translates to “the hope” in English and, while COVID is still raging, Camp Hatikvah remains hopeful they will be able to operate this summer, too.

“We are full for the upcoming season,” Rozen-Delman said. “Kids need camp, perhaps now more than ever, and we are going to do whatever we can to get them back there this summer.”

Acknowledging that much of the situation is out of their hands, Rozen-Delman is planning for a variety of scenarios. “And, while it is hard to face so many unknowns,” she said, “we are determined to find creative solutions to whatever challenges lay ahead.”

Artistic responses

Gabriolans held a candlelight vigil after antisemitic graffiti was found at Camp Miriam. An arts festival will take place Feb. 7-9. (photo from You’ve Got a Friend)

Since Camp Miriam on Gabriola Island was defaced with antisemitic graffiti in December, Gabriolans have shown support for the Jewish community, including a candlelight vigil on Jan. 2. Next month, island artists, musicians and writers will gather together to present You’ve Got a Friend: A Festival of Jewish and Gabriolish Art, Words and Music. The Feb. 7-9 festival will feature Jewish-themed visual art, music and writing, all created by residents of Gabriola, among them Juno nominees and literary prizewinners.

“When people heard about the vandalism at Camp Miriam,” said Sima Elizabeth Shefrin, one of the festival’s organizers, “many said, ‘What can I do to help? How can I show my support?’ The festival is a chance to celebrate our friendship and solidarity with each other and to move things on in a positive way. We took the title, You’ve Got a Friend, from Carole King’s old song.”

The festival program includes visual art by Shefrin, Heather Cameron and others at the Gabriola Arts and Heritage Centre. The opening reception will take place Feb. 7, 6-9 p.m., and the gallery will be open Feb. 8, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., and Feb. 9, 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.

The concert Oy! will feature Bob Bossin, Paul Gellman, Dinah D, the Today Only Klezmer Band and others. It will take place Feb. 8, 7:30 p.m., at the Roxy Lounge and Cultural Club, with tickets available at North Road Sports. Admission is a suggested donation of $15.

Earlier on the Saturday, at 3 p.m., Amy Block will lead a celebration for Tu b’Shevat, the Jewish new year of the trees, at the arts and heritage centre.

Finally, Nu? – poetry and memoir by Janet Vickers, Naomi Wakan, Lisa Webster, Shayna Lindfield, Gloria Levi, Lawrence Feuchtwanger, George Szanto and Bossin – will be held at the arts and heritage centre Feb. 9, 1-3 p.m.

You’ve Got a Friend is supported by Camp Miriam, the Gabriola Arts Council and Anne Landry. For more information, contact Cameron at [email protected].

Mystery photo … July 20/18

Camp Miriam, 1979. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.09623)

If you know someone in this photo, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.

An evolving experience

Madrichim at Camp Miriam palling around in summer 1990. The author is in front. (photo from Mira Sucharov)

On a little corner of Gabriola Island lies an enclave of old-style Jewish utopianism. Modeled after a kibbutz, campers (chanichim) and counselors (madrichim) talk about heady topics like radical justice, equal worth, unionization, socialism and Labor Zionism.

They learn Hebrew, engage in physical labor and debate topics like whether O Canada adequately addresses the reality of First Nations, the fate of the Palestinians, and how to make a radically inclusive society within Israel. It’s Camp Miriam, part of the network of Habonim-Dror camps across North America. Among the founders of the camp was my grandmother, Marian Margolis, and I spent one memorable summer there as a counselor in 1990.

A lot has changed in Israel – and especially across the kibbutz movement – over the decades. I spoke to the current rosh (director), 22-year-old Leor Laniado, a student at the University of British Columbia majoring in environmental and sustainable geography.

The camp instils in its campers the value of “shivyon erech ha’adam,” a principle that every human being is of equal worth. It’s heady stuff for 10-year-olds who don’t measure themselves in terms of professional status anyway, but the idea is there. Alongside the usual fare of swimming, sports and crafts, campers choose a daily work branch where each task is valued. Fittingly, bathroom-cleaning detail has become one of the most popular options, Laniado tells me.

Campers also have a long tradition of running a kupah (common fund). An initial donation of pocket money is placed into a pot where campers decide how to spend it. Maybe the kids want to pool the funds for a party, maybe a portion will be donated to charity, maybe one camper needs a new toothbrush and applies to the treasurer – who is, of course, a fellow camper.

Rachel Fishman logged eight years as a camper before joining the staff. She values how much she sees Camp Miriam embodying the ideals of youth empowerment. Within limits, she points out, “youth are given space to make their own society.”

Trilby Smith spent 13 summers at Camp Miriam and is currently vice-chair of the camp committee. She sends both her kids to Miriam so “they can develop a sense of community defined by their peers, so that they can be in an environment that is open to questioning and thinking critically about Israel and what it means to be Jewish, and so that they can learn to be leaders.” And, she added, “So that they can have fun!”

Socialism isn’t the only tricky concept permeating the walls of the dining hall. (Yes, campers even do the dishes.) So, too, is Zionism. “I think that Jews in the Diaspora are facing a crisis of how to support Israel. A lot of madrichim struggle with this internally, especially studying in liberal universities,” Laniado said. It’s about “simultaneous love and criticism” at Miriam. “Recognizing that we’ve created a vibrant Israeli society, there’s a lot of work that remains to be done,” she said.

In Israel, Habonim-Dror partners with Hanoar Haoved on projects such as teaching English in Arab high schools. Called the Shared Existence project, it seeks “a joint liberation of both Israelis and Palestinians, striving towards a diverse and vibrant Israeli commonwealth,” in Laniado’s words.

Struggling with Israeli-Palestinian relations and with Zionism is a common refrain these days, but what Camp Miriam – and Habonim in general – manages to do is offer a way for youth to grapple with these issues head-on rather than abdicate altogether. Abdication – or what sociologists have been calling a “distancing” from Israel and Jewish life – is one of the biggest challenges.

These days, the radical secularism that I recall from the summer of 1990 has been replaced by an inching towards Judaism. While they still forego the Hamotzi in favor of a Labor Zionist chant, campers are now more likely to hear about Jewish values, embrace Jewish texts or be treated to a discussion by the rosh on the weekly Torah portion.

While the simple porridge my Baba Marian made for the campers in the 1950s when she was the first “camp mother” has been supplemented by scrambled eggs, fruit salad, yogurt and granola, along with gluten-free and dairy-free options, Zionism is wrestled with rather than taken for granted as a simple solution to the ills of antisemitism, and a commitment to Hebrew is now paired with a desire to “engage with Arabic language and culture.” The big values – leadership, debate, a commitment to Israel, Jewish identity, justice, labor and inclusiveness – remain.

For more information on Camp Miriam, visit campmiriam.org.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She is a columnist for Canadian Jewish News and contributes to Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward, among other publications.