You can take the camper out of the camp… [Israel]

When I think of summer, I think of home. Not in the spiritual sense of Israel, or even the flesh and blood sense of Toronto. The home I think of is a summer home, and no, that is not as spoiled as it sounds. The home in my head involves 18 cabins, 4 migrashim (fields), 1 chadar ochel and lots of (mostly) green grass.

For those of you who still haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about camp. Camp Moshava Ennismore, to be exact. The same camp at which I have spent 8 summers, and the camp that I will be – of course – returning to this summer.

Now, I’m sure most of you are a little confused about my timing. After all, it’s mid winter. And while it may still be stunning I-don’t-even-need-a-coat weather in the holy land, it’s freezing for the rest of you. (Yes, that thought makes me happy.) The truth is, I’ve always been a little overzealous when it comes to my punctuality. Some call it insanity. I call it genius. However, my crazy need to be on time isn’t to blame. This is the time I have to start applying to camp, and this also happens to be the time of my camp’s 50th Anniversay Gala. It took place in Toronto, and marked the first time all year I cried because I was in Israel instead of home.

Some of you are probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. After all, it’s just camp. But those of you who have been to summer camp understand exactly what I’m talking about. For those of you in the first group, let me explain: I am who I am because of camp. And yes, that may sound ridiculously melodramatic and over the top – both things of which I am accused on a regular basis – but it’s also true. Camp was where I learned how to fold my clothes, ration my food, and make soup. (True story: The summer that I was 11, one of the girls in my bunk accidently left her soup open over a couple of days. By the 3rd night, it had started to glow in the dark. I haven’t eaten one since.) Camp was where I had my first crush, my first kind-of real boyfriend, and my first very real heartbreak. For those of you who are curious about those things, it took me a grand total of 1 pint of ice cream, 3 viewings of Mean Girls and 4 weeks to get over. Camp was where I realized that I’m capable of more than I think. That there’s more to me than just school and books, if I let there be. Camp is what made me brave. Camp is what made me happy. Camp is what made me.

This may seem like a bit much. If you’re rolling your eyes and trying to stifle your yawn, I understand. But know that I mean this completely and utterly. I’m 18 now. It is very possible – probable even – that this coming summer will be my last. I’m not concerned. No matter where I go or what I find, I know that while I may leave camp, camp will never leave me.

Arielle Wasserman is currently studying at Midreshet Lindenbaum, one of Masa Israel’s 200 programs.