Cool Jews

I wrote this for Aiming Low a couple years ago. Thanks to my friend Beth for the request. Enjoy!

‘Tis the season for summer camp forms. After filling out two blue books worth of information and medical history on my first grader, and after paying a year’s writer salary (okay five), he will spend three weeks at the same Jewish day camp I attended throughout grade school.

Growing up Jewish in Madison, Wisconsin in the 1980s, temple and summer camp provided the main exposure to my fellow Jews. We saw each other on Tuesdays and Thursdays for Hebrew school, at Sunday School, and on the “shores” of Lake Monona for Red Cross swimming and capture the flag. A couple of us went to the same school, and took turns representing the tribe during Dreidel season, with a tacit understanding among us—Hebrew sounded really weird and we’d rather not ccchhhhuhhh in mixed company. Except Naomi, bless her heart, who played her acoustic guitar in front of the whole school for Fine Arts Week, strumming and baseboard slapping through which 1960’s era Israeli folk song I can’t recall. Choose one from your iPod.

The Jews I grew up with and went to day camp with seemed more like third cousins at the kids’ table than actual friends. We were familiar and nice enough to one another, but only because of our DNA and parental mandate.

Enter overnight camp. The summer after fourth grade I packed my Peanuts sheets and sleeping bag into my trunk (or “footlocker” as my Dad called it from his summer camp days), I put my men’s v-neck undershirt on backwards, paired it with my faux-Ocean-Pacific Hawaiian shorts, squeezed some DippityDo onto my hair feathers, and landed at one of many summer camps run by the Union for Reform Judaism.

I’m the hair curtain, bottom right of the sign

As I hugged my Dad goodbye, I noticed other kids sprinting from their their cars—barely slapping their parents high-five in their fervor to greet one another. They embraced each other with the passion of soldiers returning home from the frontlines. Counselors cheered and chanted without a whiff of embarrassment over congregating in large numbers and singing Hebrew songs at the top of their lungs.

I had just entered the habitat of The Cool Jews.

These Jews! They hailed from exotic places—Evanston and Wilmette, Highland Park and Buffalo Grove, Northbrook and Edina. Some of them spoke Hebrew fluently. They not only knew their Baruch Ata Adonai and didn’t mumble the rest, but also knew the extended directors-cut versions of prayers that went on for so long any network would’ve required two commercial breaks. They added flourishes—harmonies and table claps–even covert jokes!

Not only would camp prove a Hebrew language immersion, but also a Cool Jew Immersion. The Cool Jews told tales of private Jewish Day schools, and public school calendars revolving around the Jewish calendar. So many Jews lived in these enclaves with magical places called Bennigans, The Gap, and Target,  they had to close the public schools on Yom Kippur. Cool Jews wore clothes by the name of ROOTS, and their arms boasted multiple swatch watches. The girls shaved their legs like professionals and threw themed Bat Mitzvahs with hired entertainment and caricature artists. Most notably, MORE THAN ONE CUTE BOY EXISTED AMONG THEM.

I fell in love with these Jews, and longed to be among them by year two. I didn’t know what a Hard Rock Café was, but dammit I’d find my way into one of those t-shirts. I made mental notes—say “amazing” often and with conviction. Get a necklace of my Hebrew name, or at the very least get my hands on one of those fashionable Soviet Refusnik bracelets. The Lance Armstrong cancer “LiveStrong” bracelet equivalent for 1980s Jews, kids wore the names of Soviet Jews refused emigration status on metal bracelets to demonstrate our solidarity and accessorize-ability.

Each summer I emulated The Cool Jews, and along the way I formed a Jewish Identity. At first I formed their Jewish identity. As much as I focused on the aesthetics of these Coolio Jewlios, being immersed in a wholly-Jewish experience for the summer drew out a sense of pride about my otherness I’m not so sure would’ve been cultivated otherwise. Spending the summer where I didn’t feel like an outsider due to my Jewish heritage, and moreover, where being Jewish was celebrated and practiced all day and every day, I slowly became more confident about being Jewish at home and all year round.

My overnight summer camp days vanished when Comedy and Tragedy became my Thespian lovers in college theater. Most of those camp friendships lasted only as long as the fashion trends I so admired and TJMaxx-emulated, but camp with The Cool Jews left me with a strong Jewish identity and pride for my people.

Thank you Cool Jews, I hope my sons walk among you one day. Bring on the camp forms!

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p.s. This post was a BlogHer Voices of The Year honoree in 2011. Next week I will be one of twelve readers in the BlogHer Voices of The Year 2013. If you’re going to BlogHer, I’d love to see you there.