By Alex G. 

I’ll never forget the first time I heard “Stars in the Sky.” It wasn’t in the middle of the Chadar Ochel (dining hall), buzzing with excitement after the first day of camp. It wasn’t after the final banquet, the melody soaked with melancholy as our voices rose in song together one last time. It was actually before Hebrew school while I was rehearsing for Friday night services with my synagogue youth choir. At the time, I was anxiously awaiting my first summer of overnight camp— not at Harlam but another camp where generations of my family grew up. 

For my temple, “Stars in the Sky” served as a blessing for all the kids embarking on a summer away. I swelled with pride that Friday, standing in front of my congregation, and belting my heart out, probably too loudly, every time the chorus came along. That summer, I felt the magic of camp, of Jewish community, for the first time. “Stars in the Sky” became my symbol of carefree days spent dripping with chlorine and sipping bug juice, of days laughing with friends and reading by flashlight. I hummed it during the year, excitedly anticipating the summer ahead. 

A year later, Camp Harlam visited my synagogue. I already had a camp where I was happy and thriving so I didn’t want a whole spiel from the lady at the table, but she had some pretty cool multi-colored crayons at her table and I wanted one. The woman made me ask a question about camp before she would give me some swag. I rolled my eyes and asked the first thing that popped into my mind. 

“Is there music?” 

I didn’t even listen to her answer; I snatched my multi-colored crayon from the table and zoned out. What did I care about a place I would never go to? 

My third summer at camp brought challenges, and I knew I wanted something different— I just didn’t know what. When my parents suggested I come to Harlam, I agreed. I so wanted the forever friends and community my mom cherished from her days at summer camp. I just needed one more chance. That spring, I sang “Stars in the Sky” with my synagogue mere weeks before I entered the gates for the first time. I started in Arava, a famously awkward year, and I only knew one person at camp. The first few days, I started every sentence with “at my old camp…” before realizing that a) nobody cared and b) I had nothing to prove to my new bunkmates. They quickly became my closest friends. 

Harlam is a place where you are allowed to start late, and take chances, which I did on the third day of camp when I tried out for the camp show. I didn’t have a rehearsed audition song, so I decided to sing my favorite tune from my temple, “Stars in the Sky.” Leaving the Beit, my counselor commented on how nice it was that I chose a camp song for my audition. My feet stopped dead. “Stars in the Sky” wasn’t some tradition special to my synagogue, in fact it didn’t belong to my synagogue at all. It belonged to Camp Harlam, and in that moment I knew I belonged, too. 

I initially wanted to tell this story at my final Shabbat service Chavurah summer. The story of how this beautiful song belonged to me and my camp before we ever met, tying us together like an invisible string. I don’t know why, but it just didn’t feel right at the time. Chavurah felt like an ending, but this story isn’t about endings. It’s about the sweet beginnings that flood our community with hope and gratitude. The sort of beginnings that are unknown and familiar at the same time. The kind I experienced my first summer at camp.

I don’t need to say this was a hard year. Even camp can’t erase that. But we deserve this beautiful service and this beautiful summer. We deserve every bunkmate squabble and lazy morning. We deserve every late night stargazing and nap in the field. We deserve every moment sticky with sweat and bubbling with excitement. We deserve every new experience, new friend and new perspective this place has to offer. We deserve every moment of perfection we can soak up. This Shabbat, this summer feels like the peaceful destination I’ve been waiting for through this long, exhausting journey. But I made it. We made it. And there is no place I’d rather rest. 

Alex G. is a Gesher participant currently working as the drama CIT and is attached to the unit of Arava. This is her fifth summer at camp.