Shabbat Nachamu at Ramah in the Rockies
Rabbi Ayelet Cohen, Dean, The Rabbinical School and Dean, Division of Religious Leadership, JTS
As we drove up the mountainous road to Ramah in the Rockies, leaving urban civilization and cell phone service behind, I felt a sense of relief. While the air was getting thinner, the temptation (and ability) to constantly check the news slipped away. It had been another week of so much agony for the Jewish people and in the world. I, along with many others, had been reeling from the new horrifying footage of hostages and the crisis of starvation in Gaza, fears that an end to the war is further than ever, increased danger for immigrants in the US and assaults on the rule of law.
I arrived at camp as the kids were returning from masa, their intensive, multi-day hiking and camping trips. They were dusty and tired and exhilarated—the healthy exhaustion that comes from exertion and feeling proud of their accomplishments. It was their last Shabbat of the summer at camp. After cleaning up and changing into their white Shabbat clothes, the camp gathered in their beautiful outdoor tefillah spot, looking out onto an open field and the mountains beyond. They sang and danced, squeezing out the last drops of summer joy.
Throughout Shabbat I had the opportunity to daven and learn with campers, counselors and other staff, from around the US and Israel. In a conversation with the oldest kids, I mentioned that in a few days they would have their phones back. I am not sure I have ever seen a group of 16-year-olds recoil at the idea of being back on their phones. They were in no rush to hurry back to the distractions and stresses of their plugged-in lives.
Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, begins the weeks of consolation that lead from the spiritual low point of the Jewish calendar, through the healing necessary to carry us into the New Year. This year Shabbat Nachamu coincided with Tu B’Av, a day associated with love. It felt powerful to be in such a beautiful place on this Shabbat, with the red rocks rising above us, the mountain trees around us and hummingbirds fluttering nearby. The kids raced to ask questions about the parashah, and I wondered how it would be possible for our communities to sustain that level of engagement throughout the year. Their joyful singing has a shadow of wistfulness, as if everyone was trying to store up the feeling of this Shabbat to comfort them through the winter.
On Shabbat afternoon I taught a learning session about how to sustain the energy to work for change in a world of so much hardship. The texts recalled biblical experiences of scarcity, doubt and despair from Hagar to Moses to the rabbis in the wake of the Destruction of the Temple. Campers shared about the social stresses they were anticipating facing when the school year began. Israelis, bracing for their return to sirens and protests in a few short days, shared their grief, anger, and fear, about the current situation. We also shared the texts, stories, and songs that bring us strength in hard times, as well as the people we turn to for support.
Ultimately, community is what makes the summer so magical: the micro-communities of each tent or hiking group or edah. Likewise, community is what helps us when we falter under the weight of our own encroaching despair. The kids had learned how to bear the weight of 30 or 40 pounds of food and supplies as they hiked. Now they would need to help each other bear the weight of the times in which we live, as they prepared to come down the mountain, through the Jewish learning they have cultivated throughout the summer, and the love and connection they have built with one another.
