From Sderot to Szarvas

Until Camp Szarvas I never knew Israeli teens who felt unsafe living in Israel.

Friendster: At Camp Szarvas in Hungary the author, pictured, added to her list of friends in Israel. She met Or and Yossi, two teens who live in Sderot.

by ydney Rae Appelbaum

During the cold winter I vividly recalled sitting on the Malev Air plane this summer, staring out the window pondering what the climate of Hungary was like, or whether or not I’d like the Hungarian delicacy of cottage cheese and paprika. I knew Camp Szarvas was going to be an unbelievable experience that would follow me in my mind and in my heart on every journey I would take in my life.
The Ronald Lauder/American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee’s Camp Szarvas is the most special camp I have ever been to. No, it is not a drama camp or a sports camp; it does not have archery or waterskiing, but it is special in that it takes 200 campers from around the world into

a wonderful haven where everyone becomes friends. Making friends from Croatia, Serbia and Romania was going to be such a different experience in contrast to making friends from Manhattan, New Jersey and Westchester at Camp Ramah. I feel awkward calling Szarvas a camp. It is not purely a camp but it is the context of the past put together, where we acknowledge our history and how generations back our ancestors could have all known each other in their small Eastern European shtetls.
Prior to Camp Szarvas, the 23 American fellows on the program had never met anyone who was Romanian, Croatian, Serbian or Lithuanian. The majority of us had only friends who were from America or Israel so we felt relieved when we were told that there would be Israelis at the camp. With the children from other countries I knew it would be harder to become friendly with them, as I did not know much about their culture and lifestyle. But with Israelis I was confident about socializing with them and talking about Sarit Hadad, Kobi Perez and how I do not think Croc shoes are very flattering. Saying “Shalom” is a lot easier than simply saying “Hoj Vaj” and worrying that we wouldn’t be understood by the Hungarians. It was my fervent ease with the Israelis that did not prepare me for what the Israelis would share.
Our American delegation held daily sessions with the other countries often playing icebreakers or funny games that included amicably poking fun at the other’s background. In one delegation, we were told to draw a picture of a Russian and the Russians had to draw a picture of an American. We drew a man with a curly mustache eating borscht while they drew a fat person eating fast food.
Despite the inane humor and jokes shared at Camp Szarvas, I came away with stories that made me appreciate first period Talmud class more or my hardcover Tanach that the Abraham Joshua Heschel School has given me. In addition, I also appreciated how there are synagogues every few blocks in my neighborhood and two Judaica stores in near proximity, as well.
In the middle of the summer with the camp at full enrollment, Szarvas took in 40 Israeli kids from Sderot. With Kassam rockets constantly reigning over their homes and beloved land, the JDC was able to mobilize hundreds of Israeli teenagers and locate them to the Jewish oasis that is Camp Szarvas. I wondered if Szarvas was hard for these new campers who had family living in their dangerous village while they weren’t there, but my friends from Sderot told me that they felt privileged to be at Camp Szarvas and would like to return next year.
Prior to my Szarvas experience, I hadn’t known what Sderot was or even been informed of it, which now brings me much disgrace to admit. I still wince at my memories of excitedly running up to an Israeli girl and asking if she lived anywhere near my friends in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv to which she meekly replied, “Sort of.” She was from the southern Israeli town of Sderot, making the places I had asked her about seem like havens.
My new Israeli friends, I found out, were from a small village bordering on Gaza. They are constantly under attack and one of my new friends even told me, in broken English, that hiding in a bomb shelter five to six times a day has become almost habitual.
The Israelis, cheerfully running around the camp screaming their patriotic Israel chant, heightened my sense of Jewish connectedness. The JDC, together with the Israel Embassy in Hungary, let their gleaming doors open for the arrival of these wonderful teenagers for the first time, and I was so thankful. I have retold stories my friends from Sderot shared with me and I have bestowed these memorable stories on my friends in New York, who now share an equal devotion in helping residents of Sderot.
My new Israeli friends came to camp just weeks after Sderot came under its fiercest attack since the beginning of the second intifada with more than a 100 rockets falling over the course of several days. Szarvas afforded a respite from the daily danger of trauma and war. They told us they needed to escape the red alert, the siren that signifies a Kassam rocket is about to fall. One of my friends showed me his arm, an injury from a Kassam rocket that is embedded with drastic burn scars that will never heal. Our friend’s eyes filled with tears, our eyes filled with tears as they wonder, how much longer they will need to suffer this reality.
When I think back on my wonderful two-week long experience at Camp Szarvas, I think foremost about my Israeli friends with whom I formed such irreplaceable relationships and my heart aches. Maybe it was my natural affinity for Israelis since I am very Zionistic and for seven summers went to Camp Ramah Berkshires, a camp with a very Zionist atmosphere.
Whenever I am online I look forward to talking to my Sderot friends. We talk in perplexing transliterated Hebrew, but I understand how hard their lives are right now. During one week in January between 150 and 200 rockets were fired in only four days. Prime Minister Ehud Olmert met with Sderot residents. Although he empathized strongly with the terror-stricken victims, he could not promise protection on their houses as he did not want to give false hope to the Sderot residents. Still Olmert promised he would try everything in his authority to protect Sderot. I asked my friend from Sderot what she thought about this and she replied in translation, “I don’t know what to think...I just pray.”
My experience at Szarvas transcends the summer. It set me on a journey that will shape my life-long Jewish Identity. I can still hear hundreds of teens from around the world singing Am Yisrael Chai, the Jewish nation lives. And so has the invincible Jewish ruach (spirit) at Szarvas. There is simply no other place in the world like Szarvas. Still, despite being a protective haven where hundreds of teenagers come together during a brief period to escape anti-Semitism and Kassam rockets, Szarvas does not harbor a fairytale. My experience taught me that it is our obligation as people of the Jewish nation to support Sderot by visiting or sending prayers and educating others who may not know about the crisis. Szarvas is, although seen as a dream, very much a reality. The blast of a Katyusha rocket thousands of miles away from America should still sound as a target for us to remember our help and dedication is needed.
For more information about Camp Szarvas go to szarvas.org.
Sydney Rae Appelbaum is a junior at Abraham Joshua Heschel High School in Manhattan.

Westchester Jewish Conference

Westchester’s Jewish Community Relations Organization