Jewish summer camps are a safe space — but does that really mean they shouldn’t approach conversations about Israel with nuance? Photo by Alisha Jucevic/Bloomberg/Getty Images

Editor’s note: We have taken the unusual step of publishing this under the byline “Anonymous” to protect the author’s child from potential repercussions.

To the American Jewish Summer camp my child will attend this summer:

We are so excited that our daughter is once more going to be attending camp this summer, the same camp my spouse and I attended as children. To have her learn and grow in a place that was so formative to us is very special. 

Before we signed her up for her first session last summer, we had a lot of conversations. We talked about whether she was ready to be away from home —to wash her own hair, to put on her own sunscreen. We talked about if she was ready to advocate for herself and ask for help if she needed it. By the time we dropped her off in August, we felt confident that the answer to all of those questions was “yes.” 

Before we signed her up, we also talked a lot about Israel. 

We are bringing our children up to know that there is rich Jewish history and culture in the land that is now the state of Israel, and that there are other people who also see the land as one that is theirs, rich in Palestinian history and culture. Our Jewish family values lead us to believe that the only sustainable and peaceful future is one in which that special, slim slice of land is shared with all those who call it home, with no group having more rights or power than another. 

Before sending our daughter to camp, we talked about whether or not she and the worldview with which we have raised her would be welcomed. We worried that she would hear messages we believed to be harmful and one-sided. 

As former campers and staff members, we learned at camp that Israel was quintessential to Jewish identity and peoplehood; that it was a safe haven for Jews and the ultimate place to experience Jewish history, language and culture. We learned that it was a place of delicious food and fun dancing.

We never learned, until after our time at camp, that in the process of creating the state of Israel, Jews killed many thousands of Palestinians and displaced at least 700,000 from their homes. 

We never learned that while Jews fly flags and sing HaTikvah on Yom HaAtzmaut — Israel’s independence day — millions of Palestinians mourn the day as a tragedy in their people’s history. 

We never learned that since the founding of Israel, the nation has created and sustained oppressive and untenable conditions for Palestinians; both for Palestinian citizens of Israel who face systemic discrimination, and for Palestinians living in the West Bank and Gaza whose prospects for living out their dreams are limited in ways we can barely begin to fathom. 

As we learned these things, our relationship with Israel dramatically changed. We began to see deep value in the history and culture of diasporic Judaism. We found beauty in the ways Judaism mixes with local cultures both here in the United States and around the world. We built relationships with other Jews who did not see Israel as central to their Judaism or their peoplehood. We dug deep into our Jewish values of caring for all of humanity as if they are our family, and fighting for all members of our global family to have the types of thriving lives we wanted for ourselves. 

Our children have joined us in our unlearning and learning. With our son, who is 4 years old, we read picture books with Muslim and Jewish protagonists, learning about how much we have in common. We read stories by Israeli and Palestinian authors about family, community and holidays. 

With our daughter, who is now almost 9, we’ve read novels with Jewish protagonists who battle antisemitism in their school; with Palestinian protagonists who face violence at the hands of the Israeli military; and with Arab protagonists who immigrate to the United States and face distrust and discrimination. When we signed her up to attend a camp that we felt had given us an incomplete understanding of Israel’s history and contemporary role in the world, we did so trusting that we had instilled in her a strong enough sense of self to express her beliefs and navigate difficult conversations.

This year, we wonder if the horrors of and since the Oct. 7 attacks might shift the ways that camp approaches talking about Israel. It seems that this period of intense grief and pain could drive camp’s leaders and educators to bring new nuance and complexity to the curriculum, emphasizing a sense of shared humanity, and acknowledging that Jewish and Palestinian freedom are intertwined. 

So far, we don’t have much reason for hope.

We have yet to see any messages urging coexistence coming from camp. We wish that we saw any recognition of the humanity of Palestinians, and the inexcusable extent of their suffering at the hands of the Israeli government and military. We wish that we saw any real push for peace, which will inevitably have to include serious sacrifices by Jews within Israel, not just prayers from those outside. 

We hold hope that someday our camp, and mainstream American Jewry more broadly, will find its ground again as a community who cares about, protects and fights for all of humanity. We hope that our camp becomes a place where Palestinians are not erased, but rather where their stories are told, and where questions and dissent are welcomed.

Our family conversations about Israel and Palestine have, unsurprisingly, exploded in frequency and intensity since Oct. 7. We, alongside our children, mourn the Israeli lives lost. The pain felt by the global Jewish community will take generations to heal. We, alongside our children, also mourn every single Palestinian life cut short. The Israeli military has killed, at latest estimate, more than 28,000 Palestinians, a number that is completely unfathomable to us. That number includes thousands of children, which our own children find devastating — as they should. In our daughter’s words, “There’s no way the children caused any of this!” 

Unlike our children, the children in Gaza don’t have the chance to attend camp, to take swim lessons or learn violin. They aren’t spending their days in school or running around on playgrounds. They are experiencing severe trauma amid a humanitarian crisis that will change the course of their lives, and the lives of generations after them. We, as Jews, are devastated as we watch our people create and sustain these conditions. 

Both of our children ask regularly if there’s a ceasefire yet, and if the hostages are home safe. Our daughter has made Israeli and Palestinian flags out of construction paper, and they hang side by side with a peace sign in the middle on our front window. She’s also made a draft of a new flag, one for a shared country: It includes mountains and sea, cactus and forests, Arabic and Hebrew, a six-sided star, a crescent moon, and a cross. We dream with our children of a different kind of future — one where every human life is treated as equally sacred and deserving of peace and liberation. We refute claims that such dreams are impractical or impossible.

We want to know from you that you will welcome our daughter this summer with open arms. We need to know that you will value her voice and contributions to her camp’s Jewish community. We need to know that when she speaks out, and if she criticizes or questions Israel, that she will not be shut down, laughed at or ostracized. We need to know that her ideas, beliefs and values will be taken seriously, and that she will not be addressed as simply naive. 

So yes, we are excited for our daughter to return to camp this summer. She can’t wait to meet new friends, swim everyday, do tie-dye projects and celebrate Shabbat. And we can’t wait to watch her independence blossom. But we are also scared. We want to know that our daughter, who is grappling with tensions and divisions in the Jewish community, will find camp to be a safe, nurturing place, unafraid of confronting the real moral dilemmas many of our children are experiencing.

Thank you for working together to create such a special place for so many Jewish children, including ours, to spend their summers. 

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