[This week my
sons return for their second stay at an overnight camp. That gives me serious
empty nest syndrome, but more relevantly it also gives us an opportunity for
some Summer CampStudying! Leading up to a crowd-sourced weekend post on the summer
camp experiences, stories, and perspectives of fellow AmericanStudiers.]
On ethnicity,
community, and the preservation and revision of tradition.
In the nine first-year
writing courses I
taught as an adjunct at both Boston University and UMass Boston, I focused
on one aspect or another of immigration and American identity; as a result, I
found that the conversations and work in those courses circled around again and
again to some key topics and themes. Many were what you would expect: the old
and new worlds; assimilation
and acculturation; hyphens and hybridity; multi-generational continuities
and changes. But nearly as frequent were our discussions of ethnic communities
and neighborhoods in the U.S., the areas early scholars of immigration dubbed ethnic enclaves—we
talked a good deal about the limitations and strengths of such enclaves, the
ways in which they can on the one hand foster isolation and separation (and
even ghetto-ization),
sub-standard living conditions and inequal schools, prejudice and ignorance
toward immigrant groups, and other issues; but at the same time can preserve
specific cultural identities and customs and languages, build community and
support across generations, become potent new world homes for immigrant
communities.
In the late 19th
and early 20th centuries, following the era’s sizeable waves of
Jewish immigration to the United States, many of those arrivals settled in such
ethnic enclaves, most famously in the tenements of the Lower East Side of Manhattan (as described at
great length in early 20th century literary works such as Abraham
Cahan’s The Rise of David Levinsky [1917]
and Anzia Yezierska’s Bread Givers [1925]). While some of
those neighborhoods and communities persist to a lesser degree, they have
mostly dissipated over the subsequent century, as Jewish Americans have spread
out across the country. Yet like members of most ethnic and cultural, as well
as most religious, communities, many Jewish Americans have worked for
continuity despite these historical and social changes, particularly by passing
along customs and beliefs, traditions and ideals, to their younger generations.
Education and
activities, schools and community and cultural
centers, have provided vehicles for such preservation of culture—but
another, complex, and I believe more easily overlooked, such vehicle has been the
Jewish summer camp.
For more
than half a century, Jewish schoolchildren (and of course some non-Jewish
schoolchildren) have spent portions of their summers at sites such as
Wisconsin’s Camp Ramah, Camp Woodmere in New York’s Adirondack Mountains, and
New Hampshire’s Camp Tevya, among many others. In many ways these camps have
facilitated and continue to facilitate a preservation
of Jewish culture and community across the generations: with Hebrew and
Talmud instruction, historical and social lessons, and other communal
activities and connections. Yet at the same time, if we parallel such camps
with those attended by American schoolchildren from all cultures and
communities (and it seems clear that these camps have also featured all of the
stereotypical camp activities: boating and hiking, capture the flag and
campfires, and so on), we could argue the opposite: that they have offered
another avenue through which Jewish American kids have connected to a broader,
non-denominational American society and experience, one shared by all their
peers. A tension between ethnicity and acculturation, tradition and revision,
the Talmud and campfire sing-alongs—what could be more American than such
dualities?
Next camp
context tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Summer camp stories you’d share or histories you’d highlight?
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