We stood together in Independence Hall on the first day of our journey together, the space where Israel first became the Jewish state.
If you are not from St. Louis or Kansas City, you probably don’t think of the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri as a destination for Jewish kids to spend their summers.
I have lived in the same house for my entire life. Yes, my family has taken vacations to Florida and Arizona, and now that I’m older we have ventured outside of the country. However, up until I was about eight or nine, I really had no idea the world expanded outside of my small rural hometown of Rock Island, Illinois.
I suppose it was a first date. It started as just a walk – a continuation of a conversation we started hours earlier. I was surprised that someone I thought was so handsome could have such depth, let alone want to spend his free time talking to little old me.
On a cool April morning when I was in fourth grade, my family packed up our car to go to the Wisconsin Dells for a weekend. For some reason, my parents decided that April was the perfect time to go to the water park capital of the world.
This one time at Jewish overnight camp … I discovered my calling. No, I am not a rabbi. No, I am not a teacher. And I am not a social worker either. Instead, it was at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin that I realized I wanted to work in the health field.