The catch? I’d have to spend the summer in Camp Romimu

Rabbi Shmuel Morgenbesser, as told to Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber

Experience: First-time camper

Classroom Setting: Camp Romimu in Monticello, New York

What I Learned: Dedication to a cause can make all the difference

I grew up in Albany, New York, in the 80s, in a warm Jewish home with the comfortable rhythms of small-town living. My mother had a deep desire for her children to stay connected to our roots, and she enrolled me and my siblings in the Hebrew day school run by the local Chabad shluchim, Rabbi Yisroel and Mrs. Rochel Rubin. The Rubins and their family were influential to so many of us, laying the groundwork for our Yiddishkeit.

When I was in eighth grade, the Jewish high school in Albany closed down — and there were no other local options. After some serious discussion, my parents decided that the best thing for me would be to move to Queens, where my grandparents lived, and continue my education there.

My parents had their eyes on Mesivta Yesodei Yeshurun, which had a reputation as a high-caliber mesivta. Though my English grades were good, my Gemara skills were not up to the school’s high standards, but my mother wouldn’t give up. She begged the menahel, Rabbi Aaron Kovitz, to give me a chance.

Instead of a flat-out refusal, Rabbi Kovitz made an offer that would change my life. He told my mother that if I agreed to spend the summer learning with him, one-on-one, I’d be ready to join the mesivta come fall. The catch? I’d have to spend the summer in Camp Romimu, the sleepaway camp in Monticello where he’d be working as a learning rebbi.

At first, I was hesitant. I hadn’t experienced a regular sleepaway summer camp before and didn’t know what to expect — plus, summer camp didn’t seem like the place to learn extra. But I trusted my mother, and she trusted Rabbi Kovitz, and if this was what they thought was best, I’d give it a shot.

IN

1996, I arrived in camp, and the moment I set foot on that campus, something shifted. The manicured fields, the tree-lined roads, the warm summer air, it all felt... different. It wasn’t just the setting; it was the energy. The atmosphere. There was this buzz, a drive I hadn’t felt before.

That summer, Rabbi Kovitz and I learned every day. The learning was intense — far more than I’d ever imagined. I played sports and participated in the activities with the other boys, and during rest period, while the camp relaxed, I sat at the table behind the rec hall and learned Gemara with my chavrusa. I enjoyed the outdoors, so tackling the sugya in the fresh air made me enjoy the learning even more.

But what I found most transformational that summer in camp wasn’t the learning: It was the singing every Shabbos. I’d watch in awe as hundreds of boys packed the room, singing in harmony, their voices strong and pure. The singing went on for over 30 minutes, Shabbos zemiros followed by fast songs, and the entire room buzzed with energy.

Then, just as the room seemed to pulse with life, the tempo slowed, and the boys closed their eyes, arms resting gently on the shoulders of their friends, their voices merging into one deep, soulful harmony. The rhythm, the voices, the unspoken connection — it was like the entire camp was united in one beautiful, timeless melody that filled not only the dining room, but my soul.

BY

the end of the summer, I had absorbed more Torah than I ever expected, and I was ready for yeshivah. That fall, I entered Mesivta Yesodei Yeshurun. I worked hard over the next few years, growing steadily, and wound up in the top shiur. After finishing mesivta, I went on to Yeshiva Ohr Hachaim, then the Mir in Eretz Yisrael, before returning to Ohr Hachaim’s kollel to continue my learning for five more years. Eventually, I entered chinuch, becoming a rebbi at the Hebrew Academy of Long Beach, teaching Torah and inspiring my students the way I had been inspired.

In 2021, I got an intriguing phone call from a good friend asking if I’d be interested in a summer position at a camp.

“Possibly,” I said. “Which camp?”

“Romimu,” he replied.

The position was to oversee the special needs division, but the real surprise came when Rabbi Shlomo Pfeiffer, the camp director, casually mentioned another role.

“Would you be comfortable leading zemiros on Shabbos?”

My heart skipped a beat. Zemiros?

I agreed, of course, and every summer since, I stand at that podium, my voice rising as 500 boys join in song. After a beautiful zemiros on Friday night, come Shabbos day, the sun streams in, and the air feels alive as the boys stand crowded on the benches, swaying in unison, their arms moving with the hand motions to “Yom Zeh Mechubad.” Faces glow with excitement, and the sound of their voices — pure and powerful — fills every corner of the room until you can almost feel the walls vibrating from the force of it.

Then, the singing softens into a slower, kumzitz-style niggun. “Ki Karov,” the boys belt out, and from the middle of the dining room I conduct the different divisions as boys from fourth grade through eighth fill the room with song. “Esa Einai,” they sing with feeling — “Tov Lehodos,” they close their eyes — “Acheinu,” their voices blend in heartfelt harmony.

And in those moments, I pause, looking over the sea of white shirts and shining faces, and remember how just yesterday I was one of them, standing on those benches, singing with everything I had. From my position up front, leading hundreds of boys in zemiros, I fondly remember that pivotal summer. I’ll never forget how Rabbi Kovitz didn’t just impart knowledge to me, but by dedicating himself to me daily, he gave me the opportunity to connect with something deeper, something that changed my entire spiritual trajectory.

Rabbi Shmuel Morgenbesser lives in Kew Gardens Hills, New York, and is a sixth-grade rebbi in Hebrew Academy of Long Beach, a principal in Yeshiva Tiferes Yisroel in Brooklyn, and a Division Head in Camp Romimu. He is also a storyteller on 24Six and Naki Radio.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1073)