Thoughts on Leaving Camp
It was a Friday in December 2010 and I was spending the day working remotely. Sitting in a coffee shop tethered to my cell phone and laptop 100 miles from my office at JCC Association in New York, I called my colleague, Paul Reichenbach, to compare notes on camp director searches. I was looking for a new executive director of a JCC-affiliated camp in Michigan, and he was managing leadership succession at the URJ’s camp in Indiana. We started talking about candidates and then shared insights regarding the processes that we were managing. Though our challenges were similar, the pressure was different. My job at JCC Association encompassed oversight of services to two dozen overnight camps that were independently operated. For Paul, there was greater responsibility. The URJ Camps – 13 at that time – were run by the URJ and it was Paul’s job to guide the directors and coordinate the network’s resources and strategies. Paul was already a legend in our field, and while there would be a closeness in our relationship that would take more time to form, on that winter day he would change my life.
As we discussed our work, Paul asked me if I would ever go back to the job of running a camp. I gave Paul a well-rehearsed answer about enjoying the job even after leaving those 14 years of camp leadership behind me. I said that if there was an opportunity to learn a lot, to be challenged in a bigger place, and to do things that others may not have done before, I would consider it. My professional mission statement had been boiled down to this pat response, punctuated by one additional consideration that made finding a camp to be a director again almost completely impossible: “I would also need to be able to keep living in Philadelphia.” Neither Paul nor I remember exactly what he said in response to my comment, but when I hung up the phone with him I immediately called my wife, Ann, and asked her what she thought about the possibility of me running URJ Camp Harlam. Paul had not made that explicit suggestion, but suddenly my brain put unspoken pieces together while my gut told me that this wild idea might be something worth doing. Ann offered her support as she always had before, and away we went.
Two months later, the URJ made a change and I was given the honor of serving as Harlam’s fifth director since it opened in 1958. Being from outside the Harlam community raised concerns from some stakeholders, and my lifelong relationship with Harlam’s rival camp, Pinemere, caused some to be more than worried. Despite the noise that surrounded those issues as I on-boarded, the work at Harlam was immediately exciting and I threw myself fully into it. The risk I had taken in leaving a senior leadership position in a large, North American organization to return to the field was offset by the challenge of establishing myself at Harlam and bringing stakeholders along on our journey together.
When I started at Harlam, I knew that I would someday leave. Part of that recognition was a belief that nonprofit leadership requires a level of discipline and humility from successful chief executives that puts the organization’s needs ahead of one’s own. I long ago realized that without change and the room for an organization to evolve its identity over time, the chances of stagnation are greater. I never wanted to be the leader that overstayed my welcome. And in this case, my arrival at Harlam in 2011 was not going to be a case of finding my camp. I assumed that no matter how long I remained at Harlam, I would be approaching the role as one fully focused on the work and not so much about making room in my heart for a new camp to feel like my own. As a product of Pinemere – 10 years as a camper, 4 years on its summer staff, and 14 years as director – I was open to running another extraordinary place, but I didn’t consider that I would someday become a product of it. I was wrong.
I am leaving Harlam having lived the pledge that we include in our narrative that suggests time at camp can be a chance to become the best and truest versions of ourselves. As a professional, that is most certainly the case for me. Although I have made plenty of mistakes over the last 9 years, I also know that at Harlam I have been gifted the opportunity to develop my skills, to further my understanding of leadership, and to be inspired by the extraordinary people I’ve found here. Seeing the power of Harlam – the intentionality, the scale, the reach, the impact – has opened my mind to things that I could not have imagined before. I’m just a better and more complete human being for having spent this time in the embrace of such a unique and special community.
Malcolm Gladwell wrote an entire book about the “tipping point” – the point at which a series of small changes becomes significant enough to cause a larger, more important change – and I have looked back to try to pinpoint when this happened for me at Harlam. When did I shift from seeing Harlam as a vehicle for the work I’m so committed to doing to becoming so consumed by and attached to this place and the people? There are countless moments that could have combined to cause that change. I think back to the losses our camp family has felt and the profound impact that it’s had on me, including the passing of Rabbi Vicki Tuckman, Mitch Perlmeter, Adam Levine, Alan Fendrick, Gil Gluck, and Arie Gluck, among others. Standing shoulder to shoulder with others, mourning, trying to support, and honoring the legacy of those exceptional individuals and too many others has enlightened me about Harlam’s heart and soul. I recall the lights going out during the Zim one summer and huddling with leaders and faculty to implement a plan to have the lights come back on at the moment I uttered, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…”, or standing on the back dock of the Kitchen trying to explain how letting rental cars be a mess reflected our leadership at camp in a tone that got people’s attention. There was the occasion that I joined Harlam staff in a basketball game at Pinemere for the first time and realized that winning was just as sweet as ever, especially being booed by fans that once cheered me. I can laugh now about that time that we ran out of grilled cheese (which happened more than once, regretfully) and being informed by Rob Tuckman that at Harlam we make our sandwiches in a particular way or the countless other times that a camp moment brought out the best and most special in what I have discovered at Harlam and caused me to feel more connected. Yet while there may be many things that helped this tip for me, I believe it had more to do with the people than anything else.
I can’t write about all the people that I’ve come to care deeply about at camp since 2011. It would be unfair and incomplete to try to list all the campers, parents, professionals, leaders, summer staff, volunteers, alumni, donors, faculty, and colleagues that are so committed to Harlam and have become my teachers on what sets our camp apart. I’ve had countless conversations, accepted too many compliments, and hugged and high-fived so many people that helped me to feel proud of what we do and who we are at Harlam that pages and pages would be needed to list them all. But for those reading this that recognize how important our relationship with each other was in reinforcing the relationship that I’ve now built with Harlam, thank you. Thank you for welcoming, accepting, challenging, inspiring, and leading me through the last 9 years of discovery so that I could come away feeling more whole and truly a Harlamite.
During the summers, even after I transitioned from being the camp director into my recent role, there were two distinctive Harlam pleasures that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. Both were connected to the house that I lived in, once home to Arie Gluck and the other directors before me.
My bond with camp’s seasonal and year-round leaders – from the first summer to now – has been invaluable. The people that have served in these roles and the way that they have approached their work and time at camp with such remarkable courage, dedication, and creativity, has represented the best in our camp and the field we are a part of. Opening the house to these folks and encouraging them to be there for snacks, workspace, privacy, advice, dog time, or whatever reason they might come was a chance for me to soak up their energy and talent. It was very special to me, and I will never let go of those relationships and what they have taught me.
Sitting on the porch of the house each morning, looking across Main Camp into the Mahoning Valley, and turning just slightly to my left to look up to the Rosa B. Eisendrath Memorial Chapel on the Hill felt like a guilty pleasure. When campers would come for cookies or to hang-out, they would marvel at the television, furniture, or ice cream supply as the true perks of being the boss at Harlam. But they missed the best part. The chance to sit and take the time to look out onto the community, especially in the quiet of the early morning, was so valuable. I will miss that view, and I will miss having that vantage of an extraordinary camp as it goes through its daily paces.
I always knew I would leave, but I never knew how it would feel. Taking on a new role with the URJ that will allow me to continue supporting Harlam (but in a different way) must be the best reason to move on. And the feeling that I have as I write this is one that I could not have imagined 9 years ago. I feel like an insider. I know that there are many that love this place as much as I do. But I also know that they can’t love it more.
Thank you to all the leaders who came before me and will come after me for establishing, growing, and sustaining a place as wonderful as URJ Camp Harlam. #SummertimeForever.
