Parashat Beha’alotcha: Friday, June 5, 2026 (Staff Week 1)

Parashat Beha’alotcha

Shabbat shalom, Camp.

Tonight is not a camper Shabbat yet. There are no campers waiting for us to be magical. There is no one asking where their water bottle is. There is no cabin trying to convince us that showering is optional. There is no homesick kid, no friendship drama, no wet towel mystery, no dining hall thunderstorm of noise.

Not yet.

Tonight is quieter, and that matters. Because before the summer starts moving fast, before camp becomes a living, breathing, singing, sprinting, laughing, crying, sunscreen-covered organism, we get one Shabbat to ask: What kind of light are we going to bring?

That question comes straight from this week’s Torah portion, Beha’alotcha. The parsha begins with Aaron lighting the lamps of the menorah in the Mishkan, the sacred space the Israelites carry through the wilderness.

I love that image for staff week. Before the journey continues, before the people move, before the work gets complicated, Aaron lights the lamps.

Not a bonfire. Not fireworks. Not a giant spotlight that says, “Look at me, I am an impressive leader.”

Lamps.

Steady light. Useful light. Light that helps other people see.

That is staff leadership.

At camp, a lot of leadership is not flashy. It is not usually one heroic speech that changes everything. It is the steady light of how you show up over and over again.

The way you greet a camper by name.

The way you reset a cabin without humiliating anyone.

The way you notice a staff member who looks overwhelmed.

The way you choose patience when you are tired.

The way you say, “I’ve got this,” and then actually follow through.

The way you make the space around you feel a little safer, a little warmer, a little more possible.

That is lamp-lighting.

And here’s the thing about lamps: they do not light themselves. Someone has to tend them. Someone has to protect the flame. Someone has to make sure the light does not go out when the wind picks up.

This summer, the wind will pick up.

There will be long days. There will be moments when you are not your best self. There will be times when a plan falls apart, when a camper pushes every button you have, when you feel underappreciated, when the heat gets to everyone, when you miss sleep, when you wonder whether what you are doing is actually landing.

That is when leadership becomes real.

Not when everything is easy. When the flame needs tending.

Beha’alotcha also has another powerful moment. Some people come to Moses because they missed the chance to bring the Passover offering. They could have just been left out. The rule could have been, “Sorry, you missed it.” But they ask for another chance. And instead of dismissing them, Moses listens. The result is Pesach Sheni, a second Passover opportunity.

A second chance becomes part of Jewish tradition.

That is also a staff week lesson.

Camp is a place of second chances. Campers will need them. Staff will need them. You will need them from each other. Someone will mess up and need repair. Someone will start rough and grow beautifully. Someone will need a leader who can say, “That was not okay, and you are not done becoming who you can be.”

That is a holy sentence.

Because our job is not just to run activities. Our job is to create an environment where people can become more themselves: braver, kinder, sillier, stronger, more connected, more Jewishly alive.

And yes, that includes us.

This summer, we are going to make D’var Torah a regular part of camp. Not as a lecture. Not as a punishment. Not as “please sit still while an adult says things.” We are going to make it a camp moment: funny, real, rooted in Torah, and connected to the life we are building here.

The point is not to make every camper a Torah scholar in eight minutes. The point is to show that Torah has something to say about cabins, friendships, courage, homesickness, leadership, kindness, and the weird emotional power of a summer community.

Tonight, staff-only, we begin that precedent.

A D’var Torah at camp should feel like someone lighting a lamp: not blinding people, not showing off, but helping the community see itself more clearly.

So here is the invitation for us before campers arrive:

Be the kind of leader whose light helps other people shine.

Not the loudest light. Not the most dramatic light. Not the light that needs constant applause.

The steady light.

The light that says, “You are safe here.”

The light that says, “You belong here.”

The light that says, “Try again.”

The light that says, “I see you.”

The light that says, “This summer matters.”

May we light the lamps before the campers arrive. May we tend our own flames and protect each other’s. And may every camper who comes through these gates feel that this place is brighter because we chose to lead with warmth, humility, courage, and care.

Shabbat shalom Camp. – Ari Domnitz