Parashat Korach: Builders of Belonging

Shabbat shalom from Camp Interlaken.

There is a certain kind of person we all know.

They do not actually carry a clipboard, but they might as well.

They notice everything.

The line is crooked.
The song was too loud.
The song was not loud enough.
The cabin is messy.
The plan is confusing.
The schedule is imperfect.
The bug is outside, where apparently nature has once again failed to submit the proper paperwork.

We all know this energy. We may even recognize it in ourselves from time to time.

And, to be fair, the person with the invisible clipboard is not always wrong. Sometimes the line really is crooked. Sometimes the cabin really is messy. Sometimes the system really does need to be improved.

But the question is not only, “Did you notice what was wrong?”

The deeper question is, “What did you do after you noticed?”

That question sits at the heart of this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Korach.

Korach challenges Moses and Aaron with a claim that sounds, at first, not only reasonable, but deeply Jewish: “The whole community is holy.”

And he is right.

The whole community is holy. Every person matters. Leadership should never be about ego, status, or standing above others.

But Korach’s failure is not that he notices something. His failure is what he does next.

He does not use his concern to build a stronger community. He uses it to divide one.

He names a truth, but does not carry the responsibility that comes with it.

That is the difference between a critic and a builder.

A critic notices what is missing.

A builder helps create what is needed.

A critic points at the mess.

A builder picks up one thing.

A critic says, “Someone should do something.”

A builder says, “I can start.”

That distinction matters everywhere, but it feels especially alive at camp.

Because camp is a community built in small moments.

It is built when a camper moves over on the bench to make room for someone new.

It is built when a counselor notices the child who is laughing loudly at lunch but quietly missing home at night.

It is built when a cabin chooses to clean up not because inspection is coming, but because they live there together.

It is built when a game gets too competitive and someone says, “Let’s make sure everyone gets a turn.”

It is built when a returning camper teaches a new camper the song instead of laughing because they do not know the words yet.

It is built when someone says, “Come sit with us.”

It is built when someone says, “Are you okay?” and means it.

These are not grand gestures. They are not dramatic. They will not show up on a schedule or in a photo album.

But they are the moments that make camp sacred.

At Camp Interlaken, we talk often about belonging. Not the kind of belonging that happens automatically because a child is assigned to a cabin or placed in a unit, but the kind of belonging that is actively built by the people around them.

Belonging is not passive.

It is not something we simply hope campers feel.

Belonging is something we create.

We create it in how we speak to each other.
We create it in who we include.
We create it in how we respond when someone makes a mistake.
We create it in whether we walk past a lonely child or sit down beside them.
We create it in whether we treat each person as holy not only in theory, but in practice.

Korach says, “The whole community is holy.”

Camp asks us to live as if that is true.

The loud camper is holy.
The shy camper is holy.
The homesick camper is holy.
The camper who needs reminders is holy.
The camper who is trying something for the first time is holy.
The staff member who is giving everything they have is holy.
The child who made a mistake and needs a path back is holy.

And yes, even the camper who asks about canteen five minutes after breakfast is holy.

Confusing, perhaps, but holy.

A holy community is not a perfect community. That is important.

A holy camp is not a camp where no one ever gets upset, no one ever feels left out, no one ever says the wrong thing, and every towel somehow finds its way back to the right hook.

That camp does not exist.

A holy camp is a place where people take responsibility for one another.

It is a place where we do not stop at noticing.

We build.

We repair.

We invite.

We forgive.

We try again.

This is one of the great gifts of camp. Children learn here that leadership is not limited to the person holding the microphone, wearing the staff shirt, or carrying the walkie-talkie. Leadership begins the moment someone decides to make the community better.

A camper leads when they include someone.

A counselor leads when they notice what is unspoken.

A cabin leads when they choose kindness over convenience.

A community leads when it refuses to confuse criticism with care.

This summer, on our first Shabbat together, Parashat Korach gives us a powerful reminder:

It is not enough to notice what is wrong.

We are called to build what is right.

And that is what we are trying to do here.

We are building a camp where children feel safe enough to try, brave enough to grow, and known enough to belong.

We are building a camp where joy and responsibility live together.

We are building a camp where Jewish values are not only taught, but practiced in the dining hall, on the basketball court, at the lake, in the cabin, around the fire, and in the quiet moments when no one is watching.

We are building a camp where every child learns that they matter, and that they have the power to help someone else feel like they matter too.

So this Shabbat, our first of the summer, we begin with a simple challenge:

No invisible clipboards.

Not because we should ignore what needs fixing.

Quite the opposite.

We notice because we care.

But after we notice, we choose to build.

May this be a summer of builders.

Builders of friendship.
Builders of courage.
Builders of joy.
Builders of repair.
Builders of belonging.

And may every camper, staff member, and family connected to this place feel the holiness of a community that does not merely say, “Everyone matters,” but works every day to make that true.

Shabbat shalom. – Ari Domnitz