I grew up in Washington, D.C.

Walking to elementary school, alone, one day I discovered what I had never suspected - “Barbara Spector (my maiden name) was a “dirty Jew.” For four blocks, from my house to school, scrawled in chalk on the sidewalk was this unhappy message. I didn't go back home, now I wonder why, 1 went to school and my mom appeared an hour later in tears, to confer with the principal.

When she left our house to go to work, she was greeted by the same work of the chalk artists.

The culprits were easily traced - they were probably covered with chalk dust - and were marched to our house that night to apologize. They were scared and their parents appeared to be horrified. The boys really didn't know what a “Jew” was - they only knew I was always chosen before them for the touch football team at lunchtime and they were jealous. To this day, I don't think they knew what they were doing - But it was right after the second world war and I think they must have heard the pejorative expression at home and realized it was the worst thing you could say about someone.

I learned two important things that day - that hate is irrational and that I never wanted to be a professional football player!

Walking home from school in 7th grade, I confided to one of my best friends that I was in love with Stuart Engleberg - “Oh, he's not Jewish” she said and I was crushed. Even then I felt that the "love of my life" would have to share my Judaism. Crushed that is 'till my mom came home from work. I told her my sad news. She had known Stuart's parents for years, “of course he's Jewish,” she said. And even today, I remember how relieved I was. Rochelle Leakus, my friend and confidant, had a crush on Stuart too I learned. 1 learned two important things about myself that day - be careful with whom you trust matters of the heart - and that I definitely had a Jewish identity!

I think the impact of these two incidents were indicative of how important my Jewish identity was becoming.

I came from a totally secular family. When I questioned my 90 year old uncle about this recently, I found out my grandparents, who had emigrated from Russia to America because of persecution in their tiny village, so they didn't want any part of organized religion in America. They obviously passed these feelings down to their children who then passed them on to my generation. My only religions experience with my family, as a child, was at the Seder table. Our family religiously gathered once a year to retell the Passover story - but I never knew how this story ended because my ultraconservative uncle and my firebrand liberal mother always got into a political "discussion" which ended in a fierce verbal “battle” - I thought everyone in Washington, D.C. had Seders like these.

Where did I get my strong Jewish identity? From age 6, for 13 years, I went to Camp Louise in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of Maryland. And every Friday and Saturday we dressed in all white and had holiday food and went to services. I loved those services! ! Recently l spoke to my cousin who is 6 years older than I. She was my guardian angel at Camp Louise. "I was probably the only kid who loved those Shabbat services" I confided to my cousin forty years after my last Shabbat at Camp Louise. "Oh no", she said, "I loved them too!" Something was definitely lacking in our very secular lives.

I have known for many years that my love for Judaism and my comfort with it stemmed from those hushed, special Shabbats at Camp Louise. That special time - so different from the rest of the hectic week - that quiet, reflective time became so important to me. The songs we sang, the prayers we said, made me comfortable. I didn't know as a child, that I would sing those same songs and recite those same prayers, my whole life. Those religious services at Camp Louise were the only religious services I ever attended until I was an adolescent.

Being at Jewish camp for thirteen glorious summers was a gift I will always cherish.

Last July, I went back to Camp Louise for one night, for Shabbat. I wanted to see if what I remembered was really so special and it was - Friday night, hundreds of girls, dressed in white, streamed into the dining room to the beautiful, soft Shabbat songs of my youth - and Saturday morning they gathered in the solarium for service, using some of the same tattered prayer books we had used.

Wrapped in the warmth of my memories I thought of the impact of Camp on my life - I made friends for life, I learned every word of every Broadway Musical, I learned to be independent, and become familiar and comfortable with my Jewish identity.

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