Early in the summer, our age group at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin — Eidah — gathered in our very own Moadon Nivonim. Surrounded by all my friends, we sat together and listened as Jacqui and Yaron Vital spoke. They are the parents of Adi Vital-Kaploun, a young Israeli mother who was murdered by Hamas on October 7th. The Minneapolis Jewish Federation brought them to camp so we could hear Adi’s story in person.
They told us about the morning their daughter’s life ended and the bravery she showed in her final moments. Adi was at home on Kibbutz Holit with her two little boys when terrorists broke in. She locked herself and her children in the safe room, called her husband to warn him not to return, and fought back. She even managed to kill one of the attackers before another shot and killed her. Her two sons were taken hostage but were miraculously released to return to their father after hours of terror.
As Jacqui and Yaron spoke, I couldn’t stop picturing those two children. They will grow up knowing their mother died saving them, but they will never feel her arms around them again. No matter how much love surrounds them, there will always be a hole where a mother should be.
Sitting there, I realized how much I take for granted. Every summer, I leave home for eight weeks and complain about missing certain foods or laugh about how annoying my parents can be. I joke about how great it is to be away from adults. But deep down, I know that when camp ends, I get to step off the bus and run straight into my parents’ arms. I get to tell them every story, show them every picture, and fall asleep knowing they are right down the hall. Adi’s children do not get that. Their mother is not waiting for them at the end of any summer.
Yaron and Jacqui Vital at Ramah in Wisconsin. (Courtesy).
The rest of the summer, Adi’s story stayed with me. On our final Shabbat, when we danced in a giant circle and sang the songs we have known for years, I felt the weight of my blessings. I am lucky to be in a place where my Jewish identity is celebrated and where I can sing and laugh without fear. I am lucky to have parents who were there to hug me at the end of this summer and every summer before.
Leaving camp after my Nivonim summer was emotional on its own. I spent years building friendships that feel like family, learning prayers that now live inside me, and shaping a Jewish identity that will guide me forever. Saying goodbye was hard. But Adi’s story reminded me that the most important part of camp is not just what happens here, it is what we carry out into the world.
For me, that next step is Ramah Seminar next summer. I will be in Israel, walking the same land where Adi lived, prayed, and ultimately lost her life. I know I will carry her story with me there. I will think of her when I stand on a quiet street in Jerusalem or when I sing the same songs in a different setting. Her courage will remind me to live proudly as a Jew and to appreciate every ordinary day.
The Minneapolis Jewish Federation provides scholarships to ensure that every child and teen, regardless of financial situation, has the opportunity to attend summer camp. I’m incredibly grateful to have been one of those recipients. I just completed my eighth summer at Camp Ramah, and I can’t express how thankful I am for the experiences I’ve had. Each summer, Ramah has shaped who I am, deepened my connection to my Jewish identity, and given me lifelong friendships and memories. None of this would have been possible without the generosity of the Federation and its donors. Thank you for making it possible for me, and so many others. To grow, learn, and thrive in such a meaningful environment.
Having started my junior year of high school, I keep thinking of Adi and her family. I think of the strength she showed and the love that never left her even in the face of terror. When I stepped off that bus and into my parents’ arms, I held onto them a little tighter, aware of how rare and precious that simple moment really is. Adi’s story has become part of my own journey through camp, through Seminar, and through the rest of my life. It reminds me to treasure my family, to live my Judaism out loud, and to never take for granted the simple gift of coming home.