A special message from Avi Blecherman (CRS ‘85) and member of the Old House Fellowship:
Avi Blecherman (CRS '85), along with other Camp alumni from 1978-1985, gathered together in San Diego, California and were joined by former LAJF Executive Director, Bill Dubey and his wife, Nancy. The gathering was a special celebration for Bill's 100th birthday!
My dear OHF brothers, very dear Bill and Nancy,
Few weeks have passed since our extraordinary reunion, a gathering that brought us together in a way that still lingers in my heart. This journey was profoundly moving, perhaps second in its intensity only to the camp experience itself. What made it truly unforgettable were the precious days we spent with the remarkable Bill and Nancy—those moments felt like a gift, a chance to reconnect with two people who’ve shaped so much of who we are. I’ve attended several reunions before, each one joyful and heartfelt, filled with meaningful connections. But something about this time stood apart. It felt deeper, more powerful, more focused. I’d call it a transformative experience, and I want to explain why.
Most of you guys weren’t with me at camp in the summer of 1985—not as campers or counselors—yet there was something profoundly unifying between us. We had all, at some point in a certain decade, been given an extraordinary opportunity to take part in a summer that defies description, a summer that shaped who we are today. It touched us at a pivotal, extraordinary moment in our lives, at a formative age when the future stretched wide open before us. That moment was thrilling yet daunting, filled with questions: Which path should I take? Who do I want to become? What matters most to me? And right at that delicate crossroads, we were gifted a summer so wondrous, so influential, that it still echoes in our hearts all these years later.
This connection shows in how it draws us back together, forty years and more later, and in how many of us have stayed devoted to this project—whether through generous contributions, serving on the board or committees, or dedicating time to the selection process. For me, meeting this wonderful group, the Old House Fellowship—those of us who were part of the camp during Bill and Nancy’s years from 1978 to 1985—filled a longing I’d carried for years. Most of the camp alumni I know, whether in Israel or abroad, are much younger, tied to different decades and different experiences. Of course, we still share so much. Yet, suddenly meeting dozens of friends from my own era, feeling the sense of belonging to a group that holds in its heart and memories such a specific time—a distinct chapter in the camp’s history—opened something in my heart that I’m so grateful for and deeply cherish. Unlike the broader reunions I’ve attended, with hundreds of participants and their own unique charm, this was a far more intimate journey, a nearly ten-day odyssey we took together, inward and outward.
As I reflect on what made this reunion so unique, I realize it wasn’t just about reconnecting—it was about stepping back in time in a way that felt vividly alive. You see, I’m a therapist by profession, and in my world, we often talk about regression. Sometimes it’s negative, like a child stepping back when a new sibling arrives. But there’s also positive regression, a rare moment when you’re pulled back to a forgotten time, and feelings from that era resurface, vivid and true, bringing warmth and clarity to who we once were. We were a band of boys again, laughing with carefree camaraderie, then dressing up for a concert or a lecture Bill was organizing to spark our minds again, getting serious, asking deep questions, hoping Bill and Nancy were proud of us.
For a few days, we were carried back to Red Hook, under their loving, proud gaze, pouring love back in return. We were 16 again—not in a childish way, but as if the person I am now could sit beside the boy I was then, the one who sat by a campfire one night, writing a letter to the man he’d become, dreaming of who that might be. It was as if that 16-year-old and the man halfway through life met at last, not just to look back with gratitude, but to stand together in that tender moment of youth. Once again, we stood at a crossroads, this time halfway through our lives, with some of those same questions echoing within us: What paths have I yet to take? Who do I still want to become? What matters most in the next chapter of my life? And seeing Bill at 100 and Nancy at 97 opened a window to the future—a reminder that life can still be full of purpose, no matter the years.
Throughout this journey, we also shared deep conversations about the tension between change and preservation—about what should stay as it was and what must evolve with time. This year, the camp will mark 95 years since its founding, and like time itself, it has transformed in countless ways. In Poland, I met an alumnus who, in 1960, sailed for a month from Poland to reach America, the same time it took for a letter from home to arrive. Today, you can travel from the farthest corner of the world in less than a day. Now, there’s a new program on Zoom, reaching youth with the same CRS values in fresh ways, expanding the circle. Even the flagship LAJF program has shifted over the years. For its first fifty years, it was a boys-only program, evolving in form and focus. It began for Americans alone, then opened to youth worldwide. In my year, we were a rare group of “Boys From Abroad,” fondly called BFAs. That, too, has changed—today, half the campers come from across the globe.
In the ‘80s, only Americans could return as second-year campers; now, that opportunity is open to all. Since the late ‘80s, a girls’ program has flourished—a vision Bill fought for against conservative forces to make a reality. Year after year, as a co-founder of the Israeli alumni association and leader of the selection process, I see the spark in the eyes of so many girls eager to attend camp, and when our alumnae return, transformed by this life-changing experience, their contributions to our community fill me with joy and make me realize this is a blessed change. Yet, the question of change versus preservation haunts every culture and community.
A decade ago, the poor condition of the Red Hook campus forced the boys’ camp to leave its historic home, a place bound to memories woven into Old House, Louise Falls, and the Sawkill, relocating to Clinton, to the girls’ campus—a move that, for various reasons, led us to let go of some time-honored traditions. Over the last decade, the camp’s duration was halved, raising vital questions about its impact—like a pizza without tomato sauce, olives, or cheese: at what point does it cease to be a pizza? These changes—especially the move from Red Hook and the shortened duration—sharpen the question: is there more change than preservation here? Is the spirit of CRS tied to a place and time, or does it live in its ideas and values? It’s a good question…
I recall my first reunion in Berlin, where perhaps 300 alumni gathered for a shared song session. Flipping through the song book, I found it both foreign and familiar—new songs had joined the old, yet their spirit felt like another link in the chain, a healthy balance of change and continuity. It made me think of a Jewish story from the Talmud, about Moses visiting the future study hall of Rabbi Akiva, a great innovator. Confused by the teachings, Moses was reassured when Akiva’s student asked, “Where did you learn this?” and Akiva replied, “It is a law from Moses at Sinai.” Everything, somehow, traced back to the beginning. I feel that tension too—some changes trouble me, yet each year I meet campers returning from a month at camp, their eyes alight with transformation.
Last September in Poland, I asked an alumna from Europe what the camp’s impact meant to her. I shared how, for me, it opened the world, making everything global. “For us,” she said after a pause, “it’s the opposite. Setting aside technology, being there fully, meeting people face-to-face, finding myself—that’s the innovation.” Her words left me in awe.
Through all its changes over 95 years, one idea has endured: innovation, forward-thinking, and inclusivity. The question of who we don’t yet see in our circle, and who we must invite in, drives us—people of color, boys from distant lands, youth from war-torn regions, girls, LGBTQ+ community like myself and recently transgender and non-binary youth. In our Israeli alumni association, this year’s campers reflect that vision: among them, a gay teen, a Palestinian-Israeli girl, and a girl facing physical challenges, each bringing their light to our community. Against voices of exclusion, today’s camp carries forward its inclusive tradition.
At our final council by the ocean in San Diego, Bill shared thoughts that stayed with me. He spoke of his father, who measured worth by wealth, and how he chose instead to measure himself by his values and dedication to them as he took the job as LAJF Executive Director. Diversity, he said, was a core value, and he stood firmly for DEI, against those who resist it.
Nancy spoke of how much she and Bill always focused on giving back to their community, whether it was in New Jersey, Santa Fe, or San Diego. She mentioned how challenging this can be when you are first starting out and have the responsibilities of a young family. But we are all now at a stage of life where we have more time and more knowledge to convey, and she encouraged all of us to look at opportunities to give back. Beyond the council, Nancy also shared with us the importance of always being surrounded by people you love and care for, being physically, mentally and spiritually active, involved and part of the community, and always in a search for meaning and even more in the winter of life. Bill’s words, and his groundbreaking work leading the camp and the foundation toward change, together with Nancy’s nurturing guidance, remain the truest compass we could follow.
I’m not sure I was a very good camper back then—I had my ups and downs. It took me a little longer to work on the fine tuning. But I’ll never forget how Nancy was there for me, nurturing my ideas and helping me bring them to life, like when we worked together on the Garden of Peace, a project that felt like planting hope. Her care, and Bill’s vision, became a compass that has guided me long after. I think of the summer of ’85, when Bill took us BFAs to Washington, a trip brimming with his passion to spark new ideas. One evening, he led us to the movies to see Back to the Future, a film that captured our dreams of what could be. Forty years later, this reunion became our own journey through time, weaving past, present, and future together.
I see it in my daughter, Noa, just 10, who’s grown up on stories of camp and asked me during a video call if Bill and Nancy were moved by our gathering. I hear it in a boy we chose for the 2025 season, who, fresh from acceptance, called me to say, “Next year, when I’m back from camp, I’m joining the selection process.” These moments—a living dance of memory and hope—remind me of what we tell our applicants: this summer isn’t meant to be locked away or leafed through like an album. It’s a vibrant thread we expect to weave into their lives, inspiring action with lasting impact. That’s my hope, my optimism for what lies ahead.
To my brothers in the Old House Fellowship, thank you for welcoming me into this remarkable group and this unforgettable journey, for your kindness and the magic of our time together.
And to you, dear Bill and Nancy, my heart overflows with gratitude for what you gave us then and for the precious gift of this reunion now. I'm so glad I decided to cross the world to see and hug the two of you again. Words can’t capture how blessed I feel to have closed one circle with you and opened another, carrying an inspiration I’ll hold forever. As educators of the highest order, you sowed tiny seeds that, over decades, grew into mighty trees. What a forest you’ve nurtured. I hope we’ve filled your hearts with pride, as you look back with such fulfillment and savor the fruits of your labor.
Avi Blecherman 1985 (R) 2025 (L.V\S.D)
