written by Binyomin Lerner
Rene Slotkin passed away yesterday at the age of 84. I barely knew the man but I also knew him well. In truth, I have not had a conversation with him in over ten years and don’t want to describe Rene as I would see him now. There are other people who know him much better than I do. They can tell you exactly where he lived, what he did for a living, and how many children and grandchildren he had. I’m describing the “summer version” of Rene through the eyes of my 11 to 15 year old self.
A quick word about Camp Sharon. My family spends their summers in Tannersville, NY. From the years 2005 to 2010 I was a proud member of Camp Sharon, the local day camp, which then held about a hundred kids. The camp remains one of my warmest childhood memories. We had kids from Flatbush, Boro Park, Manhattan, Lakewood, and Crown Heights and everyone got along (mostly). There were no cliques or hierarchies. We spent all of our time outdoors. We played sports (which I was terrible at), put on plays (which I crushed), went on trips, or just sat around laughing. The counselors were all funny cats. I know this to be true because I ended up being a counselor there myself. It was one of the few jobs I’ve held where I actually enjoyed being part of an organization. Back then, the camp was owned and operated by Rabbi and Mrs. Farber. (Rabbi Avrohom Farber passed away in 2017 and I can write many pages about him as well.)
For the boys division of camp we had director-Rabbi Farber, head counselor- Reb Dovid Farber, counselors and junior counselors. And then we had Rene (pronounced Re-nay). Did he have a title? I vaguely remember him being written somewhere as assistant director (or maybe it was assistant head counselor?). He was a clean shaven, white haired man,who wore a knitted kippah. At that point he was in his late sixties-early seventies. His summer home, where he lived with his wife June, seemed to me to be on the camp-grounds.
In our camp, Rene wore many hats. He taught us woodworking, volleyball, and tennis. He was our lifeguard, driver, and chaperone when we went on trips. He was very personable and talked to us kids as if we were adults. Somehow, I felt myself instantly becoming a better version of myself whenever I interacted with him. I would see him in shul every morning and we always said good morning to each other. He pronounced my name Ben-yamin, with an emphasis on the first syllable. Then, about an hour later we saw each other at camp. Me as a camper and then counselor, him as Rene.
My memory takes me back to woodworking on his back porch. Rene is showing us kids how to properly hold a saw or how to sand a piece of wood. At the end of the summer there are shtenders and besamim boxes that “we made” and get to take home. I also vaguely remember that he spent a lot of time on his own finishing up our projects but back then it never registered.
Or we are in the pool and after an hour, swimming is over. As we are getting dressed someone starts chanting “Submarine, Submarine!” Rene, the head lifeguard, jumps in the olympic sized pool and swims the entire length of it under water in one breath.
Two kids get into a physical altercation, Rene gently breaks them up, says something sternly about “shalom” (peace) and the day goes on as usual.
Only now do I feel like mentioning that Rene was a holocaust survivor. Born in Czechoslovakia in 1937, he and his twin sister Irene were victims of Dr. Mengele’s evil experiments in Auschwitz. Both of their parents were murdered by the Germans, but Rene and his sister survived and were eventually adopted by the Soltkin family in the United States. I know this because every erev Tisha B’av we would watch the documentary “Rene and I” featuring our beloved Rene. Before the movie, Rene would talk to us. I don’t remember anything he said, but I remember him turning our attention to the numbers tattooed on his arm. In fact those numbers were there with us the entire summer. They were there when he helped us with sawing a piece of wood. I saw them glistening in the sun when he showed us how to properly swing a tennis racket. The numbers were always there.
Perhaps that’s why we kids had an easy time getting along with each other. After all, we were being guided and led by a man who experienced the greatest evil imaginable and had the most wholesome and positive attitude about life and the world. Here was a man who had been robbed of his own childhood yet dedicated his entire summers to enhancing ours.
Now that he is gone, I tear up thinking how it never occurred to me what a positive role model this man was. Now I understand why every time I spoke with him I felt immediately elevated. There I was, twelve years old, interacting with a man who experienced hell on earth. There he was, a man who not only raised a beautiful Jewish family but also dedicated his entire summer to helping us, regular Jewish kids.
This giant of a man didn’t need to say anything to teach me that sometimes it’s possible to experience the worst of evil and go on to live a rich and empowering life full of generosity and kindness. Rene taught me through his own actions. In his absence I don’t know who could.
Rest in peace, my rebbi, Rene Slotkin.