As if from a fantastical time machine, some 300 youngsters disembark in the woods of western Pennsylvania to find themselves at the building site of King Solomon's temple in Jerusalem. In a quick briefing they are introduced to the biblical passages describing the construction project, invited to imagine the challenges confronting the ancient builders—how to move and hoist heavy loads of quarried stone, how to shape metal into giant candelabra—and then immediately drafted into the mammoth task. Only when their labors are complete, two and a half hours later, do they begin the mundane assignment of meeting their counselors and locating their bunks.

It's hardly unusual for a summer camp to put youngsters through their physical paces. But re-building the temple of Jerusalem is a different order of activity from climbing, spelunking, and hiking. Camp Stone provides ample time for sports; it even offers horseback riding. But these are secondary. In the words of the camp's long-time director Yehuda Rothner, the primary purpose of bringing the biblical account to life is to "learn by re-enacting" and thus to "remember the fervor of the creative moment." The exercise also engages campers immediately in the mission of Camp Stone itself: namely, to inculcate "an unwavering lifelong commitment to the people of Israel, the land of Israel, and the Torah of Israel." No one, neither camper nor staff member, is exempt from that collective task.

In some ways, Camp Stone is not exactly alone. Ever since the second quarter of the twentieth century, Jewish educators have appreciated the opportunities provided by sleep-away camps for immersing the young in a living Jewish environment. The alumni of such camps include a number of postwar Jewish baby boomers and their successors who have gone on to become leaders in every sector of the community. But the movement hit a trough in the 80's and 90's, from which it is only lately emerging.

Today, camping is once again rising on the communal agenda. Support has come from two different directions. The first is made up of individual philanthropists, many of them represented by a Foundation for Jewish Camp that mobilizes donors to invest in new construction and in scholarships for needy families. The second comprises educators for whom camping represents the quintessential paradigm of "experiential education"—the key, in their view, to ensuring a lasting identification with Jewish life. Some urge that the camping model be brought wholesale into schools, synagogues, and other settings. Recently, the principal of a day school admitted that he will only hire teachers who have worked in a Jewish summer camp. 

But if it is not entirely sui generis, Camp Stone still displays remarkable distinguishing features. One is its unabashed commitment not just to Jewish "identity" but to a clearly defined Jewish ideology. Under the auspices of Bnai Akiva, a religious Zionist youth movement whose slogan is Torah V'Avodah, Torah and Service, the camp gives instruction in Jewish classical texts side by side with a stress on community service and respect for all human beings. Orthodox in orientation, Stone is far from insular: older campers work with fast-fading Jewish communities of all denominations in Western Pennsylvania, and campers are in regular contact with local people, including Amish farmers, employed by the camp in a variety of positions. The campers themselves come from across North America, Europe, and Israel; by deliberate policy, around 15 percent are drawn from homes without affiliation to any Jewish religious movement. All are brought together in the common enterprise.

Jewish "experiential education" is often designed around the twin poles of recreation and "socialization." The former creates an association between fun and interaction with other Jews; the latter focuses on imparting skills for Jewish communal life. Important as these are, an even more critical quality, according to the educational theorists Joseph Reimer and David Bryfman, is challenge: pushing the young to "stretch themselves and grow toward a more complex participation in . . . Jewish life." Hence Camp Stone's seemingly divergent but mutually reinforcing emphases on working the land, on encouraging children to ask hard and even uncomfortable questions about Jewish texts, and on physically demanding activities (like rebuilding the Temple).

Staff members are similarly challenged. Prior to each four-week camp session, all must attend a week-long training program; its purpose is not only to maximize the hoped-for benefits to campers but to shape and nurture a group of young Jews who might eventually assume positions of leadership in the Jewish community. To the talented among them, Rothner incessantly preaches the virtues of becoming professional educators.

What does Camp Stone have to show for its efforts?  The camp boasts very high rates of camper and staff retention, impressive though not necessarily evidence of long-term impact.  More significantly, it can point to a  cadre of  alumni who are already active lay leaders. Rothner is particularly proud of those who have gone on to careers as Jewish-studies instructors in Orthodox day schools across the country or as public-school teachers and academics.

Beyond such quantitative measures, I would add something no less noteworthy. In measuring itself primarily not by its sports and arts programs but by the personal Jewish development of its campers and staff, the camp is asking the right questions and making strenuous efforts to answer them. By what it values, Camp Stone offers another demonstration of Torah and service in action.

This is the first in a series on people and places fostering commitment to Judaism and the Jewish people in the United States and elsewhere. Jack Wertheimer, professor of American Jewish history at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, is the author of A People Divided, among other books, and the editor most recently of Learning and Community (Brandeis).