I Went to the Borscht Belt Festival.

It's Sunday, July 27th and I'm in Ellenville, New York, at the edge of the Catskill Mountains. Canal Street, the village's main drag, is throbbing with far more people than you'd expect in a town of 4,000. There's stands of local newspapers and out-of-town babka bakers, live klezmer music, a delegation from Chabad of Ulster County who has brought not a regular bus, but an antique Mitzvah Trolley.

Welcome to the Borscht Belt Fest.

***

It's the third time I've been to the festival, and also the third time the festival has taken place, which surely should give me some sort of reliable-visitor prize. But it's the first time I'm writing about it, which makes this year's edition of the festival special. That, and a wooden-block-wielding ping-pong champ, and a Manischewitz food truck, and an event in which singles are hidden under umbrellas with curtains, and – well, I think I'm getting ahead of myself. I should probably tell you what this whole thing is about.

The Borscht Belt is not an extra-large belt that you put on after stuffing yourself with beet soup at your grandmother's house. Rather, it's a geographic region, just like the Bible Belt, if it had a bit less New Testament and a bit more Catskills. And a bit more fun, of course! For much of the 20th century, scores of Jewish families headed from the hot, crowded cities of the Northeast to bungalow colonies and resorts in the mountains. Barred from many gentile resorts, Jews founded little patches of paradise of their own, featuring perks that might include kosher food, musical performances from the nation's biggest stars, and in-house matchmakers. At its height, the Borscht Belt featured 538 hotels and around 1500 bungalow colonies. There were also resorts catering to other communities, such as the Peg Leg Bates Country Club with its black clientele. (Bates, who succeeded as a dancer despite racism and his wooden leg, names a stretch of New York's Route 209 which passes through the region and, in fact, marks the northern end of the festival.) For generations of Jewish New Yorkers, Borscht Belt resorts were simultaneously a family vacation and a precursor to the classic Jewish summer camp.

Today these resorts are gone. The Borscht Belt doesn't exist anymore. But here in Ellenville, the former home of major resorts like the Nevele and the Fallsview, the Borscht Belt Fest keeps their memory alive. I'm here because the festival is always a lot of fun, and because I want to avenge my Simon Sez loss last year. But, nearly two years after October 7 and the ensuing Israeli attacks in Gaza shattered many Jewish communities, I also want to see how this glimpse of a communal past can shine a light on a potential Jewish future.

***

This year's festival began with a kickoff on Friday night, but I've committed to attending my friends' housewarming party, so I make it up to the festival midday on Saturday, in time for Lucie Pohl's Immigrant Jam, one of 10 stand-up comedy shows, with 30 comics, at the festival this year – and that's not even counting all the shows about comedy. Afterwards, there aren't many people milling about outside – the sky is overcast, and the street fair won't start until tomorrow, perhaps because many people wouldn't be able to make it up until Shabbat ends. But I do notice one roadside attraction: a strange blue wooden stand in the shape of a boat with plaques reading Barter Boat Trading Post.

Most of it's from Cincinnati, Ohio at this current inflection point, explains Anna Abhau Elliott, one of three women running the stand when I get there. By it she means the collection of varied items that you can barter for at the stand. (Some rules: No food, no trash, no biohazards.) The Barter Boat, she tells me, has been traveling around the country collecting these tchotchkes for nine years, going to festivals where people might want to exchange goods the old-fashioned way. We found out about this because Robin has built statues for the museum, explains Elliott, referring to fellow Barter Boater Robin Schwartzman and the adjacent Borscht Belt Museum, for which Schwartzman has made delightful sculptures including a giant gefilte fish and the world's biggest bowl of borscht.

The Borscht Belt Museum exists to catalog stories, photographs, and memorabilia from the decades-long history of Borscht Belt resorts, and tell this history to the familiar and the unfamiliar, to those reminiscing about childhoods spent in the Catskills and those up in the Catskills for the first time. We don't want to resurrect it at the Borscht Belt Museum, we want to show you the history, explains museum treasurer Peter Chester. Founded in 2023 in the former Home National Building on Canal Street, the museum features an extensive collection of exhibits about the Borscht Belt, including a main exhibit about food and comedy in the Catskills and a recreated 1970s hotel room from Kutsher's. And of course, the museum is also behind the festival.

Chester talks of history and resurrection because of one simple truth. The Borscht Belt doesn't exist anymore. In a way, it's a good thing. Decreasing marginalization of Jews in public life meant that no Jews allowed notices at hotels disappeared, and airplane tickets to farther-afield destinations became increasingly affordable, so separate resorts in Upstate New York were no longer necessary. Few people are suggesting that the Borscht Belt be brought back. Yet learning about this history, and embracing some of the joys it brought, could be a way to build new community and deepen some people's sense of Jewish identity.

When I stop by the museum, there's a reception honoring comedian Robert Klein. I don't have tickets, so I can't take a look around – I've visited before, so I don't mind – but before I leave, I pick up a piece of paper on the front table. It's from The Workers Circle, and it includes a number of Borscht-Belt-relevant words in Yiddish:

Yiddish	English
Zumerזומער	Summer
Hotelהאטעל	Hotel
Kokh-Aleynקאך-אליין	Summer Residence with a Shared Kitchen
Shlofhayzke / Baydlשלאפהייזקע / ביידל	Bungalow
Ketskilsקעטסקילס	Catskills
Gebergגעבערג	Mountains
Shvimbaseynשווימבאסיין	Swimming Pool
Komedyeקאמעדיע	Comedy
Musikמוזיק	Music
Shvimenשווימען	Swim
Lakhnלאכן	Laugh
Zingenזינגען	Sing
Esn / Fresnעסן / פרעסן	Eat / Gorge Oneself

There is something about this list that's delightful, and I wish it were longer.

***

After a quick break for dinner, I'm back for one of the events I'm most excited about: The Jewish Dating Game. New to the festival this year (and making its Upstate debut!), the Dating Game–style live show is held at the Common Good, a new bookstore-cum-bar-cum-event-space in rapidly gentrifying Ellenville. I'm single, but I chose not to sign up to be a contestant, in part because I assumed that the remaining contestants would be several generations older than me (this turns out not to be true) and in part because I don't like being put on the spot in front of a large group (this turns out to be entirely true – I end up being very glad to be sitting in the audience).

Host and founder Linnea Sage gives some highly amusing introductory remarks before welcoming the first bachelor to the stage. He answers some preliminary questions in a classic New York accident and less classic umbrella disguise (so that the contestants can't see him, he has to shuffle around under an umbrella with curtains suspended below), and we're off to the races. Three bachelorette contestants are chosen, one of whom cannot name a single thing she likes about the bachelor's preliminary answers, and seated and separated from the bachelor (now visible to the audience) by a divider. Sage provides the bachelor with a stack of questions, most of which harken back to their time as children in the Borscht Belt. The most memorable question, though, is the last one, asked to every bachelorette contestant: You're on a first date, when suddenly one of the 10 Plagues befalls you. Which one would you choose?

The immediate answer that pops into my head is frogs, although after a thorough review the obvious answer is darkness (what's wrong with a first date at night?). One woman can't remember any plagues, which I don't think the previously enthusiastic bachelor is very excited about. Ultimately he selects one of the other contestants, who turns out to be an alum of my high school. We stay winning.

The second group of contestants appears to all be in their 20s, and receives more relevant questions to that age range. Afterwards, it's time for the winning pairs to draw restaurants for a date during tomorrow's street fair – the Jewish Dating Game typically sponsors meals at Jewish and Israeli restaurants, but this time they're at one of the food carts and local Mexican restaurant Gaby's. There ends up being a little bit of a snag: The first bachelor had to leave early to bring his elderly mother home, and he probably won't be there tomorrow for that reason. Classic Jewish men and their mothers! (What, surely you didn't think I would go to all these events alone!)

The event culminates with a bizarre performance from Jewish rapper Kosha Dillz, whose freestyle lyrics are slightly less bar-mitzvah-appropriate than his name might imply, followed by a raffle for some merch (a woman hands me her raffle ticket, but despite the thinning crowd I fail to win anything). The winning contestant from the second round, a comedian who's volunteering at the festival, teaches some of the young people how to do origami. Shabbat ends. The Common Good empties out. It's time to get some good rest before the excitement of tomorrow's street fair.

***

The morning brings more stories: I'm back at The Common Good for Borscht Belt Story Hour, an opportunity for visitors to share their accounts of Borscht Belt (mis)adventures to be recorded for the museum's archives. The first storyteller is voted the morning's best – she shares a wealth of experiences from when her family ran the El Dorado, from the intel one could gain working as a switchboard operator to her grandmother's clever way to catch egg thieves. But everyone has something delightful – or at least interesting – to share. I saw The Who at Tamarack Lodge in 1970, recalls one participant – one of many, many instances of a big act performing at a relatively small hotel. He notes that driving by the old, shuttered hotels can be saddening, but he's grateful for the museum and the festival: You're all keeping the memories alive.

This event is MC'd by Pearl Lau, a volunteer at the Borscht Belt Museum who finds her job delightful. I'm not Jewish, she tells me later, but I love the culture, I love being up here, and I love volunteering here. It's one of the happiest jobs… everyone who comes up here has a happy story.

Lau keeps the audience entertained between stories from her childhood summers in Ellenville and amusing anecdotes. She mentions that while volunteering at the Borscht Belt Museum, I get asked once in a while for the senior rate. We're all seniors going in! This quip speaks to one of the conundrums of the Borscht Belt Fest. The Borscht Belt doesn't exist anymore, and it hasn't for decades. None of the stories at the Borscht Belt Museum's Oral History Project are coming from people in their 20s.

This is evident at the festival, and particularly the events. There are a hundred-plus people at Immigrant Jam – whose young, hip comedians might be expected to attract a younger crowd – and I appear to be the youngest by a solid ten years. The Jewish Dating Game, at least, has a somewhat younger clientele. I talk to the bachelorette from the second round, and she tells me that her friends (also present) had encouraged her to sign up. She hadn't known that it was part of a larger event, but now that she's aware, she might attend the street fair tomorrow – she has a date, after all. I don't know whether the date ended up happening, but it seems like events like the Jewish Dating Game, with their broad appeal across ages, could be the ticket to getting a wider and younger audience interested in Borscht Belt history and culture.

I run into Linnea Sage later. She thanks me for being a positive presence in the audience; I thank her for running a great show and buy a tote bag. Got Chutzpah?, it reads. I tell her that I'm writing an article about the Borscht Belt Fest targeted at other young people, which she thinks is a great idea. We need to bring the youth back to this area, she suggests. I'm not sure if that's completely true – as Stone Ridge native Jaime Gruber tells me, the area's quick transformation into a destination for transplants and part-timers has brought both positives and negatives, so it's hard to say for sure what the area needs – but there's certainly something to be said about making the Borscht Belt Fest, and the history it celebrates, more well-known to the under-40 set. Most people my age don't know about the Borscht Belt, even though it was a pivotal part of many Jews' lives. I've had a vague knowledge of the Borscht Belt for a while, but stories weren't passed down in my family either: I learned a couple of years ago that my grandfather, a child actor, had performed at some resorts, but it was only when I told my aunt Beth about writing this article that I learned that my other grandfather's cousin, Ray Parker, had run the Concord Resort hotel, the largest in the Catskills. That side of the family spent summers in Nantucket, but I learned from Beth that they had a wonderful time at the Concord every winter. Probably lots of young Ashkenazi Jews could find similar stories, if only they knew to ask.

***

As a testament to the fest's age demographics, I've had difficulty convincing my friends to accompany me to this year's festival. My housewarming-party-hosting friends had other commitments and declined to come, despite the fact that one of them does Jewish-themed standup comedy, and so did my friend whose Jewish-pun products would've been a hit at the street fair (he had a dogsitting gig). But I'm delighted, because I successfully convinced my friend Gilad to come to the festival with his family. After meeting up with them at the Story Hour – I learn that his mother, too, attended Borscht Belt resorts as a kid, part of a group of post-war Hungarian immigrants who socialized together – we listen to some excellent klezmer music and walk around the street fair. I pick up a hot dog from Manischewitz (yes, that Manischewitz. They apparently have a food truck now!? (And it's certified Glatt kosher, too!)) and get ready for a perennial festival highlight: the Simon Sez Competition. I finished 6th last year, and I'm ready for revenge.

This is the third year that Steve Max has led Simon Sez at the Borscht Belt Fest, but he's been doing it for years, becoming the Simon Says guy – a clip from the competition he ran at an NBA game has received more than more than a million views on Instagram. He started working as a tummler – an entertainer and social director for Borscht Belt resorts – in the 1980s, working at the Vegetarian and then at the more well-known Pines Hotel. Needless to say, he's brought Simon Sez to a science. Every year he has the same opening routine – speech, a rhythmic opening, several practice rounds, finding someone who's terrible and ribbing them about it – but it always feels fun and fresh.

It begins to rain. The intensity ratchets up – faster, more confusing. I make the top four, along with Dylan, the exquisitely dressed kiddo who showed last year that you can be fashionable and talented by winning last year's competition in his excellent bowtie; a woman who seems to be well-known to Steve Max, perhaps a personal friend; and my friend Gilad's mom, Andrea. We are asked to stand up front and face the audience. And then my run comes immediately to an ignominious end, as my reflexes become just a little too quick for my brain. Dylan, hoping to defend his trophy, is out next in 3rd. Andrea, who played many games of Simon Sez in the Borscht Belt as a kid but never once won, is crowned the champion.

I had been planning on interviewing the winner of the competition, but the fact that it's my friend's mom brings some problems.

Cerulean Ozarow (that's me): What brought you up here?
Andrea Gural: Cerulean!

So much for journalistic integrity.

Afterwards, I look fruitlessly for festival director Amy Zaltzman (her advice to ask any volunteer to find her fails to work, but we connect later). I watch the rugelach bake-off winners be announced, with guest judge Seth Greenberg (the son of William Greenberg, of Upper East Side bakery fame). And, having decided that having more to write about is worth the extra $30 spent on a ticket, I go to a stand-up performance by Rabbi Bob Alper. It's a good investment: after Peter Chester's speech about the museum and yet another Kosha Dillz performance, the rabbi comes on, and he's absolutely hilarious. Like Bernie Sanders, Alper is Jewish, in his 80s, lives in Vermont, has white hair, and is highly likeable; unlike Bernie Sanders, he's learned how to use his indoor voice. Alper delivers hilarious two-or-three-liners (my favorite is the one about the eight rabbis in Sacramento) with the calm, comforting presence that any rabbi should have. There's nothing raunchy, nothing that would be inappropriate for the kids attending the show (although those kids look suspiciously like 75-year-olds) – just Jewish humor at its finest.

***

A remarkable aspect of the Borscht Belt Fest is how rooted it is in place and, as a consequence, how little focus is placed on events beyond the Catskills. Unlike other Jewish events I've been to, references to Israel or the war in Gaza are scarce – the only Israeli flag I see is not from a festival booth, but taped to the window of the Spanish-medium Pentecostal church on Canal Street, with a message to Pray for Israel written below. Of course, that's not to say that the festival is completely devoid of politics. There are plenty of negative references to Trump during the Immigrant Jam (the handlebar-mustachioed man sitting across from me looks rather unhappy about it – I'm not sure what he expected from an event meant to elevate the people who Trump so often denigrates). The local Democratic Party shows up with a tent, ready to discuss its platform with people who come by. And Israel comes up occasionally too, with Rabbi Alper making several (apolitical) mentions of his visits during his comedy routine. Helps protect the troops, says the man at the Chabad Mitzvah Trolley (Chabad of Ulster County has a mitzvah trolley! That's so much more fun than a bus!), explaining why I should step in to wrap tefillin. I want to protect the troops, and I want to protect the innocent Gazan civilians, and I politely demur: I have to make it back in time for Simon Sez.

I may disagree with him on Israel's actions in Gaza, but it's beautiful that this ultra-Orthodox man and his brethren can attend a Jewish event alongside many Reform Jews and plenty of goyim (maybe the Hispanic family over there is Jewish, but surely those women wearing hijabs aren't). It's rare to have such a space. Lots of Jewish communal spaces are religious in nature, but despite being welcoming in theory (any Jew is welcome on the Mitzvah Trolley!), in practice they are rarely so inclusive for people outside a space's political or religious mainstream. Political spaces provide another opportunity for Jewish community, and are particularly popular among young people, but they, too, are limited in their ability to create dialogue or broader cultural significance. These spaces can be highly meaningful and impactful, whether you're part of your school's Students for Israel chapter or SJP, but they shouldn't be the only non-religious place that Jews can find community.

I have been trying to learn more about Jewish religious customs, having been raised in a fully secular household. (When Linnea Sage asked the first bachelor how religious he wanted his partner to be, from shiksa to shomer negiah, I thought it was hilarious, having learned the latter term from Orthodox friends at school; my mom had no idea what Sage was talking about.) And I find great joy in carrying on traditions that have been done in some form for 2,000+ years. But what speaks to me more consistently at this point in my journey are aspects of Jewish culture and history that aren't necessarily tied to religion. It's not always easy for young people to find such aspects — consider, for instance, that the Yiddish program at Brandeis was nearly shuttered this year. The Borscht Belt doesn't exist anymore, so a Zumer in the Ketskills (delightful as it is) can't provide the cultural experience it once did. But learning about it and experiencing moments that hark back to it reminds me of the great mosaic of things that being Jewish can encompass.

Even if your Jewishness is more tied to Judaism, or more tied to political activism, you have to admit: the Borscht Belt Fest is delightful. I attended a Jewish festival in the Midwest earlier this year, and it was not nearly as fun. No comedy, no Simon Sez, few quirky historical anecdotes, and lots of assumptions about how you felt about Israel. To me, the Borscht Belt Fest's version of Jewishness – food, music, comedy, language, history, and community most of all – is so much richer.

***

I finish off my trip to the Borscht Belt by getting defeated in ping-pong, 11-10, by Krazy Tyrone, who served as a tummler at Kutsher's for nearly 20 years, and plenty of other hotels before. He is playing with a block of wood, ostensibly to make it more challenging. Good luck on your career, he tells me, and get married to a nice Jewish girl. I thank him and say my goodbyes. On my way out, I stop by Cohen's Bakery (it's now Mexican-owned, but they still make their famous pumpernickel bread) and get avocado toast (I know it's embarrassing. I'm not a secret Californian transplant I swear) before we drive away. I'm sure I'll be back soon.

***

The Borscht Belt doesn't exist anymore. But in a way, in a lot of ways, it still does. There are lots of Jews in upstate New York, whose backgrounds reflect the range of religiosity of those who attended Borscht Belt resorts — from the Jewish Dating Game Contestant who couldn't remember any of the Ten Plagues to the Satmar Hasidim of Palm Tree. There are still bungalow colonies — Pearl Lau is part of one, and she described to me the wonderful sense of community evident when everyone comes together for cake for a young boy's birthday. There are plenty of Jewish summer camps in the area. There are plenty of people to carry the memories on. Of course, the people with the memories are getting older and older, and even as the Borscht Belt Museum catalogs them, it's not clear that anyone in the next generation will come to listen. But there's something here to grab onto, if only we young people reach out.

During her introduction to The Jewish Dating Game, Linnea Sage talked about her goal of creating some Jewish joy through the show. My knee-jerk reaction to this phrase happens to be somewhat negative – I'm reminded of a minor campus controversy at my school when the Hillel director responded to the shooting of a Palestinian classmate of mine with an email suggesting that Jews should respond with Jewish joy… the most powerful expression of Jewish resistance and continuity. Joy is wonderful, but wasn't that a time to be outraged? But while we must have space for being outraged, and being distraught, and being fearful – space for decrying the rise in antisemitic attacks, and mourning the loss of Gazan children killed by air raids and fire at aid distribution sites, and demanding the return of the hostages and a ceasefire that actually lasts this time – we must also leave space for joy. It's possible to find that joy in religious traditions that have existed for millennia. (Hasidism, however stringent it may seem to outsiders, is fundamentally about joy.) It's possible to find it in the pursuit of tzedek and in repairing the world. In comparison to those, lakhn and zingen and a trip to the Geberg may seem frivolous, insubstantial. But there's nothing insubstantial about community. And listening to traditional Musik and Komedye and having a great time under the shadow of the Ketskils are some of the easiest ways to experience joy I know. Being a Jew has never been easy – exile, blood libel, pogroms, discrimination, terrorism, you name it. But in the shadow of the Holocaust, the worst calamity of them all, millions of Jews found a way to experience so much joy in the Borscht Belt that people are still coming back to tell stories about it sixty years later.

We ought to teach more about the Holocaust, to make sure that Never Again truly means never again, no genocide against anyone by anyone. And we also ought to teach about the positive parts of our history, the pieces that can help us sing and laugh and build powerful communities in the future.

Maybe I'll see you next year in the Catskills.