We stood in the middle of the field, all hugging, all crying, all not wanting to go home. It was the last day of camp, and while I knew that I had to get on the bus to the airport, I desperately did not want to leave Camp Yavneh. The Jewish summer camp had been my home for the past two months- the same way that it had been during the six previous summers.

I eventually said goodbye to some of my closest friends, and in a blur of a day, flew home. For me, home meant starting practice for the varsity soccer team at my Jewish high school, and shortly after that, beginning my freshman year. It meant once again being active in USY, attending synagogue regularly, and traveling to Israel. Growing up in a largely Jewish suburban Philadelphia neighborhood, I knew nothing other than a life in which everything was salted and peppered with Judaism. Religion was never something to which I gave a second thought; it just was .

Leaving camp that year, I anticipated many things about my high school career, but illness was certainly not on the list. Nevertheless, what had started out as a few vague symptoms in middle school turned into something much harder to ignore by the end of ninth grade. I eventually was diagnosed as having dysautonomia; a disorder in which the body is unable to regulate the Autonomic Nervous System properly (for more information, go to http://dynakids.org ). Although rarely life threatening, dysautonomia can be very debilitating, and it often left me too sick to attend school or hang out with friends. Homework and parties began to take the back burner to doctors appointments and naps, and I soon got to know the confines of the hospital much too well.

The following summer, instead of loving Yavneh the way I always did in the past, I had too little energy to participate in many of the activities and only attended for one month. Because I felt so ill, my school also decided that they could no longer accommodate me. My previous life was slowly beginning to slip away, and much of my Jewish involvement was going with it. The most eloquent way to explain what I felt at that point is pissed off at the world. I didn't want, ask for, or deserve anything that was happening, and at a time when my Jewish ties had all but abandoned me, that community was the last place where I wanted to turn for encouragement.

Of course, I didn't have much of a choice. We all know that synagogue Sisterhoods just love coming to the rescue with bowls of soup, and that rabbis feed off of hospital visits and Mi Shebeirachs. The attention was embarrassing, if not unwanted, but I did appreciate garnering support from people who clearly cared about me. Never before had I been exposed in a personal way to this side of our synagogue, and it made me realize how Judaism is often more of a culture and a value system than anything else.

I was not only being robbed of the Jewish side of things, however- many regular teenage milestones also went by unnoticed, as I was unable to attend my new public school on a regular basis. None of my old friends understood how difficult that was, and I often felt like they were moving on, leaving me in the dust with nothing to grasp onto. In an attempt to find peers who could relate to having their lives penetrated by needles, IVs, and dozens of pills, I decided to join the Dysautonomia Youth Network of America, or DYNA. I was very guarded at first, but within a matter of days I came to realize how welcoming a community DYNA is.

I also quickly learned how sheltered I was with respect to religion. DYNA has hundreds of members from all around the world, yet many had never met a Jew, and most knew very little about Judaism. Now that I was no longer in my Lower Merion, Pa. bubble, I was forced to reexamine my religiosity.

Until I joined the organization, I had always taken my Jewish identity for granted. Suddenly, thrust into this religious vortex, I realized just how much Judaism really defines who I am. In many senses, I became a "Jewish ambassador" within DYNA, and for some members I'll be the only Jewish contact that they'll ever have. It's very important to me that I exemplify the Jewish principles of chesed (kindness) and tzedakah (charity), both of which were at the cornerstone of my school, camp, and USY experiences.

For many of my new friends, a strong religious background with very little belief in God or obvious spirituality seems like an enigma. But I know that our religion can be all about blasting modern Hebrew music, debating Israeli politics, or volunteering for tikkun olam projects. When dealing with difficult circumstances brought on by our illness, I am able to borrow from my Jewish heritage and bring a new perspective to the table. In fact, having such a varied group of people is part of what cements DYNA as the strong family that it is. I learn from my friends while they learn from me, and in the end we all know more about ourselves.

I still mourn everything that I've missed with regards to camp and the like, but my religious identity hasn't suffered. It's something innate in me-something that no illness can take away, and something that diversity only enhances. When people talk about being sick, they often discuss how it's brought them closer to God. For me, that never happened. However, the remarkably positive influence that dysautonomia has brought on my Jewish self has come from taking a step back, and experiencing a bird's eye view of the clan we know as Judaism.

Sarina Dane,16, is a junior at Lower Merion High School in Pa. She loves to read and write almost as much as watching her Friends DVDs and can't stand it when grocery carts have one bad wheel. She can be reached at sarinadee@gmail.com .