“I’m thirteen.” I thought that these words would summarize my time at CLTC. I was dead wrong.

I touched down at Newark on June 11, 2025, with my mom, a crying baby, and three of my brother Alephs. I was nervous; terrified, honestly. I had just finished eighth grade and was walking into a program full of high schoolers. Sixteen-year-olds. People who could drive. People who probably wouldn’t want to hang out with some thirteen-year-old kid.

When the bus passed through those gates, that fear followed me everywhere. CLTC began as a blur of names, cheers, and uncertainty about whether I would fit in. I laughed too quietly, stood on the edge of circles, and wondered if anyone noticed that I was younger.

I couldn’t have people knowing my Clark Kent, my Peter Parker, my age. I figured that my large stature would be my shield. I needed a shield, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d fit in. From there, I thought CLTC would be 12 long, awkward days of trying to seem older than I was.

By day two, no one had asked my age, and when they found out, they didn’t care. Then it clicked. I was a fool for thinking that I’d be an outcast in an organization built on inclusion. With that, the awkwardness melted away. The thing about CLTC is that it doesn’t matter how old you are. It matters how much heart you bring. I began to realize that my age wouldn’t define belonging; love would.

On day three, the staff told us we’d build a mock chapter, learn about leadership, and have fun. I nodded, pretending I understood what that meant.

I learned that brotherhood isn’t blood. I’ve found that it’s late-night talks, spirit circles, and moments of shared silence. It’s built when we chant together, “No man is an island,” with our voices trembling and united, understanding that we are all, in some way, carrying something heavy, and that we don’t have to carry it alone.

We soon had our first separates. It’s strange how you can meet someone, and a few days later, you feel safe enough to cry in his arms, you feel safe enough to tell him about the worst day of your life, you feel safe enough to connect.

By June 24, our bags were packed. Our chants were louder. Our hugs lasted longer. And the boy who arrived saying, “I’m thirteen,” left knowing that he can’t fit into a birthday more than he can fit into a brotherhood.

So perhaps the words that would better summarize my time at CLTC are, “I’m an Aleph.”

Fraternally submitted with undying love for every Aleph and BBG I had the pleasure of meeting, big brother, fried chicken, grapes, chocolate, oranges, let me see your Michael Jordan, Coach Max, ABEEEEE, PAAAAAZZZZZZ, Steven, Jaden, and the best twelve days of my life, CLTC.

I forever remain Aleph Yoni Levkovitz, a damn proud attendee of CLTC 1 2025.