When my year of mourning was over I had two objectives. The first was to complete the writing of an actual book on grief and mourning that I had been penning off and on throughout the Kaddish year. That book is nearly completed and I intend to call it Kosher Grief.
The second was to reengage my wife and children as a paterfamilias. For a whole year I tried to be an outstanding son by never missing a Kaddish, which I did not, thank God. I discovered, and recorded in my book, that a relationship need not end when one participant has passed away. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t need two to tango. A relationship can be carried on by one. And for a full year I immersed myself into honoring and loving my father at thrice daily prayer services, publishing my book Holocaust Holiday, which was dedicated to his memory, writing a Torah scroll in his name and having the memorial speech on the last day of Kaddish delivered by secretary of state Mike Pence, and, most importantly, having a great-grandson named after him, a huge honor bestowed upon my father by my daughter Mushki and her husband Arik.
But now it was time to become a father and husband again. My wife and I needed to get away. Alone. I needed to emerge from mourning and reengage my wife as a man of laughter and good cheer.
Where should we go?
Israel was then, and still remains, closed to tourists. We could drive somewhere, but we’d feel that were still too close to home. I told my wife, “There is only one place, Hawaii.”
One COVID test later and off we went, visiting two islands over two weeks.
I’VE ALWAYS been mesmerized by Hawaii. With a credible claim to being the most beautiful place on earth, it’s hard to believe that these volcanic islands right smack in middle of the Pacific – the most isolated on earth – are not just a part of the US but are an actual state, with all the comfort and amenities that Americans are used to in their home towns.
But its natural beautify was only part of what made Hawaii so special. From the moment we arrived I felt enveloped by an all-encompassing, soothing and healing atmosphere that allowed me to take my broken pieces and start gluing them back together.
I believe that the biggest challenge facing humanity as it confronts a global pandemic and is surrounded by death is the cynical conclusion that some may arrive at that life is meaningless. The confrontation with death can result in a callous indifference to life. What’s the point of working so hard to get educated and build a family if you can breathe in the wrong air a moment later and end up hospitalized on a ventilator, fighting for your last breaths? How much meaning does life have, and how can we speak of how precious life is, when all around us people are dying, snuffed out in the prime of their lives?
The only real answer to this question is to constantly choose life, affirm life, appreciate life, and immerse yourself in life. In Hawaii everything is alive. From the oceans, which are teeming with such radiant and vibrant color that is accessible with a mask and a snorkel, to the lush greenery, to the very earth which is alive with flowing red hot lava. In Hawaii you learn to overcome death as you are immersed endlessly in abundant, radiant life.
We stayed at the Fairmont Kea Lani on Maui, arguably the most beautiful hotel on the most beautiful island, which we chose in part because it’s right near the Chabad House of Maui, run by our close friends Rabbi Mendel and Mushka Krasnjansky, and where I lectured twice, once on Israel and once on Kosher Sex. I snorkeled in the mornings on the beautiful reef right outside the hotel and rode my bike in the afternoon, immersing myself in the healing warmth and supernatural beauty. But what was I feeling that made me feel more whole?
I asked Alexis Eaton, who runs communications for the Kea Lani, why she had moved from the continental US and what makes Hawaii special. She responded with an unexpected insight into my own experience.
“When the island was unexpectedly closed to visitors for many months due to the global pandemic, those living on Maui saw a remarkable regeneration of the land and ocean. We saw our island given much-needed time to ‘rest.’ Marine life flourished, reefs regenerated and people saw a version of Maui that was thought to be one of years gone by.”
Funny, I thought, Hawaii was like me. It needed to rest. It needed to refresh.
She continued, “With the reopening of the islands to visitors, we made a renewed commitment to malama (to care for) the islands... To truly malama, is to care for another as though you are ohana (family). Much of this stems from the very concept of aloha. In Hawaiian, sharing aloha, is in essence, sharing a piece of yourself... For many visitors, their arrival to the islands is full of enchantment. As they discover the mana (spiritual energy) of the island they feel a natural connection that often derives a sense of recharge or regeneration. Many believe it has natural healing energies. When people leave the islands, this mana often becomes a strong force that calls them back. Frequently visitors remark that Maui is their ‘happy place.’”
THE FOLLOWING week I spoke for Chabad of the Big Island and its director Rabbi Levi Gerlitzky. It was Lag Ba’omer, one of the happiest days on the Jewish calendar and a large crowd (okay, relative to Hawaii) came to hear me speak about the holiday. But just a few hours prior, tragedy struck in Israel as 45 people were trampled to death in Meron in Israel celebrating the holiday. It was extremely challenging speaking on a festival that had become of the worst disasters in modern Israel’s history, especially as I spoke about the tragedy in Hawaii, a place where joy abounds. People watched my speech live across the world and I felt like we were spreading Hawaiian healing to all who were suffering.
For Shabbat we stayed at the Fairmont Orchid on the big island, a boutique hotel of unqualified beauty. Some of the guests recognized me and got into a debate on politics. I told them we’re in Hawaii where everyone debates passionately but harmoniously and where everyone can disagree without being disagreeable. They laughed and said, “Olaha Shalom.”
Hawaii is a state that punches above its weight in history. For a tourist destination out in middle of nowhere, you can scarcely believe it’s the place where the Second World War started for the United States, with all the unequaled carnage that especially would affect the Jewish people with the six million of the Holocaust. That’s why it’s so wonderful to see the Jewish communities of Hawaii exploding like never before.
It’s a point I made both to Hawaii’s former governor, the very proud Jewish-American leader Linda Lingle, who joined us for Shabbat dinner in Englewood a few years back, as well as to former Hawaiian Congresswoman and presidential candidate, Tulsi Gabbard, who was honored for her support for Israel at a World Values Network Gala. Both Hawaiian leaders agreed that the state – America’s 50th state, admitted to the Union in 1959 – was a place of unique unity and harmony.
But in a time of mass anxiety and extraordinary focus on mental health, Hawaii – with its emphasis on healthy living, American openness, and appreciation for the glories of nature – just might be exactly what America needs.
The writer, America’s Rabbi, is the best-selling author of 30 books, including most recently Holocaust Holiday: One Family’s Descent into Genocide Memory Hell. Follow him on Instagram and Twitter @RabbiShmuley.