In the past few weeks I have vacationed in Hawaii, read Noa Baum’s book, A Land Twice Promised, finished another book, Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, and of course continue with my daily learning of Gemara with its many lessons about how we negotiate conflicting interests in situations where there are disputes about property and personal rights, as well as having participated in various learning circles with my students of so many different ages, all with their wisdom to share. There always seems to be this theme of intentional listening no matter where I go and what I am doing or reading these days –-- I mean really hearing and absorbing the perspective of the person sitting and chatting with you, while holding on to your own thoughts and narrative and beliefs – accepting their perspective as legitimate for them and yours as appropriate for you, if the interaction is indeed honest and constructive.
I will begin where I am right now – sitting in the airport in Honolulu waiting for our plane to Phoenix, where hopefully we will eventually get to Philadelphia at some point in the next few days, depending on the weather over which we have no control. So of course, everywhere you go in this wonderful and beautiful place, you hear the word Aloha. What exactly does Aloha mean? It’s a combination of all the manifestations of the word Shalom – meaning greetings, peace and wholeness; with the added components of love, happiness, and compassion. Everyone wishes it to each other and you really feel like they mean it. There is a calm here, a sense of peace and contentment. Another important word I learned is Ohana, meaning home, family, and relationality. Such an important and heartfelt word with a wonderful mixture of pride and humility – you feel its presence everywhere in Hawaii. I remember this observation from the last time that we were in Hawaii fifteen years ago, and I was not imagining or romanticizing about it – that sense is still here and it seems as sincere and real as can be. Even the very means of communication – the Hawaiian language, with its total of twelve letters --- yes, that is right, twelve letters and here they are: A, E, I, O, U, H, L, M, N, W, K and P – reflect this. The language has a very soft sound and lyrical lilt to it, with only TWO hard consonants – the K and the P. Everything else is soft and gently melodic. I think there is something to be learned here --- less can definitely be more. Relaxed people speaking a gentle language with a calm demeanor – there is so much to learn from this.
That is how it appears to be. But that is clearly not the whole story. Last time I was here, we learned about some of the conflicts and fractured nature of the Hawaiian identity – the fiftieth state of the United States as of 1959 but before that a Monarchy whose very identity was taken away on so many levels. With pride from its past as a royal government with its rooted Polynesian culture, it has become a wonderful part of the country of which it is part. The day I spent at the Iolani Palace reinforced this perspective as did our time at Pearl Harbor. Its men and women have long and proudly served in the military and its American citizens of Japanese ancestry were some of the most decorated soldiers and military units this country ever saw. The nature and the magnificence of the surroundings, the myths that are still woven intricately into the Hawaiian identity, the art, music and everything about this place has its own distinct identity to be sure. Yet, there are feelings of how American are Hawaiians? Are they seen as American even if their ancestral roots go back to Japan or elsewhere? Are they looked at as Americans or indigenous others? Are they accorded the dignity to which they are clearly entitled? Identity is always such a tricky matter and this tension is indeed present, seeping through the magnificent scenery and its proud people in little and subtle ways when one pays attention, which I always try to do.
Simultaneously, as I have just finished reading these two books, again, I am caught in the quagmire of the world of complicated and multi-faceted identities, fractured history and interaction of people who need to negotiate a shared existence and not relegate each other to THEM, the enemy, the one who will not be my friend and whom I will not consider as an equal, one entitled to the same rights of existence as those in my life. Koreans and Japanese and Chinese in Pachinko; and Israelis and Palestinians in Noa’s narrative of the development of her storytelling performance – in both of these narratives and in my touring and learning about so much of the history of Hawaii, the notion that there is not just ONE TRUTH that is MY REALITY is so prevalent. The importance of being able to see our reality from the vantage point of another’s truth while not compromising our own is critical if we are going to move forward in our world today. Listening to Hawaiian music and just living in the world of Aloha for a few days brings a sense of serenity and calm we could all use more of in our lives. By acknowledging that we all have our stories and our pain and our historical narratives and that these are the ingredients of our truth allows us to interact with each other in a caring and compassionate way instead of living with increased angst with no indication of resolution. Further, when we hear the story of the other, we recognize our own reality and how much we ultimately share. Watching and hearing Hawaiians speak of their mythology and gods and goddesses that are part of the very landscape of the volcanoes, beautiful waterfalls, lava spills, beautiful flora and all that is here and I identify as God’s wondrous artwork – I acknowledge that while we have different explanations of these wondrous phenomena, we all agree that there is an other-worldliness and sense of awe-inspiring amazement that is shared. The breath we share in our collective gasp at this beauty transcends the notion that there are different explanations behind individual elements of that reaction to wonder.
So now, two days later, I am sitting in yet another airport, this one in Detroit, REALLY hoping that this last one and a half hour flight will finally get us home, almost two days after we were to be home in Philadelphia. After making peace with the impact of yet another Nor’easter, we ended up spending a bonus two days in Phoenix until we could finally get a plane – the one we are now waiting for at 3:05 am Friday morning. We used our time in Phoenix to continue our education about yet another group of Americans that are too often seen as “other,” namely the Native Americans. We spent a day at The Heard Museum, which I highly recommend as a “must do” if you find yourself in Phoenix, either by plan or … not. Seeing the painful stories of confused identity, the attempts at acculturation by sending the Native American children to boarding schools to “make them good and proper American citizens” while attempting to purge them of their rich and powerful history and heritage, the sad stories of artists who held so much pain in them, and of course the military exhibit – again standing as witness to those decorated soldiers who did so much for our country in which we all live and yet did not merit the same consideration as citizens that those of us of privilege do not have cause to question.
What is so terribly wrong with this picture? Pesach or Passover is quickly approaching for those of us in the Jewish community. This is the most celebrated and observed holiday or experience of the entire Jewish calendar. Its seminal story of freedom and the change of destiny from a group of slaves to a nation of free people is critical to our world on so many levels. Yet, while we may intellectually appreciate the transition and think that we have achieved what needs to bring the best of humanity out in all of us, we have to remember the other part of this freedom – the responsibility that comes with being able to determine one’s own destiny.
Our family loves Sedarim (the special Passover meals the first two nights of the holiday), I mean we really LOVE them. We often take on themes that will help us craft an experience that is particularly meaningful and gives each Seder its own special script, if you will. One of our Sedarim this year will be focused on Oppression and Oppressed People in our World, and how the text of our Haggadah (the script that frames this meal and experience) enjoins us to remember the one who is not as advantaged and privileged as us and our responsibility to care for and advocate for them – that is using our privilege for good.
This is clearly in my mind as I begin to think carefully about these experiences, which happen in one week. As I consider and plan for these festive and meaningful gatherings, I will be remembering the Hawaiians who treasure their past and bring a unique sense of serenity and history and Aloha to our reality. I will be thinking of Israelis and Palestinians who need to (and are in rapidly increasing numbers) come to a better understanding of each other beyond the politics in which too many of us get mired. I will be thinking of Koreans with their proud heritage and treasured past who live in Japan and who deal with the very real threat of losing their ancestral identity. I will be considering the Native Americans, their beautiful art and their rich history and stories which have lessons for all of us.
Let us all remember that freedom is something that free people must value enough to grant to all around them. If we do not feel that the “other” (whoever that may be) is worthy of freedom, than are we ourselves so worthy; and are we truly free? This is the foundational lesson of Passover and so much else in the rhythm of Jewish life – you shall NOT oppress any other, for you were oppressed in the land of Egypt. Let us all celebrate our respective seasons of freedom while remembering that all human beings are to be included in our hopes for such validation and actualization of self. With sincere wishes of Shalom and Aloha for all!
