I recently watched the end of Titanic for the hundredth time (Shawshank Redemption is a close second). One of the last scenes shows the wreckage and disintegration, which is then superimposed with moving images of the people enjoying life on the ship on its short-lived journey.
I’m not sure why that particular scene always gets me. Perhaps it’s just the very idea that at that time, this was the world’s largest and most luxurious ship, occupied by the rich and famous. The luxury and detail that went into every single aspect of that ship, from the hand-carved wood molding and full-service accommodations to the extensive food and lodgings, were simply above and beyond the norm. Only moments before the Titanic hit the iceberg, life couldn’t have been better for everyone aboard. But that all ended rather abruptly on that fateful night.
I’ve always been one for nostalgia, and spending the summers in the Catskill Mountains only compounds that tendency. In 1979, at age eight, I attended Camps Raleigh and Moshava, and made my honorary visits to Grossinger’s, the Concord, and eventually, the Homowack. I was always amazed by the fact that most of these hotels, including the coffee shops, were kosher, even if many of the guests were not strictly observant. Other than that, I never realized how much food was actually consumed during those visits, but suffice it to say that Mal Z. Lawrence had it right when he joked, “They come in as families and leave as cargo. Boys, bring out the forklift and flatbed for the Epsteins!”
My dad worked at the Concord Hotel as a busboy in 1953, paying his way through school – along with thousands of other hungry young men looking to forge their way. And what better place than one offering great weather, mountainous landscapes, Jews of all shapes and sizes, and enough food to feed five armies (including enough rolls and danishes “for later”).
One night this week, I decided to take a drive with my wife and visit some of these dilapidated hotels. Grossinger’s has been reduced to rubble. Brown’s is an abandoned building, as is the Homowack, which recently had another fire. The once famous Concord is now a casino, yet lacking a lobby for Jews to sit and a dining room to fress in.
We heard of a dinosaur hotel that still exists and decided to make the trek. The fact that there were no lights or any signs of human life should have been a tip-off. Suffice it to say, I felt like I had walked onto the set of The Shining, as there were only two people (one worked behind the counter) in this once-upon-a-time landmark hotel. I tried to explain to my wife that this was literally considered “the bomb” back in the day when it was built in 1950 by the hottest architectural firm around, but I could see I was getting nowhere fast. In fact, a bomb is probably what this place needed. Perhaps it was the smell of 1950s mold, coupled with utter filth, water damage, and a seventies decor, which prompted my wife to say, “Uh, honey, I’ll meet you in the car.”
When I got home, I found several videos of people going into abandoned Catskills hotels and filming the various rooms in their current dilapidated state. Dining rooms bereft of everything, except for the old carpeting and thousands of overturned bowls and plates – many of which I probably ate from. Trees growing inside the indoor pool, broken bathroom fixtures throughout the hotels, and everything in between, I felt like I was watching Titanic all over again.
The obvious lesson is that nothing physical lasts forever. An athlete or model at 25 is not the same at 85, because all things physical have a shelf life. Time stops for no one. Bing Crosby was the most famous singer in the world almost 100 years ago, and today most people under 50 wouldn’t recognize the name.
Koheles had it right when he wrote, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.”
G-d, for reasons only He knows, places us all here for a prescribed amount of time, and then we return to Him. Naturally, He wants us to live and enjoy the beautiful world He has given us, but He is equally concerned in how we live and enjoy ourselves. And this is the key to achieving permanence: how we behave.
And then I thought of something beautiful that the Vilna Gaon once noted. The physical world can be represented by zeros. If you add up all of the zeros (the physical things), they amount to zero. But, if you add the number One before all of the zeros, as in “Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, The L-rd is One,” before all of the zeros, then suddenly all the zeros become exponentially greater. By simply placing G-d before all things physical, we actually convert the number from valueless to priceless.
This means that if you are to look at the hotel, cruise, or vacation experience as a strictly physical indulgence, bereft of any godliness and spirituality, then you’re correct. Eat, drink, and be merry – for tomorrow you will die.
But if you take G-d – the number One – and you place Him before each experience, you not only elevate it, but you transform it into something permanent. We stayed at the Homowack where they provided kosher meals, daily minyanim, great lecturers, and learning on Shavuot night. These memories will continue to live on, not only in this world as a happy memory but – because they were infused with kedusha – for all eternity.
For the past 20 summers, I’ve had the privilege of living in Vacation Village, which was formally the Evans Hotel. Every morning when I go to minyan, I can’t help but remind myself that only 50 years ago, the room I daven in was known as one the wildest bars in town – particularly on Friday nights. Unfortunately, while that might have done well for its finances, it didn’t do well for its spirituality, as this room was a magnet for many impure things.
And then one day, a man named Nachman and his associate, Heshy, shared a vision to build summer homes in a shomer Shabbos environment. Before long, they converted the nightclub into a synagogue, placing the One before all those zeros, implanting that room with kedusha and permanence. One day, when this building is gone, like the hundreds before it, the difference will be the sincere davening and divrei Torah performed within it.
We can literally inject holiness into our own lives, transforming the physical experience into something greater, deeper, more meaningful, and most importantly, giving it permanence that will serve us well beyond our mortality.
Avi Ciment lectures throughout the world and has just finished his second book, “Real Questions Real Answers,” and can be reached at www.AviTalks.com.
