My daughter and I were sitting in the hot tub in our backyard and she pointed out the monarch butterfly that was hovering nearby. She shared with me that she likes to think of Grandma Gershun when one of these royal visitors flits around us or perches on a leaf nearby. I was touched deeply by this image.
It made sense to me on many levels, one being our local mythology about the presence of a Black Witch moth. In Hawaii, it is common to believe that the Black Witch Moth is the spirit of a family member who has passed away and has come to visit. It is not like a haunting and does not feel scary. On the contrary, we welcome the visits and the feelings of connection.
We often see a Black Witch Moth visiting our house in West O’ahu. When these visitors come, they will perch high up on the wall above the window and hang out there for the day. According to the Bug Lady , who posted information on the University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee Bug of the Week page a few years ago, this moth is a giant among moths and has many stories in the places where it is found. I can see how somebody might mistake it for a bat. While they are not beautiful, there is something peaceful about them. Sometimes they will stay for a few days. We don’t try to shoo them out the door, but go about our business, allowing our guests to rest and relax for however long suits them.
I have my own (vicarious) spiritual experience with a witch moth visit. Soon after my friend Paula lost her mother, she had several poignant encounters with these visitors and I was present with her for one of them. I don’t remember the exact details, but I’m not making up the story. We were at Poka’i Bay, relaxing in the soothing ocean water and talking story when we noticed a moth resting on top of the water nearby. This is highly unusual and we considered that it might be a figment of our imagination. We were not convinced that it was an extra large moth. But, on closer examination, it was. It appeared to us that it was stranded and would not make it back to shore on its own.
We took a moment to acknowledge the deeply personal connection to this visitor who we perceived to be Paula’s mom and then we knew we had to do something to rescue her. Paula sprang into action. She rushed out of the water onto the sand, grabbed a twig and brought it out to help our special companion. Paula nudged the moth onto the twig, held it carefully above the water and gently carried it to the shore. She found a quiet place in the shade for the moth to rest and gingerly placed the twig in the shade under a tree. It was hard to leave, but we did. We said aloha and carried away this deeply moving experience to tuck inside of us to warm our hearts and remember her mom.
So, when my daughter mentioned her theory about the monarch butterfly, I was quick to embrace the idea. It warmed my heart and totally fit, beyond the connection to our local affinity for the Black Witch Moth.
First of all, the monarch butterfly is orange with black veins. Orange was one of my mother’s signature colors. Then there is the whole monarch thing. I often describe my mother as a regal woman. She commanded a presence and, when we were young, commanded our attention. I would describe her manner as benevolent and never mean. She had great posture, held her head high, and regularly flashed a generous and bright smile.
Gloria was a leader by nature. She chaired the PTA when we were in grade school. She was president of the sisterhood at our synagogue. After she retired, she created the local Jewish Book Fair and ran that event for many years. In her warm and gracious way, Gloria held court wherever she was; at her kitchen table, at the Oneg Shabbat after Friday night services, or when she went out to lunch with her girlfriends.
There is one great irony to her majestic presence. She was generally in good health and was rarely ill. If she felt under the weather or happened to catch a cold, she would remark that she did not get sick very easily or very often due to our “Good peasant stock.” I assume she was referring to our Eastern European roots and our ancestors who came to the United States to escape persecution and pogroms and make a good life for themselves, their offspring and future generations of Polskys and Friedmans and Gershuns and Wolfsons. Her regal proclamation and assessment of our background never quite resonated with me nor fit anywhere in her demeanor, her experience, or her closet. Whether pauper or Queen, she was strong.
It pleases me to no end that my daughter felt my mother’s presence when the monarch butterfly came to visit us in the hot tub. Like I said, it makes perfect sense, at least to us. Lately I have noticed a single monarch butterfly on the periphery when I am taking a dip in the spa, walking around the neighborhood, or watering the plants in our garden. I know that they have been there all these years, but now I have more than an appreciation for them, I feel a connection, both to my daughter and her grandmother. I take a minute to think about her and think to myself, “Hi Mom,” and go about my day.
Being Jewish in Hawaii 