One of a Kind.
The very best.
When it comes to my memories of Jack Cristil, who passed away last week, there are simply too many memories to count. Each cherished memory cements this truth: For all of those loyal to our beloved Dawgs (The Mississippi State Bulldogs, for those of you who might unfamiliar), there is and will always be just one Jack Cristil.
For decades, we Dawgs lovers lived to hear “You can wrap this one in Maroon and White!” at the end of a game – that was Jack’s famous ending when the Dawgs were victorious. My family, particularly my father and I, spent many hours listening to Jack Cristil call ballgames on the radio. We did this long before there were so many games on television—the power of his voice made the radio broadcasts as riveting as if we were right there looking at the field with Jack.
Jack always gave details about the players, the coaches, the fans, the atmosphere - he truly had that power to make you feel like you were actually at the game. He could describe everything so vividly that you knew exactly what was going on – the ups, and the downs! We cheered and sighed right along with him. He had a unique gift and skill that put him above other broadcasters. What a voice!
As games became more routinely televised, we would mute the sound while watching the game and listen to Jack call the game on the radio. And we didn’t talk when Jack was talking. Jack was a dedicated ambassador for his community, for Mississippi State University, and for the entire state of Mississippi.
As I came to learn through my work with the ISJL, Jack was also a dedicated community leader. He led services at his home congregation, B’nai Israel in Tupelo, Mississippi. For the Dawgs, for his local civic and Jewish community, and for anyone who ever heard that powerful voice—Jack Cristil will never be forgotten.
Today, as we dwell in this reflective month of Elul and prepare for the high holidays ahead, we also recall this day in our nation’s history. May the memory of all those we lost be a blessing.
From North to South, East to West, and throughout the world, may peace and kindness prevail over terror and violence.
The last thing I imagined to find when I moved to Mississippi? A tabernacle.
Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about the Mishkan, the encampment the Israelites set up in the while wandering in the desert, the physical space where God dwelled among them. But I never thought I would see a life-size replica… let alone in Pearl, Mississippi.
I read about it online, and was immediately tempted to go see it—but I also felt a bit strange about the fact that this “life-size replica of the Mosaic Sanctuary that God gave instructions to Moses to build in the wilderness” was constructed by a Seventh-day Adventist organization. I wondered what the agenda might be, as the group travels with the tabernacle across the nation.
But my curiosity got the best of me. And so I went to see the Mishkan.
Located in the middle of a large open field, next to a church in Pearl, Mississippi, sat several large tents. Two kind older women welcomed me and handed me an admission ticket that read “tribe of Benjamin.” My father’s Hebrew name, I observed silently. The women asked me why I was in Jackson, where I worked and I told them about the Institute of Southern Jewish Life. Although I wasn’t trying to hide the fact that I’m Jewish, I realized I was a bit uncomfortable. Was I coming here “as a Jew”? Was I walking in as a student of religious studies?
Either way, I was probably not their intended audience.
Our tour guide began by explaining the history of the Temple, and Jewish worship at the Temple. I was impressed with the guide’s level of knowledge. He had a lot of dates and important figures memorized, and his information seemed consistent with what I learned in my Jewish day school education.
We walked into the tent, stopping to look at the altar made of “brass” (or plastic spray-painted to look like brass). An unfortunate plush-toy sheep was awaiting a demonstration. The guide explained to us the process of sacrifice, starting with the sin, and ending with the fats and innards burnt on the altar. He shared all the information I was familiar with, but his interpretation was different: for the tour guide in the church’s re-created tabernacle, every part of the sacrifice and worship to God somehow connected to Jesus’ ministry.
We made our way through the tabernacle, beginning from the least holy spot to the most—the Holy of Holies.
Inside the Holy of Holies sat items I knew were supposedly there, but had never pictured. This was perhaps the most interesting thing for me; to see things like manna and Aaron’s staff, depicted in material terms. Manna is something I’ve always learned about as maybe bread, or maybe grain, but definitely heavenly, other-worldly. To see it in a bowl, so obviously of this world, was confusing. Some of the mystery, the ineffable quality was lost.
Perhaps the most jarring interpretation of all: the tour ended in a tent where the High Priest was dressed in a breastplate—and instead of pomegranates and bells around the bottom of his frock, instead Christmas ornaments dangled from the garment.
It was an odd experience, but I’m glad I went. I left this Mishkan feeling confused, but also full of pride. Though our religions look very different today, the Christians who created this tabernacle share many of the same historical roots that connect me to my faith. For my tour guide, the Mishkan was an extraordinary thing that led the way for Jesus’ salvation. For me, it was something that helped shape my people, as a people. Christianity and Judaism both changed drastically over the years, and neither look much like the religion practiced in the desert for 40 years—but both still find meaning in memories and experiences of the Mishkan.