Like so many others, I was very saddened to hear about the passing of Leonard Nimoy last week.
One of my friends, an avid Star Trek fan, felt the loss more deeply. He grew up with Mr. Spock, Nimoy’s legendary character. He is one of many fans: reading through the copious amounts of tributes, it’s clear that multiple generations were profoundly shaped by Mr. Spock, a half-human/half-Vulcan man who strived to follow the Vulcan philosophy of logical discipline and emotional control but also wrestled with pesky human emotions.
Nimoy’s performance as Spock was a wonder of sensitivity and nuance, and it aptly reflected the struggle we all must face as humans: how to balance hopes of the heart with matters of the mind. Over the years, Nimoy made Spock a surprisingly relatable character because of his empathetic impulses. In so doing, Spock, and Nimoy for that matter, will hold a lasting legacy in the American psyche.
Many people might not realize this, but Nimoy drew from his own Jewish background to play Mr. Spock. A lot of people might be aware that the Vulcan salute, created by Nimoy, has Jewish connections and is even said to have originated from the kohanim blessing. But you might not know that the Jewish influences on Spock didn’t end there. Born into an Orthodox Jewish family, Nimoy was subject to anti-Semitism in his hometown of Boston. By Nimoy’s account, the experience of being a minority in an Irish-Catholic enclave helped him to better identify with Spock’s marked sense of alienation from both the human and the Vulcan world. Though Boston has a sizeable Jewish community, Jews were still always a minority – a relatable reality for those of us in smaller towns, in the South and elsewhere.
His Jewish identity did not just help him with bringing Mr. Spock to life. Nimoy actually credits his Jewish upbringing with getting him into the acting business. Nimoy became interested in pursuing professional acting after appearing in the play Awake and Sing (a play that chronicles the hardships of a Jewish family during the Great Depression). He told Abigail Pogrebin in Stars of David: Prominent Jews Talk about Being Jewish that he ended up finding “a home in a play about a Jewish family just like mine.”
As an adult, Nimoy continued to participate actively in Jewish causes. In 1992, he produced and starred in Never Forget, a television movie based on the story of a Holocaust survivor who sued a neo-Nazi organization of Holocaust deniers. Because his grandmother spoke only Yiddish, he became fluent and supported the Yiddish Book Center in their efforts to preserve the Yiddish language. He also participated in the Center’s Wexler Oral History project with them.
Like so many others, I will always cherish Nimoy for his portrayal of Mr. Spock. Turns out, Nimoy’s parents weren’t huge fans of the show. (Although, funny side note: His father, a barber, did offer Spock-style haircuts for some time.) Even if they didn’t appreciate Mr. Spock and the strange new worlds of Star Trek, I would like to think that Nimoy’s ancestors would be proud to know that their Jewish heritage helped to produce both a man and character that made a difference to so many people.
His last tweet brings the message of Nimoy’s life and legacy home: A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.
Thank you, Mr. Nimoy. May your memory be a blessing.
Today is Veteran’s Day. A rainy November Tuesday. I began my day at my computer, appreciating the Facebook statuses honoring veterans, noting the lovely Google Doodle honoring veterans, chuckling at an email from my eight-year old-cousin wherein she thanked various family members for their service and also “for getting me today off of schooooooool!”
Then I got an email from The Andrew Goodman Foundation, and learned that the President has named James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner as recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom— commemorating the lives they lost 50 years ago in an effort to bring justice and equality to Americans in Mississippi during Freedom Summer. The Presidential Medal of Freedom is the highest civilian honor, presented to individuals who have made especially meritorious contributions to the security or national interests of the United States, to world peace, or to cultural or other significant public or private endeavors.
The email stopped me in my tracks. Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner are names to which I feel so personally connected. I have written about attending their annual memorial in Neshoba County, Mississippi. The ISJL spearheaded Jewish activists track in conjunction with this summer’s Freedom Summer 50. To be honest, I was surprised that this wasn’t an honor already bestowed on these heroes decades earlier.
Here is an excerpt of the statement from the White House: “James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner were civil rights activists and participants in “Freedom Summer,” an historic voter registration drive in 1964. As African Americans were systematically being blocked from voter rolls, Mr. Chaney, Mr. Goodman, and Mr. Schwerner joined hundreds of others working to register black voters in Mississippi. They were murdered at the outset of Freedom Summer. Their deaths shocked the nation and their efforts helped to inspire many of the landmark civil rights advancements that followed.”
I thought about the word we used to describe the individuals who journeyed back to Mississippi this summer to share their stories of fighting for civil rights: veterans of the movement.
I thought about what I did one week ago, last Tuesday: I voted. I exercised the very right Chaney, Goodman, Schwerner, and all of the civil rights volunteers—the veterans, and the victims—were working to ensure all citizens had.
I wish that Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner were in the news today being honored as veterans. But their Medal of Freedom comes posthumously. They are not veterans, but their memory is honored today—and there are many veterans of the movement still living and teaching us today. I think we should honor these veterans today, as well. Because while these three men, so tragically killed, have become public faces of the civil rights movement, they worked alongside many others.
So, while I honor all of those who served as soldiers and survived battles for our nation’s freedom, I have also been reminded to honor those who fought battles here at home, to extend that freedom to all. To that end, I wanted to share this video that my colleagues Rachel and Malkie sent my way. It will give you a small taste of the large impact made by the veterans who spoke to an audience in Jackson this past summer.
To all who fight for freedom, then, now, and always, you have our gratitude. This Veteran’s Day will also serve as a memorial day, and a reminder—this nation has been strengthened through the service and sacrifice of so many, and we honor that commitment to freedom.
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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.