Jew Eat Yet?

“Roger, Go at Throttle Up”

At this very moment 25 years ago, I was glued to a television set at my job as a filmstrip writer/producer in Chicago, watching with excitement as civilian teacher, Christa McAuliffe, and the first Jewish woman astronaut, Judith Resnik, were about to be catapulted in space along with the rest of the Challenger’s flight crew: commander Dick Scobee, Michael Smith, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, and Gregory Jarvis. Back then every Shuttle launch was still big news but because of my interest in Christa and Judy, I had been obsessively following this mission from its earliest planning stages.

The day before, on January 27, I watched McAuliffe’s husband Steven on “The Today Show,” talking about how excited he was for Christa. Their children, nine-year-old Scott and six-year-old Caroline, seemed thrilled that their mom was making such an important trip and Scott was excited that his entire third-grade grade class had traveled to Florida to watch the launch the following morning.

On January 28th we all stood around the TV set in the conference room to watch the liftoff. It was still unusually cold in Florida but we were relieved that mission control did not stop the launch, as they had already done several times. My heart was racing as the Challenger rose from its perch at 9:38 Chicago time. The cameras kept cutting away to McAuliffe’s mother and sister who were there watching the liftoff and live shots from Christa’s classroom in Concord, New Hampshire. It was a beautiful launch, the Challenger rising in a straight line at Cape Canaveral and beginning to arch over the Florida sky. Everything was picture perfect as we heard the commander of the Challenger say these last words to mission control: "Roger, go at throttle up."

At first I didn’t think anything of the strange double formations that formed around the shuttle’s trail which was being closely followed by the cameras. It took me and the millions of people watching the Challenger several minutes to realize that some kind of major catastrophe had just occurred. It never even crossed my mind that anything could happen to the crew of the Space Shuttle. Hadn’t NASA proven itself over and over again, even when potentially catastrophic situations emerged during some of its earlier missions? The only casualties of the space program to date had been the three Apollo 1 astronauts who were killed by a fire on a launchpad in 1967. 

When it was announced that the Challenger had exploded 73 seconds after takeoff, I was unable to move, I stayed frozen in place. It took my brain several minutes to catch up with what my eyes were seeing and my ears were hearing. At first in the confusion I remember close-ups of the stunned and then grief-stricken faces of McAuliffe’s mother and sister. Thank God that there was still a level of human decency among news producers back then because when it became clear what was going on, there were no more images of the astronauts’ families or the horrified students at McAuliffe’s school. I stayed in that room for hours, unable to tear myself away from the TV coverage. I kept hoping against hope that the cabin containing the astronauts had somehow survived the explosion and that they would be found alive off the Florida coast. As it turned out, the crew cabin did survive the initial breakup of the shuttle, but the astronauts were all killed, probably in the first few seconds after the disaster which we later learned was caused by a faulty O-ring in the rocket booster that had contracted in the still frigid temperatures of that January morning.

I can’t remember a public event that affected me so viscerally before or since, with the possible exception of my very first memory—the assassination of John F. Kennedy when I was four years old. That night, in a national address, President Reagan expertly delivered the famous words that speechwriter Peggy Noonan had borrowed from a World War II-era sonnet. Despite all my cynicism about Reagan’s policies and political views, I believed his sincerity and emotion when he said: “We will never forget them this morning as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.”

I’ve written about the Challenger disaster twice on this blog, but I couldn’t let this anniversary pass without mentioning it again. It’s hard to believe that young Christa McAuliffe would be 62 years old today, her children now almost the age that she was when she so happily boarded that shuttle so many years ago. McAuliffe’s son is now a marine biologist, her daughter a teacher just like her. 21 years after the disaster, McAuliffe’s good friend and back-up in the Teacher in Space program, Barbara Morgan, finally made it into space aboard the Endeavor, the shuttle that replaced the Challenger.

Judy Resnik would be 61 years old today. She hated being referred to as the “first Jewish astronaut” but that’s how every Jewish family in America knew her. While Soviet cosmonaut Boris Volynov was the first Jew in space (he flew two Soyuz missions in the late 60s), Ohio-born Resnik was the first American Jew to leave the Earth’s atmosphere—as long as you don’t count William Shatner or Leonard Nimoy! Ironically, it was Star Trek’s Lieutenant Uhura herself, actress Nichelle Nichols, who first recruited Judy into the space program in the late 1970s. At that time, there were only white male astronauts but, under pressure from women’s groups and affirmative action campaigns, NASA had finally decided to recruit women and minorities who had “the Right Stuff.”

Out of over 1,000 women who applied to be part of the space program, Resnik was shocked when she became one of the six women who were selected. Sally Ride, a native of southern California, became the first American woman to travel into space on June 18, 1983, on one of Challenger's first missions. The following year, Judy Resnik became the second woman in space on the maiden voyage of the Discovery orbiter, logging in 144 hours and 57 minutes outside of the Earth’s atmosphere. Resnik and Sally Ride had both worked on the development of the robotic arm that Judy operated on Discovery.

By all accounts, the woman who was the only girl in her high school class to get a perfect score on her SATs was a serious but fun-loving astronaut, an incredibly hard worker, and a loyal friend. What I remember most about her first mission is how her huge mane of hair reacted to the weightless environment inside the shuttle. The other astronauts had great respect for Resnik, even the ones who said that they had some reservations about women joining the space program. “Judy Resnik and the other women at NASA really opened my eyes,” one of the older guard astronauts admitted. “They had dreams and ambitions and were just as good as any male astronaut. Judy was certainly an example of a woman who was very competent. I trusted her with my life and would do it again if she were here.” Judy recognized the inherent dangers in space travel but insisted that the risks were well worth the gains. “I think something is only dangerous if you are not prepared for it,” Resnik said after her first mission, “or if you don't have control over it, or if you can't think through how to get yourself out of the problem.”

Peggy Gawiser Shecket was a childhood friend of Judy’s who was invited to Florida in January 1986 to watch the launch of Judy’s second mission in space as part of the Challenger crew.

I had never seen a launch in person and didn’t suspect a problem as I took continual photos. There was a frightening pause in the audio commentary, however, before we heard that there was a “malfunction.” My husband knew. It would take me much longer to get it. It is a bizarre feeling to plunge from the jubilation at count-down and launch to intense worry. In shock, I fell silent. Immediately we left for the airport. Riding backward, I looked at the continually falling debris, certain that one of the specks was the crew cabin, falling gently suspended by parachutes to bob on the water until rescue people arrived.

On the plane, I sat next to a photojournalist who was creating a book on the shuttle. He told me, clearly, that there was no way the crew could have survived. Shocked enough to not speak to my children, I arrived home. That evening friends and relatives called. I said I could not talk and hung up. Finally at the boys’ bedtime, I was able to tell the 3- and 6-year-olds that we had seen a very bad accident. The next day the rabbi called to express his sympathy and concern. When the rabbi calls to say he is sorry, the person has really died. Quiet shock turned to sobs.

The boys and I began to have nightmares. In theirs, there were explosions and fire. In some of mine, Judy was well, living in Europe; she revealed that the whole thing had been a joke. My son asked me how to make the dreams stop. I told him we would have the dreams until we didn’t need to have them anymore. And eventually, we didn’t. Right before Judy’s funeral was to begin, the temple shook with an earthquake. I pictured telling Judy that I had truly “felt the earth move,” and we would have giggled. Time passes. Life has changed. I imagine that if the flight had gone as planned, Judy and I would have peaceful, easy times to share at this stage of our lives. I think we’d exchange frequent e-mail and I’d send digital photos of my wonderful adult sons. Perhaps we’d still share secrets. I would tell her what a wonderful role model and pioneer she has been for our young women and thank her for including me in her life, adding excitement to mine. I miss her still.

After writing about Resnik on this blog, I got an email from Peggy thanking me for remembering her friend. A series of emails followed, and we got to know each other. When my twin sons were born four months early in April 2009, Peggy was one of the very first people I heard from. She comforted me when Oliver died and closely followed Charlie’s progress from Day 1 to today. Having her own experience in the NICU, she gave excellent advice and support throughout those difficult months. I’m happy to call her a friend and can’t help but reflect on how astronaut Judy Resnik, who died far too young but is still impacting others, made that friendship possible.

Thank you, Judy.

Oscar Predictions: 2011

Throughout the 1950s, the Academy Awards ceremonies were held at the gorgeous Pantages Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, about a mile or so east of the show’s current home, the Kodak. It is a stunning theatre—Leah and I were there just a few days ago sitting in the first row for a performance of a revival of “Hair.” We loved it. At the end of the show, the audience was invited to come up on the stage and dance with the cast to “Let the Sun Shine In.” As I gyrated on that hallowed stage while various cast members rubbed my bald head, I could only think of the endless list of stars who accepted their Oscars from that very spot—Judy Holliday, Gary Cooper, Vivien Leigh, William Holden, Audrey Hepburn, Alec Guinness, Ingrid Bergman, and so many others.

The Oscar nominations were announced yesterday and once again it’s time for my annual predictions. I don’t think I’ll ever come close to my 2009 Personal Best (every single one of my predictions was on target, even my long shots!). The truth is, my movie attendance has plummeted since that year but what the hell—I’ll still give it a go even though I haven’t seen several of the nominated films. No use letting knowledge or facts get in the way of my opinions—God knows the Academy members don’t!

Best Supporting Actor: Haven’t seen “Winter’s Bone” (and I feel like I should) so I can’t comment on John Hawkes. Nor have I seen “The Town” (and for some reason I have no desire to) so ditto on Jeremy Renner. But those guys don't have a chance anyway. Neither does Mark Ruffalo even though I thought he was very good as the sperm donor in “The Kids Are All Right” (I don’t think he’s shown very much range in his film roles, but of all his similar parts, I liked this one the best!). The contest here is clearly between Geoffrey Rush for his superb portrayal of George VI’s bizarre speech therapist in “The King’s Speech” and Christian Bale for his bravura hollow-cheeked performance as a once famous boxer turned heroin addict in “The Fighter.” This is a very hard call and makes me realize why I hate all awards shows with their apples-and-oranges competitions. Both are deserving and if it were just up to me, I’d probably give it to Rush (who frankly should have been nominated for Best Actor) but I’m going to predict that Christian Bale is going to win it by an emaciated nose. Apart from giving a truly excellent performance, the Academy loves it when actors alter their physical appearance for a role.

Best Supporting Actress: I not only haven’t seen Jackie Weaver in “Animal Kingdom,” I’ve never heard a single word about her or the film. How did I miss that one? Oh well, it’s on my list and if I see any of these performances before the Oscars, I’ll update my predictions. I also haven’t seen “True Grit” although I love Hailee Steinfeld just from the trailers. I am a huge Helena Bonham Carter fan and thought she got the Queen Mother down perfectly in “The King’s Speech.” I loved every second of her performance (including her mastery of that bizarre way the British Royals talk as if their mouths were stuffed with Henry Higgins’ marbles). Still, I don’t think the Academy will consider it flashy enough to be Oscar-worthy. The race here is between the two dames from “The Fighter”—Amy Adams and Melissa Leo. I was delighted to see Adams’ tough girl performance in this film, especially after her boring, wan turn in last year’s “Julie and Julia” and if she won I would cheer for her. But my guess is that Melissa Leo will take home the prize and that’s just fine by me. I’ve been a huge Leo fan ever since her days eons ago as Cliff Warner’s troubled sister on “All My Children.” I remember thinking even then that it was odd having her on that soap—she was so far above the acting ability of anyone else on the show she stood out too much. Since then, every performance she's given has been gritty and real and exquisitely portrayed. I would go so far as to say she's one of the best American actresses we have right now—definitely in Meryl Streep’s category. Go, Melissa!

Best Actor: Okay, I haven’t seen “Biutiful” but have always liked Javier Bardem (who became a papa this week thanks to Oscar winner Penelope Cruz). I’m sure Jeff Bridges is great in “True Grit” but he ain’t gonna get it again so soon (and many of the Academy voters may resent him taking over the part from John Wayne). I have to admit that while I enjoyed “The Social Network,” I am nowhere near as gaga for it as so many people are. And while I think Jesse Eisenberg was well cast as Mark Zuckerberg, I just wouldn’t give him an Oscar for that performance. Sorry, Jesse. I was scared when I went to see “127 Hours” because I thought it would be gruesome to watch and I also wondered how a movie about a guy stuck in a hole for most of the film could be all that engaging. Well, I loved it, I thought the filmmakers and actor James Franco achieved the impossible and if it were up to me, I’d give Franco (who is the co-host of this year's telecast) the award, I think he was that good. But my feeling is that the voters are far more likely to give the Oscar to Colin Firth for his excellent portrayal of the Man Who Didn’t Want to Be King in “The King’s Speech.” I hear there are increasing criticisms of the film’s accuracy but I guess it’s time for the always talented Firth to get his due. I wonder if Queen Elizabeth has seen the film. I thought the young actress playing her was great, by the way, you could really see how she’d grow up to be Liz. Why isn't Mark Wahlberg on this list? He gets no respect. 

Best Actress: Sorry Jennifer Lawrence, I’ll get back to you after I’ve seen “Winter’s Bone.” Ditto Michelle Williams in “Blue Valentine.” If she won, her daughter by Heath Ledger would inherit an Oscar from both her parents. How many married acting couples in the history of the awards have both won the top prize (I realize Heath's posthumous award was for Supporting Actor)? Off the top of my head I can only think of Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh along with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. (And if you allow Best Supporting Oscars, you can add Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz.) I want to see Nicole Kidman in “Rabbit Hole” but given the traumatic subject matter, I need to gear up for it. I did see “Black Swan” and it had almost the opposite effect that “The Social Network” had on me. I found it very flawed at first but the more time passes, the more I appreciate the film and especially Natalie Portman’s desperate performance. I’m surprised her co-stars Mila Kunis and Barbara Hershey didn’t pick up nominations as well. I think the Academy has always loved Portman (and deservedly so, even though she’s made some major stinkers, including the three “Star Wars” prequels) but I think that the time has finally come to honor Annette Bening for her fun and very authentic performance in “The Kids Are All Right.” (And if she wins, chalk up another married couple with dueling Oscars, even though Warren Beatty’s wasn't for acting). I think it’s unfair that co-star Julianne Moore was overlooked by the Academy even though Moore recently yelled at me in a strange encounter in L.A. (but I deserved it). Bening is pure class and I loved her in this role. She’ll make a killer speech.

By the way, did you notice that apart from Spanish Javier Bardem, this is the whitest group of nominees in decades? Just sayin. 

Best Picture: Can I reiterate how much I loathe the new policy of ten nominated films instead of five? Ridiculous. I’m surprised that of the ten I’ve seen all but “True Grit” and “Winter’s Bone.” I liked “Inception” very much and was glad to see it here but it doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does “Toy Story 3,” “127 Hours,” or “Black Swan.” I guess it’s remotely possible that “The Kids Are All Right” could pull off a major upset but my feeling is that the race is between “The Fighter” (long shot), “The King’s Speech,” and “The Social Network.” All the Academy buzz points to “The Social Network” but I just do NOT want that film to win so I’m going to take a chance and say that the members’ obsession with historical English lessons will win the day and that the top prize will go to “The King’s Speech.” It could happen. I’m repulsed to hear that the Weinsteins are already preparing an edited version of that film for a post-Oscar release without all of the profanity (that is so completely harmless) to get more kids to the film. Leave it alone, Harvey!

That’s it for now, folks. I’ll be back with predictions for the writing and directing awards along with a few of the other categories. Let the voting begin!

Sargent Shriver

I don’t know what hole I crawled into this week but I was just driving and passed one of those electronic billboards which suddenly flashed “Sargent Shriver, In Memoriam, 1915-2011.” I was talking to my sister on the phone using my hands-free device, of course, but I still almost crashed  my car when I saw the sign. “What? Sargent Shriver died?” “You didn’t know?” asked my sister. “Where the hell have you been?” she said, amazed that I hadn’t heard of Shriver’s death considering my obsession with the Kennedy family and how sad I was when Eunice Kennedy Shriver  died on August 11, 2009. I remember the date because it was the day before Charlie's due date. We were going on four months in the NICU and I spent a lot of time at Charlie’s bedside that week thinking of the Shrivers and Kennedys and how they weathered the frequent adversity and trauma in their lives.

As I wrote back then, and earlier in another rumination about the service-oriented Shrivers, my family had a few roundabout connections with that famous American clan. For almost thirty years, my mother had been the receptionist at the Kennedy-owned Merchandise Mart in Chicago. Eunice Shriver was always my favorite of the Kennedy sisters and I met her once when she visited the Mart. (In later years my mother’s boss was Chris Kennedy, Robert and Ethel’s eighth child. I believe he’s still there even though the Kennedys sold the building long ago.) When Eunice arrived at the Mart that day, I remember that she asked the doorman to pay for her taxi fare because she never carried any cash. I don’t think any Kennedys did.

Years earlier, Sargent Shriver had been the General Manager of the Merchandise Mart, appointed by Joseph Kennedy, Sr. One summer in the 1970s when I was working as a mail boy at the Mart, I found a pile of dusty boxes in a back corner of an old storeroom that were filled with items from Shriver’s former office. There were original photographs of President Kennedy at Mart functions and a series of Time magazine covers from the 1950s that were each autographed by the person on the cover (ranging from Marilyn Monroe to Groucho Marx to Albert Einstein). I looked in vain for Eunice’s wedding dress which was rumored to be lost somewhere in the bowels of the Merchandise Mart but I never found it.

I always admired how the Shrivers (like the Kennedys) were so committed to public service, but a 2005 Oprah interview with Eunice and Maria Shriver made me doubtful that I could have ever lived up to the pressures of being in that family. I’m sure it wasn’t the intention but by the end of the show I felt like the biggest slackard on the planet. Imagine growing up with the man who started the Peace Corps and Head Start, among many other worthwhile organizations, and the woman who founded the Special Olympics. At the nightly dinner table the Shrivers talked about how to make the world a better place. Their guests would always have to answer Sargent Shriver’s favorite question: “What are you going to do to make a difference in the world?” What were we talking about at my family’s dinner table? The “I Love Lucy” rerun we were watching?

All around their house the Shrivers hung pictures of starving children in Africa, disabled kids, and children living in institutions so that they could discuss how their work was affecting people’s lives and brainstorm what else they could do to make an impact. Every Thursday night Eunice would plop down a piggy bank in the center of the dining room table and serve her large brood cereal for dinner so they could donate what they would have spent on food that night to the poor. Although they were richer than Midas, they tried to focus on ideas rather than possessions. You go, Shrivers!

I’m surprised those kids didn’t crumble under the weight of such high ideals and expectations. Maybe some of them did. Even Oprah said that when she first used to go to dinner at the Shrivers’ house she would hide in the closet when she heard Sargent questioning their guests about how they were going to change the world. On a visit to her parents before the Oprah interview, Maria said her father asked her what she was working on. “I’m promoting my book that was just published,” she replied. “No, that’s in the past, what are you going to do next?” Oy, Sargent, can the woman please have a few weeks to rest on her laurels? I’m still trying to rest on the laurels of my sixth grade science fair project!

Some of the Shrivers’ claims defied credulity. Maria and Eunice told Oprah back in 2005 that they had never, ever, had a single fight. Is that even possible (or desirable)? Eunice said how important it is for family members to eat dinner together every night. I agree with that but she then said, “when I was growing up, I never saw my father go out to dinner in a restaurant once in our whole life.” Um, Eunice, forgive me, but does Gloria Swanson’s dressing room count as a restaurant if the butler serves them caviar and champagne in candlelight?

During those difficult five months in the hospital, and in the 16 months since Charlie came home, I’ve often thought of the loss the Kennedy and Shriver families have endured through the years, including Sargent Shriver’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis years ago. While I don’t subscribe to the traditional Kennedy stoicism when it comes to grief, I admire the way they all carried on with their lives after their seemingly endless spate of tragedies.

Today I’m thinking about Maria Shriver and her siblings who have lost both of their parents in such a short span of time. I’m thinking of my McGovern/ Shriver bumper sticker that is still affixed to the back of my bedroom door at my dad’s house. I really don't mean to idealize the Kennedys and Shrivers—the families are far from perfect, we all know that. But I do hope I am able to impart some of their values to Leah and Charlie without putting pressure on them to achieve “big” things. They may never be elected to public office, start a nonprofit organization, or travel to Third World countries, but there’s no big or small when it comes to thinking about others and standing up for what you believe is right. Finally freed from the fog of his debilitating disease, and reunited with his life partner, I’m sure Sarge and Eunice will soon be doing great work for disadvantaged entities on the other side.  

Blood Libel

You gotta hand it to Sarah Palin…she never disappoints. In her attempt to repudiate charges that her brand of inflammatory rhetoric had anything to do with the tragic shootings last weekend in Tucson, she decided to employ her strongest example yet of…you guessed it, inflammatory rhetoric. In the seven-minute video she posted this morning on her Facebook page, Palin accused journalists and pundits (I’m surprised she didn’t call them the “lamestream media,” a term that makes me cringe every time I hear it come out of her mouth) of manufacturing a “blood libel” against her.

May I say right up front that unlike some of my liberal brethren, I don’t view Sarah Palin as the anti-Christ. It makes me uncomfortable when she is spoken about with total disdain or horror. I don’t think she’s particularly stupid or ignorant and while I vehemently disagree with her political views, I can imagine contexts where I’d actually admire her. I read chunks of her first book (in the bookstore, I couldn’t bring myself to pay for one) and when she wasn’t frothing at the mouth about the Evil Left, I kind of liked her. That said, I’ve found nearly ever action of hers since the election mean-spirited, intensely self-serving, and purposely designed to whip up negative mass hysteria. Forget politics—this woman should be a cult leader! Can anyone name one truly positive thing she’s done to help this country since she catapulted onto the national stage in 2008?

No, I don’t “blame” Palin for the actions of Jared Lee Loughner last weekend in Arizona, she is clearly not responsible in any way for the shootings. Still, I believe the conversation about the extreme vitriol employed by Palin and her ilk (yes, yes, I realize people on the left are guilty of this, too!) and the violent metaphors she uses (e.g., depicting Gabrielle Giffords in the cross-hairs on a now infamous map of vulnerable Democrats) and what effect such things have in our country is a valid discussion that we need to have. But instead of acknowledging any desire for cooler tempers, working together with others even if we disagree with them, or the benefits of basic civility, Palin goes on the attack yet again with her ridiculous and offensive use of the loaded “blood libel.” How she seems to relish her role as National Provocateur!

Of course the blood libel refers to the practice that began in the Middle Ages when Jews were accused of killing Gentile children (and sometimes their own Jewish children) and using their blood for religious rituals. It was invented by anti-Semitic Catholic priests, probably as early as the 12th century, to justify attacks and murder of Jews. The blood libel has never completely disappeared and it has extended far beyond its original Catholic audience—it flourished in different periods of history whenever there was a desire by a group to dehumanize and discriminate against Jews. I looked up the term in the New York Times archives this morning and found a wealth of articles about events in every decade of the last hundred years.

On August 27, 1911, less than a year after my own family left Eastern Europe because of persecution, the New York Times reported that “for several months, the six million Jews in the Russian Empire have been living under the shadow of fear of renewed massacres…many organizations, through their organs and at their meetings and in their churches have been inciting the Russian populace against the Jews. The Jews of Russia are being accused of having murdered a Christian boy for ritual use. ‘Just before Passover,’ wrote M. Menshikoff in The Novoye Vremya, Russia’s leading official newspaper, ‘a twelve-year-old boy named Yuschinsky was lost. He was going to school, passed the Jewish settlement, but never returned. His body was found in a cave near the house of a Jew. From all the numerous symptoms the people of Kiev have come to the conclusion that the boy was a victim of the Chassidim, a Jewish sect which sprang up in Poland in the eighteenth century. In a well known book, the following circumstances of ritual murders are described. It is committed on the eve of Passover for the purpose of securing Passover blood. This is used for the preparation of matzohs. It is also poured into wine and is used for numerous other purposes.”

The author of the article then goes on to explain why Jews in Russia should not be afforded any additional rights or privileges. “When the Jews will attain equal rights, when their audacity will reach the highest point, there is no doubt that the ritual murders of Christian children will grow more frequent.” After describing the torture of the unfortunate Christian boy, the author implores all Russians to do their duty, saying that the death of the boy is upon the conscience of all Russia. The article goes on to describe a series of punishments that should be meted out against the Jews and states that since they are not “real” Russians, they should all go back to Palestine where they belong. Incidentally, it was later discovered that the murder of the Yuschinsky boy was a plot sponsored by anti-Semitic organizations. The poor boy was murdered by his stepfather after a substantial insurance policy was taken out in his name. Oy.

The blood libel wasn’t restricted to Europe. In October 1928, authorities in Massena, New York, accused a rabbi of using the blood of Christian children in his Yom Kippur services. Dr. Isaiah Katz, a rabbi in the Bronx, tried to disprove the claims by striking a very defensive-sounding stance. “Henceforth we shall make ourselves secure against such incendiary innuendoes by a preventive policy. I would offer a standing invitation on the part of Jews to their non-Jewish friends to visit our homes and our synagogues when we carry on religious rites. We have no magic faith to be ashamed of before moderns nor evil secrets of any kind to hide. Our neighbors in very neighborly fashion may come to see, and through observation scatter the mist of superstition.”

More than 30 years later, the blood libel was still alive and well in Russia. In January 1963, the New York Times reported on the most serious anti-Semitic disorders in recent Soviet history. “The riots were incited by a Moslem variation of the ancient Christian superstition of the ‘blood ritual.’ This medieval relic holds that Jews use the blood of non-Jews for religious ceremonies. Scores of Jews were assaulted and injured in their streets and in their homes in Soviet Uzbekistan in an attack that lasted for six days…In Tashkent, an Uzbek Moslem led a band on a 70-year-old Jewish shopkeeper, Abigai Bangieva, accusing her of using blood from his daughter’s ear for a Passover ritual. She was charged and held for three weeks. Wild stories led to uncontrolled assaults on Jews. Later is was discovered that the daughter had cut her ear in a fall.”

There were similar reports from the 1970s, 80s, 90s, and in more recent times. An article called “The Modern Use of Ancient Lies,” reported that a TV station in Abu Dhabi, one of the most popular in the Arab world, showed a cartoon of Israel’s prime minister as a vampire drinking blood. In Syria, the defense minister has published a book, “The Matzoh of Zion,” in which he elaborates on the charge of ritual murder.

Though the story had its roots in medieval Europe, the Nazis, of course, loved it, with Der Stürmer devoting article after article on the subject, complete with grisly illustrations. Today, many radical Islamist sites offer the full texts of these Nazi propaganda pieces. A few years ago, “Al-Shatat,” a popular, Syrian-made TV mini-series included scenes of bearded Jews slitting the throat of Christian children. And so it goes.

Mind you, in her strange and unfortunate use of the term, I’m not accusing Sarah Palin  of anti-Semitism. Au contraire, in her analogy, she’s the Jew, right? With journalists and pundits cast as the mob that is out to get her. No incendiary rhetoric there. 

A Taste of Honey

I’m swamped with work and horrified by the murders and assassination attempt in Arizona so what better time to stop and remember a unique actress who died last week: beautiful Anne Francis. (Forgive me, but am I the only one who thinks Gabrielle Giffords looks just a bit like Anne Francis? It’s already weird that apparently Gwyneth Paltrow is Giffords’ cousin.)

Anne Francis had a long career from her memorable role as Altaira in the beloved “Forbidden Planet” to sassy appearances in many films including “Bad Day at Black Rock” and “The Blackboard Jungle” to a million guest star roles on television. But let’s talk about that sexy private eye that every boy in the mid-1960s was hopelessly in love with: the scorching Honey West.

  

To be honest, you had to fight to watch “Honey West” in our house. It was on directly opposite “Gomer Pyle, USMC” and because my father’s best friend, Sam Bobrick, was one of the writers on that show, we were duty bound to follow Gomer’s adventures. I liked the show but its cornpone humor was no match for the sophisticated James Bond-like machinations of Francis’s Honey West, the first female private eye on TV and certainly the hottest.

  

Anne Francis made facial moles the must-have beauty accessory of the 1960s. During a time when loyal housewives and pie-baking moms occupied our TV screens, Honey West broke all sorts of new ground. From her snazzy Cobra convertible and pet ocelot named Bruce to her skintight black bodystocking and animal print get-ups to her exploding compact, gas mask garter belt, and tear gas-emitting earrings, this dame was all about independence. She was clearly the one in charge, not her hunky partner, Sam (played by John Ericson). Honey was our own Emma Peel. The ABC censors were all over the show which Francis hated but she still found a way to ooze more sexuality than any TV character up to that time (until Julie Newmar donned her Catwoman outfit the following year).

In 1966 Anne Francis was nominated for an Emmy for “Honey West.” She lost to Barbara Stanwyck but sore loser and mega-biatch Barbara Parkins from “Peyton Place” pulled a Kanye West that night to a reporter: “I was hurt, but if I had to lose I’m glad it was to Barbara Stanwyck, who is a grand lady and a fine actress. I would have hated to have lost to Anne Francis. I don’t care much for her work. A woman should be feminine and not go around hitting people with judo chops the way she does on that ‘Honey West’ show.” Meow. Anne Francis not feminine? In your dreams, Parkins. How did you feel when Francis won the Golden Globe that year? For the record, Honey West can hit me with a judo chop any day.

I think we had the Honey West board game at one point, and possibly the Honey West action figure, seen here with her friends Illya Kuryakin from “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” and fictional astronaut Moon McDare. I found an ad from February 1966 announcing Anne Francis’s appearance at the May Company on Wilshire Boulevard WITH her live ocelot (oy!) to autograph her action figures. “Television’s first girl private eye will be at our toy department with her pet ocelot from 12:00 to 3:00. She’ll autograph the new Honey West action figure. The 11-inch doll is dressed in black leotards, boots, and holster belt…movable arms and legs adjust to any position.” Just checked eBay and those dolls are now going for about $300.

Despite the huge popularity of the show and the plans to switch to color the following season, ABC management was going through major upheavals at the time and the show was cancelled after only 30 episodes. ABC decided it was cheaper for them to import “The Avengers” with Diana Rigg’s Emma Peel instead of paying for their own version. Gloria and Skip Fickling, who created the character in a series of books, tried to revive “Honey West” in later years and briefly opened a Honey West teen-age nightclub in Laguna Beach decorated with stills from the TV show. I’m amazed that no one is working on a Honey West movie. It could be done in a great retro style and would be a fantastic part for any actress (are you listening Kate Winslet? Halle Berry? Nicole Kidman?).

Following the disappointing end to her show, Anne Francis signed to appear with Barbra Streisand in the film version of “Funny Girl.” Her character, boozing Ziegfeld Girl Georgia James, was famously pared down from the second female lead to barely a cameo. For decades the scuttlebutt was that Streisand herself had ordered the cuts because Francis was so good in her scenes and Babs was worried that she’d steal the picture. The Anne Francis accusation was always used when anyone wanted to diss Barbra and her control-freak ways. Finally, a few years ago, Francis posted an open letter to Barbra Streisand on her website:

Dear Barbra,

It has gnawed at me for years that you have believed that I blamed you for cutting most of my scenes from “Funny Girl.” I felt the sadness of the misunderstanding all over again when I read a supposed quote of yours last year saying that you had heard me blame you on a TV talk show. The only talk show I did on the subject was on Johnny Carson, and Joey Bishop was subbing that night. I tried to make it plain that I did not blame you, and had no idea why I was cut from the film. To this day, I don’t know the circumstances that caused the decision, but I am lead to believe it probably had to do with the length of the film. The sub plot of Georgia’s histrionics with Florenz Ziegfeld was really not necessary to the story about Fanny Brice.

In all fairness, I understand that the press believed that I felt that way because my public relations person, who was also a very dear friend, did believe it, and she made the statements that were attributed to me. I was caught in the middle, and rather than point a finger at her, I did the best I could to refute the story whenever confronted by an interviewer. The whole thing was messy and painful. I had never been embroiled in that sort of ruckus before. I know you were going through a lot of flack as well during those stormy days when first you hit Hollywood (or It hit you!). I had hoped then that it would all blow over quickly, but when I saw the quote you allegedly made recently, I felt awful once more.

At the age of thirty-five (over the hill in those days!), the role of Georgia was a great gem for me, and I had high hopes (I had just come off of “Honey West”) that it would do a lot for my “career.” The flashy role, along with the drunk scene (which hit the editor’s floor) pretty much cinched the prospect of a supporting nomination with the Academy that year. So, you can understand the humiliation when each day a note would be slipped under my dressing room door, “omit scene so and so.” The scene named would always be the one I had been called in to do that day. I am not whining, dear lady. We’ve all taken our lumps in this “Business.” I’m just sharing with you what was going on at that time with me. You had your own problems. I marveled at how you handled yourself on your first encounter with the alien world of the film industry.

I have had the greatest respect for your talent and for what you have made of yourself, Barbra. You are a brilliant woman and I have always wished you the very best. One more time, it is important for me before I leave this planet to say, I have never accused you of having the role of Georgia cut to the quick.

God Bless,

Anne

Classy dame. I hope Streisand responded. The night Francis died, I was at my mother-in-law's house for a birthday party for her friend, actress Barbara Rush. There were several other actresses there and all of them knew and had worked with Anne Francis back in the day. The women had nothing but praise and admiration for the star. Maybe she didn't wear tear-gas earrings, but the real-life Anne Francis was every bit as fun and likable as Honey West. 

Jew Eat Yet’s Year in Review: 2010

You know you’re getting old when you’re sound asleep by 10 pm on New Year’s Eve. Either that or you have a baby at home. Or in my case—both. I had two glasses of champagne earlier in the evening at a friend’s house which made me collapse in a fully dressed heap the second we got home. I slept straight through until 5 am which is a rarity for me and I’m considering taking up alcoholism as a cure for insomnia.

2010, where did you go? Overall, a pretty damn good year, I thought, at least in most of the important areas of my life. I’m looking forward to 2011 but can’t believe that come summer (if not earlier) we’ll be in the throes of another presidential campaign. How is that possible? And friends, it’s gonna get uglier than we’ve ever seen, you can bet on that. Yuck.

I couldn’t resist taking one last look at the just departed year, as told on this blog, with the help of the ever-growing Charles Miller:

January

My Chicago family paid a rare New Years visit, Charlie ate real food for the first time (he hasn’t stopped eating since!), I let the cat out of the bag about my brother-in-law’s brilliant collaboration with Mavis Staples which was in full swing, I chose Team Coco in the Conan/Leno Wars, I remembered the horrors of my elementary school sex education classes, and mourned the death of Young Estella, the lovely Jean Simmons.

February

My family came back to town for the 2010 Grammy Awards and I attended a Neil Young tribute with them and with two of my favorite people, Pam and Jim Allyn, I reluctantly made my Oscar predictions, Charlie had a touching personal encounter with Oscar winner Patricia Neal, we went to see Wilco perform on the Craig Ferguson Show and played with “The Price Is Right” props in the hallways of CBS, I thought about the use of swastikas as a misguided political statement, I bemoaned the existence of two crazy-ass so-called pastors, said farewell to beautiful Kathryn Grayson, and Charlie and I protested an outrageous episode of “Private Practice” that got everything wrong about premature babies,

March

Charlie and I ran screaming from the exercising moms at Farmers Market, Leah and I braved Oscar gridlock, I celebrated an unexpected personal best in my Oscar predictions (I got everything right, even my long shots!), I surveyed Madison Avenue’s preoccupation with feminine hygiene products in the 1970s, said good-bye to Mission: Impossible's Peter Graves, visited the unconventional world of Kendall Hailey as reported by The Los Angeles Times, watched Leah “light up the sky like a flame,” and paid homage to our dearly departed ancestors at Charlie’s very first seder.

April

I mourned a death in Munchkinland, sent sarcastic missives to Mel Gibson, Sarah Palin, and the Kardashian sisters, enjoyed every second of the Turner Classic Movies Film Festival where I reported for General Motors while driving a fabulous new Buick LaCrosse, and went back to the Cedars-Sinai NICU with Charlie on his first birthday to visit the amazing staff of miracle-givers who repeatedly saved his life.

May

I relucantly handed back my gorgeous Buick LaCrosse, mourned the loss of Lynn Redgrave, Lena Horne, Dennis Hopper, and Gary Coleman, celebrated Mother’s Day with Charlie’s fabulous mom, grieved the ending of my obsession with the TV show “Lost,” and discovered the insane Feminine Boy Project that was founded at UCLA in the 1970s,

June

Went to Chicago for my nephew’s 8th grade graduation, cruised the Windy City in a brand new Buick Enclave courtesy of GM, contemplated my basic shyness, watched Leah rule the African savannah in “The Lion King,” bid adieu to saucy Rue McLanahan while remembering her performance in my father-in-law’s play, attended the ill-fated sing-along “Sophie’s Choice” at the Hollywood Bowl, and explored my Yiddish roots with Der Surrey mitn Fringe Afn Top.

July

Wished Olivia de Havilland, still with us after 94 glorious years, a happy birthday, tooled around Los Angeles in my loaner GMC Terrain, celebrated my beautiful wife’s 44th birthday, wondered what Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell would look like if it were aimed at Jews, and shared some exciting footage of the upcoming Jeff Tweedy-Mavis Staples project.

August

Bypassed my midlife crisis thanks to GM's loan of an electric blue Corvette convertible, said good-bye to my fantasy other mother and Charlie’s new friend, the wonderful Patricia Neal, returned to Chicago for a family-focused eating orgy and then a fun-filled 2,000 mile road trip between Chicago and Durham in a ruby red GMC Acadia with a poignant pit stop in Walton’s Mountain, Virginia.

September

Said a sad good-bye to my Aunt Ann, the last surviving child of my great grandparents, Itshe Meyer and Alta Toba Korolnek, careened into my 51st birthday with the help of Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron, surveyed the latest documentaries including the fake one about Joaquin Phoenix and the all-too-real one about Pat Tillman, remembered Elizabeth Swados’ ground-breaking musical “Runaways” from the late 70s, salivated over the glorious Reuben sandwich of questionable origin, sweltered with Leah in the September heat as she donned a heavy dress from the 1880s for her portrayal of the first girl reporter at our cemetery’s Living History Tour, and celebrated the one-year anniversary of Charlie’s being home with us.

October

Said a fond farewell to my film festival pal, Tony Curtis, observed with disgust the increase of all types of discrimination against gays and lesbians, noted the passing of actress Barbara Billingsley whose June Cleaver was the the kinder gentler Betty Draper, and gave an update on Charlie’s physical stats.

November

Dodged Justin Bieber while enjoying my brother-in-law’s performance at Jon Stewart’s Rally to Restore Sanity, said good-bye to the unmarried woman, Jill Clayburgh, saw Leah travel back to 1920s Europe in “The Boyfriend,” and feasted on the bounty and warmth of Thanksgiving 2010.

December

Celebrated Hanukkah with the mournful Obamas, bid adieu to Pink Panther creator, Blake Edwards, and the delightful Miss EMERAC, Neva Patterson, whooped it up holiday-style with sassy Lola Heatherton, contemplated Yip Harburg’s rainbow and our own, traumatized Charlie in Santa’s lap, and marked the 16th birthday of my amazing “unschooled” daughter. 

That's it, folks! Thanks so much for reading during the past year and please know how much I appreciate all of your wonderful comments. I'm sorry I don't respond to them all but they mean a lot to me and I am very grateful for your interest. Here's to an exciting 2011 for all of us!