Mr. Spock and the Priestly Blessing

It's Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts (IJS&F). The High Holidays have just begun, so obviously this is the perfect moment to write about Mr. Spock.

There is much high ritual associated with Rosh Hashanah, but certainly one of the most mesmerizing moments is the Priestly Blessing. It’s a bit of spiritual theater handled by the Kohanim, the class of Jews believed to be direct descendants of Aaron, the Kohen Gadol and the brother of Moses.

At our synagogue, members of the congregation turn their backs on the Kohanim, mysteriously shrouded in their prayer shawls, as they gather together on the bimah in front of the Ark. The prayer leader slowly chants the ancient words of the iconic blessing – May the Lord bless you and keep you; May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you; May the Lord lift up His face onto you and give you, shalom, peace.

The choir of Kohanim responds to each phrase, chanting the words as they wave their arms about, their hands held high and their fingers splayed out in a very, ahhh, Vulcan-like fashion. Actually, truth to tell, it’s the Vulcans – specifically Mr. Spock – who came up with the idea of using the look and style of the Kohanim.

Most everyone knows the story of Spock, aka Leonard Nimoy, coming up with the Vulcan greeting based on what he recalled seeing as a youngster attending High Holiday services with his grandfather. About all I have to add is a bit of shameless name dropping. Consider this, then, a New Year’s gift.

Several years ago, when I was still working for the place with the printing press, I wrote a news brief about a little controversy brewing in the Jewish community. Apparently some local rabbis were upset with a new art exhibit at the Jewish community center, featuring nude photos of women draped in religious garb – tallis, tefillin – and not much else.

The exhibit was drawn from a book of photography, Shekhina, created by, you guessed it, Leonard Nimoy. Some critics found the photos revolutionary, others salacious. Most in the Orthodox community in the Land of Cotton were outraged and demanding that the JCC shut down the exhibit and, if possible, beam Mr. Spock far, far away.

The following morning, when I checked my e-mails, I had a note from an LNimoy asking if I was interested in hearing the real story of the Shekhina. In utter amazement I realized that, well, Mr. Spock was trying to reach me.

After jumping over a few minor logistical hurdles, I eventually hooked up with the Vulcan on the Left Coast and had a delightful conversation that became the focus of an expansive feature story. I do recall Mr. Nimoy telling me in detail how he sat next to his grandfather as a child, enthralled by the pageantry of the High Holiday services, especially the moment when the Kohanim blessed the congregation.

Years later, it was that memory, he said, that led to his developing the Vulcan greeting – hand held out in front of his face, the middle and ring fingers spread apart in what is now a very familiar pose.

The four-word greeting, almost always uttered by Mr. Spock in his oh-so emotionless manner, also nicely echoes the Priestly Blessing – “Live long and prosper.” I could wish nothing better for all of us as we begin the new year.

A footnote. After much give and take, the executive director of the local JCC announced at the time that he had spoken with all interested members of the Jewish community and would be taking their views into account as he decided the future of the Shekhina exhibit. Apparently he was still trying to figure out how best to handle the issue when the show finished its scheduled run six weeks later.

Spock, happiness and dreams

A friend and I were recently exploring the metaphysical nature of life and trying to understand what, ultimately, each of us want and need.

After a bit of chit-chat, we cut through the fog and agreed that we could best define our emotional and spiritual journeys as a constant search for happiness.

It seemed a simplistic discovery, until I woke that night from a dream that had been a replay of a vintage Star Trek episode from the late '60s. As dreams go, this one was filled with static -- figuratively and literally.

I was watching a television set, one of those ancient affairs that had a small screen and knobs that needed to be manually fiddled with to get the right station, color and sound. I kept having to get out of my seat to raise the sound so I could hear the message.

The show was a classic episode of Star Trek, the one in which Spock manages to mind-meld with an alien beast that is terrorizing a distant planet needed by the Federation for its wealth of chemicals.

That I still have a working knowledge of such Star Trek minutiae speaks of the brains ability to retain such stuff more than any desire on my part to continue boldly going where no one has gone before.

In my dream, as in the televised episode, Spock lays his hands upon the alien, grimaces with a look that falls somewhere between concentration and constipation, then moans and shouts in anguish, "Oh, the pain."

The worth and impact of the dream might be greater if I could report that at some point I became the alien beast that was in pain, or that Spock morphed into an image of my metaphysical friend who had come to understand the importance of happiness.

Neither epiphany happened, and I was forced to briefly study my night's work until it all seemed to come together.

What would happen, I wondered, if I gained Spock's powers of empathy?

I imagined myself walking into Perimeter Mall, heading straight to the food court and setting up a mind-melding kiosk between the clown that makes balloon animals and the woman who paints little stars on children's faces.

For only a dollar, bored shoppers could experience the delights of mind-melding while their children waited patiently with the clown nearby.

I would lay my hand upon their heads and after a moment we would become one, my thoughts theirs, their thoughts mine. I would see and understand their hopes and desires, their fears and insecurities.

And what would I say?

Spock's words spilled from my mouth: "Oh, the pain."

We're all searching for happiness. But in many of our lives it's pain that we live with on a daily basis. It seems to be part of the human condition.

So pervasive is this thought, that the noted psychiatrist and self-help guru Scott Peck (a fading memory these days) began his seminal work "The Road Less Traveled" with the sentence: "Life is difficult."

Of course he's right. It's an idea that has been understood for thousands of years, embraced by mystics, studied by philosophers. Buddhists, perhaps, were the first to understand and state this reality, believing that all life is suffering.

I offer no solutions. I'll leave that to the myriad of self-help gurus and therapists, religious leaders and New Age guides. I do offer this footnote as small comfort:

We're not alone -- not in this problem, and not in the world.

Understanding this one truth might not be enough to transform humanity's primordial pain to joy. But it's worth remembering when the beauty of the world is momentarily hidden by darkness.