‘Star Trek’ and the Sweetness of Freedom

This article originally appeared in The Jewish Journal of Greater Boston.

I had always assumed that Mr. Spock was Jewish.

Leonard Nimoy, who played Star Trek’s most famous Vulcan, brought his Jewish identity into the role.  In a retrospective, Nimoy revealed that the now-famous “Vulcan salute” was inspired by the Priestly Benediction he had seen in synagogue as a child.  This Jewish memory was such a deep part of him that it helped create new worlds. 

As I prepare for Passover, I keep thinking about another time when Nimoy’s Jewish identity may have shaped Spock’s character. Spock’s decision to sacrifice himself to save his crewmates is at the heart of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982). Even so, Nimoy wanted the door left open for Spock’s return. He made a suggestion that gave the scene its power: a final mind-meld, accompanied by Spock intoning the word: “Remember.”

That addition made the moment magic. It was a lifeline thrown into the future, sending his companions on a search for Spock that would unfold in the next movie. 

Over the years, I’ve come to understand how that word touched me so deeply.  I had been trained, every Passover of my childhood, to understand memory as an incredibly active, and even transformational, part of my Jewish identity. 

Memory is what gives Passover its unique power.  Torah tells us to “remember” being enslaved in Egypt, and to share this story with the next generation (Exodus 13:3, 8).  The rabbis of the Talmud expanded this point: “In every generation, a person is obligated to regard themselves as though they had gone out from Egypt” (BT Pesachim 116b).

The mission of the seder is far bolder than simply retelling the exodus.  The ancient rabbis crafted a ritual that would plant Jewish memory so deep within us that it becomes instinct.  When the seder works as intended, we don’t just remember Egypt – we live it. 

My next-door neighbors, Egyptian Sephardi Jews, packed their bags before the seder began, placing them behind their chairs.  They even put their overcoats nearby.  I was deeply moved, as a child, when they invited me to see them enact this ritual; I saw that this ceremony was not just about telling a story – this was spiritual time-travel, making us full participants in the redemption from Egypt. 

I felt the power of Jewish memory as I gathered with my family around our table.  Candlelight gleamed off the newly-polished silver, and the warmth of matzah-ball soup relieved the acrid bite of horseradish.  I didn’t have the language to describe what I was intuiting at the time, but the ancient rabbis certainly did.  What I had experienced in my dining room was exactly what they had intended – a moment that bridged the gulf between my family’s home in Rhode Island and the distant shores of the Sea of Reeds. 

In recent years, I find myself hoping my children will feel some of what I felt –something wondrous unfolding in our own home.  This is part of what Torah commands us: to pass down the story along with the experience of having been transformed by it.

When we sit at the seder table, we’re not simply recalling people who suffered and persevered; we’re stepping into their story.  Their strength becomes our strength, linking us to those who came before us and to the generations still to come.

When Leonard Nimoy suggested the word, “Remember,” he helped create one of the most powerful moments in Star Trek.  With that single phrase, he drew on memories of his heritage that he may not even have known he was carrying.  This transmission from the Jewish past sent his audience into Star Trek’s future.  That signal is still traveling.

We don’t need to travel to the stars to voyage through time – that’s just what our seder is meant to do.

As you recline at your table this year, pause when you reach the maror, the bitter herbs.  Eat them slowly, sitting with the bitterness for a moment.  That brief discomfort is a doorway the rabbis built to draw you across space and time.  Step through it, and let yourself stand, for just a moment, at the shores of the sea.  The bitterness of slavery is still with you, and you’re about to savor the sweetness of freedom.  Every person who ever sat at a seder table is with you, offering you their strength.

This Passover, may the journey bring you home.  And may you – and all those whom you love – live long and prosper.