Portrait of a Jewish community in the deep South
The House of David in the Land of Jesus by Robert Lewis Berman, 2007, ISBN 9781589807204, 354 pages
By Donald H. Harrison
SAN DIEGO—When I recently attended 10-year-old Megan Spector’s performance as the title character in the Pickwick Players’ production of Annie, I had no idea that the musical would prove to be a portal transporting me not only to the fictional New York City of the 1930s, but also to the very real town of Lexington, Mississippi, of the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries.
Being raised in the tradition of the gracious South, Megan’s mother, Sheri Berman Spector, penned a short thank you note following publication of my review. She alerted me to watch for a separate package, which arrived a day or so later. In it was a copy of The House of David in the Land of Jesus, a historical work by her father, Robert Lewis Berman, telling of the Jewish community in the town of Lexington, Mississippi.
Not simply a historical work, the book was an introduction to the Southern Jewish way of life—in which being American, being Jewish and being Southern all are matters for great pride. Reading Berman’s book was akin to being conducted on a tour of the town deep in the Christian Bible Belt, with the guide pausing here and there to share some stories, some happy, others sad, about the tiny Jewish population.
There was one member of the Jewish community who was murdered in a robbery. Another member died in a gunfight that broke out with a fellow Jew over a commercial matter. On the plus side of the ledger, one Jewish family through a wholesale grocery business that evolved into SuperValu, a publicly traded company that owns Albertsons Markets, among others, provided numerous jobs throughout the region. Another Jewish resident got himself elected to the state Legislature. And Berman, himself, rose through the ranks of Rotary to the position of district governor.
Commencing in the 19th century, the Jewish community of Lexington eventually numbered 23 families, accounting for 89 persons at its peak. The overall population of Lexington is approximately 2,000 people.
By and large, the Jews were the merchants of this Mississippi Delta town, and like merchants throughout the United States, they filled the ranks of service clubs, the Chamber of Commerce, Masonic Lodges, and other civic improvement organizations of the town.
The Jews had reasons to be proud of these families’ accomplishments. Growing up, some of the children were the quarterbacks and head cheerleaders of the Lexington High School and they went on to distinguished college careers as fraternity presidents and student officers, before taking their places in the ranks of the professions and in business. As youngsters, they were confirmed in Temple Beth El’s simple sanctuary that calls to mind that of San Diego’s original Temple Beth Israel, now housed at Heritage Park. Both were Reform congregations, whose founders for the main part had come from Germany.
The author’s own father, Joseph Berman, had been a city councilmember in Atlanta, Georgia, before moving to Lexington, to be with his wife’s family in a time of need. He had helped to developed Atlanta into the major airport hub it is today. Other Lexington Jews became philanthropists, such as two brothers who donated a combined $10 million to Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, and another Lexingtonian couple who provided funds for Ole Miss’s nondenominational chapel, on which the symbols of the Christian Cross and the Star of David are melded.
Painstakingly, Berman sketched the biographies of the Jews who lay buried in the Jewish cemetery in Lexington. But his portrait of the community did not stop there. He also interviewed Christians—as well as one Muslim family—about the nature of their relationships with the small Jewish community. White Christians were effusive in their praise of the Jews, corroborating Berman’s thesis that although there were different religions in Lexington, there really was only one majority community – so thoroughly integrated were the Jews with the majority white Protestants.
African-American residents of Lexington, who today comprise the majority of the town’s population, were more restrained in their praise—commenting that the Jews had treated them fairly in business, and had tried to be forces of moderation and reconciliation between blacks and whites during the time of the Civil Rights Movement. The words were positive, but anyone reading the interviews can sense that a gulf still needs to be bridged. Compared, however, to other areas of the South where Civil Rights conflict became violent, Lexington evidently was blessed with healthy measures of mutual trust and civility between blacks and whites.
The Muslim family interviewed were immigrants from Syria, who had formed friendships—even to the point of attending seders –with Jewish families. In fact, the Syrian-American gentleman in question suggested he might be the only transplanted Arab who has purchased Israel Bonds!
While business and social relations with the town’s Christian majority were cordial, the Jews resisted intermarriage, resulting over the generations in many, if not all, of those 23 families sharing some relatives.
Berman’s book is part civic history, part family genealogy, and it centers around the small edifice of Temple Beth El, which celebrated its centennial year in 2005. As of the book’s writing, the Jewish population of the town had dwindled to just 12 people, and realization was setting in that the community’s days were numbered. This was no one’s fault, the younger generations of Jews—including Berman’s own daughter, Sheri Spector and her family, had moved to larger cities such as San Diego, where there is greater economic opportunity.
Berman presented in the book a proposal that the historic temple building be moved to Oxford, Mississippi, where it might serve as a branch of the Los Angeles-based Museum of Tolerance, and perhaps as headquarters for the small Hillel chapter at the Ole Miss campus.
Last Yom Kippur, with only four members, the 104-year-old congregation announced it no longer had sufficient membership to enable regular services.
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I asked author Berman what reaction he had received from Ole Miss about his idea. He replied as follows:
“My wife Sondy and I have had two meetings with The Chancellor of The University of Mississippi, one this past November 2009, and the second one this past April 28th.
“The University has agreed to send us a Memorandum of Understanding that they will take possession of the Sanctuary’s contents, move them to Oxford where The University is located, insure and store them until funds can be obtained to build the Center and Museum of Tolerance. It has already agreed to locate it on a prominent site on University property and furnish on going maintenance. It has three years to raise the funds and begin the major project. We feel if The University takes possession, it will find the funds, as The Chancellor has stated he will personally be in charge of the fund raising.
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Harrison is editor of San Diego Jewish World
San Diego’s historic places: Admiral Baker Field, Part 2
By Donald H. Harrison
SAN DIEGO – Who was the Admiral Baker for whom Admiral Baker Field with its two golf courses is named?
His son, also named Wilder Baker, replied in a telephone interview from Darien, Connecticut, that in the U.S. Navy, Admiral Baker perhaps was best known as the chief of staff to Admiral John S. McCain, whose grandson, John McCain, became a senator from Arizona and the 2008 presidential candidate.
Admiral Baker (1890-1975) was among the senior officers in the theatre at the time of Japan’s surrender in 1945, having led a task force that attacked the Japanese home islands. Before the U.S. entered World War II, he helped develop tactics for anti-submarine warfare while escorting American convoys to England and dodging German U-boats.
For all the wartime action he saw, it was Admiral Baker’s peacetime role as the commandant of the 11th Naval District that resulted in his name being immortalized at the recreational facility located on what had been a portion of Camp Elliott.
When the postwar decision was made to designate a portion of Camp Elliott as Miramar Marine Corps Air Station and to decommission other portions of the camp, Baker urged that a portion of the facility be set aside for the recreational needs of active duty military personnel and retired members of the Armed Services. Over the ensuing decades, Miramar was turned over to the Navy, and then back to the Marine Corps, while decommissioned portions of the huge base eventually were developed into the community of Tierrasanta and left in its natural state as Mission Trails Regional Park.
Baker retired with the rank of vice admiral in 1952 and joined the senior management of Solar Aircraft for several years thereafter. He became active in civic affairs, particularly as president of the San Diego Symphony, and as a board member of the Community Chest (United Way), Scripps Clinic and YMCA, said his son, an East Coast advertising executive who today owns an advertising consultant agency.
The admiral loved to play golf “but you didn’t want to emulate it,” his son chuckled. “He was a hacker. … One of the stories was how he once shot a hole in one—it was up at Mare Island (in the San Francisco Bay area) off a water tower.”
Whether the story of the fortuitous ricochet shot is true or apocryphal, it is an accurate description of the admiral’s game, said his son.
The admiral and his son played together several times on the golf course bearing his name. “It started as a nine-hole course, mostly dirt,” the son remembered. It grew to 18 holes and then a second course was put in.
Another of the family’s favorite stories about the admiral concerned a time they went up to a favorite vacation spot on Squam Lake in New Hampshire. “He was still on active duty, and people knew he was an admiral,” his son said. So you can imagine the townspeople’s amusement the day that “he went down to get in the canoe, but let the boat slip away from the dock (with his foot still on it) and fell into the lake.”
The townspeople used to tease the admiral about the incident, but he took it in good grace. In the military, subordinates used to say that he was “direct” in his approach to people and fair, his son said.
When the admiral lived at North Island Naval Air Station, he liked to shoot skeet and often tried to get his son to come along. But the younger Wilder Baker wasn’t fond of that sport, “so he would get hold of a friend of mine who lived in Coronado, Nick Reynolds,” who became famous as a member of the Kingston Trio.
Wilder Baker said he was pleased to learn that Admiral Baker Field now is cooperating with the Audubon Society for the protection of wildlife species and the ecology.
Coincidentally, he said, his own wife, Vanda, is on the committee of the Weebern Country Club in Darien working to have that facility likewise certified in the Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary Program for Golf Courses.
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Harrison is editor of San Diego Jewish World. This article appeared previously on examiner.com