An Open Letter to J.J. Abrams

Dearest J.J.,

It’s been a long time since we last spoke. Actually, we’ve never spoken. Sorry. That was someone else.

A couple days ago, I saw the series finale of Lost. It was good. Not necessarily mind-blowing — I mean, we still have all these questions — but “sweet” and “touching” as all finales should be. Pat yourself on the back for finding the perfect balance of artistry and commercialism. Sure, there was the whoring merchandise (personally, I’m saving up for those Dharma Initiative leg warmers), but the character development was borderline Shakespearean, man. Now we can argue about the “what did it all mean?” until the Desmonds come home but, ultimately, we all know I’m right when I say that the island represents the balance between the spiritual and physical and by unleashing the evil force blocked by a paper mache cork in that cave with the light, our spirits, respectively and collectively, are all destroyed, thus leaving our bodies as nothing more than empty shells.

[Deep breath]

I’m right, right?

Now, season six was a bit of a curve-ball. You said no purgatory, yet it was ostensibly purgatory. Everyone died at different points but then met again in this timeless Neverland where they were given the chance to make up for being total a-holes in their former lives. Know this: I am cool with that. A lot of people are not. But I am.

However, here’s my major problem with Lost. I just looked it up on IMDB and found that there were 178 characters, including Teenage Boy, Flight Attendant #2, “Old Scooter Man” and Gate Attendant. Wonderfully gifted actors working on a wonderfully crafted series (I’m looking at you, Lotto Girl) and none were Jewish. Not even “Anxious Guy.” His real name is Brad Berryhill and that’s as WASPy as it gets. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying there needed to be a Jew. I just find it weird that with so many religious undertones (or in some instances, super overtones) the only bone we get is a Star of David on a stained glass window in a church during the final ten minutes.

J.J., you’re Jewish. Co-creator Damon Lindelof is a raging Jew from Teaneck, NJ of all places. Two out of three creators are Heebs and not one Jew riding Flight 815?!? Why wasn’t there, let’s say, an Hasidic diamond dealer flying into Los Angeles after a weekend affair with a meth-smoking prostitute in Sydney? How’s that for a backstory? Or a former Israeli soldier who tortured Arabs during the Gulf War? Too similar to Sayid? Not one wise-cracking, pastrami-eating New Yorker regaling Kate and Claire with stories of alternative side of the street parking and where the best bagels are on the Upper West Side? Really? I don’t know, dude.

I feel bad calling you out like this, but it also needs to be done. It was uncool to make Lost so Jew-free. Of all the unanswered questions, this one — this Hebraic mystery — can actually be answered. So what about it, J.J.? Hit me up some time and let me know your thought process for making such an uncircumcised series. I think you owe it to your Jewish fans. All seven of us.

Namaste,

Arye

What do you think?