Leon Uris, master and commander of the written word

(JNS) - Last August marked the centennial of the birth of author Leon Uris, yet it passed with little commemoration in the Jewish cultural sphere. This absence is understandable as world Jewry is likely facing its greatest challenges since the end of World War II or, at least, since 1967. Many of us felt despair before the turning point in Israel's war with Hezbollah. Even now, we grieve for the hostages, and for family members and friends who served in Gaza or Southern Lebanon. Still, it is important to summon the emotional energy to honor someone who inspired countless people in the United States and played a pivotal role in the awakening of Soviet Jewry.

Uris, proudly remembered as an "American Marine, Jewish Writer," as is inscribed on his gravestone, was born in Baltimore on Aug. 3, 1924. His father was an immigrant from Poland via British Mandatory Palestine who had Americanized the family name from Yerushalmi to Uris. A high school dropout, Uris enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps at age 17 during World War II. He channeled his passion for storytelling into novels that resonated worldwide, even as literary critics often dismissed them. His numerous works, including "Battle Cry" (1953), "Exodus" (1958), "Mila 18," "QB VII" (1970) and "Trinity" (1976), became enduring symbols of resilience and the indomitable fighting spirit of his characters.

I had the privilege of meeting Leon Uris in person in the fall of 1989 during his B'nai B'rith-sponsored visit to the Soviet Union. However, my first "meeting" with him occurred long before that October night in Leningrad - through his book, or rather the book, "Exodus."

Published in 1958, Exodus was a monumental work that intensely impacted Soviet Jewry, one that can only be fully understood in historical terms. For nearly 50 years, Jews behind the Iron Curtain were systematically stripped of every foundational tenet of basic Jewish life. They were denied religious education and observance and had no access to cultural outlets like independent Jewish newspapers and magazines, and other critical elements necessary to sustain a vibrant and healthy community known as Am Yisroel.

Exodus arrived at the perfect moment for the right people. Soviet Jews, still trembling from the collective trauma of the Holocaust, were facing the relentless pressures of a totalitarian regime determined to crush individuality and transform its citizens into faceless, soulless products of the Soviet system. However, Stalin's death and the subsequent though short-lived thaw gave Soviet Jews a fighting chance.

Uris's book offered an electrifying counter to the Soviet narrative. It told Soviet Jews about a different kind of Jew-one who was proud of their heritage, one who could fight back against oppression, and, perhaps most importantly, one who could win. The story of resilient, defiant Jews standing tall inspired a sense of proud hope that had been suppressed for decades.

Numerous accounts tell of Jewish activists in the former Soviet Union who risked their lives to translate the book, captivated by its story and message. One of the most extraordinary efforts was undertaken by Gulag prisoners, who painstakingly created a handwritten copy. Smuggling the manuscript past the KGB's rigorous searches and out of the labor camp itself was nothing short of miraculous.

From there, Exodus began a triumphant journey through the hearts and minds of Soviet Jews, and sometimes, even non-Jews. Hand-typed and handwritten copies battled the Soviet propaganda machine - Pravdas newspaper, TV programs and radio broadcasts - and emerged victorious. For 30 years, Exodus served as a rebellious force, until owning or reading it was no longer a criminal act.

When it was announced that Uris would visit Leningrad in October 1989, around 400 people expressed interest in meeting him. However, at the last moment, the large hall we had rented was declared "unsafe," and we were forced to settle for a much smaller venue. Uris was visibly upset but he didn't let it show to the three or four dozen lucky attendees. Later, I learned that similar tactics had been used by the KGB to frustrate his events in Riga and Moscow.

You can read Uris's account of his visit in his article "Battle Cry 1990," published in the Delaware newspaper The Jewish Voice on March 23, 1990. His perspective on the USSR diverged from the prevailing Western media narrative, offering an unflattering view of then Prime Minister Mikhail Gorbachev and Glasnost. His candor reinvigorated many Soviet Jewry activists in the United States, sustaining their commitment until the fall of the Soviet Union in 1992.

Moscow activists had the honor of presenting Uris with a typewritten copy of Exodus. He was visibly moved; it was clear that this weathered document, typed on thin gray paper, was one of the most meaningful tokens of appreciation he had ever received.

A couple of days later, I had another opportunity to speak with him. That night, he told me: "While there are many successful writers in the world, there are few who are privileged to have their readers risk prison time for distributing and reading their books." We shared a shot of vodka for his new books and another for our luck. He knew how desperate we were at the time; many of us had waited more than 10 years to escape "Mother Russia."

Before we parted ways, his last words to me were unforgettable: "I hate when Jews look and behave like victims. Despite all your troubles, you don't."

It became clear to me that Uris possessed a rare ability to connect deeply with people, making me feel as though I had known him for years rather than just days. This empathy and attentiveness were, perhaps, what enabled him to craft stories that touched millions.

The influence of "Exodus" extended even further than Uris may have imagined. On one occasion, a small underground Jewish theater troupe was preparing to travel to Riga to perform a play they had rehearsed for two years. After nearly a dozen successful underground performances in Leningrad, they had-with great difficulty-secured venues in Riga for audiences of 100 people. Costumes were packed, and the troupe was ready to board the train.

But even this modest expression of Jewish culture was thwarted. The actors were detained at the train station under a flimsy pretext and spent five to 10 days in prison. Their painstaking arrangements in Riga unraveled. One actor, however, had a copy of "Exodus" with him. A bored night-shift prison guard, intrigued by the mere presence of Samizdat (material banned by the government), agreed not to confiscate or destroy it if the detainee allowed him to borrow it overnight.

The next morning, the guard returned the book, saying: "I don't think everything in this book is true, but even if half of it is, you all have a good reason to go through all this trouble for your cause." Despite the pervasive antisemitism in the USSR, Exodus had managed to reach and sway even a rank-and-file Soviet policeman.

Though a world-famous author, Uris was down-to-earth, warm, and empathetic, fully understanding the precarious situation of Soviet Jews. He treated everyone with respect and kindness, never condescending.

Through his books, Uris will live on in the hearts and minds of millions, inspiring pride in their heritage and the strength to fight against oppression.