Editor's Corner: Asking the Right Question

Charlotte Jewish News, February 2025

Shira Firestone, Managing Editor

When driving into work on the second-to-last day of 2024, I spotted the American flag at the fire station lowered to half-mast. These solemn gestures, reserved for presidents, high-ranking officials, and other significant moments of national mourning, always give me pause. Checking the news that morning, I learned what many already knew: President Jimmy Carter had passed away at his home in Plains, Georgia, at the age of 100.

A week later, standing in the bookstore, I found myself drawn to a table featuring biographies of the late president. The book I chose didn’t begin with his presidency or politics, but rather with his early life — the experiences and character that shaped him long before he entered the White House. As I read, and as I sought out other tributes to the former president, I noticed something striking: they all seemed to focus not on his time in office, but on his post-presidential life. Rather than leveraging his presidential status for wealth or influence, he returned to his modest home in Plains, devoted himself to humanitarian work through Habitat for Humanity where he physically worked building houses well into his nineties, and continued teaching Sunday school at his small local church nearly every week.

His funeral in early January brought all living presidents together, a rare moment of unity that seemed fitting for a man who had spent his post-presidential years building bridges rather than legacies. As I read about his life, I found myself wondering, “How will I be remembered? What will people say about me after I am gone?

Then came the unexpected news in January of Franki Clement’s passing. As event and communications manager for the Foundation of Shalom Park, Franki coordinated over 1,200 events each year, modernized event management processes, and touched countless lives in our community. Yet what struck me most as I learned more about her in the days that followed wasn’t her impressive accomplishments, but how she achieved them — the warmth she brought to every interaction, the way she lived her values in each moment, whether managing complex events or keeping her office stocked with Hershey’s Kisses for visitors. As her tribute in this issue of the CJN notes, “She embodied the values of perseverance, collaboration, and integrity, inspiring us all to be better colleagues and human beings.” Those words about how she inspired us to be better, about how to live, resonated deeply. By now, I was deep into my reflections about legacy when, just days later, I found myself editing a tribute to honor another significant loss to our community: the passing of Olga Washington. I had met Olga only once, but like so many others, I knew of her profound influence. A Black woman from South Africa who became one of Israel’s most powerful advocates, she transformed reluctant teenagers into eager students and engaged with those who disagreed with her in meaningful dialogue. She accomplished so much, from becoming a law firm partner at twenty-five to speaking at the United Nations, yet what people remembered most was how she lived. Her tribute captured it perfectly: “Many people worldwide were blessed to know her, a beacon of light, an exemplary human whose brilliance, warmth, elegance, courage, morality, wisdom, strength, and beauty shined so brightly. She showed us how to live.” Those last words, “She showed us how to live,” echoed in my mind.

As these losses came one after another, I began to see a thread weaving through their stories. Though they operated in different spheres, from international diplomacy to local community events, none of them seemed focused on crafting their legacy. Instead, they simply lived their values consistently, authentically, day after day. They built bridges across great divides and created connections through daily interactions, all serving others in ways that came naturally to who they were.

And then I realized — I had been asking myself the wrong question all along. The question isn’t, “How will I be remembered?,” but “How am I living today?”

The Jewish concept of ma’asim tovim teaches us that good deeds aren’t performed for recognition or remembrance. They’re simply the natural expression of living our values. We act out of an inherent sense of responsibility and morality, not for recognition, legacy, or personal gain. The emphasis is on doing what is right because it contributes to a just and compassionate world.

Carter didn’t build houses with Habitat for Humanity to craft a post-presidential legacy — he did it because he believed everyone deserved a decent place to live. Olga didn’t share her perspective and wisdom to be remembered — she did it because, in her words, “There can be no justice without truth.” Franki didn’t pour herself into every event and interaction to leave a legacy — she did it because that’s who she was. Their stories remind us that the most meaningful legacies aren’t built consciously; they grow naturally from how we choose to live each day. They emerge not from our concern about future remembrance, but from our commitment to present service. The tributes to these three remarkable individuals don’t primarily recall their achievements or accolades. Instead, they speak of how they lived, how they touched others, how they showed up day after day with authenticity and purpose.

Perhaps that’s the most powerful lesson these losses have taught me. Our legacy isn’t something we craft for tomorrow. It’s something we live today, in each choice, each interaction, each moment of service to others. The question isn’t about how we’ll be remembered, but about how we will live.

Franki Clement’s tribute can be found on page 7. Olga Washington’s tribute can be found on page 18 of this month's CJN www.charlottejewishnews.org

Shira