Akira Kurosawa

Born in Tokyo, Japan, Akira Kurosawa was, perhaps unsurprisingly, not Jewish. His upbringing was thoroughly Japanese, steeped in samurai culture and the arts, with no discernible detours through the shtetl or yeshiva. We checked, just in case a great-aunt once mentioned a distant cousin who might have dabbled in Kabbalah, but alas, nothing.

Kurosawa’s films, however, are another story. They are so universally beloved, so deeply impactful, and so meticulously crafted that one might be tempted to claim him by proxy. His visual storytelling, his dramatic tension, his exploration of human morality — it’s all very, dare we say, *kvell*-worthy. Think of "Seven Samurai" or "Rashomon" and try not to feel a surge of pride, even if it’s entirely misplaced.

While his contributions to cinema are undeniable, leading to countless accolades and a permanent spot in the pantheon of directorial greats, Kurosawa remained firmly rooted in his Japanese heritage. He brought the world stories that felt both intimately specific and profoundly universal, yet never once did he bring us a tale of a nice Jewish boy making good in Hollywood. A shame, really, for our purposes.