A Farewell Letter to My Idol, Patti Smith

Dear Patti,

I’ve been a super fan of yours for as long as I can remember. 

On my 35th birthday, I sat at a corner table at Shuka, practically ignoring my friends who had taken me out for lunch as I was in your presence and wanted to speak to you for the first time. I was reminded of how many times you posted on Instagram honoring people’s birthday, so it felt apropos to acknowledge my birthday in order to speak to you. We took a picture, you wished me a happy birthday. It felt like a great start to my year, but the world would soon change with the pandemic. 

Once vaccinated and with the world opening up again, I ended up moving to Tel Aviv in late 2021. One of the few things I packed, other than clothing and essentials, was the latest edition of Just Kids.

I first encountered you and your unique energy when I volunteered at the Haiti Relief Fundraiser at Urban Zen in the West Village in 2010. While Mary J. Blige performed, you, with your signature look of a black beanie, jeans, vest, blazer, and scraggly brown hair (now grey), walked into the silent auction room of expensive art that I was responsible for guarding. 

I stood there alone in the room with you, texting my parents, asking what I should say. But I couldn’t get any words out, and by the time I considered what I’d say, Michael Stipe walked in. You and your dear friend squatted down and giggled like little kids, looking at the art while avoiding the music.

In the early days of Twitter, I stumbled upon the fact that you were playing Tipitinas in New Orleans while my family and I were there for Jazzfest. I managed to call the venue and get the last three tickets to your show. Years earlier, I left a family vacation early to attend your New Year’s Eve/birthday show. I’ve attended your shows at MSG, Bowery, Carnegie Hall, Webster Hall, Summerstage, City Winery, the Beacon and Minetta Lane Theater. 

I’ve admired your confidence in aging, your refusal to conform, and your ability to embrace being unapologetically yourself. Your art, your books, and your performances resonated deeply with me. I even posted about you on International Women’s Day, calling you my biggest female inspiration. While so many of your peers turn to plastic surgery, you’ve embraced your age with grace.

I love watching you spit on stage yet would be repulsed by anyone else doing it as you stumbled on your words singing “If I Had a Hammer” at Newport Folk Festival. You say “drawling” instead of “drawing” and “piana” instead of “piano” and “windah” instead of “window” and it always makes me smile. 

I’ve read Just Kids over and over again, attaching myself to every word and visual memory of my native Manhattan and the incredible life you have lived. I’ve purchased each version that’s come out and gifted it to many friends.

Just Kids sat on my media center in my Tel Aviv apartment until October 9, 2023 when I abruptly left my apartment and life in Israel and returned to New York after the largest massacre on the Jewish people since the Holocaust. 

But something changed in the last year, as the war in Israel unfolded. While I struggled with my return to NYC after the horrors of October 7th, I was disheartened by your posts on Instagram.

“Harper, she’s anti-war. She wants peace,” my dad kept reiterating. He refused to believe it was anything more than that. Another friend invited me to your end of December shows, which I had attended so many years prior, but I couldn’t bring myself to go months after October 7th. My friend said how important it was to separate an artist from their political views, but I couldn’t have disagreed more.

When you shared a video of Roger Waters, whose antisemitism is well-documented, it felt like a personal betrayal. I was heartbroken that someone I admired could support him. I couldn’t believe that my idol—a female with a long-time band member who was Jewish—was backing this Nazi-loving man. 

I understand your stance on the suffering of children, and I agree—no child should die. But how can you ignore the context? Hamas has sent rockets to Israel nearly every day since October 7, and yet your posts suggest an unbalanced view. In 1999, you performed in Tel Aviv—did you not see then that it is a place of beauty, creativity, community, and resilience?

Unfortunately, the children of Gaza are being raised in a society that hates Jews, celebrates terrorism, and elects a government that uses them as human shields.

There are a number of celebrities and musicians who have shared their frustration over what is happening in Gaza and yet are also capable of saying, “Bring them home.” Why can’t it be both? How are you unable to do that? How did this become so one-sided for you?

Are you aware of why you’re not hearing about as many civilian deaths in Israel? It’s because Israel values its citizens’ lives—protecting people with bomb shelters, the Iron Dome, sirens to alert people to take shelter, and the incredible Israel Defense Forces (IDF). Show me a country that cares for its people as much as Israel does. Show me a country that sees its citizens as part of one big family.

As the hostages have been returned home each week for the last few weeks in a really bad deal, Jews and Israelis around the world screamed, cheered and cried as we felt we knew these men and women personally. We are willing to trade thousands of convicted terrorists for fewer than 100 innocent Israelis. That’s how much we value human life. You don’t have to believe in or trust the government to still love a country—we’ve learned that with our current president. 

On Rosh Hashanah, I was craving Jewish community in a way that I hadn’t for many, many years. A friend and I decided to go to Brooklyn Bowl for musical services and I was so happy to see Lenny Kaye. But every few minutes, my mind wandered to you, and the posts that you put up and the thoughts that you shared against the Jewish people. I wonder how your longtime bandmate continues to play with you and if you have conversations about the war. 

Your recent post about the keffiyeh was also deeply troubling. That symbol represents resistance, but not in a way that aligns with peace or justice. It’s a symbol of violence and hate toward Israel. It’s the post that put me over the edge and I unfollowed you.

As I turned 40 a few weeks ago, I thought about that magical moment at Shuka, but this year has reminded me that sometimes, the people we love and admire don’t always align with our values.

And with that I say farewell to my idol. To the books on my bookshelf, the t-shirt I bought with you brushing your teeth in the mirror and the photos of you that I’ve had framed over the years.

I hope you’ll dig a little deeper to recognize that you’re on the wrong side of history. If I see you in Shuka or 12 Chairs (an Israeli restaurant I know you frequent), I won’t be saying hello or asking for a photo – you’ll be just another woman sitting there, and I’ll carry with me a different understanding of who you are.

And I’ll continue to wonder, why, why can’t you see the other side?

With deep sadness,

Harper Spero