4.2.12 WC: 191694 “another Bar Mitzvah boy” who had done a better job reading from the Torah, but who wasn’t nearly as good a student or person as Jerry. “We judge boys not by the quality of their voices or their ability to memorize, but by their understanding of what they were reciting and by the lives they lead based on their understanding.” It was a direct put down of me, and so understood by the congregation. It stung me and led me to conclude that I could do nothing right in the eyes of the religious authority figures. Even when I did something perfectly, they would find some way to turn my success against me. It discouraged me from trying. A few years later, I had a similar experience in high school. The one subject that interested me was history, and the teacher was young and dynamic. I studied hard—a rarity—for a state-wide exam and got an 88. When the teacher, who knew my reputation as a mediocre student, told me my score, he said: “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re a 75 student. You’ve always been a 75 student and you’ll always be a 75 student.” (He gave me a 70 despite my 88 grade on the Regents exam.) It became a self-fulfilling prophecy for two reasons. First, all my teachers believed it. Second, I believed it and stopped studying because I could get 70’s or 75’s without much work, and if that’s who I am, why take time away from activities I enjoyed, such as sports, jokes, girls and messing around. It was in the summer of my junior year in high school, when an authority figure—the camp dramatics counselor, Yitz Greenberg (also now a prominent rabbi)—finally told me that I wasn’t a “75 student.” He had cast me in the difficult rule of Cyrano d’Berjurac in the camp play. I memorized the lines and did a good job (my long nose helped). After the performance, Yitz put his arm around me and said, “You know you’re very smart.” I replied, “No, I just have a good memory.” He insisted that my smarts went beyond memorization. He told me I could be a good lawyer