4.2.12 WC: 191694 I also had a bit of a chip on my shoulder and an “I'll show them” attitude toward my high school teachers, who told me I’d never amount to anything, and my principle, who persuaded Yeshiva College not to admit me. I was motivated and roaring to go. In college, although I succeeded beyond my wildest imaginations, I also had deep-seated doubts about whether I was really as good as my grades. I had recurrent nightmares about failing exams and being exposed as a “phony.” I also wondered whether Brooklyn College was easier than Yeshiva, because half the day was not devoted to religious studies. But I didn’t let these doubts get in the way of my success. I loved Brooklyn College; and Brooklyn College loved—and still loves—ine. (Yeshiva now loves me as well, bestowing on me an “Alumni of the Year” award and an honorary doctorate, reflecting some selective amnesia about our past unhappy relationship.) Moving from my teen to my twenties, another question about change arises: why did I change—again dramatically and precipitously—from a strictly observant Jew, into a mostly non- observant secular Jew. Within a brief period of time, I transformed myself from an Orthodox Jew who put on Tfilin and davened every day and never ate anything—even a Nabisco cookie—that didn’t have the magical U, into a secular Jew who went to synagogue only a few times a year and who did not keep Kosher (except in my home, so my parents could eat there). These changes occurred in my middle to late 20s, and did not reflect any theological epiphany, but rather a rational decision to become my own person, rather than a follower of my parents’ life style. It would have been easy for me to remain observant. By the time I was making the decision, my career was well established. I had been hired by Harvard as an observant Jew, and I could have remained observant with no adverse consequences (other than some silly questions from the Dean). Indeed, from a career perspective, there would have