HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_017437.jpg

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—me. (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 been a distinct advantage in
remaining part of the Orthodox community. I would have been among the most successful
Orthodox lawyers and professors in the world. Having given up Orthodoxy, I was just one
among the thousands of highly successful Jewish lawyers and professors.

I often think about what my life, and that of my family, would have been like had I remained a
member of “the club” of Modern Orthodox Jews. The “road not taken” often appears less bumpy
than the road one actually traveled. But I have no regrets.

Many of my friends, who have remained Orthodox, do not understand my decision. They, like
me, are skeptics and agnostics, but that has not stopped them from remaining observant. As one
old friend put it: “the older I get, the less I believe, but the more I observe.” They love the
community of Orthodox observers and want to remain part of it. That requires complying with a
set of rules—not believing a set of beliefs. Since I am very rule abiding in my secular and
professional life, following the religious rules would have been easy for me, but I chose the road
less traveled, at least for my Orthodox friends. And that has made all the difference, both for me
and for my children—for better or worse. I simply did not want to impose my parents’ rules on
my children. My parents imposed their rules on me and my brother, and I wanted my children to
be free to choose a lifestyle for themselves. Of course no one is entirely free from parental
influences, and choice is always a matter of degree.

350

HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_017437