Iwas almost 13 and in trouble. My bar mitzvah was a few weeks away and I was woefully unprepared to read a passage in Hebrew from the book of the Prophets. I was afraid of making a fool of myself before the congregation. I might as well have been reading the haftorah in Greek because I had no idea what the words meant. It was all Greek to me.
I called my paternal grandfather for help. Grandpa Lou was not an educated man by book-learning standards, but he was well versed in the teachings of Judaism and fluent in Hebrew.
I shared with him my fear that I would flub my bar mitzvah speech and shame my family squirming in their seats as I imploded on stage.
His one eye
Grandpa Lou told me I had nothing to worry about. Ninety percent of the congregation, he said, were unfamiliar with the pass

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