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Sometimes, at night, I would be so panic-stricken about having to go to school the next day that I lay there in my bed unable to breathe

A t the ripe old age of five I discovered I was dumb. Our pre-1A class was learning to read and my best friend Shaina was very good at kametz alef uh. I wasn’t.

I spent the first few years of my elementary school career in a state of constant terror always afraid the teacher would call on me to read answer a question or worst of all translate something from Hebrew to English. I was bad enough at English; Hebrew was a nightmare for me.

It took me until third or fourth grade to master the mechanics of reading English. Even then I read slowly stopping frequently to figure out what the next word said. And even when I managed to sound out the words I still had no idea what they meant. If the teacher asked me “What happened in this story Avigail?” I would have no clue.

So I devised all sorts of tricks to prevent teachers from calling on me. I always sat in the back of the classroom or off to the side I never made eye contact with teachers and I never raised my hand to ask or answer a question. I also made sure to keep my hair long and in my face. This blocked my peripheral vision and helped me feel safely hidden. My teachers thought I was quiet when really I was just trying to stay under the radar and keep them from calling on me in class.