Letting Go     

I’m sure he grew up being called Yankel by his Hungarian Holocaust survivor parents, but Jack had no interest in “all that.” Jack was angry about the rules and resented the culture. He was always bitter about his high school experience, and he wanted to be “modern,” so much so that when Jack got married, he didn’t even invite some of his oldest yeshivah friends to his wedding. This was a big deal. We were the first generation after the Holocaust and without much family, we didn’t have big weddings; to shun your yeshivah buddies was demeaning and hurtful.

When I began working, Jack and I landed at the same consulting firm, where we developed a close relationship. We were different, of course — I tried to retain my yeshivah-bochur mentality and avoided getting involved with the other employees, whereas Jack tried hard to be one of the guys.

About seven years after we started working together, a company party was scheduled. All the employees were asked to contribute some homemade food or money. I kvetched to Jack about it, telling him how I really hated to get involved.

Jack was livid. Maybe it was a guilty conscience, or maybe he just resented what I stood for. He launched a full-scale hate campaign against me, ridiculing me and my work to our bosses and coworkers, doing anything he could to make them distrust me. I suffered daily from his harassment. This went on for three years, until I left the company, but painful as it was, I resolved to never fight back; to never say even a word in my defense. It was tough, but I stuck with it. Although Jack caused a lot of damage to my reputation, I never responded.