Old students occasionally contact me and ask if I remember them.  I always do.  But I remember some better than others.

There was one kid who started training with me when he about 11.  We’ll call him Larry.  His parents signed him up for my karate class at the Newton, Massachusetts JCC because he was being bullied in school.

Larry was a really sweet kid, smart, kind.  For some reason he didn’t fit in at the local public school, so his parents gave him a geographical cure and enrolled him in a snobby prep school.    

As a martial arts instructor I’m supposed to tell the kids that they are forbidden to “use it” unless their lives are endangered.  Conflicts should be solved by words, not fists.  It’s an ART, not meant for solving social discomfort.

However, in Larry’s case, I was hoping that he would haul off and whack the next kid who bothered him.  His opportunity came on the first day of Jr. High.   Standing in line in the cafeteria, waiting for the inevitable inedible lunch, he found himself being verbally abused by the large school bully.

Larry then used the little known karate “tray technique.”  He told me this story about 30 years ago.  I don’t remember the exact words he used, but I do remember the look of triumph on his face as he flipped back the hair that covered one eye and said, “And then I dumped my whole tray over his head.”

“With the food on it?” I asked.  He grinned.  Of course the bully challenged him to fight.  After the final bell they met outside and duked it out.  Larry used some of the better known punches and kicks; the bully backed off, and Larry was never victimized again.  His goal had been achieved, but he continued training and went as high as brown belt.

Some years later Larry called me to tell me to say he’d become a psychologist who worked with children.  I wonder if he works with kids who are bullied, and if so, if he suggests the tray technique.  It certainly led to good things for him. 

Won the Battle, Lost the War

The wheels of justice turn slowly, and it became clear that by the time we went to court it would be very close the date of the world championships.  Meanwhile, 30 young attorneys worked hundreds of hours, pro bono, on my behalf.  And, for the principles which the case represented to them.

On the morning of the trial there was a confrontation between Alan Dershowitz, who had been consulted about the case, and Boston attorney George Abrams, who had attended every meeting and been highly involved in writing the brief.  Dershowitz, who wouldn’t deny that he enjoys publicity, wanted to represent me in court.  Abrams was fuming.  He’d “done all the hard work” and wasn’t about to let Alan steal the limelight.  Abrams won.

I sat with George on a hard, worn wooden bench in the federal courthouse and faced Judge Rya Zobel.  Sitting across from us were two Jewish lawyers from New Jersey who’d been hired by the AAU.  After both sides argued the case a compromise was reached.  I’d get my karate trial and if I won, I’d compete, but I’d have to fly to Taiwan; the referees couldn’t be gathered on such short notice.

After the gavel fell the two lawyers from New Jersey shook my hand and smiled.  “Way to go,” they said.  Then George tapped me on the shoulder.  “The judge wants to speak to you in chambers.”  I had that horrible sinking feeling that you get when the principal want you in his office.  I’d done something wrong, and now I was going to be punished.

Rya Zobel, who was married to a Jew, had a large picture of Golda Meir hanging on her wall.  She smiled and held out her hand.  “I just wanted to meet you,” she said.  Boy, was I relieved!  And surprised. 

Later, there was a press conference.  Flashbulbs went off and the reporters asked questions, all of which were easy to answer.  Until a reporter from the Boston Herald, an older guy, crusty, (turned out he was Jewish or he never would have come up with the question), should have been smoking a cigar, said, “Are you an Orthodox Jew?”  I shook my head, no.  “Then why didn’t ‘ya just go and compete?”

I could hear Lenny Zakim draw in his breath.  The truth was that it had never occurred to me to “just go and compete.”  Not for a second.  It was one of those major life decisions made without any cognitive effort.  But that wasn’t something you’d say to the press.

“Anti-Semitism is increasing in the world.  I thought it was important to stand up and say, ‘I’m a Jew, and I’m proud of being Jewish.’”  Lenny breathed.  More flashbulbs went off.   My story made newspapers all over the world, including the Jerusalem Post.  My competitive career had just ended, but I didn’t realize that yet.