Graduation Speech by Michael L
Hello everyone and good evening.
If I asked you which book appears on the AP English Literature exam more than any other book, you might say Crime and Punishment, Hamlet, Moby Dick, The Scarlett Letter, Great Gatsby, or Huckleberry Finn. If you’re about 12 years old or simply a wishful AP English student, you might be crossing your fingers hoping it’s the Hunger Games or Harry Potter—both of which, unfortunately, aren’t considered to have “literary merit.” [PAUSE] I’d like to see the College Board say that to JK Rowling’s face.
Seriously, though, here’s how the AP’s most popular book begins:
I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.
[PAUSE]
Any guess which book it is?
[PAUSE]
The first line gives it away. It’s Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man —a chilling book about a young African American man, who can’t seem to make a difference in the world no matter how hard he tries. Time and time again, he struggles to fight for what he believes in, only to find that his efforts are futile—thus remaining invisible to his race, society, and the world as a whole.
But this is not the case with YA graduates. Unlike the Invisible Man, at Yeshiva Atlanta we’re given the tools to make our presence felt—to be anything except invisible. For instance, just about every student is proactive—at least when it comes to voicing their ideas to the administration, who always listen with an open mind. Students feel encouraged to speak up knowing that YA’s faculty takes every bit of advice and feedback into consideration. So naturally, administration hears a combination of just about everything: from cell-phone policies to crazy attendance proposals, such as giving seniors every Monday off. Still, this open-mindedness tells students that their thoughts are important and carry great value.
Like most YA students, I seize the opportunity to give my input about our community. I remember shortly after taking the SATs at Yeshiva, I suggested that the school switch over from analog to digital clocks, which I for one can read more quickly—you know, there’s no hassle of trying to figure out where the hands are pointing, counting by five, multiplying by five, etc. This suggestion must have seemed pretty inconsequential—I mean they’re trying to run a school and you’ve got a kid complaining about perfectly functional clocks. Nevertheless, Yeshiva listened, and when I sat down two weeks ago to take APs, I was relieved by the sight of a nice, easy to read digital clock…not that I had trouble with the analog ones.
[2x PAUSE]
Malcolm Gladwell, a prominent contemporary author, refers to this ability to express one’s thoughts to older, more established people as “entitlement.” Even though the word carries negative connotations nowadays, Gladwell uses it in a positive manner. In his book Outliers, which describes important attributes to success, he says that it refers to acting as though you have a right to pursue your own individual preferences, to actively manage institutional settings, to appear comfortable asking for attention, and to shift interactions to suit your desires. Essentially “entitlement” denotes the ability to seize any situation and really make it your own—creating the opportunity for you to stand up for your thoughts, ideas, and beliefs.
[PAUSE]
Even though the Invisible Man could speak eloquently, he lacked what so many yeshiva students possess: this positive sense of entitlement. Therefore, he was unable to control his setting. His environment constantly dominated him—throwing him from the south to the north, job to job, relationship to relationship. Circumstance dictated his life. So notwithstanding his speaking abilities and yearning to create social change, nothing came about—hence his invisibility.
Yeshiva Atlanta Students on the other hand—they hold the necessary confidence to actively exercise positive-entitlement. So when YA sophomore Josh Weissmann wanted to create his own elective—photography—he had no trouble doing it; Ofek Regev, the president of Environmental Club, easily coordinated a trip to a recycling plant; upperclassmen, Chana Zolty and Gaby Hoberman, made YA’s first ever arts magazine; JUMP, a leadership club, organized a holiday party for over 100, underprivileged, non-Jewish kids; and the school as a whole—well, we managed to raise over $3,000 for a bomb shelter in Israel. All these accomplishments wouldn’t have been possible if the students silently sat back, waiting for opportunity to come to them. Instead, they spoke up. They utilized positive-entitlement to take command of their situation and make a difference in multiple communities.
At times, it would be all too easy to live passively. To sit down, instead of stand up. To hide in the dark, instead of preside in the light. However, such cowardice is the life of invisibility—the life displayed by the Invisible Man at the novel’s end. Yeshiva taught us to act otherwise: to respectfully say what must be said, to speak up even when it may be difficult, and to never let circumstance control the outcome of any situation. With Modern-Orthodox values—such as selflessness, charity, kindness, and Zionism — instilled in each and every one of us, along with the means to implement them every day, the Class of 2012 holds a promising future, one where invisibility is simply not an option.
Instead of finishing with a cliché, like “Carpe-Diem—seize the day,” I’ll leave you with wisdom from Kanye West, the Shakespeare of our time. He says: We’ve all got treasures in our mind—the hardest part is opening up our own vault. Kanye recognizes that we all have what it takes to be great—we just have to figure out how to unlock our potential.
Thank you.
If I asked you which book appears on the AP English Literature exam more than any other book, you might say Crime and Punishment, Hamlet, Moby Dick, The Scarlett Letter, Great Gatsby, or Huckleberry Finn. If you’re about 12 years old or simply a wishful AP English student, you might be crossing your fingers hoping it’s the Hunger Games or Harry Potter—both of which, unfortunately, aren’t considered to have “literary merit.” [PAUSE] I’d like to see the College Board say that to JK Rowling’s face.
Seriously, though, here’s how the AP’s most popular book begins:
I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.
[PAUSE]
Any guess which book it is?
[PAUSE]
The first line gives it away. It’s Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man —a chilling book about a young African American man, who can’t seem to make a difference in the world no matter how hard he tries. Time and time again, he struggles to fight for what he believes in, only to find that his efforts are futile—thus remaining invisible to his race, society, and the world as a whole.
But this is not the case with YA graduates. Unlike the Invisible Man, at Yeshiva Atlanta we’re given the tools to make our presence felt—to be anything except invisible. For instance, just about every student is proactive—at least when it comes to voicing their ideas to the administration, who always listen with an open mind. Students feel encouraged to speak up knowing that YA’s faculty takes every bit of advice and feedback into consideration. So naturally, administration hears a combination of just about everything: from cell-phone policies to crazy attendance proposals, such as giving seniors every Monday off. Still, this open-mindedness tells students that their thoughts are important and carry great value.
Like most YA students, I seize the opportunity to give my input about our community. I remember shortly after taking the SATs at Yeshiva, I suggested that the school switch over from analog to digital clocks, which I for one can read more quickly—you know, there’s no hassle of trying to figure out where the hands are pointing, counting by five, multiplying by five, etc. This suggestion must have seemed pretty inconsequential—I mean they’re trying to run a school and you’ve got a kid complaining about perfectly functional clocks. Nevertheless, Yeshiva listened, and when I sat down two weeks ago to take APs, I was relieved by the sight of a nice, easy to read digital clock…not that I had trouble with the analog ones.
[2x PAUSE]
Malcolm Gladwell, a prominent contemporary author, refers to this ability to express one’s thoughts to older, more established people as “entitlement.” Even though the word carries negative connotations nowadays, Gladwell uses it in a positive manner. In his book Outliers, which describes important attributes to success, he says that it refers to acting as though you have a right to pursue your own individual preferences, to actively manage institutional settings, to appear comfortable asking for attention, and to shift interactions to suit your desires. Essentially “entitlement” denotes the ability to seize any situation and really make it your own—creating the opportunity for you to stand up for your thoughts, ideas, and beliefs.
[PAUSE]
Even though the Invisible Man could speak eloquently, he lacked what so many yeshiva students possess: this positive sense of entitlement. Therefore, he was unable to control his setting. His environment constantly dominated him—throwing him from the south to the north, job to job, relationship to relationship. Circumstance dictated his life. So notwithstanding his speaking abilities and yearning to create social change, nothing came about—hence his invisibility.
Yeshiva Atlanta Students on the other hand—they hold the necessary confidence to actively exercise positive-entitlement. So when YA sophomore Josh Weissmann wanted to create his own elective—photography—he had no trouble doing it; Ofek Regev, the president of Environmental Club, easily coordinated a trip to a recycling plant; upperclassmen, Chana Zolty and Gaby Hoberman, made YA’s first ever arts magazine; JUMP, a leadership club, organized a holiday party for over 100, underprivileged, non-Jewish kids; and the school as a whole—well, we managed to raise over $3,000 for a bomb shelter in Israel. All these accomplishments wouldn’t have been possible if the students silently sat back, waiting for opportunity to come to them. Instead, they spoke up. They utilized positive-entitlement to take command of their situation and make a difference in multiple communities.
At times, it would be all too easy to live passively. To sit down, instead of stand up. To hide in the dark, instead of preside in the light. However, such cowardice is the life of invisibility—the life displayed by the Invisible Man at the novel’s end. Yeshiva taught us to act otherwise: to respectfully say what must be said, to speak up even when it may be difficult, and to never let circumstance control the outcome of any situation. With Modern-Orthodox values—such as selflessness, charity, kindness, and Zionism — instilled in each and every one of us, along with the means to implement them every day, the Class of 2012 holds a promising future, one where invisibility is simply not an option.
Instead of finishing with a cliché, like “Carpe-Diem—seize the day,” I’ll leave you with wisdom from Kanye West, the Shakespeare of our time. He says: We’ve all got treasures in our mind—the hardest part is opening up our own vault. Kanye recognizes that we all have what it takes to be great—we just have to figure out how to unlock our potential.
Thank you.
