Hillel would stand atop the bridge’s edge, a look of fierce concentration on his face, always on the verge of launching his long thin body into the open air, sometimes bending his knees like he was about to go, but something always stopped him from surrendering to it. He thought about it a lot. We’d sit down below on the sandy shore of the river in our underwear, laughing and yelling words of encouragement, and sometimes he’d be up there apprehensively for an hour, just on the verge, but ultimately always walked away. He finally issued the proclamation, “Jews don’t jump.”
