Once upon a time, a Rabbi claimed during a sermon, all the while beating his breast, that he was unworthy — unworthy to be a Rabbi, unworthy to know God’s love, and unworthy to have a place set aside for him in Heaven. He then threw himself down on the floor with the tearful cry, "I am nothing."

The president of the synagogue, sitting in the front row — where the most important people always sat, the least important being in the back — was astonished at what he had just witnessed. But being somewhat politically oriented, he decided that he had better follow the Rabbi’s lead.

So he stood up, began to beat his breast in self-mortification, decried his own worthiness, topping off the act by also throwing himself on the floor while admitting in anguished tones that he, too, was nothing.

At this, the richest man in town, also sitting in the front row — where else, being the richest man in town? — got to his feet and went through the same routine. Like the two before him, he also wound up on the floor feigning anguish. 

Now in the back of the synagogue, in the last row (so you know how unimportant he was) sat the town tailor who had watched the goings-on with fascination.

Somewhat emboldened and heartened by what he had just witnessed, he rose to his feet and emulated the three performances.

As he threw himself to the floor, also claiming to be nothing, the president of the temple, still prostrate on the floor between the Rabbi and the richest man in town, poked the latter in the ribs with his elbow and acidly remarked, "Look who thinks he’s nothing."