Education

Last fall I wrote Funny Words about how I had knocked myself out getting my degree in Jewish Studies. Actually, getting the degree was pretty easy; getting it with a few funny words added on was what almost killed me. I was writing to two people. To a former friend that had decided late in life to do what I had done, not to further her profession or for pleasure, but for "self validation" and "peer recognition". Poor reasons, I pointed out from experience. She cut me off crude and final – she knows it all and wants some paper to prove it, and if I can't cheer her on, I was dead weight she didn't need. True.

The other person I was writing to was myself. There were two things I could do to move forward with that degree of mine; go and get my MA - research. Or put it in practice. I wasn't about to imprison myself in musty libraries and submit to moldy minds, so that left practika. But this time, I swore to myself, no trying to excel or shine. Just do it and get it over with.

It wasn't an issue of being qualified; just this little matter of being certified. Half way through now, and there hasn't been much I haven't at least heard about. Jewish Studies is a wide field. But I did learn a few things since then.

For one, the one thing I'm certain of is that I don't want to be certified. Knowing it is one thing, trying to spin it is another. The logical thing to do would have been to quit, and to try and get my tuition money back. But then it occurred to me that I have an opportunity here to see for myself the entire country of Israel in the space of a little over a year. Virtually every little corner, from several different angles. Even in a small country, that's no small thing.

The classroom experience is also unique. That's because most of it isn't in a classroom. Days in the field start early in the morning and end late, and if I nod off here and there it's middle age, not sensory deprivation. Our teachers are almost to a man leaders in their fields. They speak in the first person. I found. I discovered. And if what they show us isn't from personal experience, they are on a first name basis with those who are. A generation from now, academia's best will be someone who read the books that our instructors wrote.

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Fringe benefits beyond the curricula share the bench with me. A know-it-all carrot farmer, a wealth of (often inaccurate) information. Two hot lesbians in heat have almost convinced me that what you need to really turn a woman on is to be a woman. The corrupt army retiree starting his second career – heaven help his future clients. A hippie in denial. A Torah observant moshavnik that thinks Jesus is fascinating. I could go on and on. I'm sitting on a gold mine of character types.

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But more than the subject matter or observing my peers, I've discovered a new side of myself. One that couldn't care less; one that makes its own rules and doesn't play ball with the establishment. I complete assignments, bring them to class and then let them stay in my bag when asked to turn them in.

The climax was midterms. I decided not to take them, but was told that I can't continue unless I take the exam.
"Okay, I have to take the test, but I don't have to pass, do I."
"True", I was told.

So halfway through the exam, suddenly I had enough.

I handed it in incomplete, and and spent the time remaining on a bench by the sea reflecting on my achievement. I don't know if I passed or failed. It may be the first time in my life that I flunked at anything, and boy, it feels good.

Be a flunky or flunk – those are my choices and I've made mine. Validation isn't earned in institutions, and I don't know if my peers recognize me, but more significant, I see them.

I've learned alot about myself this time around.

Now that's what I call an education.