Move over Billy Madison, I’m going back to school (again).
Had my first class at David Yellin College in Jerusalem, and looking up at the giant stone arches ushering me and dozens of other students through, I felt home again. Classrooms piled on to other classrooms. A little sandwich kiosk at the entrance. Students walking around with steaming coffees between their funky nailpolished fingers.
Everyone texting as they walk. Everyone talking to someone. Arabs and dosim salt and peppering the yellow hallways.
So it’s not a university. I’m not in Dublin and this isn’t the psychology degree I sometimes wonder if I’ll get.
But it’s so refreshing to have one night a week to myself every week for the next two semesters. To pretend I’m in university again. To soak up every word of learning like it’s extra whip cream on the frappuccino at the coffee bar downstairs.
Walking through yellow hallways, texting and smiling, getting struck up in conversation by a young backpacked guy who has no idea I’m not really one of them.