By Hadar Katsman, Features Editor
Don’t be late. Don’t be late.
My feet stumble. A quick glance into the classroom tells me that the rabbi has not entered yet. Perfect. The coast is clear for me to take my seat in the front row.
I have yet to experience it, but I can imagine it’s embarrassing to arrive late to a class one’s not even registered for.
Despite the long hours, the many monotonous teachers I have had and the frustration when I cannot wrap my head around a new piece of information, school has always been my strong suit and something I enjoyed. Sit me down in a random class and I will try to learn what I can.
But when I was applying to college, I learned that “get in, get out” is the unspoken mission statement of most Jewish universities. I adopted the mindset that the objective of college was to come out with a degree that could be used to get a well-paying job. The activities, electives and events were beneficial but merely extra perks.
What I have come to realize since I arrived at Stern College for Women, however, was that, though I came to earn a degree, I once again found myself in an educational setting where I could pursue something even greater: my love for learning.
As a dual-curriculum university, Yeshiva University expands the number of credits students can take a semester to the unusually high 21, or seven classes plus two labs a semester. I dislike this rule, not because it means I cannot graduate a year early if I manage to take even more classes a semester, but because it puts a limit on my education, specifically my Jewish education. That is how I found myself in the front row of a class I was not signed up to take.
In my interest to take other Judaic classes and teachers at Stern College, I did not register for a class taught by a rabbi who I had taken last semester. I did, however, have an opening in my schedule to pop into an open spot in his class, and I wanted to take advantage of it. So I attend this rabbi’s class, with his permission, because I believe the courses I take in college should not be limited to my major and general requirements, and my Torah learning especially should not be limited at a Jewish university.
It is up to every individual to make their learning beyond the core requirements a priority. I have learned over the years that if something holds value to you, you will make the time for it instead of half-heartedly trying to find the same amount of time for other tasks.
In college, you will have to prioritize certain courses in order to graduate, including classes for the major and the general requirements, and certain networking events in order to find internships. At the same time, these are your years to freely explore, to discover what you enjoy and to take classes on topics that always interested you but you never got the chance to learn about. It is hard to get out of the mindset, which many Jewish colleges have ingrained into us, that you are only in college to get your degree and nothing more.
I cannot speak for the students who are overworked with biology labs and mathematics courses, but I believe everyone can and should find that one class a semester, whether it is an intriguing Judaics course or a general requirement, that they genuinely look forward to. I wholeheartedly object to taking a class for the easy A, because there is so much more to gain from a class than a good grade.
College offers and matters more than the core requirements for a degree. Learning does not only go beyond the classroom; it can be found in the courses that one could never have dreamed of taking simply because it was not a requirement for their major. That childhood education course I am taking this semester, that intriguing English class I took last year, and that specific rabbi’s class that only deepens my love for Judaism all give me a huge sense of appreciation for the vast amounts of knowledge college offers at my fingertips.
Only you can decide for yourself what it is that you want to gain in college. And, personally, I think I have decided well.
Photo Credit: Courtesy of Hadar Katsman