As foreign as some of the classes were, ultimately, the questions raised in every course brought me back to where I came from

In some courses, I felt like a newcomer. Like my first assignment for English, a diagnostic essay. I figured I got this, and wrote an essay in what I considered sophisticated vocabulary. I was shocked to receive a low grade. I had no idea that there were rules — thesis statement, topic sentence, call for action at the end.

In other classes, I felt more like a visitor to a foreign country. Sociology was one of those. The truth is that I’d never heard of sociology before and knew absolutely nothing about it. I only chose it as a “filler” course, but it was one of the best decisions I made. I liked the professor a lot  — a scholarly man who spoke in long, fancy sentences and was witty and entertaining. The course focused on the sociology of the family, crime, gender, and religion. I gained a new understanding of different communities and cultures, and this gave me a greater appreciation of the community that I grew up in and was part of. It also gave me a more sympathetic view of people who were part of communities that didn’t have the strengths I took for granted. As I worked my way through the course, I was exposed to new ideas, some of which got me into trouble in my home turf. I once debated Marxism and the notion of false consciousness with the guys in my kollel. Playing devil’s advocate, I defended communist policy, arguing that there is no good explanation for the CEO of a company to be paid a hundred times more than the guy operating the machinery. I made the claim that the reason communism didn’t work was because it was corrupted by the USSR, not because it was intrinsically flawed. I didn’t believe a word of it myself, but from then on everyone considered me a leftist.

Visitors to foreign countries are bound to make mistakes. Once, the entire poli-sci department gathered at the home of one of the professors. Both the men and women’s divisions were present. At that event, I asked someone something about the women’s cohort. Unthinkingly, I referred to women as “girls.”

I wasn’t prepared for the reaction I got. “Women,” the woman corrected me hotly. “Just like men are not called ‘boys,’ women are not called ‘girls.’ ”