Kadima! Or, Why I Skipped the Midlife Porsche for Grad School

This August, I skipped the midlife Porsche and opted for something crazier: grad school.

At 44, I hung up my gloves after 20+ years in tech marketing and enrolled at GW University to study international relations. Why? To work on issues that really matter—Israel, the Middle East, and the dream of peace—at a time when the world feels more broken than ever.

Last night was my last class of the semester, and I thought I’d pen a quick post to share what drove my decision to become the world’s oldest grad student (the next oldest in my three classes was only 10 years younger). I also wanted to tell you a little about what it’s been like, for anyone considering such a drastic midlife crisis purchase. Spoiler: It’s worth more than a Porsche.

First, Why I Did It

Pursuing My Passion.

I’ve been fascinated by foreign affairs and politics my whole life. A girl I had a crush on in high school once teased me as my career aspirations declined year after year—from “President of the U.S.” as a freshman to “press secretary” by senior year. I never came close to either of those jobs—probably about as close as I did to getting the girl.

But even then, I was captivated by the world—its comings and goings, ups and downs, its past, present, and future. The interconnectedness of it all, and of us all. It’s drama and tragedy with glimmers of optimism. Most of all, it’s real, and it’s important in a way nothing else holds a candle to.

Still, one opportunity led to another, and before I knew it, my career got in the way.

My Obligation.

Then came October 7th.

It hit me harder than anything else in my life—harder than losing family members or loved ones. It drained every ounce of energy and happiness I had. I still try to remember what life was like before, knowing I’ll never be the same.

I’m fortunate I didn’t personally know anyone who was murdered that day. But you must understand: they were all my family.

I am American, but I am also Israeli. I’m the son of a mother born there, the grandson of grandparents who narrowly escaped death when they emigrated from Poland in 1939. I spent childhood summers at their tenement apartment in Netanya, sleeping in a room with walls covered in black-and-white photos of ghosts. Their entire families. They all “died in the war,” I was told.

The photos weren’t talked about. The word “Holocaust” wasn’t spoken. The past was the past. Israel, to them, was about the future.

My favorite Hebrew word is Kadima! It means “forward.” But Israelis don’t say it passively. It’s urgent: “Kadima! Kadima! Kadima!” Move! Forward! What are you waiting for?!

After October 7th, I had to move forward.

I threw myself into activism here in Maine, where Jews make up just 0.1% of the population—smaller than the 0.2% globally. I helped organize vigils, wrote letters, gave speeches, and lobbied elected officials to help bring the hostages home and stamp out antisemitism. Through that work, I now know almost every Israeli in Maine—all 52 of us.

But it wasn’t enough. I realized that for the next chapter of my career, building a better future for Israel couldn’t be my “side hustle” anymore. It had to be my life’s work—my way of honoring my family’s legacy and the younger version of me who dreamed of making a difference.

Brave, noble men like Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres spent their lives—and gave their lives—working toward peace and hope. No matter how remote that vision seems today, I hold onto it. The moment we lose hope, we lose everything.

So one day last summer, I said, What the f***. Go for it. I applied to GW and started on August 25th.

So What Was It Like?

INTENSE.

I suspected grad school would be more work than work itself—and I was right.

The reading alone is staggering. Hundreds of pages per week, per class. These aren’t fleeting sonnets—they’re dense, peer-reviewed articles on war, national security, and insurgencies.

Most grad students skim or skip, but when you’re 44, your motivations are different. I didn’t just want the degree—I wanted to learn. And I did. Just four months in, I’m dangerous in any conversation about U.S. foreign policy or global conflicts. But it was a vomit-inducing amount of reading.

Then came the papers. Midterms. Finals. I sat at my desk late into the night, typing furiously. At work, I’d have delegated to a content marketer. Here? I wrote 3,000 words about grand strategy myself (“conservative primacy” is my favorite, if you’re curious). There’s no delegating in grad school.

By week 5, I was ready to drop out. (It’s no coincidence that’s the last week you can withdraw without getting a big fat “W” on your transcript and lose only 80% of your deposit—schools know.) But I stuck with it, and by week 6, I found my groove. The readings got longer, the assignments tougher, but I figured it out.

You can teach an old dog new tricks.

Would I Recommend It?

In a heartbeat—if it’s something you love. Grad school is about diving deep into what you’re passionate about.

I also can’t ignore the money. It’s expensive. I’m fortunate to have savings and a working spouse, but someone asked me, “Will this degree help you make more money?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll make less. I’m trying to go into public service.”

They looked at me like I was crazy. But there’s more to life than money. Definitely more than a Porsche.

Kadima! Forward.

This semester was one of the hardest—and most rewarding—things I’ve ever done. It’s the beginning of a new chapter: working toward a brighter, more peaceful future for Israel and the world.

If you’re stuck, scared to take a leap, or unsure of what’s next: go for it. There’s no perfect time. No perfect plan.

But there’s always forward.

Kadima!

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. And chase what matters.