Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

School is now in session. And it will stay that way for the next eleven weeks, every Monday at 9:30am in the board room on the second floor of the JARC day program building. A couple of weeks earlier, I was informally approached by a staff member about enrolling in a twelve-week class that is dedicated to Jewish culture and history. Though I am not Jewish myself, I have always wanted to learn more with regards to the fundamental building blocks serving as the foundation for their cultural identity, and with that my answer was a resounding "yes." At the start of class, I could not help but find myself a little bit nervous, not knowing what to expect. I had somewhat of a vague idea of what was in store when I saw the classroom rules written with dry-erase marker: raising your hand when you want to ask a question--an old standard--was the first one. The second two were a bit more interesting: realizing that raising your hand is no guarantee that you will be called on, and perhaps most fascinatingly the teacher's way of maintaining order in the class: combining his hands into a "T" in a fashion similar to a referee calling time outs during a football game. Initially, I was concerned as I had been of an understanding that pens would be provided for us. With no way to really get a read on the instruction format, I was not sure if it would be something more serious, or more informal, or somewhere within the median. Most likely the latter, as respect was most definitely emphasized. Surprisingly, only one other student in the class was not Jewish, or at the very least did not have any serious experiences with Judaism in the past; the rest were, and some of them had been practitioners nearly their entire lives. Somehow, I'm not surprised as only roughly a quarter of the client base at JARC is non-Jewish, but at the same time I'm quite surprised that out of about 10-12 students, nearly all of them already had a history with their religion. Perhaps they are here to reinforce what they know, or to gain some more enlightenment. It puts some pressure on me in a sense, being among the 'odd ones out', to pay as much attention as I possibly can. And though I don't have my notes in front of me--this is by design, as the structure of the class is such that we can write on our 'roadmaps' and in our lesson books, but they are collected at the end of class and returned to us the following week-- I must have done a decent job at it, because I can still remember some of the concepts that were discussed during class yesterday. Among them are the idea that the world as it is is not the world as it could be, and that we all have a responsibility to heal a broken world, and to make the most of our time while we are here on this Earth, for our time is precious and finite. As a matter of fact, there is a phrase in Hebrew, 'tikkun olam', which in English roughly translates to 'repairing the world.' Another concept that was discussed is the importance of being able to agreeably disagree with the views and opinions of others, realizing that no two people are going to view the world through precisely the same lens, but at the same time being able to accept their opinions even if you may strongly disagree with them. I was humbly reminded of events from four years ago, when I was militant in my Christian faith and spread 'fire and brimstone' messages on Twitter. I managed to alienate certain people, including ones for whom I have a deep respect. Though I want to believe in my heart that I had been acting with the greatest of intentions, in retrospect I deeply regret those actions. I am of the mind now that all I can do is 'tikkun olam.' There are some roads that have been blocked off, bridges that were burned. It makes me happy now, in the rare moments when I 'lurk' on X (as the site is called these days), to see that those I have hurt seem to be healing. They are repairing their own worlds by choosing to be kind. Even if we live thousands of miles away, we all take shelter under the same umbrella when it's raining. If I can repair my own world, even if the extent of repair is little more than a bandage by comparison to the bigger problems we face, I can be grateful knowing I managed to improve the world, however slightly, compared to the way it was when I got here. Last night, I found myself having a dream, and some of the thoughts within were particularly lucid. I revisited an old line of reasoning: I did not ask for a condom to break. I did not ask to be born. But sure enough, here I am, and here I have stayed for more than thirty years, dealing with the consequences that come with simply existing. I found myself complaining about my situation, wanting to live somewhere else. But if not here, where would I be? Sleeping under a bridge? Living in an alley? I was telling friends of mine just the other day: I've got all I ever wanted in life. Three meals a day, a roof that doesn't leak, and folks I can share my life with. I wonder whether it's God trying to send a message, or the Devil making an effort to deprive me of a blessing. Which brings me to another concept that was emphasized: the idea of taking heart, regardless of the troubles that will come, knowing there is a God who will take care of us, and knowing that we must not be afraid to bring our complaints to Him; if it is His will, He will resolve as many of the problems we face as were meant to be resolved. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah was mentioned, the tale of the two wicked cities that had become consumed by sin. If it were possible that God should find one righteous person in either of the two cities, He would not have smote them; alas, they were both left in a smouldering heap of desolation. The scary part is that much of today's world bears a frightening resemblance to Sodom and Gomorrah. I shudder to contemplate how much worse the punishment will be for humanity in this day and age, compared to the wrath that had been exacted so long ago. Through victories and defeats, God--and change--are the only constants in this universe. There is a saying that comes to mind: "God never stopped being good. People stopped being grateful." I don't remember exactly who said it, but it has always stayed with me. I am also reminded of the idea that all things pass eventually, and one particular part of the Bible, 2 Corinthians 4:17-18, which concentrates on that concept: "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." Though neither Corinthians book counts among the books of the Torah, this wisdom has stayed with me ever since I was a child. It is one of the reasons why I'm hesitant to speak out during occasional moments of frustration. I've already lived through the worst pain anyone can ever endure and did not commit suicide. Why, then, should I be pushed over the edge by someone yelling at me, or feeling my skin to make sure I had showered, or poking me to get me to stay in line as if I were cattle to be branded with a prod? Kindness is the most satisfying revenge I could exact. Being able to keep smiling, and still be nice to others even after they have been rude to you, is the best payback of all. If you don't show them where your buttons are, they won't have anything to push.