Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas?

True Story:
Woke up this morning, checked weatherbug.com (the weather in Denmark? scattered drizzles, Gene Kelly showers, or miserable, apocalyptic downpour. but I digres...) and it said flurries! Snow flurries! This weekend! Yay!

I went outside to get my bike and landed smack on my ass. Why? Ice.
Ice?
Ice!
Yay!
(sort of)

Winter is here. As David mentioned in his blog, autumn is much shorter in Western Europe than Eastern America. I was sad to miss the New England fall for the first time in my life, but even sadder to not experience that glorious first winter snow. The way the air is so cold it shoots through your puffy coat and into courses through your body. You feel it in your teeth.

As I mentioned earlier, Christmas hubbub is already in the works. Christmas beer is out and the Christmas markets opened in Nyhavn. I am thoroughly enjoying the international market in Gammeltorv and have been eating my way across Europe (first up: Dutch pancakes, followed by apricot croissants from France and Spanish paella. Tomorrow its either kangaroo, ostrich or crocodile burgers. Your thoughts?). There are pine garlands with red hearts along the Strøget and kiosks are selling aebleskiver and gløgg. Best of all, Christmas Tivoli!



(more on this when I do the big post about my parents' visit)













Thanksigiving is on Thursday and that should be... interesting. See, Jacob thinks I know how to prepare the meal myself. I don't. I'm more of a sous-chef than an actual cook, really. Like, I follow directions well, but I don't really "know what I'm doing." PS: sticking my arm in turkey cavities? Nej, tak.

Well, we shall see how that goes. In the meantime, I'll be singing "jingle bells" and avoiding my Health Care in Scandinavia research paper that's due tomorrow.

We Are Family

My parents are in town!!!!!

Hadn't expected to update the blog while they are here, but this evening was just so great I had to report while it was still fresh in my mind.

Mom and Steve finally came to visit the host family today, which happens to be the Danish holiday of Mortensdag. Mortensdag is the feast of St. Morten, Bishop of Tours and commemorates... something about Morten's getting betrayed by ducks? And then having to slaughter them? I really don't understand what went down (or why St. Morten also goes by the alias St. Jordi), but here's the Danish wikipedia article. Anyway, the Danes celebrate on November 10-11 by lighting candles and eating ducks and having a hygglit evening with friends and fam.

I really wasn't worried about my parents and host parents' getting along. Conversation flowed smoothly and it was wonderful to see Jacob's mom (host far-mor, if you will) and hear about her travels in China. I forget what we discussed, but it was lovely. And we ate and laughed and ate and drank and ate.

Boy, did we eat.

The duck was spectacular. Jacob really outdid himself. It was served with hot shredded red cabbage, two kinds of boiled white potatoes (plain and with caramel sauce... wahwahwaaaaah so good!), dried spiced apricots, plums and grapes, potato chips (idk) and 3 different kinds of liquor. First was a Christmas beer from a microbrewery, then a red wine, followed by gløgg for dessert, which is a Danish mulled wine with nuts and raisins. Dessert was, of course, Jacob's special æblekage with homemade piskefløde and preserves. I kind of feel sick from eating so much, but it was WORTH IT.

It was so nice to hear all of the wonderful things the Stages had to say about my family. Even Tobias commented that mom and I look exactly alike! Jacob, washing dishes only in a tshirt, boxerbriefs and "Hot Stuff" apron, commented on how "kind and open" my parents are. Trine was glowing and raving about them. I felt extremely proud. So glad to be reunited with the folks for a week! I am incredibly lucky.

So this is the New Year (5759)

Happy Jew Year, everyone! Sorry I didn't update over the last couple of days, I tried to avoid using the computer on chag.

Needless to say, spending the High Holy Days (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) with a continent's distance from my family and without any Jewish friends resulted in major homesickness on my part. The worst moment was when I realized that I have not given or received a hug in 6 weeks - and all of you should know how much I love hugs.

Walking up to "The Great Synagogue" on Krystalgade for Monday ma'ariv (evening services), I noticed that the entire building is surrounded by a high metal fence. There are no lamps or signs in front of the shul, but there are 2 security guards. I was shocked when they started interrogating me ("what is your business here?" "uh... to pray?"), and became fairly confused and disoriented. My thoughts consisted mostly of "What the crap am I doing in Denmark instead of Lexington, MA?" and "Oh my G-d Oh my G-d Oh my G-d," the latter of which, in retrospect is pretty ironic and hilarious. I think I looked like I was about to cry, because the guard eventually smiled at me and told me I wasn't the only DIS student there.



10 minutes later and relieved to be done with the Danish Inquisition, I walked into the sanctuary and quickly realized that it was Orthodox. I looked down, saw my bare elbows, and worried about being perceived as some Jezebel, but it was too late. I was already inside and couldn't keep my fleece on all evening.

The Great Synagogue is exactly what I'd imagined an old, European temple would look like. The sanctuary is HUGE - men sit on the main floor in front of the biggest aron kodesh (fancy closet that holds the Torah scrolls) I have ever seen. Women sit in a balcony on the sides and in the back of the room, per Orthodox tradition.

Though the building looked just like I expected, the sound of the room was odd. The cantor was positively incoherent and sang far too quickly; basically, he chanted the Hebrew like Danes speak Danish. It was impossible for me to keep up, not that it would have mattered, because no one in the shul was singing along. Most of the women and girls were chit-chatting at obnoxious volumes (Mom, I'm sorry for all of the times I got mad when you would talk at Emunah. These ladies make you seem like a freakin' churchmouse [shul-mouse?]). As for the men, they were also quiet, leaving the praying to the cantor and a small choir of 7 men.

Dinner was at the Rabbi's flat inside a wing of the synagogue. I found a couple of Prozdor girls among the crowd, but our conversations were brief and stilted. Turns out, I was the only DIS student who came without a posse of at least 3 friends. Fabulous. The moments leading up to dinner were painful reminders of why I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to USY events back in the day.

As I resigned myself to an evening of delicious food yet sour company, the girl sitting in front of me at services asked if she and her friend could sit at our table. I might have pulled over a chair with a little too much enthusiasm, but they didn't seem to mind. They were students from Tel Aviv, learning about the fairy tale tradition in Denmark and Norway for 3 months. The Israeli girls and I talked the whole evening, debating politics, religion, food and culture (after playing a quick round of "Jewish Geography" - one has a cousin who goes to Wellesley College! The other was a counselor at YJ!) No real revelations of note: they worry about Obama's "being good for Israel," doubt Livni's potential for success in forming a government, and think I am compromising the integrity of Rosh Hashanah by taking the Metro on chag. Needless to say, we mostly disagreed on the aforementioned subjects, but I really enjoyed talking to them. They invited me to Chabad for lunch after services the next day, and I accepted.

Now, David Baranger, I can feel your eyes rolling all the way from Paris. Yes, I did go to Chabad and yes, I did have a nice time and no, I am not currently wearing a sheitel and planning on having 7 sons named "Yossi." (For those of you who don't know, Chabad is an ultra-Orthdox brand of Judaism who kind of proselytize to less observant Jews) The Rabbi and Rebetzin were young, warm, funny and very kind. I am planning to stay with them for Yom Kippur so I don't have to deal with the commute to and from the city.

Lunch was essentially a refugee camp for wandering Jews. We had a Holocaust survivor-cum-cab driver-cum-businessman from Latvia (now Miami). We had a French Jew who is studying economics/partying in Århus. We had a former merchant marine from Denmark who has sailed around the world. I met people from Uruguay, Morocco, England, Israel and the US. We talked about travels and politics and education... everything! Its like that song we learned in Hebrew School; "wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish..."

Lunch lasted for 3 hours. I forgot about the different courses, so I loaded up on salads (7 or 8 different kinds! Plus hummus and olives and other yummy, Israeli tapas things) and challah before we got to the main course, goulash and rice and kugel and "modern tzimmes" (carrots and sweet potatoes in puff pastry - delicious!).

Funny story: on the way to taslich, we passed a man walking his chocolate lab. The dog affectionately hopped up on my legs, and I gave him a good ear tousel. Gil, with whom I had been walking, ran away. When I finally caught up with him, he looked at me with this glare of disdain that only the French can give and declared, "I 'ate dogs." It was such a French stereotype, I almost fell down laughing. I don't think Gil got the joke...

The next day I came back for more of the same. The food and international company were wonderful - I got invited to join a Jewish women's group! I heard more differing perspectives on the election (apparently, Obama is a self-proclaimed Muslim with connections to the mafia who should get deported. That one was from an American)! I got invited to join a Jewish women's group! Good times.

Anyway, shanah tovah tikateivu - may you be inscribed in the book of life! And have a good and sweet year.
Ahava,

Its Peanut Butter Jelly Time!!!

Went to Kvickly today to buy fixin's for John's birthday cake (more on that tomorrow after the surprise party). Guess what I found in the "Økologisk" (organic) section?

Peanut Butter.

I put some on a banana and practically melted into a puddle of joy. Life is wonderful.

Go West, Young Woman! (Skanderborg)

We got to sleep in until 7:30AM! Yee-haw!

Don't get me wrong, I am very proud to be an American. I like my freedom and my Hollywood movies and my capitalism (though not at this precise moment). But the rest of the world has us beat on one count:

Breakfast Food.

I'm sorry, but cold cereal and Pop Tarts will always pale in comparison to fresh bakery bread, gooey preserves, and wonderful cheese cut with this wire swivel contraption that I still haven't quite gotten the hang of. Also, Danish yogurt is one of the strangest and most delicious things I've had here. Its more like thick milk than typical yogurt per se and comes in a cardboard milk carton. Musli has never tasted better... and I thought it was pretty tasty at home!

But I digress...
Our next visit was to Nymarkskolen, a public primary school that follows the Howard Gardner philosophy of multiple intelligences. It was pretty cool, mostly because I have never seen a public school with an "Arabian Nights"-themed reading room, complete with pillows and crimson fabric and a giant bamboo swing.

Then we went to Koldinghus Castle, which had mostly burned down in the Middle Ages. Legend has it that the princess who lived there fell in love with a commoner. When her father the king saw them together, he killed her lover on the spot. Soon after, he threw a lavish ball and invited three potential suitors for his daughter. The princess was commanded to dance with them until she made a decision. She danced and danced and danced, and finally dropped dead from her broken heart... and exhaustion. According to our guide, this incident prompted a new law in the Kingdom of Denmark, "no dancing when you are dying." All of us tourists really enjoyed that little factoid, which has to be the strangest law any of us has ever heard.

After Koldinghus, we arrived in our hostel in Skanderborg. After dinner, we made a giant bonfire and toasted marshmallows and made these hot dogs/hot dog bun things that were insanely tasty. Mostly, it was chill group bonding and trying not to get too much ash in our eyes. Around midnight, we decided to jump into the Skanderborg lake. It was FREEZING, so we only stayed in the water for a few minutes, but you're only young once, right? And how can you pass up the opportunity to start a story with, "so I jumped into a freezing lake in Scandanavia at midnight when..."

Silly pictures and campfire songs ensued. We did everything from "No Diggity" to "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog." It was really dorky, but everyone had a great time. Of course, the real adventure was the next day:
LEGOLAND

Go West, Young Woman! (Odense)

Sorry for the lack of updates. No excuses, just laziness.

Last week, DIS took my program ("Child & Developmental Psychology: Children in a Multicultural Context") on a long weekend to Western continental Denmark (Jutland). For Copenhageners, Jutland is essentially the boondocks, so I wasn't too thrilled about our destination at first... until I found out we got to go to LEGOLAND. But I am getting ahead of myself...

My journey started off bright and early: 5AM. It wasn't very bright, but it sure as shit was early. As the bus pulled out of Frue Plads at a miserable 6:30AM, we watched the sun rise over Copenhagen. Fanfreakingtastic. Sidebar: earlier that week, the city of Copenhagen outlawed buses that emit a certain amount of pollution. This meant that the charter bus DIS had rented was illegal, so once we left the city limits, we had to switch automobiles.

We got to Odense, the 3rd largest city in Denmark (population 158,000 - the comedy writes itself here, people) around 9:30 to visit a pre-school. Børnehuset is a kindergarten located in an immigrant neighborhood that is undergoing a rapid gentrification. It is now about half and half immigrants and ethnic Danes. The focus is on cultivating language skills so that the children will be well-prepared to enter primary school at age 6.

What I found most interesting about Børnehuset was the extensive communication between parent and pedagogue. At the beginning of each day, the pedagogues take photos of each child and upload them to a flat-screen television that flashes them on a loop. As the day goes on, photos from the activities are added to the slideshow. This way, parents can know what their kids did all day. There are also twice-yearly parent conferences, a parent advisory board, and written reports from the pedagogues, all keeping the adults informed of their little darlings' activities. The teacher we met with explained that 75% of her time at the school is administration, rather than education. Wow - and I thought American parents were demanding!

After that, we had the afternoon to explore old town Odense. It reminded me of the town from "Beauty and the Beast," with its quaint cobblestone streets, candy-colored houses, and mom-and-pop shops. I'll post my pictures soon, but here are some of Liza's to tide you over:

Our favorite attraction was a gigantic statue of a naked woman with the craziest muscle definition I have ever seen. There was also a statue by Yoko Ono of either herself or John Lennon (you really can't tell) surrounded by doves with the caption "Imagine all the people living for today - 1981."

I also liked the street musicians - especially an adorable old man playing the accordion who mugged shamelessly for my camera.

We then checked out the Hans Christian Andersen museum. Gabi and I listened to a recording of Ginger Rogers' reading "The Princess and the Pea," which is one of the cuter things I've heard in awhile. The grounds were beautiful, but it wasn't a great museum per se. HC, the pride and joy of Denmark, deserves better. Plus the gift shop was waaaay too sparse - what gives?

Dinner was, to continue the theme, at a restaurant called "The Ugly Duckling" (Den Grimme Ælling) Good, FREE food, served buffet-style. It was the best lamb I've had since Israel and the salad bar was better than MoCon. Pandekagen with chocolate and raspberry ice cream and marzipan for dessert - oh man, I can't even begin to describe. All 37 of us were members of the clean plate club that night.

After dinner, Madeline, Liza, Gabi and I roamed the streets. We found some cute bars and cafés, but nothing really gets going until late and we were bushed. What we DID find were some drunkitydrunkdrunk Danish guys (at 8PM?) who liked following us around and sneaking into our photos:

Despite my pleas to go to the "James Dean Dance Bar," we wound up at a cute Euro café, sipping the best cappucinos we've ever had, enjoying the heat lamps and each other's company. I even flirted with the cute foreign waiter, in honor of Granna. Then back to the hostel to gear up for day 2: Skanderborg.

I ate a cheeseburger... and I liked it!

// This post is dedicated in loving memory to Hy Eisenstein, one of the most warm-hearted people I have ever had the good fortune to love. (Also, a connoisseur of all things treif.) Visits New Jersey won't be the same without you, Hy, and I already miss you terribly. //

Keeping kosher has always been an accepted part of my life. It wasn't one of those things I did just because my parents told me to, either. Ever since I knew the definition, I knew exactly why I did it and what it meant. For me, kashrut is a thrice-daily reminder of my faith; sustenance with a side of Semitism, if you will.

My relationships with Judaism, with G-d, with the Jewish people, and with Israel have always allowed for questions and re-evaluation. For most of my life, though, it was more plate tectonics than anything else. Shifts were being made, but it was occurring at such a gradual, subterranean level that you couldn't see it with a naked eye. Sure, it was happening, but the final product seemed so far away.

To continue the simile, I feel like I woke up one morning this summer to find that Europe and Asia were now to separate continents (of my subconscious, of course). I continued to ask the same old questions: Do I believe in G-d? (probably) Do I support the existence of a Jewish state? (passionately, but rationally) Do I feel a connection to the global Jewish community? (YES) Do I want to continue and deepen my involvement with it? (YES YES YES) But then a new question cropped up:

Why?

Now I'm stuck. I don't know why I do the things I do in order to feel "religious." My greatest frustration is the fragmentation of global jewry, yet I secretly think of myself as superior because I had a Bat Mitzvah and know stuff about the Tanakh and could probably chant Shacharit backwards and in pig latin if you asked me to. I hate to admit this. I am seriously considering deleting this paragraph, but I can't. It needs to be said: I'm a bit of an elitist.

Realizing this sucked, and kind of put me into an existential funk. "Is what I'm just putting on a show to prove to G-d, people I encounter, my self that I actually am a good person? Is it real? Or am I blindly following a script just to make myself look good?"

These are really icky questions. I've asked them about other people, namely liars and crooks who attend morning minyan and make a show of their knowledge of Pirke Avot (Jack Abramoff immediately comes to mind). How can you keep kosher, I ask, but not live kosher?

Obviously I am no Jack Abramoff. In fact, I think I have proven myself to be pretty decent. I'm not going to rattle off all of my merits, but trust me, some exist. But when I do make that list of the things that make me an (I believe) objectively "good person," my keeping kosher is not included.

I will never forget a conversation I had with Ankit first semester of freshman year. I happened to mention my following Jewish dietary laws, and he responded with this gem: "Really? But you seem too rational to follow that kind of dogma!"

Faith has nothing to do with reason. That's why its called faith. And I think that faith and religion are also separate entities* - but that, ideally, shouldn't be the case. But I think that my reason and my religion need to have more cognitive pow-wows. I need to know rationally that the purpose of my religious action is to express and deepen my faith.

I've kept kosher as a reminder of my faith and connection to the Jewish people. Now, honestly, I don't feel like I need the reminder anymore.

I've always liked to try on aspects of other faiths for size (Today's religious forecast: cloudy, with a chance of Hindu). I like tradition and pageantry and rules and laws and philosophy and all of those things that religion entails. Yet I always come back to Judaism as my home base. It is a big security blanket of spirituality that will always keep me warm at night. I am a Jew. My kids will be raised as Jews. I will be buried as a Jew. Slowly, I am beginning to see that the religion I happened to be born into is truly the right one for me.

And now, I realize that the most important thing in my life is, well, living. L-I-V-I-N'. Appreciating life and loving every moment and giving all I can and loving people and maintaining a goofy, childlike sense of wonder about everything I see: these have become my modi opporandi.

Now what does this have to do with Judaism or kashrut?
Everything.

I am now living my life in a wholly Jewish fashion. The here and now, the committment to justice and goodness today, not tomorrow. Rejoicing and learning and loving and giving: that is my postmodern hippie definition of Judaism. My desire to follow this model at all times means more to me - on the levels of reason, religion, and faith - than giving something up whenever I hit the cafeteria. This lifestyle reevaluation is, pardon the pun, something I can truly 'sink my teeth into.'

I will never eat pork or shellfish, more for the fact that they gross me out than anything else. But all other meat is totally cool by me. I'm not going to flaunt this change (other than this blog post, of course! haha), nor am I going to apologize for it.

The punchline, however, is this:
When I ordered that fateful burger... I didn't even realize there was cheese on it until it was almost gone.

Good Day Sunshine

I woke up bright and early Saturday morning (much to my chagrin, having gone to bed at 3AM the night before). After writing Ryan and Toke a brief thank-you note on a pizza box, I slipped out into the sunny Copenhagen morning. It was only 9AM and I had some time to kill before I was due to meet Courtney for a tour of trendy cafes and shops in Vesterpørt at 11, so I grabbed a romsnaegle at the closest Netto (how Danish of me!) and hit the streets.

What I found: several outdoor flea markets, cute boutiques on the Strøget, men drinking beer at 10 AM on a public street, and omg Topshop. Had Tracy been with me, I would've needed a defibrillator to be still her little hipster heart. During the tour, we discovered the trendy Copenhagen meat-packing district, cozy cafes and gauche bars, and smoothie places that give Jamby's a run for their money.

Then I headed back to Dragør for some quality time with the host fam. We decided to ride bikes to the town center to get ice cream and enjoy the sunny weather. Anyway, you know that aphorism about "riding a bike - once you've learned, you never forget"? Yeah... it ain't true. I made a complete ass of myself. No, I'm not being oversensitive, they were actually laughing at me. I mean, I did look ridiculous, so it's all good. We walked instead. I'll try again tomorrow.



Now, I am an ice cream aficionado, a connoisseur of the cold and creamy, if you will, but I have never had a frozen dessert like this: First of all, ice cream in Denmark comes in not one, not two, but three - count 'em - three levels, served in a big waffle cone. First, the ice cream itself. Its the regular hard stuff and they give you a decent portion. It would be satisfying enough until you get to the layer of vanilla soft-serve. Its a little overly creamy, more the consistency of a McFlurry, but still delicious and still a sizable amount. Then comes the topping: an avalanche of pink marshmallow goo that covers the entire cone, Did I mention that they put a whole flodorbolle on top? 'Cause they do.
Oh yeah, and that was the "mini" size. I maybe ate 15% of it.


Dragør overlooks the Kattegat and on a clear day like today, you can see Sweden. So we climbed up an old army fort to get a better view.


We looked at the horses and elephants from a traveling circus,


ambled among the 600 year-old houses,


witnessed a human foosball game,


and watched Jonathan and Tobias do tricks on their scooters.


The only word to describe the feel of the afternoon is "lovely." The town, the sights, company... lovely, lovely, lovely!



We walked home along the water and Trine and Jacob told me all about the Danish political system and its lack of corruption. They think the political honesty in Denmark is due to the politicians' proximity to the people and the egalitarian nature of Danish society. I think the small size of Denmark also has something to do with it. They said one of the biggest problems for the state is the black market for workers who get paid under the table - and are exempt from the taxes that claim upwards of 60% of your income. I forget details of the conversation, but I was pleased to finally feel comfortable enough with my host family to engage in political debate.

While Jacob grilled dinner (beef, lamb, potatoes, grilled corn-on-the-cob, salad, bread), I tossed around a Nerf football with the boys in the backyard. Dinner was perfect, served by candlelight with terrific Italian red wine. Jacob and Jonathan made pandekagen (Danish crepes) for dessert while Trine and I discussed how learning disabilities are addressed in public schools in the US vs. Denmark. We were done with the meal around 10 PM. It was the definition of hygge.

Decided to skip the club scene for tonight. I need energy to go to Tivoli with my new family tomorrow!

LOL

Simple as Do, Re, Mi

What I learned today:

- Jeg hedder Franni. Jeg kommer fra USA. Jeg læser psykologi. Jeg bor på Amager, i Dragør.

(My name is Franni. I come from the USA. I am studying psychology. I live on Amager, in Dragør.)

Keep in mind, this is all pronounced: Yai HILleh Franni. Yai KOMmeh fra oo-ess-ay. Yai LAYser sookohloGEE (hard g). Yai bohr poh AHmah, ee Draeur. I kind of speak Danish with a French accent, especially the Rs, but it seems to be going well.

- the Danes don't call danish pastries "danishes", like we do in the States. Instead, they call them wienerbrød, which means "bread from Vienna." I <3 irony.

- The prime minister's wife is a contestant on the Danish version of Dancing with the Stars. Wow.

Twinkle-toes Rasmussen is on the left. Will Laura B follow her fancy footwork?

- Alfred Hitchcock was on the cover of today's newspaper. The headline described him as "uhygglit" or "not cozy." The Danes are nothing if not apt.

- The 76E, 75E and 35 buses all run from my Metro stop (Lufthavnen - the airport and end of the M2 line). Funny story: they all take you to different places, even though they should all stop at A.P. Møllers Alle. I got a little lost yesterday, and so painfully lost today that I wound up back at the airport! In addition to my aching feet from all the walking today, I had to carry not only my general crapola, but also all of my schoolbooks. So there I was, in the wilds of Amager (I had no idea what town I was in), walking down streets with no sidewalks and no signs, carrying all of my earthly academic possessions on my back. I was starving, but then remembered that I had a few carrot sticks still in my lunchbox (I had Baranger-ed... j'ai barange´, if you will). So I am walking along the highway with 2 huge sacks, eating a carrot. I probably looked like a hobo. Cars slowed to stare at me. I felt ridiculous. Fortunately, I found my way home 20 minutes later. Lesson learned: bus numbers are different for a reason. Genius, I know.

Now that I have shared all I have learned, I'm heading out to a bar with Ryan and his roommate to kill a few brain cells.

Hej hej!