Context for this post:
The metro broke down last night. Not only did I miss my bus, but it broke at a random stop that I had never been to before. This means that I walked 6 miles in the snow in HEELS around midnight to find a cab. No, I had no idea where the hell I was. No, there was no one around. No, my host family was not answering their cell phones.
This most unfortunate series of events gave me a lot of time - in between my brain's howling obscenities - to reflect upon my experience in Denmark.
DIS probably won't give this post "blog of the week." But here goes:
I appreciate my experience here. I have known from the outset that the opportunity to live in another country is an incredible privilege. For the most part, I think I have made the most out of what Denmark has to offer: academically-culturally (museums and such), socio-culturally (meeting Danish people, experiencing traditions), socially (bars, clubs - though not to the extent you might expect. More on that later.), naturally (the gorgeous landscapes), architecturally, politically, commercially, religiously.... I think I have covered the majority of my bases here.
Yet I have found this study-abroad experience lacking on a few levels. Academically, its not Wesleyan. It didn't pretend to be. Our assignments are predominantly "busy work" and, well, they've been keeping me pretty darn busy. I just wish that I felt like we were going more in depth, given the time committment expected. But... so it goes, I guess.
For Danish class, we had a project to "capture Danishness" through a 10-minute PowerPoint, which got me thinking. The entire time I have been here, I have been wondering about that whole "Danes are the happiest people" thing. Why? What makes them the happiest?
I think I have an idea:
Danes are very satisfied with the status quo. Now, the status quo is pretty great here. You have a lovely childhood, the welfare state takes care of your needs, you have had the same group of friends since pre-school, you can take a 3 week vacation to Thailand (no joke, this is really common). No complaints, really. If something bad happens, you watch it on TV and say, "tsk tsk, something should be done about those Arabs" - because, see, to a Dane, everything is the Arabs' fault - and then you drink some beer.
Harsh? Maybe. But here is my point: Danes are complacent and I am not. I'm not saying Danes are stupid and I'm not saying they are lazy; I am just saying that they are very satisfied with the way the world works. And the way the world works in Denmark is that all the people who look the same stick together. I could never live in that society. I need tension and discomfort and new experiences from people who aren't clones of myself. In retrospect, given my personality, I should have studied someplace like Paris or London or Cape Town - a wealth of diversity and excitement. Copenhagen is exciting, but the people aren't as dynamic as I had hoped.
But I knew that I was entering a homogenous society, which I precisely part of the reason I wanted to come here. I have never and will never again live someplace in which everyone is the same. Therefore, in order to get a) a true cultural immersion and b) a completely different cultural experience, I had to go someplace that wasn't necessarily what I liked, but what I needed for my own personal and intellectual growth.
On drinking culture:
My "party girl" rep continues to amaze and confuse me. Ryan always tells me, "girl, you so crazy!" Yeah, I'm a bit of a goofball and have few reservations when it comes to adventure (laser tag? karaoke? inappropriate dance parties? road trips to nowhere? LET's GO!). I make it out at least once a weekend, of course. But no, people, I am not in the clubs every night. No, people, I have not broken a thousand Danish hearts. Sorry, people, I'm usually fast asleep by 3AM.
I wonder if I am suffocating my "fun-ness." Am I just being too cheap/lazy? A little. But the Danish club scene isn't like those infamous Parties on Fountain. I like being around people I know (at least tangeantially) when I go out, I guess. And those sexy Danish men you are all imagining? They are AWKWARD. And not that cute, either. I really have no interest in them, which is a pity, because short brunettes are really in demand here. I guess they like diversity after all, haha.
In sum:
Parties are good, but without a great crew to share them with, who cares? And good conversation in a cafe is preferable to deafening techno in a club every time. Well, almost every time. Like, 90% of the time. Sometimes, man, I just wanna daaaaaaaaaaaaance.
I didn't leave MA or Wesleyan because I was unhappy. I have a great relationship with my parents. I love Wes. I love everything about Wes. I don't want to leave Wes. I knew that before I even thought about going abroad. That's why, even though I am having an amazing experience here, I am homesick. This whole thing would be so much better if all of you were here to share it with me.
That being said, going places alone never scares me. I don't think of it as being such a big deal. When people ask me, "don't you have any friends in Denmark?" I say, "no. That's why I am going to Denmark. To make friends." I like my independence and I like having to figure my own shit out. I like having time to think, because, as you all know, the middle part of my brain-filter-mouth mechanism frequently malfunctions.
So, yeah, it's good that I'm a little lonely. And it's good that I am not going out all the time. And it's fine that I don't loooooooooooove the Danish people and the Danish lifestyle. Studying abroad doesn't have to be the most super-incredible-fan-fucking-tastically-awesomely-awesome experience of my life. But I am getting what I wanted and needed:
I am learning about the world.
I am learning about myself.
I am on my way.
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
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,
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,
Sunday, September 21, 2008
She was an American Girl
Yesterday I realized two things:
1. I live in Europe.
2. I am such an American.
Now, I've had my suspicions about these facts, but they got up in my face yesterday like little punks looking for a fight. They puffed out their chests and curled their lips and invaded my personal space. "Yeah, Franni, yeah - you're in Copenhagen now. And you're not just visiting either. Nuh-uh, you ain't no tourist - this is your home punk. And guess what? You are a total American. Yeah, I said it - you couldn't be European if you tried. You heard me. Yeah, man, yeah - WHAT??"
It always takes awhile for changes in my reality to sink in. After 3 days, I accepted the fact that I am finally in Europe. I guess I needed 3 weeks to understand that I live here. This might be why I am so good with change - I don't comprehend that things are actually changing until after they happen! And then it is too late to go back. This can be a positive or a negative thing, but I'll continue my optimistic streak, thankyouverymuch.
The streets of Copenhagen and Dragør now feel familiar. They don't belong to me like the roads of Boston, nor do I ever think they will. You can live anywhere, but home only comes once or twice in a lifetime. Though I love this country, I don't think think I will ever want to expat permanently. Despite my complaining about "the U-S-and-A," I love those purple mountains majesty too much to ever completely leave them behind.
Which brings me to realization #2. At this point, I humbly request that you play "American Girl" by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers for full effect.
Friday night I went out with Gail and a few of her friends at DIK (Denmark's International Kollegium). We had a blast. Dinner was an abundance of carbs (pasta, bread, cake) and silly stories, followed by the silliest S-tog ride you could imagine. I don't have the time or energy to describe it all, but let's just say that the macarena and an "America's Next Top Model" contest were heavily featured. PS: we drank Asti at dinner, Kait, and obviously I thought of you and Mickey Av.
We went to a couple of bars with some Danish girls Gail had met while volunteering at a gymnasium (high school). While clacking along the Copenhagen cobblestones (in heels!), I talked to a girl from Barcelona. Irene - pronounced "Ee-rhen-ah" is very sophisticated and flirtatious and I found it hard to believe that she only just turned 20. She started telling me about which European men are the best kissers (Spaniards and Italians - the French are too arrogant) and how to ask for a cigarette light and how to get men to buy you drinks. We then practiced the "Barcelona walk," which basically involves sticking your tits and ass out to the point of physical discomfort. Irene thought it was sexy, I thought it looked like we had inverse scoliosis.
Irene is glamorous and sexy and very very very Euro. I was so wowed by her for the bulk of the night. "You speak how many languages? Five? And you've been smoking since you were thirteen? Wow!" I felt really young and unsophisticated and, ugh, American. I tried posturing like her to be sexy and mysterious, and it kind of worked because, over the course of the night, several Danish guys came up to me. And that felt pretty awesome.
But at the end of the night, I had more fun splitting a giant pizza at 2AM with Gail and Caitlin. And I had more fun taking off the high heels and padding around in bright green socks than strutting on the street. I'd rather make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning than wake up next to Andreas or Søren or whoever.
The next morning, hugging my pillow on the train ride home, I made peace with my American ways. I like being low maintenance. Some nights it can be fun to get dressed up at hit Retro or Wall Street Bar and pose and be impossibly fabulous. But I spent Saturday night in my tie-dyed sweatpants, watching "Amelie" on my computer and eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon.
Of course then, later that night, I dreamed of moving to Monmartre and riding on a Vespa with my beloved Nino Quincompoix and being marvelously European...
... but those are the dreams of the American girl.
1. I live in Europe.
2. I am such an American.
Now, I've had my suspicions about these facts, but they got up in my face yesterday like little punks looking for a fight. They puffed out their chests and curled their lips and invaded my personal space. "Yeah, Franni, yeah - you're in Copenhagen now. And you're not just visiting either. Nuh-uh, you ain't no tourist - this is your home punk. And guess what? You are a total American. Yeah, I said it - you couldn't be European if you tried. You heard me. Yeah, man, yeah - WHAT??"
It always takes awhile for changes in my reality to sink in. After 3 days, I accepted the fact that I am finally in Europe. I guess I needed 3 weeks to understand that I live here. This might be why I am so good with change - I don't comprehend that things are actually changing until after they happen! And then it is too late to go back. This can be a positive or a negative thing, but I'll continue my optimistic streak, thankyouverymuch.
The streets of Copenhagen and Dragør now feel familiar. They don't belong to me like the roads of Boston, nor do I ever think they will. You can live anywhere, but home only comes once or twice in a lifetime. Though I love this country, I don't think think I will ever want to expat permanently. Despite my complaining about "the U-S-and-A," I love those purple mountains majesty too much to ever completely leave them behind.
Which brings me to realization #2. At this point, I humbly request that you play "American Girl" by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers for full effect.
Friday night I went out with Gail and a few of her friends at DIK (Denmark's International Kollegium). We had a blast. Dinner was an abundance of carbs (pasta, bread, cake) and silly stories, followed by the silliest S-tog ride you could imagine. I don't have the time or energy to describe it all, but let's just say that the macarena and an "America's Next Top Model" contest were heavily featured. PS: we drank Asti at dinner, Kait, and obviously I thought of you and Mickey Av.
We went to a couple of bars with some Danish girls Gail had met while volunteering at a gymnasium (high school). While clacking along the Copenhagen cobblestones (in heels!), I talked to a girl from Barcelona. Irene - pronounced "Ee-rhen-ah" is very sophisticated and flirtatious and I found it hard to believe that she only just turned 20. She started telling me about which European men are the best kissers (Spaniards and Italians - the French are too arrogant) and how to ask for a cigarette light and how to get men to buy you drinks. We then practiced the "Barcelona walk," which basically involves sticking your tits and ass out to the point of physical discomfort. Irene thought it was sexy, I thought it looked like we had inverse scoliosis.
Irene is glamorous and sexy and very very very Euro. I was so wowed by her for the bulk of the night. "You speak how many languages? Five? And you've been smoking since you were thirteen? Wow!" I felt really young and unsophisticated and, ugh, American. I tried posturing like her to be sexy and mysterious, and it kind of worked because, over the course of the night, several Danish guys came up to me. And that felt pretty awesome.
But at the end of the night, I had more fun splitting a giant pizza at 2AM with Gail and Caitlin. And I had more fun taking off the high heels and padding around in bright green socks than strutting on the street. I'd rather make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning than wake up next to Andreas or Søren or whoever.
The next morning, hugging my pillow on the train ride home, I made peace with my American ways. I like being low maintenance. Some nights it can be fun to get dressed up at hit Retro or Wall Street Bar and pose and be impossibly fabulous. But I spent Saturday night in my tie-dyed sweatpants, watching "Amelie" on my computer and eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon.
Of course then, later that night, I dreamed of moving to Monmartre and riding on a Vespa with my beloved Nino Quincompoix and being marvelously European...
... but those are the dreams of the American girl.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
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.
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.
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