But there you go you're sailing away - but there you are

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.

Now I'm young and free, but how will it be when I grow up to be a man?

While doing laundry this evening, I heard a small verbal tussle. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Trine trying to brush Tobias' teeth with an electric toothbrush. Dentistry is not covered by the Danes' socialized health care system, so I can understand her desperation to get her kid some pearly whites.



I kind of smiled to myself, thinking "I could brush my teeth when I was 8. And look at me now! I'm living in a foreign country! And doing my own laundry!"



But then another thought crossed my mind: when I got into a bit of a bike accident the other day(cuts and bruises, I'm fine now), all I wanted was for my mommy to give me a hug and make it all better. 20 years old, and I still call my mom for every little thing. In fact, I was just talking to her. Seriously.



All this made me wonder, when do we truly become adults? Some kids, like my cousin Jay, seem to have been born possessing a level of character rarely seen in your average 50 year old man. Some grown men and woman remain in a woefully childlike state until death. You become a Jewish adult at either 12 or 13, a full American citizen at 18, and a senior citizen at 65. Do these ages mean anything? Or is it some other milestone: high school graduation? Having a job? A house? A pet rock?



Let me make one thing clear: adulthood is not maturity. I think the cliché goes, "you are only young once, but you can be immature indefinately." I like that.



After thinking about it for a bit, I think a person becomes an adult when ze assumes responsibility of caretaker for another human being (or sole responsibility for themselves). This explains why parents (good ones, anyway) are adults, and why young people who are required to "be strong" in the face of some difficulty develop 'grown-up' characteristics. Conversely, a child is someone who knows they are being taken care of by someone else. This explains the relation between parent-offspring, as well as romantic relationships in which one partner consistently leans on the other to make decisions.



I do not think the state of "adulthood" is static, either. It depends on context. For instance, a young person can be a child when ze depends on hir parents to make hir lunch, but an adult when ze holds hir younger sibling's hand while crossing the street. On a small scale, shifts can occur moment-by-moment. On the larger scale, however, I think you just wake up one morning and realize that you have been a grown-up for the past 15 years... what happened??

This burst of philosophizing isn't completely unprecedented, by the way. In my "children in a multicultural context class," we have discussed that the primary responsibility of Danish children is, well, to be children. But what does that mean? I hope these thoughts provide me with a better working definition.

In the meantime, I have to get ready for our study tour to Odense and Skanderborg in western Denmark. These locations probably mean nothing to you until I mention our plan for Saturday:

LEGOLAND!!!!

Screw responsibility: I'm gonna make a giant tower to Mars!!!!!!

***EDIT***
a shortened version of this post is on the DIS student blogs website as "post of the week" as of 9.19.08! holler.

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.