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.
Showing posts with label wikipedia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wikipedia. Show all posts
Monday, November 10, 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,
Monday, September 8, 2008
Eeeeeeeeeevil Woman
I'll be the first to admit it:
I am obsessed with Sarah Palin.
I find her one of the most fascinating people out there in politics. She reviles me, and yet, I find her so compelling. She scares me shitless and makes me laugh. I enjoy the similarity of our last names and taste in eyewear. Am strongly considering dressing in a flag bikini and brandishing a hunting rifle for my Halloween costume, thoughts?
In all seriousness...
Nope. Nothing serious. Just wanted to share these gems I found on the internets:
Palin as "Caribou Barbie!" (thanks, http://wesleying.blogspot.com/)
Comes with everything pictured here:
Dead caribou, M16, sexy librarian glasses, snowmobile
She even talks with fun phrases like:
"My family is off-limits!"
(source:http://www.collegeotr.com/college_otr/sarah_palin_as_caribou_barbie_realized_11282 )
"And how are you going to be the vice president of the United States with five kids to take care of? She's got a four-month-old of her own, she's about to become a grandmother, and she's partnered with John McCain. How many diapers can one woman possibly change?" --Jimmy Kimmel
"Let me ask you a question: is it just me, or does Sarah Palin look like a model for LensCrafters?" --David Letterman
If you are still reading this and not outraged, then congratualations! We
agree on absolutely nothing when it comes to political discourse. But I
still encourage you to VOTE in November. Only 70% of eligible Americans even register - in Denmark, 85% of the people actually turn out on election day! VOTE VOTE VOTE. Not because you should, but because you must.
...But the last word of this post belongs to my new favorite facebook group: "my pet rock has more foreign policy experience than Sarah Palin."
*** Edit ***
Now the last word belongs to this nifty little factoid I found in the New York Times:
In the 24 hours after Palin's speech at the RNC, $10 million was donated to the Obama campaign over the internet - a new record for the campaign.
I am obsessed with Sarah Palin.
I find her one of the most fascinating people out there in politics. She reviles me, and yet, I find her so compelling. She scares me shitless and makes me laugh. I enjoy the similarity of our last names and taste in eyewear. Am strongly considering dressing in a flag bikini and brandishing a hunting rifle for my Halloween costume, thoughts?
In all seriousness...
Nope. Nothing serious. Just wanted to share these gems I found on the internets:
Palin as "Caribou Barbie!" (thanks, http://wesleying.blogspot.com/)
Comes with everything pictured here:
Dead caribou, M16, sexy librarian glasses, snowmobile
She even talks with fun phrases like:
"My family is off-limits!"
(source:http://www.collegeotr.com/college_otr/sarah_palin_as_caribou_barbie_realized_11282 )
"And how are you going to be the vice president of the United States with five kids to take care of? She's got a four-month-old of her own, she's about to become a grandmother, and she's partnered with John McCain. How many diapers can one woman possibly change?" --Jimmy Kimmel
"Let me ask you a question: is it just me, or does Sarah Palin look like a model for LensCrafters?" --David Letterman
Speaking of Sarah Palin, she said she's a life-long member of the National Rifle Association. Which may explain why she's in favor of shotgun weddings." --Conan O'Brien
"And you've got to love this: Sarah Palin is an avid hunter. An avid hunter. A vice president who likes guns? Well, what could go wrong there?" --David Letterman
(all photos and quotes from http://politicalhumor.about.com/)
But let's give the lady a chance to redeem herself, shall we?
"But here’s a little news flash for all those reporters and commentators: I’m not going to Washington to seek their good opinion — I’m going to Washington to serve the people of this country. Americans expect us to go to Washington for the right reasons, and not just to mingle with the right people." (from her RNC speech)
"In politics, there are some candidates who use change to promote their careers. And then there are those, like John McCain, who use their careers to promote change." (accuracy is debatable, but points for the sentiment)
Is it bad that I find this pitbull with lipstick endearing at times? Not just because she looks like Tina Fey (thank you for pointing that out to me every 30 seconds, BBC), but because of her general ballsiness and humor.
But, then again...
Opposes stem cell research. (Aug 2008)
Choose life, even if her own
daughter were raped. (Nov 2006)$7 billion savings plan for education & transportation. (Dec 2007)
Vetoed bill denying benefits to gays, as unconstitutional. (Aug 2008)
Top priorities include preserving definition of "marriage". (Jul 2006)
We are tough on crime and beefing up law enforcement. (Jan 2008)
If legislature passed death penalty law, I would sign it. (Nov 2006)
No special hate-crime laws; all heinous crime is hate-based. (Jul 2006)
Opposes legalizing marijuana, but meth is greater threat. (Aug 2006) - but she herself smoked pot when it was legal in Alaska!
Teach intelligent design in schools. (Aug 2008)
Committed to providing strong education, including morals. (Jan 2008)
More pipelines; more nukes; more coal; more alternatives. (Sep 2008)
Global warming affects Alaska, but is not man-made. (Aug 2008)
We must encourage timber, mining, drilling, & fishing. (Jan 2008)
Feds shouldn't list beluga whales as endangered. (Aug 2007)
Health care must be market-and business-driven. (Jan 2008)
Take personal responsibility for personal health & all areas. (Jan 2008)
Don't worry about reading Al-Qaeda terrorists their rights. (Sep 2008)
Proclaim "Loyalty Day" to reaffirm loyalty to America. (Apr 2007)
(source: http://ontheissues.org/)
If you are still reading this and not outraged, then congratualations! We
agree on absolutely nothing when it comes to political discourse. But I
still encourage you to VOTE in November. Only 70% of eligible Americans even register - in Denmark, 85% of the people actually turn out on election day! VOTE VOTE VOTE. Not because you should, but because you must.
...But the last word of this post belongs to my new favorite facebook group: "my pet rock has more foreign policy experience than Sarah Palin."
*** Edit ***
Now the last word belongs to this nifty little factoid I found in the New York Times:
In the 24 hours after Palin's speech at the RNC, $10 million was donated to the Obama campaign over the internet - a new record for the campaign.
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.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I saw dead people
I've been a little sick and sniffly for the past few days, so please excuse my lack of updates.
Today was our first field study for Danish Language and Culture class. We went to the Assistens Cemetary in Copenhagen to visit the graves of Hans Christen Andersen, Søren Kierkegaard, Niels Bohr, et al. Abby and I did a small presentation on Peter von Scholten, who freed the slaves in Denmark's West Indian colonies in 1848. Von Scholten's grave is in a huge tomb that looks like the facade of a cute little house.
Afterwards, Morten (our Danish teacher) showed us some different parts of Nørrebro. We learned about the controversy surrounding the Danish government's closing the Undomshust ("Youth House") in 2007. Basically, the Undomshust was a center of youth culture, music, anarchy and general hippie goodness for about 20 years. After a long battle, the property at Jagtevej 69 was sold. There are occasional riots and lots of graffiti that says "69," in honor of the memory of Undomshust (including on H.C. Andersen's grave). I'd recommend reading the wikipedia article - its really interesting and indicative of the current Danish social-political climate.
After the trek, Morten took a few of us to a cafe in Sank Hans Square. Only in Denmark can you go to a restaurant called "Pussy Galore's" with your professor.
In other news, I start my psych practicum tomorrow. I'm working at vuggestue in Urbanplanen (the projects in København S) for toddlers from immigrant and low-income families. I'm stoked because it has its own petting zoo. The only downside is that, due to child protection laws, I am not allowed to blog about my experiences. Guess you'll just have to wait until I return Stateside for stories about the young'uns.
****
Quotes of the day:
"Have you noticed that it even smells different in Demark? I keep smelling weird things. Copehagen smells like... like... Copenhagen smells like Kool-Aid." (Abby)
"The best musicians of their generation tend to die at age 27? Shit, Lil' Bow Wow doesn't have much time left!" (Seth)
Today was our first field study for Danish Language and Culture class. We went to the Assistens Cemetary in Copenhagen to visit the graves of Hans Christen Andersen, Søren Kierkegaard, Niels Bohr, et al. Abby and I did a small presentation on Peter von Scholten, who freed the slaves in Denmark's West Indian colonies in 1848. Von Scholten's grave is in a huge tomb that looks like the facade of a cute little house.
Afterwards, Morten (our Danish teacher) showed us some different parts of Nørrebro. We learned about the controversy surrounding the Danish government's closing the Undomshust ("Youth House") in 2007. Basically, the Undomshust was a center of youth culture, music, anarchy and general hippie goodness for about 20 years. After a long battle, the property at Jagtevej 69 was sold. There are occasional riots and lots of graffiti that says "69," in honor of the memory of Undomshust (including on H.C. Andersen's grave). I'd recommend reading the wikipedia article - its really interesting and indicative of the current Danish social-political climate.
After the trek, Morten took a few of us to a cafe in Sank Hans Square. Only in Denmark can you go to a restaurant called "Pussy Galore's" with your professor.
In other news, I start my psych practicum tomorrow. I'm working at vuggestue in Urbanplanen (the projects in København S) for toddlers from immigrant and low-income families. I'm stoked because it has its own petting zoo. The only downside is that, due to child protection laws, I am not allowed to blog about my experiences. Guess you'll just have to wait until I return Stateside for stories about the young'uns.
****
Quotes of the day:
"Have you noticed that it even smells different in Demark? I keep smelling weird things. Copehagen smells like... like... Copenhagen smells like Kool-Aid." (Abby)
"The best musicians of their generation tend to die at age 27? Shit, Lil' Bow Wow doesn't have much time left!" (Seth)
Sunday, August 31, 2008
It's been one week since you looked at me
It's official: I have been in Denmark one week. Jetlag is gone, I'm getting lost with less desperation, I have some friends and hearing Danish everywhere no longer overwhelms me.
All in all, I think I'm adjusting rather well.
We went to Tivoli today and it is every bit as magical as I'd hoped. Tivoli Gardens is "a famous amusement park and pleasure garden in Copenhagen, Denmark. The park opened on August 15, 1843 and, except for Dyrehavsbakken in nearby Klampenborg, it is the oldest amusement park which has survived intact to the present day." (thanks, wikipedia!) It's mostly a tourist attraction, but who doesn't want to go to an amusement park in the middle of a city?
Well, you have not seen Copenhagen until you have seen it from Himmelakibet (which I did... twice, per Jonathan's request). It's a huge spinning swing ride that gives you a great view of the entire city. You have to remove your glasses, jewelry and shoes before riding, which freaked me the hell out, but it was a thrilling ride. Jonathan and I had a blast.
In addition to the rides, gardens, games, and cafes, Tivoli is also a cultural hub, featuring free performances from artists as varied as Mary J. Blige to the Danish ballet. Queen Margarethe even designed the costumes and sets for a show currently running! There is also a combination symphony hall/aquarium, which is pretty darn cool.
I took zillions of pictures today, all of which will be posted on facebook (mom, I'll e-mail them to you). It was a great day, lots of fun family bonding, and I'm positively zonked, but I'll leave you with this snaphot that perfectly captures my feeling of today and the rest of my first week in Denmark:
All in all, I think I'm adjusting rather well.
We went to Tivoli today and it is every bit as magical as I'd hoped. Tivoli Gardens is "a famous amusement park and pleasure garden in Copenhagen, Denmark. The park opened on August 15, 1843 and, except for Dyrehavsbakken in nearby Klampenborg, it is the oldest amusement park which has survived intact to the present day." (thanks, wikipedia!) It's mostly a tourist attraction, but who doesn't want to go to an amusement park in the middle of a city?
Well, you have not seen Copenhagen until you have seen it from Himmelakibet (which I did... twice, per Jonathan's request). It's a huge spinning swing ride that gives you a great view of the entire city. You have to remove your glasses, jewelry and shoes before riding, which freaked me the hell out, but it was a thrilling ride. Jonathan and I had a blast.
In addition to the rides, gardens, games, and cafes, Tivoli is also a cultural hub, featuring free performances from artists as varied as Mary J. Blige to the Danish ballet. Queen Margarethe even designed the costumes and sets for a show currently running! There is also a combination symphony hall/aquarium, which is pretty darn cool.
I took zillions of pictures today, all of which will be posted on facebook (mom, I'll e-mail them to you). It was a great day, lots of fun family bonding, and I'm positively zonked, but I'll leave you with this snaphot that perfectly captures my feeling of today and the rest of my first week in Denmark:
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Hard-Knock Life
Remember that story about how I got lost this afternoon? Well...
I went into Copenhagen to meet up with Ryan and Liza from Wes, as well as a few other DIS kids and Ryan's Danish roomate, Toke (whose name suits his lifestyle, if you know what I mean). We went to the L.A. Bar, which was a great scene. They were playing oldies by the Beach Boys and Little Richard, everyone was dancing and draft beer was 20DKK (4USD) a pint. We headed onto a street corner to finish our Tuborgs, and the girls promptly got accosted by a group of Danish soldiers who left Afghanistan 3 days ago.
Background: The Danes have been a part of "Operation Enduring Freedom" since 2002, mostly supporting the American and British troops in main battle tanks. 15 Danes have died in combat. (source: wikipedia, and Emil. more on him soon...)
"My" soldier was named Emil, and he had fought in the tanks on the frontline in a mostly British battalion. When I asked him why, at age 22, he risked everything in his life - well-knowing the consequences - to fight in a war that didn't directly concern him, he answered quickly, directly and honestly. "I wanted to do something bigger than myself that I can tell my grandchildren about."
That blew my mind. I thought of my grandfather, the college-educated farm boy who enlisted in the airforce during World War II because he believed in American and helping his people in Europe. That heroism has always amazed me, and I was impressed with Emil's foresight into his legacy. And he seemed sincere! I don't think he just wanted to impress the tipsy American girl who was just really excited to be talking to a handsome, older, foreign soldier with an adorable accent (part Danish, part Brit).
He asked me why I came to Copenhagen. I talked about my desire for independance, my concern about the sheltered life I have led for the past 20 years with few risks, yet many calculations and concrete plans. He seemed unenthused. Of course he would. He literally risked life and limb. I am risking missing a semester of partying and Scott Higgins sightings. Whoop-de-friggin'-do.
I thought about our conversation/kicked myself for not getting Emil's number on the train ride back to Dragør. When I arrived at the last metro stop, I waited alone and in the dark for 15 minutes. I didn't feel too concerned (I am in one of the safest cities in the world, after all), but when my bus sped past the stop without hesitation, I got concerned. It was the last one of the night.
I called Jacob, my host dad. It was about 12:15AM. I asked him what to do. He said they were sleeping and I should just hail a cab at terminal 3. Before I could ask how that would be done, he hung up. I followed the signs to terminal 3, but they just took me back to where I was before. I started to freak out. It is pitch black, the airport is deserted, I am not entirely sober, I have no idea what the signs mean and... and... I was just about to start crying when a cab came.
The driver spoke English, thank the little lord baby Jesus, and I tried to tell him where to drop me. I don't know my host family's address, so I tried to name the bus stop. He had a hard time understanding me until I wrote it down. As soon as he got what I was trying to say, we were off. I was so relieved and tired and tipsy that I starting crying.
"Why are you crying?" he asked me, "what is there to cry about?"
I explained.
"That is nothing!" he said, though not in a mean way. "You are fine! Everything will be fine! I come here from Albania not knowing anything and I am fine. My mother, she has no home and she is fine. No cry, now, no cry."
I giggle-sobbed at his kindness and apologized for being a big baby. I wasn't in my right mind, I said, trying to find an excuse.
"when you have no money, then you can cry," he said.
Well didn't I feel like an asshole. I am no hero for coming to Denmark. My adventure here is only daring when compared to my reality at home. In the harsh, cold, real world (not the MTV version of hot tubs and bisexuality), I am a coddled Westerner, privileged in every way. I am no Gramps or Emil or Albanian cabdriver, doing something greater than myself. I am spending my youth selfishly, despite my attempts at helping the greater good (which as all still so calculated and safe).
With that perspective, I am going to pass out. Tomorrow is a new day.
I went into Copenhagen to meet up with Ryan and Liza from Wes, as well as a few other DIS kids and Ryan's Danish roomate, Toke (whose name suits his lifestyle, if you know what I mean). We went to the L.A. Bar, which was a great scene. They were playing oldies by the Beach Boys and Little Richard, everyone was dancing and draft beer was 20DKK (4USD) a pint. We headed onto a street corner to finish our Tuborgs, and the girls promptly got accosted by a group of Danish soldiers who left Afghanistan 3 days ago.
Background: The Danes have been a part of "Operation Enduring Freedom" since 2002, mostly supporting the American and British troops in main battle tanks. 15 Danes have died in combat. (source: wikipedia, and Emil. more on him soon...)
"My" soldier was named Emil, and he had fought in the tanks on the frontline in a mostly British battalion. When I asked him why, at age 22, he risked everything in his life - well-knowing the consequences - to fight in a war that didn't directly concern him, he answered quickly, directly and honestly. "I wanted to do something bigger than myself that I can tell my grandchildren about."
That blew my mind. I thought of my grandfather, the college-educated farm boy who enlisted in the airforce during World War II because he believed in American and helping his people in Europe. That heroism has always amazed me, and I was impressed with Emil's foresight into his legacy. And he seemed sincere! I don't think he just wanted to impress the tipsy American girl who was just really excited to be talking to a handsome, older, foreign soldier with an adorable accent (part Danish, part Brit).
He asked me why I came to Copenhagen. I talked about my desire for independance, my concern about the sheltered life I have led for the past 20 years with few risks, yet many calculations and concrete plans. He seemed unenthused. Of course he would. He literally risked life and limb. I am risking missing a semester of partying and Scott Higgins sightings. Whoop-de-friggin'-do.
I thought about our conversation/kicked myself for not getting Emil's number on the train ride back to Dragør. When I arrived at the last metro stop, I waited alone and in the dark for 15 minutes. I didn't feel too concerned (I am in one of the safest cities in the world, after all), but when my bus sped past the stop without hesitation, I got concerned. It was the last one of the night.
I called Jacob, my host dad. It was about 12:15AM. I asked him what to do. He said they were sleeping and I should just hail a cab at terminal 3. Before I could ask how that would be done, he hung up. I followed the signs to terminal 3, but they just took me back to where I was before. I started to freak out. It is pitch black, the airport is deserted, I am not entirely sober, I have no idea what the signs mean and... and... I was just about to start crying when a cab came.
The driver spoke English, thank the little lord baby Jesus, and I tried to tell him where to drop me. I don't know my host family's address, so I tried to name the bus stop. He had a hard time understanding me until I wrote it down. As soon as he got what I was trying to say, we were off. I was so relieved and tired and tipsy that I starting crying.
"Why are you crying?" he asked me, "what is there to cry about?"
I explained.
"That is nothing!" he said, though not in a mean way. "You are fine! Everything will be fine! I come here from Albania not knowing anything and I am fine. My mother, she has no home and she is fine. No cry, now, no cry."
I giggle-sobbed at his kindness and apologized for being a big baby. I wasn't in my right mind, I said, trying to find an excuse.
"when you have no money, then you can cry," he said.
Well didn't I feel like an asshole. I am no hero for coming to Denmark. My adventure here is only daring when compared to my reality at home. In the harsh, cold, real world (not the MTV version of hot tubs and bisexuality), I am a coddled Westerner, privileged in every way. I am no Gramps or Emil or Albanian cabdriver, doing something greater than myself. I am spending my youth selfishly, despite my attempts at helping the greater good (which as all still so calculated and safe).
With that perspective, I am going to pass out. Tomorrow is a new day.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Start Me Up
Beginnings are awkward.
I've been staring at the blank interface for a few minutes now, trying to think of a way to start my study abroad blog without appearing cheesy or hackneyed. Unfortunately, I've probably done both by now. Oops. So now that that's out of the way, we can get down to business...
Welcome to my blog!
As you should already know, I'm spending the fall semester of my junior year in Copenhagen, Denmark. I decided to keep a blog for several reasons. First, I can keep my mom constantly informed of my adventures (hi, mommy!). Second, I can reflect on said adventures and remember this chapter of my life when I am old and senile and puttering around my condo in Boca, making chicken soup for my 9 grandchildren and 17 cats (this is inevitable). Third, I won't have to repeat the same stories a jillion times or clog your inbox with impersonal group e-mails.
That doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you, of course! I hope this blog becomes as much of a dialogue as possible. Leave me comments! Tell me what was boring, what amused you, what you want to hear more of. And tell me about your life! Please! I'm going to miss being a direct part of it! (and since I sent you the link to this blog, that is the absolute gospel truth.)
Every day since I was accepted to DIS (Denmark's International School), I've been fielding the same questions every day. So here are the FAQs:
Person: Oh, you're going to Denmark! That's so... different! Why did you choose that?
Me: Honestly, more process of elimination than anything else. I wanted to go to a non English-speaking country and also fulfill my major requirements. Denmark was the only place outside of England and Australia that had quality film and psych classes so... here I am!
Person (clearly bored and unimpressed): Cool. So, do you, uh, speak any... uh... any... what language do they speak there?
Me: No.
Person: So you're going to learn... Denmarkian/Dutch/Swiss/German?
Me: Danish. Yeah. I'm taking an intro class, everyone in the program does.
Person (relieved): Do you have any friends going?
Me: Shockingly enough, I managed to wrench myself from Kait's side for more than 5 minutes and am going alone. I decided that, at 20 years old, I am finally able to travel sans chaperone.
Person (missing the sarcasm): Wow! that's so brave of you!
Me: Yep. Gotta cut the cord sometime.
Person: Where are you staying?
Me: With a host family (mother, father, and 2 little boys) in a small town called Dragor on the island of Amager - about 15 km from downtown Copenhagen.
Person: Wonderful! You're going to have such a wonderful adventure! So, uh, what is Denmark known for?
Me: I have been compiling a mental list all summer. It includes...
- Danish pastries
- Great Danes
- Hamlet
- Beowulf
- The Little Mermaid (pre-Disneyification)
- saving the Jews during the Nazi occupation in WWII
- herring
- notable artists and thinkers such as Hans Christen Andersen, Soren Kierkegaard, Jesper Knudsen, Carl Dreier, Lars von Trier, Niels Bohr
- slightly less notable artist Brigitte Nielsen (that big blonde lady who used to be with Flava Flav)
- '90s pop sensation Aqua ("Barbie Girl" - holla!)
- Tivoli Gardens
- Lego Land
- fjords
- castles
- socialism
- high taxes
- blonde-ness
Person: Bitchin'. Have fun!
Me: Oh, I will...
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