andrea asked if i would go to shul with her this morning to say kaddish for her grandfather so i went down to meet her at the prescribed time at the nondescript brick block that is the only synagogue in the city. my first instinct, halting me in midstep, is that something must have happened. one white van blocks the street. another blue van hugs the curb and a line of blue men stretches down the sidewalk. a television crew, ahh the white van people, hangs out behind the blue men. as i watch, increasingly agitated, old couples amble into view, pass the blue men, and enter through a narrow gate. a guard nods at them and a man in a red jacket, over the guard's shoulder, snaps pictures.
andrea appears, immediately worried at the sight of me. by way of explanation, i point down the street. after a few moments, we start walking, trying not to look at the blue men. i think bitterly of how women walking into abortion clinics must feel. the guard at the gate stops us and the man in the red jacket smells blood.
the guard tries danish, then switches to english. are you tourists? we nod. (flash) passports. we hand them over. (flash) how long have you been in denmark? three months. (flash) are you accustomed to attending synagogue? in america. (flash. flash. flash. i must be making a front page somewhere.)
an older man behind me says excuse me and my interviewer and i part so that the old man can walk through. he smiles at me encouragingly. the guard gives me back my passport, nods me in and says shabbat shalom.