Excerpt

Then we visited the Frihedsmuseet (Freedom Museum), a tribute to Danish resistance to the Nazi occupation during World War II. I told a curator how deeply I had been moved by reports of the rescue of Danish Jews from the Nazis, how I liked to believe that some unknown distant relative of mine had participated. The curator said he was Jewish, that as a boy he had been among those who were rescued. I shook his hand warmly at the end of our visit to the museum. (The French and Italians kiss the cheeks of people they know; Danes shake hands with everybody.)

Our plan after checking into our hotel in Aarhus was to walk to Den Gamle By (the Old Town), an assembly of historic buildings and houses from all over Denmark. We got lost on the way, so I hailed a passerby: Undskyld, kan De sige os hvor ligger Den Gamle By? (Excuse me, can you direct us to the Old Town?) Then I ran out of Danish and had to continue in English. I explained that we were from America, specifically New Jersey. New Jersey, he beamed. Bruce Springsteen. Directions up and down this and that narrow street were too complicated to explain, so despite the cold, the increasing wind, and the threat of rain, this man, who wore no jacket, went out of his way to lead us there.