Belgian Waffles

It's a cliche, OK, so sue me. It was also the first thing for sale when I emerged from the bowels of the Brussels train station, having not eaten since a pathetic hotel breakfast in Copenhagen some hours before. And the Belgian waffles were delicious. It didn't hurt that the sky was blue, the temperature mild, and I had spent nearly two weeks under the unrelentingly gray skies of Denmark and Poland. For a moment, all was right in the world.

I was in Belgium for two reasons.

The European Center for Jewish Students was hosting its annual Brussels weekend, Party Like a Jew, which attracts young Jews from across Europe for a restful Shabbat followed by a huge Saturday night "ball" at a nearby club. Shabbat attracts 400 people, and the number doubles on Saturday night, as party goers come by car and train from as far as Paris and London just to party like Jews in the Belgian capital.
After that, it was an hour long train ride to Antwerp, where I'm going to see how the city's unique Jewish community is faring in the wake of far-reaching changes to the global diamond trade.

Something felt distinct about PLAJ -- and it wasn't only the intense concentration of impossibly high heels and rectangular eyeglasses in shades that would make Tom Daschle blush.

Read entire article about Belgian waffles here.