JAPAN

Yokoso! 

You think it’s a long walk from the plane to passport control at Ben Gurion? At Tokyo’s Narita Airport the walk is – I kid you not – 10 times longer. Narita is a MASSIVE airport; modern, beautiful, clean, clean, clean and super efficient. Staff is available to help you line up for passport control; white-gloved staff take your baggage off the carousel, bow and give you the bag. Wow!

As I was crossing the road to the parking lot, a police officer stopped the traffic to let me pass. Then he too bowed to the waiting cars, and let them go. Our traffic officers here in Israel can afford a lesson from their Japanese counterparts. I boarded the coach for the hour’s drive (on the left side of the road) into town and to my hotel. It’s a beautiful hotel, with wonderful amenities, including a fancy toilet where you can do what you do and get a shower-shpritz-washed and dried tushy while you’re still seated. Just press the buttons and smile.

Did you know that the Japanese word for beauty and clean is the same? Kireii. A beautiful woman and a clean street are described with the same adjective. Cleanliness in Japan is not next to godliness, but rather identical with beauty.

With those tidbits out of the way, let me tell you about my first full day here in the Land of the Rising Sun. Of course, that too is a story, and it’s not really about the fact that the sun rises in the east and Japan is in the east, even though that is also true. It’s more about the imperial history of Japan, where the emperor was considered the son of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu. He was the Sun Prince, controlled all of Japan, and everyone was subservient to him. So I guess that makes Japan the Land of the Rising Son as well.

My first full day in Japan was spent at Nikko, where there is an astoundingly beautiful shrine to the memory of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Shogun who united all of Japan. Seeing as the emperor was unable to actually control all of Japan, the Shoguns were the people empowered by the emperor to control various areas, take taxes from the populace, and ensure that all their needs were taken care of. The Emperor was too busy taking care of the spiritual needs of the country because in his capacity as emperor he acted as the Shinto High Priest. The result was that eventually the various Shoguns became jealous of one another and started fighting, until Tokugawa Ieyasu came along, defeated them all and united Japan into one country. 

After his death, his grandson built a magnificent shrine to his memory in the mountains of Nikko, about three hours drive from Tokyo. The area, high in the mountains (mountains make up over 70% of Japan’s land mass) where the gods and the spirits live, has a variety of Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples and pagodas, all beautifully and ornately decorated. The area is full of tall,   

majestic, cedar and cypress trees, very similar to those in the Capilano Canyon in Vancouver, Canada. Although a little chilly, it was a beautiful sunny day and the sun kept peeking in through the high trees. 

The first building I came upon was a Shrine of Love where people come to seek a worthy shidduch, or pray for successful marriages, or good partners or happy children. They write paper notes which they leave on a thread, or wooden notes which they leave on hooks. These are eventually taken down by the professional clergy who work at the shrine and are burned, so that the messages can reach the gods in heaven, or on the mountain, and in Shinto belief they can be in both places. The Shrine of Love is so called because of a two-trunked cedar growing from a common root set – symbolizing the unity of love. The place is incredibly beautiful, both visually and conceptually.

All over Japan and at all shrines and temples (the shrines are Shinto and the temples, Buddhist) there is a Torii (gate) which separates the sanctified from the secular. Unlike the Buddhist Temples in China, which also have gates, the function of the Torii is not to keep the evil spirits out but just to designate the separation of sacred and secular (and even sacred is a very loosely used term here).

On the way to and from Nikko, I stopped at a rest station in each direction to stretch my legs and get something to drink. The whole vending-machine thing they have going here is astonishing. There are vending machines everywhere   

selling all kinds of things, but mainly drinks, both cold and hot. Some of the vending machines are simple ones where the item drops into a tray - you lift the flap and take out the drink. In others, the item comes down into a receiving area, and the door opens automatically so you can reach in without having to bend – how about that? A spending no-bending vending machine!

I guess that almost everyone is familiar with the image of the three monkeys. One covers his ears, the other his mouth and the third his eyes. From here the adage: “Hear no evil, speak no evil and see no evil.” The film buffs among you may remember the famous courtroom scene from “Planet of the Apes” where the three orangutan-looking judges appear on the bench – one covering his eyes, the second his ears and the third his mouth (I guess that depending on which planet you find yourself, the order may be somewhat different). Mahatma Gandhi, who foreswore any pleasures of this life and was known to be possession-free, made one exception: he kept a miniature statue of the three monkeys. 

OK, by this time you may be wondering where this article is headed. Well, it’s headed to Nikko National Park, a spectacular forested location high in the mountains, about three hours drive north of Tokyo. There, engraved above a door at the site of the magnificent Toshogu Shrine, dedicated to the memory of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Shogun who united Japan into a single nation, is where I came across the original 17th century carving of the three monkeys. 

However, that particular carving is part of an entire series of wood-sculpted figurines lining the building’s exterior, that tells the viewer a whole story of how a child ought to be reared and educated. These are the lessons we ought to be teaching our kids as they grow up. The monkeys are (in order, left to right) Kikazaru – covering his ears and not listening to any evil; Iwazaru – covering his mouth and not speaking badly; and Mizaru covering his eyes and not gazing upon anything untoward. What most folks don’t know is that there is also a fourth monkey, Shizaru, and he covers his abdomen with folded arms so that he does no evil! Now, why he was placed a little away and to the side of his three well-mannered kinfolk, indeed remains a puzzle. 

“What is hateful unto you, do not do to your fellow.” That statement by Hillel the Elder, might be termed the Jewish golden rule. Here in Japan, the lesson of the wise monkeys is considered “The Golden Rule.” The Chinese quote Confucius, who, in his Anelects, says something similar: "Look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; make no movement which is contrary to propriety." In India, the fearsome six-armed deity Vajrakilaya is thought to have authored the Buddhist proverb and teaching that if we do not hear, see or talk evil, we ourselves shall be spared all evil. Seems like many Golden Rules in many parts of Asia say the same thing in different words.

OK, the sayings are wonderful and indeed valuable lessons in life. But what does this all have to do with monkeys? Here’s the solution. In Japanese the saying is: “mizaru, kikazaru, iwazaru.” Literally, that translates into “don't see, don't hear, don't speak.” In Japanese “Zaru” is the way they pronounce “Saru” which means Monkey (it is one reading of 猿, the kanji for monkey). And that’s how the monkeys may have originated - from an interesting play on words.

However, one thing that all this does not say is: “Monkey see, monkey do!”

The quickest way by which you can tell if the place you’re at is a temple (Buddhist) or a shrine (Shinto) is to check out the entrance. The entrance to a shrine (Shinto) in Japan is via a Torii, usually made up of two upright pillars, joined at the top by two horizontal bars, the top one being curved at one end. Frequently they are bright vermillion in color, but sometimes just plain wood or concrete. The entrance to a temple (Buddhist) is through a Mon. Unlike its Shinto counterpart, this is a more elaborate affair. Here there are a number of pillars that support a multi-leveled roof. Beneath the roof there often sit figures of temple “guardians.” Seeing as Temples and Shrines often share the same precincts, I often found Torii and Mons close by one another. Sometimes it wasn’t clear to me where the one ended and the other began.

Initially I was fearful of making some terrible mistake at a temple or a shrine. I learned, however, that the Japanese are pretty loose in these matters. And the fact that I was a gaijin (foreigner) made them even more forgiving.

At both places, amulets and good luck charms of all types are sold to the public at a variety of prices. I suspect this is a method of raising funds for maintenance of the temple/shrine. They are all beautifully written and decorated, and whether you believe in it or not, they make for a pretty souvenir. You can also purchase an ema (small wooden plaque) on which you can write a wish, and then hang it on a rack and hope the wish comes true. If you keep that one as a souvenir, it may not work!

Issues of purity are identified with Shinto practice. So outside every shrine there will be a water trough for purposes of purification. The traditional way to do this is to use one of the long-handled ladles that line the trough. Scoop up the water scoop some water from the ladle over your hand, then over your other hand, then scoop some into your cupped hand. Once that’s done, sip it and rinse your mouth; and the spit out the water on the ground. Releasing the water back into the trough renders the trough impure, so best not to do that! The reason I mention this is due to its similarity to Jewish custom. The architecture of Shinto shrines resembles that of the ancient Israelite sanctuary as described in the bible. It has a haiden – a large hall of worship - as well as a honden (main hall), and also a sacred room housing a Mikoshi, a mobile shrine which bears a very close likeness to the ancient Israelite Ark of the Covenant. 

There are no statues or idols in Shinto temples. I noticed that not everyone goes through the purification ritual before entering. Some did, and some skipped it and went directly to the shrine. Hmmmm…   

Now Buddhist temples don’t require any pre-purification at all. Unless they share premises with a Shinto shrine (which happens pretty often here in Japan), there is no water trough. Buddhist temples do contain statues of Buddha. There are those who do consider Buddhism idolatry and those who don’t. Personally, I prefer to gaze into the temple from the outside. It seems to me that the Buddhist temples are more elaborately decorated than the Shinto shrines – the latter seem to reflect typical Japanese minimalism in their design. 

Sort of less is more. 

If there was a single Jewish term which I could use to describe Japan in an all-encompassing manner it would be “Derekh Eretz.” Our sages considered “Derekh Eretz” so important that they required that it precede even the study and practice of Torah. “Derekh Eretz Kadma LeTorah,” they said. What is “Derekh Eretz?” Literally, it means “The Way of the Land.” To expand, I would say it means “They Way Things Should Be Done” or “The Way People Ought to Behave Toward One Another.” Colloquially, to have or to show “Derekh Eretz”means to treat one’s fellow man with respect. 

Pirkei Avot, The Ethics of the Fathers, is filled with expressions and instructions regarding the manner in which we ought to relate to one another. As I travel around, I see in different cultures the way this is sometimes expressed. In Canada, my Israeli travelers were astonished and astounded that complete strangers said “Good Morning!” to them as we walked along the sidewalk. In Japan, some of them smirked upon seeing to local citizens bowing politely to one another. Others were embarrassed when a hotel manager would bow to us as we entered his or her establishment. In one case a traveler of mine berated a waiter for putting milk in her coffee. Even though he didn’t understand her English, the waiter understood the tone of her rebuke. He was so apologetic that he got down on his knees to beg forgiveness. She too was embarrassed – maybe rightly so because she had made a big fuss over something so minor.   

Understanding a local culture is the key to appreciating any country I may be visiting. Judging anything I see by what I already know, diminishes from my new experience. That’s why I tell all my travelers to open their minds as wide as they open their eyes. For once I understand and appreciate the local culture the local customs become all the more beautiful. 

Another thing our sages tell us in Pirkei Avot is: “Let the honor of your fellow be as dear to you as your own.” I would love to see that put into practice here in Israel. But in Japan, that is exactly what defines the mores of social intercourse. Your honor is dear to me, therefore when I greet you, I show you respect by bowing before you. It’s an amazing idea! That before I engage you in business, or in a conversation, I a priori show you respect. It boggles my mind, and I confess I love it. When the conductor on the Shinkansen bullet train enters the coach and bows before he goes about checking tickets, I am sorely tempted to thank him by bowing in return. However, seeing as no-one else does it on the train, I don’t do it either. Not sticking out is also looked upon fondly by the Japanese. But when a store clerk thanks me for my business and bows, I am delighted to bow in return. When I have the opportunity to present someone a gift here in Japan, I appreciate the chance to show my respect in the traditional Japanese manner.

And this is “trickle down” good manners. Japan is noted for being almost completely free of street crime. It’s probable the safest country in which one can walk about at night. No one will accost you here. Graffiti is nowhere to be seen. The ubiquitous Japanese vending machine is never broken into. Why is that? It’s quite simple. No self-respecting Japanese would dishonor him or herself by doing something like that. How would a person appear in his or her own eyes if they committed such an offense? Astounding. To know it, to understand it, and to appreciate it, is to embrace it with affection.

“Let the honor of your fellow be as dear to you as your own.” An ancient Jewish teaching – and it’s practiced in Japan.

Rising at the crack of dawn, I headed off to Tokyo’s Tzukiji Fish Market – the largest fish market in the world. Fish arrive here daily from all over the world and are distributed via wholesalers to the innumerable fish stores and restaurants all over Japan. Japan consumes over 30% of the world’s entire tuna supply, so that part of the market is the most interesting. I strolled through the various stalls and fish supply places, marveling at the endless types of sea food they consume here; some regular fish and some very colorful, exotic looking stuff. Then I came to the area where the auction takes places. 

There are lots of halls with hundreds, if not thousands, of fresh and frozen tuna laid out on the floor of each hall, and buyers make their way around the hall examining the fish. Now these fish are huge, Conan, COLOSSAL! Weighing in at anywhere up to 800 kilos each and more, these are seriously sizeable aquatica. Each tuna has a slice open for the buyer to examine, as well as an actual defrosted slice on a table that he (and there are NO women here at all – more on Japan’s very male-oriented business society another time) examines with a flashlight.   

Then the auctioneers come in and stand on a box-like platform and start calling out whatever starting price they’re selling the tuna at. The bidding commences and the price starts rising two-fold, then three-fold and four-fold (I never saw a five-fold rise). Fresh tunas can sell here for $50,000 and more per fish. No, that’s not a typo. Fifty Grand! Dollars! For a fish! The place is agog and bustling with little vehicles which buyers and suppliers use to transfer their fish around the market, and there are literally thousands of trucks of all sizes on the outskirts of the market loading up and heading out. The market is SO large that it even has its own bus service! What a buzz! 

In search of some silence, I went from the market to a sumo stable, where the wrestlers practice this traditional Japanese martial art. Everything is very silent, what with Sumo having its origins in Shinto religious rites. There were 11 wrestlers and their trainer in this clay-floored room. It must be a successful place because their walls are lined with trophies, and with exquisitely beautiful gifts of porcelain and other Japanese artwork. The environment is very silent - hallowed almost - all the exercises are done in silence, except for a lot of grunting, heavy breathing and thigh slapping. The wrestlers stretch for hours, raising a leg high and then stomping it down, slapping their thighs after each stomp. 

Some were doing push ups (hundreds of them!) while others were doing the splits and then leaning over in the outspread position and touching their fingertips to their toes and their chins to the ground in front of them. And none of these guys were thin, if you know what I mean. I watched enthralled for about 45 minutes and then made my way out and back into the street.

Inspired by the sacred silence of the Sumo stable, I headed out to Sensoji temple, a Buddhist temple in Tokyo’s Asakusa neighborhood. It’s very large, bigger than most of those I saw in China, but also mixed in with Shinto, as are most things in this country. Outside the Buddhist temple is a place for purification, where visitors wash their hands and rinse their mouths – which is a Shinto custom. I then proceeded to do a short walk-through of the Ginza district; Tokyo’s ritzy shopping area where all the stores sell stuff at many times the regular price and where well-heeled Japanese rush to buy the designer wear at ridiculous prices and for which the stores cannot keep enough supply. Upscale Tokyo shoppers have a thing for designer labels and will willingly pay heavy prices in order to be seen carrying the right shopping bags. Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue - but of the East.

From an architectural point of view, I found Tokyo rather uninspiring. Except for a few buildings here and there, nothing really grabbed my attention. So, from Ginza I set my sights on Odaiba, a suburb reclaimed from the sea through garbage land-fill, on which dramatic office buildings, chic hotels and trendy shopping complexes have been built. The area overlooks Tokyo bay, and here for the first time I saw truly creative and inspired architecture. However, Tokyo’s powers-that-be seem to have a thing about copying western landmarks. So they have an almost Eiffel Tower, an almost Statue of Liberty, and an almost Golden Gate Bridge, all of which are easily visible from Odaiba, which is dominated by the Fuji building. This structure looks like something by the Dutch Artist M.C Escher, the one whose drawings appear as three dimensional sleight-of-hand etchings. Marvellous! And then there’s another building that looks like the Grand Arche de la Défense in Paris. 

It’s almost French…

After a very busy Friday running all about Tokyo, I headed back to the hotel to prepare for shabbat. Candle lighting followed by Kabalat Shabbat and Dinner was to be at one of the two Chabad Houses – this one in Tokyo’s Ohmori neighborhood. It’s about a 15 minute walk from my hotel through the residential area in which I stayed. As I did the walk more frequently, (6 times over Shabbat) I discovered new and interesting things in the neighborhood; a Love Hotel, a small Shinto Shrine, as well as a Buddhist funeral parlor. After a scrumptious meal punctured with entertainment from the local Chabad Shaliach, Rabbi Binyomin Edery, his graceful wife Efrat and his wonderful family, I made my way back to the hotel to sleep. Oh, to sleep…

Shabbat morning started with Kiddush on Sake (when in Japan, and all that…) in my room with a few Israeli couples who were also at the hotel. I then had breakfast and walked over to Chabad for Shacharit which started at 10:15 a.m. Not exactly vatikin, but these are hassidim, after all. This was the first time in 4 months that they had a Shabbat minyan. There’s something very warm about spending Shabbat in a faraway place with the local Chabad shluchim. I’ve done it in many places around the world. These are truly special people. My world view is, well, worlds apart from theirs. Yet in every place I have been welcomed, accepted, joyfully received and embraced as if I was a long-lost relative newly found.   

On Saturday night I hopped the subway train to Shibuya Square – Tokyo’s equivalent of Times Square, but busier. Hundreds of thousands of people throng the area. Bright electronic screens flash advertising everywhere. I meandered about the area, enjoying the ambience of this place, so much like Times Square and yet so very different. 

Outside Shibuya train station there’s a statue of the faithful dog, Hachiko, who waited at the station every day for his master to return from work. Even years after his master had died, Hachiko could be seen waiting expectantly at the station, day in, day out. After Hachiko died, a statue was erected in his memory just outside the station. 

Next to the statue there was a fellow holding a sign “Free Hugs.” People were standing around looking at him somewhat puzzled. I guess that the typical retisence of the locals got the better of them. I felt sorry for him, so I went and gave him a hug. He offered me the sign, but I declined. 

After all, free is free.

Yoyogi Park in Tokyo, reminiscent of Manhattan’s Central Park, is home to the Meiji Shrine, built in memory - and containing the ashes - of Emperor Meiji. Emperor Meiji was the one who terminated the centuries-old Shogun rule that had isolated Japan from the outside world, and initiated a period of modernization which transformed Japan into an industrial powerhouse. The Cedar wooded park is quite dramatic and the gardens – here and all over Japan, in fact - are gorgeous. The approach to this very special and strikingly plain shrine is through a huge Torii built from a single 1,500 year-old cedar, and the area is used every Sunday morning for weddings and other Shinto events. It’s often said that Japanese are born Shinto; they marry Christian and die Buddhist. Sort of take what is good for you at whatever time you choose. It’s a system that works well here in Japan. Maybe other places should try it, it seems to lend a sense of tolerance all round. As I arrived, lo and behold a bride and groom were having their wedding photos taken. Despite what I mentioned above, this was going to be a Shinto wedding seeing as this is a Shinto shrine. 

Once I entered the courtyard of the shrine, I discovered that it was also Doll Thanksgiving Day. This day is devoted to giving thanks to your old dolls. According to an ancient Japanese tradition, dolls have souls. So when they are old and broken,   

you don’t throw them out but bring them here to be enshrined. They are received with grace by Shinto clergy and put out on display, their souls are purified and their existence blessed for having provided joy and service until now. People bring in dolls in big paper bags and write notes of thanks which they place by the altar. This way they can discard the dolls without feeling remorse or guilt. A fascinating idea… and they receive about 40,000(!) dolls during the day. 

Then, in the middle of this all, an actual wedding procession came along led by a Shinto priest fully decked out in his canonical robes, a white shawl on the corners of which Tzitzit-like fringes can be seen! (This is but one of many similarities that are found between Shinto practices and ancient Israelite traditions, leading some scholars to assume a connection between the Japanese and the lost Ten Tribes – but more of that another time) He led the wedding procession while chanting prayers, then stopped, turned to bless the bride and groom and the procession of family members (males first then females), and then departed. The bride wore a spectacular domed white kimono; members of the wedding party were in morning suits and kimonos (per gender). The groom wore a formal men’s kimono – something like a morning suit - black jacket, grey pin-striped skirt, white toe socks and sandals. 

Call me sentimental, but I love weddings, and I was very lucky to see this one.

Today, Tokyo is the capital of Japan. It wasn’t always that, however. The ancient Imperial capital was at Kyoto. Later it moved to Edo, which grew from a fishing village on the banks of the Sumida River to a city of over a million by the year 1700. Then, under the stewardship of Tokugawa Eiyasu, the greatest and most important of all Japan’s Shoguns, it was the largest city in the world. Edo later became known as Tokyo and the Imperial capital of Japan was fixed there. Destroyed more than once by fire and earthquake, Tokyo is a multifaceted city. Parts of it are dull and grey. Apartment buildings are built functionally and with little imagination. Because land is scarce, dwellings are perforce small and cramped. High-rises look crowded, even from afar. Then there are other parts of Tokyo which are beautiful. My personal favorite is Tokyo’s municipal government buildings, designed by Tange Kenzo. These are spectacular towers that leap into the sky. The New York-based Uruguayan architect, Rafael Viñoly, designed the Tokyo International Forum, with its immense glass and steel interior - makes you gasp! The skyscrapers of Shinjuku are actually enjoyable. The governing authority of Tokyo has succeeded in this area to combine architectural creativity with day-to-day functionality, and it all helps make at least parts of Tokyo relatively easy to navigate. It’s hard to believe that this was once a simple fishing village.   

No visit to Tokyo is complete without a stop in Akihabara, where any and every electronic gadget is available for sale. The area started as a market place where local students, after World War II, would come to by cheap parts from Japanese army surplus supplies. They would manufacture home-made transistor radios – the hit gadget of the day – and sell them to desiring customers. After that, the electronics trade never moved out of the area. While the main drag hosts large stores with wares ranging from digital camera chips to extra-large refrigerators, once I headed into the alleyways, I came to places where the ultimate tourist activity really takes place – bargaining! What a place! And there were deals to be had here. Refurbished laptops for $150 and second-hand cell phones for a song.

As I walked down the street, a Muslim couple walked by me (I could tell by the way the woman was dressed). A customer representative stepped out of the store in front of them and – in the manner that Japanese switch between the R and L letters - said “Sarraam Arreikum!” They responded in kind, but declined his offer to enter the store and walked on. 

I was standing there watching this exchange with some wonderment, when, seeing my kippa, he nodded at me, smiled broadly, and said “Sharrom!”

Hakone national park is famous for its hot springs. It sits on Lake Ashi at the foot of volcanic mountains; about three hours drive from Tokyo. The initial feeling when arriving here is that of arriving at Horseshoe Bay on the southwestern coast of British Columbia. The whole area is lush with forests, mainly pine, cedar and Japanese maple. Autumn colors were just beginning to be seen, so there was a beautiful blend of the blues and emeralds of the lake, the greens and browns of the trees and the purples and magentas of autumn. A heady mixture, indeed! 

As I arrived here, Mount Fuji put in an appearance. It wasn’t a particularly clear day, but as the haze cleared, slowly and unhurriedly, it emerged. There it was! This is a serious “WOW!” I’m a mountain person. I’ve lived most of my adult life on or near mountains. My university degrees were gained at the foot of Cape Town’s Table Mountain and my office overlooked North Vancouver’s Grouse Mountain and Cypress Bowl. When I go to Eilat, I drive down the Arava Highway so that I can enjoy the mountains of Moab and Edom on the way down south. So seeing Mount Fuji, or Fuji-San as it’s called here, was a real treat, a cherry on the icing, jewel in the crown. Mount Fuji is a colossus, rising up to 3776m above sea level. No wonder that it’s considered a sacred site. Sanctity equals beauty here in Japan. Fuji-San is spectacularly beautiful. Ipso facto, it is considered a sacred place. Even by traditional Jewish standards, where beauty and sanctity also go hand-in-hand, it’s not something that’s hard to understand.   

I started my visit here with a ferry ride along Lake Ashi. The ferry is built to look like an ancient schooner, sails and all, and the twenty-minute cruise down the lake brought me to the foot of the cable car system that runs up and along the now near-dormant volcanoes. I say near-dormant because there is still steam coming out of the ground way up the mountain and you get a strong whiff of the sulfur from quite a distance. The rope-car ride, as they call it, was about 15 minutes in a nice modern cable car (not like the ski-lift apparatus I rode up Yao Mountain in Guilin, China). 

I got off at the second station and started hiking up the mountain to where the steam rises from cracks in the volcanic surface of the mountain. There are also fissures in the ground where boiling sulfur-smelling grey water comes boiling and bubbling out of the ground. The attraction up here is to buy an egg and cook it in the boiling water. As the egg cooks its shell turns black, and once it’s done, you take it out, peel off the black shells and eat it. I discovered that the shell protects the egg from the sulfuric water, because it tastes just like a black shelled white egg. You can also get roasted peanuts that have been soaked in the grey water, so they too have black skins. They were delicious!   

With my volcanic fare still tickling my taste buds, I hopped a bus for a steep, deep, circuitous roundabout ride back to the village of Hakone to visit the Open Air Museum. It’s a privately funded museum that displays the most gorgeous, creative sculptures – some of them kinetic - in a magnificently manicured garden. 

Over and above the precisely clipped lawns, sculpted bushes and exotic flowers, the garden is decorated with beautiful fruit trees, mainly cumquat and persimmon. There’s also a pavilion devoted entirely to the works of Picasso. Henry Moore figures prominently, as do a whole assortment of many other famous sculptors whose works are exhibited here permanently. Along the edge of the garden there runs a natural hot mineral spring. 

The museum’s management, in its wisdom, has harnessed the spring into a long shallow pool along which people can sit and have a mineral foot bath. So as the sun set, and the day darkened, and it started to drizzle, I sat down, took of my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants, and sank my aching, throbbing feet into a 65°C bath of hot mineral water. 

A Mechaye!

I have reached a level of comfort in Japan that has taken time to develop, but that has enabled me to learn much along the way about this most unusual of western-eastern cultures. Each time I come here I learn more, and the more I learn the more I seek to explore further.

It is an axiom of good tour design that each day brings something new to the traveler. Even when visiting many shrines or numerous temples, there must be something different and extra each time.

My past tour of Japan was different from all the others in that it was significantly longer than the usual tours I lead and as such it gave me time to explore more and go pretty far off the beaten track to seek out special locations for my travelers.

One such location was the Ichiku Kubota Museum of Art, a stone's throw away from Lake Kawaguchi on the road from Hakone to Matsumoto, gateway to the Japanese Alps. Just so my biases are up front, I love Japanese art in almost any form – but I was not prepared for the surprising reaction I had to what I was to see in this museum.

The late Itchiku Kubota, who died in 2003, was a kimono artist who created the most amazing art using a tie-dye art form known as Tsujigahana. It involves a myriad of tiny knots tied into hand-woven cotton cloth that creates bubble-like indentations in the cloth, which are then individually colored using a variety of natural colors and dyes. But it wasn't only the art form that grabbed hold of my attention. It was a short video describing his work which was shown as we entered the museum. In it, Itchiku Kubota describes how, as a Japanese prisoner-of-war in Siberia during World War II, he witnessed a sunset that captured his imagination. While I don't speak Japanese, the video had English subtitles. Now, subtitles often cannot transmit the emotion of the language being spoken, but in this case the subtitles weren't necessary. Kubota describes in rapturous adjectives the overwhelming beauty of the sunset he witnessed, and here he ensnared my heart completely. My military service in general and wartime experiences in particular have had a great effect on my life. My late father had been a prisoner of war and spent time on the run in the snowy plains of Russia and the Ukraine. I remember wartime sunsets in the Sinai desert and the overwhelming spiritual feelings they evoked in me. And here was this talented man who was describing to an audience of art students how that Siberian sunset had moved him to create what would be his primary and foremost work of art, his Siberian Sunset Kimono. The emotion with which he described this life-changing vision moved me to tears. I stood behind my travelers with tears rolling down my cheeks, completely enthralled by the description this man was telling his audience of his great vision.   

A few minutes later, I stood before this Kimono detailing the Siberian Sunset. And once again, completely overwhelmed by the incredible beauty of Kubota's work, I wept again.

Kubota was the first living artist ever to be exhibited at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC. That display was of a set of 30 Kimono (out of a series of 80, called "Grandeur of the Universe") on which the artist has created a massive artwork describing a landscape that changes over the seasons. To say that it is spectacularly breathtaking is like saying the Grand Canyon is a ditch. I have never seen art of this sort in my life. Even now, three weeks after the visit there, I don't have – I cannot find – the appropriate adjectives to describe what I saw or to express how it made me feel. Awe might be a good word, but insufficient.

A second place that was truly far, far off the beaten track was the village of Shirakawa-go, way up in the lofty valleys of the Japanese Alps. A somewhat similar village is portrayed in the movie "The Last Samurai" (which was filmed, to my great disappointment, in New Zealand). The thing about this place is that the village is a living museum.

Many of the houses are traditional tall, A-framed Gassho Zukuri homes, with thick thatched roofs and steep sloping sides. It was drizzling when we arrived, which made for an even more mysterious mood as we strolled through the village and made our way into one of the houses. Gassho Zukuri means "Praying Hands" in Japanese, the way hands are held in many faiths in the east when people pray. Thus, the steep A-shape is reminiscent of praying hands, leading to that name being given to the architectural style of the homes. Wandering among the rice paddies, the streamlets and the pathways between the homes in the village, I felt like I was a character in some illustrated fairy-tale. This is an area that gets locked in once the snows arrive to the Alps.

Originally populated by the defeated Taira clan, who retired there in the 11th century to seek solace and privacy, the area has survived as a site of traditional Japanese culture and is now a UNESCO World Heritage site.

These two additional sites have added immensely to my understanding and appreciation of things Japanese. Off the beaten track, yes, but definitely worth beating a track to get there.

A novel idea in Japan: soft drink cans have a twist off top so that you can drink easily and not have to deal with not-so-clean holes on can tops. What a great idea!

I’m on the Shinkansen from Mishima to Kyoto. The Shinkansen travels at 300kph, a speed we haven’t yet reached because this is the slow Hikari Shinkansen (we’re doing a mere 230kph) that stops at a number of stations on the way. The only way it can reach those speeds is by switching from wheels to magnetic power. So, while the train, at the station and before and after the station is on wheels, once it picks up speed it powers itself magnetically and the wheels detach from the rails. Cool! So it’s a very smooth ride, except when two Shinkansens pass one another, and you get a wind bump, because you’re passing at close to 600kph! 

Other than that, it’s an exceptionally quiet ride. It gets a little bumpy in the tunnels, and seeing as there are so many mountains, there are very many tunnels too, long ones, even at 300kph. There’s seat-side refreshment and beverage service, provided by a uniformed attendant who, upon entering the railway car, bows to all the passengers, goes about serving everyone, and then bows again before exiting. Very polite.   

Another thing I noticed has to do with the way you can pay for travel on the trains here. I bought paper tickets, inserted them in the slots or swiped them and passed through the turnstiles the way I’m used to doing in most places. However, I noticed some of the locals passing their cell-phones over a scanner located by the turnstile. Turns out that in Japan you can load up your phone with virtual cash that is deducted every time you make a purchase, which you do by passing your phone over a scanner at the required place. How cool is that?

The other day I boarded the Shinkansen carrying less than my usual load of luggage. I placed my roll-on on the overhead shelf, put my backpack on the floor at my feet, took out my computer and started working. I was deep into my work when the train arrived at Himeji, so I rushed, put the computer into my backpack, flung it on and rushed out of the train. Now, the Shinkansen is super punctual, When it stops, it does so for about 60 seconds, and then continues. So you need to get off or on in a hurry. OK, so here I am watching the train depart, and suddenly realizing that my roll-on is still on the train! Well folks, if you’re going to lose a bag, do it in Japan. Here, no-one touches anything that doesn’t belong to them. I headed to the lost and found and reported my loss. The smiling clerk took my seat information (my Shinkansen seats were all reserved), called the train, and then informed me that my case would be waiting for me at the next station. I heaved a sigh of relief and went off on my way. Later, at the next station, I went to the Lost and Found and picked up my case from a very polite clerk. Domo Arigato Gozaimass!   

Now, something about the road system. Japan drives on the left so you need to look the opposite way (remember the sign painted on the street outside Victoria Station in London?). The highways and roadways in Tokyo are at all levels anywhere from the ground to the 15th floor of buildings by the windows of which you pass when you’re on those roads. Sometimes the road suddenly dips 5 or 10 floors which turns out to be an underpass or change of highways or roads. Sometimes it drops all the way to the ground very steeply to achieve the same purpose or to come to an intersection. And there’s a roadway here in Osaka that actually passes through a building! There are many toll booths on the city roads, so you really need to have an electronic reader thing or your life will be very miserable making change for the toll machines – and at only very few places are there people to help. What’s very noticeable here is that things are extremely automated, and you have to be able to fit in with the system. It’s quick, efficient, clean and easy to use - if you can read the instructions. Actually there’s less English signage visible here than in China. However, instructions are usually also accompanied by pictures, so you can generally figure things out.

Kyoto was the ancient historical capital of Japan. Then known as Heian or He’an, it is designed as a matrix (so it’s easy to get around) based upon the city plan of the historical capital of China, Xi’an. That’s just one of many influences that the Chinese had over the little island neighbor to the southeast. Of course there are things which the little island neighbor doesn’t appreciate, and when LIN (little island neighbor) gets grumpy it has been known to invade all sorts of nearby places, such as Burma, China, Korea and even Russia. And it calls the sea between it and the mainland the Sea of Japan, while the big fella to the north calls it the China Sea. Ah well….

Kyoto is picturesque and magnificent and has (drumroll) over 2,000 shrines and temples to visit! Rejoice! It also has quaint shopping streets and homes built in traditional Japanese style, and yes, some still do have paper walls.

I took a walk through the narrow pathways of a neighborhood, going into gardens here and there, noting the architectural designs of the homes, seeing the sculpted trees and bushes, as well as the miniature shrines people have outside there front doors, until I came to Higashiyama Park where there are three big shrines and beautiful gardens. Oh boy, my wife would love this place! Here I sat down to a picnic lunch by the pond and watched the ducks and just took in the ambience of the place. It never ceased to amaze me how easily it’s possible to find splendor, silence and spirituality in the middle of the hubbub of a city, here in Japan.   

From Higashiyama Park I went to the Kyoto’s version of the shuk! Great! Nishiki Market is one very, very long covered narrow alleyway, with all sorts of stores and stalls, very much like Machane Yehuda’s main drag, but very, very clean. Lots of vegetables and fruit, tons and tons and tons of fish stalls, little eateries, a few boutiques and so on. I saw the price on some tuna sashimi - ¥700 for four tiny slices weighing in at about 70 grams. Well, now I understand why a 800kg tuna can cost $50,000 at the auction in Tokyo!

The next morning I left the hotel on my way out of Kyoto, but first I made two stops at beautiful places. The first was a temple, Ryoan-ji, which was very, very plain. It’s a Zen Buddhist temple which is famous for its bleakly simple stone garden. The idea behind it is very interesting; concentrating as it does on the empty spaces between the objects in the stone garden. I confess I prefer the beauty of ornately sculpted trees and bushes above combed stones and strategically placed rocks. While practitioners of Zen seek simplicity and the beauty within it, it’s not quite my personal cup of tea. Maybe I need to work more on my Buddhist inclinations…

From there I went to a place that is the complete and total opposite of Ryoan-ji. Kinkaku-ji is the retirement home of one Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. The gardens are spectacularly gorgeous, but the attraction is the house, which is gilded! There is this lovely Japanese house, perched on the side of a small lake and on the slopes of one of the mountains in Kyoto, and the two upper floors of the house are covered in gold! In other countries, opulence of this nature was often followed by revolution.   

But not in Japan.

  One of my travelers alighted from the bus in Kyoto and, wanting to display her knowledge of Japanese etiquette, smiled and said to the bus driver; “Pachinko!” The bus driver was completely puzzled. Of course, she meant to say “Arigato”, which means “Thank You.” Pachinko is a game that hundreds of thousands of Japanese play every day. It’s a sort of mixture of pinball and slot machines. There are Pachinko palaces all over Japan, and they’re busy till the stroke of midnight, when they all are required by law to close their doors (otherwise some people might never go home). Unlike pinball, there are no flippers, and like slot machines, they require no skill. I bought some steel balls and fed them into a machine, and won some more steel balls. At the end of my game, I turned in the steel balls I had garnered for a prize (gambling for money is illegal in Japan). However, you can take your prize and cash it in at a small store located neat the pachinko palace. Seems it was once a truly addictive pastime here. I didn’t really understand the whole fascination with it, but there it is. I guess that because I’ve never been a gambling person…

Now the Onsen, is something that I can really take a liking to. I love hot springs, hot tubs, Jacuzzis and the like. If it’s hot and I can float in it, I’m a happy man.   

Japan has a plethora of Onsen, best described as volcanic hot springs. What’s particularly interesting about this phenomenon is that bathing in Onsen is usually communal and single-gendered. It took a moment for me to grasp and accept the whole idea of spending time naked in a large bath-type facility with a whole lot of other naked men. But then again, when in Rome and all that…

So, here’s how it worked. First, I had to take a shower and scrub down really well. Then wash off all the soap suds. There was no point in drying off because (a) I was getting back into the water and (b) the towel I was given was the size of a loincloth – which is exactly its purpose – wouldn’t have dried me anyway. A veritable fig leaf, as you saunter from the shower to the tub. There I folded my cloth into four and neatly placed it on my head (I saw the local fellas doing it, so I did the same). Everyone was very friendly, lots of smiling, laughter and “Hai!’s”, but no-one else spoke a language that I could communicate in. A later arrival explained that placing the folded towel-cloth on your head is supposed to prevent fainting. I guess it works because I didn’t faint.

I didn’t understand why that should prevent fainting, but so it goes. This is a highly recommended activity when you come here. There’s no better way to relax. 

Aaah…

The best panorama of Kyoto is viewable from Kiyomizu Dera, a complex of Buddhist temples in the eastern part of the city. From here you can see the entire Kyoto basin, and how this beautiful city is protected and encompassed by three mountain ranges.

There’s a steep climb up a tourist/trinket shop lined street to this very impressive complex. Some of the stores are the Japanese version of the dollar store and they do a pretty trade from the many people who come here. That’s the thing about tourism in this country. The vast majority of it is internal. Kyoto, for example, receives some 45 million tourists per year. All of Japan receives around 10 million foreign tourists per year. Do the math. I guess this is one of the reasons that there’s not a whole lot of foreign language signs here.

But, back to the Temple.

The Kiyomizu temple itself is perched high on the steep side of a mountain in Eastern Kyoto. The entire structure is supported by a wondrously woven set of beams that all fit together without the use of even a single nail. Amazing!

The English expression “to take the plunge” has a Japanese equivalent. Here, they say “to jump off the stage at Kiyomizu.” Well, it is, in fact, quite literal. Taking the plunge means more or less to accept a dare or to take a bold, dramatic step forward. The stage at Kiyomizu is 13m high, and many people have indeed taken the plunge off it. During the Edo period of Japan’s history, it was said that if one survived the jump, one’s wishes would come true. Many did jump. Most, but not all, survived.   

The trouble with jumping off the stage at Kiyomizu is that you’re likely to miss the next feature of this interesting complex of temples, Jishu-ji, the temple of love and “good matches.” This temple has two stones in its courtyard. Called “love-stones”, it is said that if you can walk the 18m between the stones unaided, your wishes for a worthy spouse will come true. If you need assistance in completing the distance, the wish will come true – but you’ll need some help. Thus, depending on your point of view, this temple could be a shadchan’s dream - or nightmare.

Kiyomizu translates as “pure water.” The name is drawn from the nearby Otowa waterfall, where the water is divided into three channels that drop into a pond. According to tradition, if you drink from the water of Otowa-san, you’ll be blessed with longevity, wisdom and health.

Not being one to miss a dare – but also not being one to jump off a 13m high veranda – I stepped up to the falling water. Here I discovered metal cups with meter long handles with which I could scoop up and sip this blessed water.   

In order to keep everything hygienic (after all, this is Japan), the cups are stored inside an ultraviolet sterilizer. I took a sip from each of the three falls of water but I can't say that I felt healthier.

Then, one of my travelers suggested that now that I was promised longevity, maybe I should take the plunge anyway. “No way,” I replied.

See, now I’m smarter too!

I returned to Kyoto with much expectation. This beautiful city with more than 2,000 temples and shrines, wooden houses, and an imperial castle, mixes modern and ancient Japan in a salad of design and architecture that makes my imaginative juices flow. Due to its sanctity, it was never attacked by the Allies during World War II, so it has retained its ancient touch. Its buildings remain low – there is a height limit on construction in Kyoto to this very day - and the city reflects a prominent Japanese worldview of less being more. The gardens of Kyoto, both public and private, are feasts for the eyes. As I led my group through the landscaped garden of the Kiyomizu-Dera temples complex, we saw three men on ladders tending to a sculpted pine tree, and plucking the needles from the branches by hand. A true work of art. 

I find Kyoto to be a spiritual city. Perhaps it’s because of the multitude of temples and shrines, perhaps because of its lowly architecture. It’s a feeling thing, and I love coming back here. Like Jerusalem, Kyoto uplifts me.

But there’s another reason for my affection for this city. Here in Kyoto is the founding center of Beit Shalom, a protestant community of supporters of Israel. They make it their business to go out of their way to welcome Israeli visitors to the city. Any Israeli group is invited to Beit Shalom. Every group that comes is welcomed by many members of the community and its amazing choir Shinonome - in Hebrew: Hashahar, the Dawn. The choir visits Israel every few years and will be coming here this year as part of our 60th anniversary celebrations. Their singing is simply heavenly. And when they start singing “From the Peak of Mount Scopus” the tears roll down my cheeks. I can’t help it, and I don’t want to stop it. I am emotionally overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection by these wonderful people whose only purpose is to make me feel welcome.

The Japanese Protestant Friends of Israel was founded by the late Rev. Takeji Otsuki in 1938, after he believed he received a call from heaven to work for the establishment of a homeland for the Jews. In a video shown at Beit Shalom he recounts his calling in a delightful and convincing manner. An impressive man with a kind face that exudes a sense of gentleness. I am sorry I never had the privilege of knowing “Abba” Otsuki, who passed away some four years ago at the age of 98. But whenever I am there I meet with his son, Dr. Yohanan Masaru Otsuki who bears a striking resemblance to his late father. I confess that I have a deep affection for him even though our conversations are forcibly brief. I have developed personal and close relationships with other folk from Beit Shalom. Friendships that I will treasure for the rest of my life. I have found commonality with these most uncommon people, who have accepted and embraced me, and I them. We will ever be different, and we will ever be as one.   

In Kyoto I feel warm, protected, cocooned, surrounded by people who genuinely care for me as they do for every Israeli – even though they don’t know us personally. 

Home, it is often said, is where they have to take you in. Beit Shalom, is where they want to.

The really, really fast Shinkansen brought me from Kyoto to Hiroshima at 300kph. Whoa! Hiro=Wide. Shima=Island. Hiroshima=Wide Island. It’s actually not an island, but a group of islands created by the numerous rivers that come down from the mountain and run through the city. Once I arrived here, I went directly to the ferry station for the crossing to Miyajima Island. Miya=Holy and Jima=Shima=Island. Miyajima=Holy Island. Once again, the Shinto equivalence of holiness with beauty – and the place is indeed very, very beautiful. 

Just offshore in the water is located Japan’s most famous vermillion Torii, built originally in the 17th century, and indicating the passage into a sacred location. The island is also teeming with deer that seem to live with us humans quite fine, thank you. They are really pesky and keep nudging for food and when they aren’t provided any, they start chewing on whatever is at hand - like my jacket sleeve.

As I meandered along, I came across a wedding party enjoying some elaborate Shinto dance ritual. I didn’t understand the Bugaku or its significance, but the intricate dance was quite wild, and the live music played by a group of Shinto priests accompanying the dancing priest, was charming. I doubt the Talmudic discussion between the schools of Hillel and Shammai, regarding how one is to dance before a bride, ever made its way here.   

As I meandered along, I came across a wedding party enjoying some elaborate Shinto dance ritual. I didn’t understand the Bugaku or its significance, but the intricate dance was quite wild, and the live music played by a group of Shinto priests accompanying the dancing priest, was charming. I doubt the Talmudic discussion between the schools of Hillel and Shammai, regarding how one is to dance before a bride, ever made its way here. But, oh boy, this was one big and blustery boogie! I then strolled around the shrines on this most beautiful island, did some shopping and made my way back to the ferry, across the sea and to the bus, from where I proceeded to my hotel.

A little about the hotels: the one where I stayed in Tokyo was lovely. The rooms were divided between the bedroom area and the living area. Very comfortable beds, MUCH better than those I slept in, in China. The hotel in Hakone was exceptional too - very ornate, beautiful gardens, full-service only, no buffet breakfast; very high end. And it had its own “Onsen” (mineral hot spring bath - more about those a little earlier). My single room in the hotel in Kyoto was as wide as my bed plus 100cm. I kid you not. I once stayed in Amersfoort, Netherlands in a place like that. Then it was a novelty. Now it was disappointing! But that was made up by my hotel here in Hiroshima which was very, very fancy.   

Late that night I went for a walk through the deserted streets of Hiroshima. Passed a Pachinko palace where the gamblers were busy with their hands feverishly working the pull-bar. I also passed a used car lot where the cutest little Mitsubishi city cars were on sale. At 11:15 p.m. I called the front desk and requested a massage. So this 60-year-oldish woman comes to my room holding what appeared to be a bag of tools. She looked like Rosa Klebb. Remember her? She was James Bond’s sworn enemy in “From Russia with Love,” the one with the poisoned spike in her shoe. My masseuse spoke no English, but with lots of “Hai!”s, we managed to make ourselves understood. She strolled into the room, took of her shoes, hopped on the bed and proceeded to roll off the duvet, placed a special cushion on the bed, and told me in hand-language to put on the yukata (robe) that’s hanging in the closet. 

Anyway, once she had me on the bed she proceeded to give me one of those good old deep penetrating Shiatsu massages. At the beginning it was seriously painful, but as she continued and I relaxed, it got better. She left, and for the first time since arriving here, I had a good, solid, uninterrupted 5 hours of sleep. 

Fantastic!

There is only one real reason to visit Hiroshima and it’s a supremely important one: to see the Peace Park and museum at the site where the Atom Bomb was dropped in 1945. My initial reaction, which grew as the day passed, was that there indeed was such a dreadful and enormous human tragedy that brought World War II to an end. However, in my opinion the portrayal of Japan as a victim is not historically correct. But I guess that history will always be interpreted, and will depend on the point of view of the interpreter. History is not math and is not, therefore, objective. On a personal level I don’t accept Japan’s self-victimization as it interprets the events of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. However, to actually stand alongside the bombed out dome, and walk across the T-bridge that was the target of the Enola Gay’s “Little Boy” made me feel very, very somber. The gardens all around are beautiful, and Hiroshima is a very pretty city, the entire peace park is beautifully designed and its various memorials are impressive too. The Peace Museum does its work very well; the numerous museological elements, the use of a variety of media and real artifacts, as well as personal testimonies and of course the subject matter itself, combine together to make this a must-see museum. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I returned to Hiroshima. On my first visit I was overwhelmed by a great sense of somberness. This is, after all, the site upon which the first atomic bomb ever used in human conflict was dropped, and which in a matter of milliseconds, eradicated, and wiped off the face of the earth, over 70,000 – (seventy thousand!) – people. Many more were to die with the passage of time from the radiation after-effects of the atomic fallout. As a child of Holocaust survivors the numbers numb me. Photographs on display at the Peace Museum in Hiroshima – some taken within minutes of the bombing – are as painful to me as are those that I know only too well from years of professional research into visual images from the Holocaust. The Peace Museum, however, displays an historic event removed from its historic context, and creates an illusion of Japan as victim. I didn’t accept it on my first visit here neither did I accept it upon my return. Yet, being on the site where there was once such great devastation nevertheless caused me great sadness.

However, during my current visit to Hiroshima, I made sure to look at the city with different eyes. As a city that has been completely rebuilt from the ground up since the end of World War II, it is a sparklingly modern city. It has wide avenues and interesting architecture. It is dotted with creative sculptures dedicated to the subject of peace. Hiroshima boasts an efficient and green tram system that whisks you from one part of the city to another swiftly, silently, in clean and attractive trams.   

In order to actively discourage a dark mood from setting in, I encouraged my travelers to join me at one of the quintessential of Japanese places of entertainment – the local karaoke bar. It took a while, but slowly everyone loosened up and began to choose songs to sing. That this is such a typically Japanese form of entertainment, where the locals go to let their hair down, is in fact quite surprising – taking into account that this is a frightfully formal society. Or maybe it’s just because of that that karaoke bars in their thousands attract both young and (sometimes) old for an evening of light entertainment and togetherness? Hmmmm…..

The other famous and must-see sight in Hiroshima, especially for travelers from Israel for whom the motor car is the second most important item in their/our lives, is the Mazda plant located at the outskirts of the city, along the sea-front. Pronounced “Matzuda” in Japanese, the plant is a delight of robotics and human talent. It’s amazing to see how rapidly cars are put together, how parts and pieces come together, and how short a drive it is from the end of the production line to the ship on which the completed vehicle makes its way to its destination – less than 300 meters! So let me testify here that your new Mazda should have very little on the dial when you take delivery of it.

So my visit to Hiroshima this time was not only about sadness and tragedy. It was about modernity and accomplishment, technology and fun, environment-friendliness and efficiency. But most of all, it was about peace.

From Hiroshima I returned to the station for my final ride on the Shinkansen. I was planning to go directly to Osaka, but decided to get off the train one stop before, in Himeji . 

Himeji is a small town (population about 400,000) near Osaka, and is famous for the Himeji Castle, once occupied by the local Shogun. The initial impression is something out of an eastern fairy tale, fan walls, gabled roofs and all that. Perched high on a rock in a beautiful surrounding garden, it’s quite overwhelming. I had a picnic lunch in the gardens, and then proceeded to climb the hill to the castle. There is a maze of alleyways that lead up the hill to confuse potential enemies – and many tourists too! Sometimes you have to go down in order to get to the next, higher, level. I pity the enemy who tried to take this castle!

I digress to tell you about smoking etiquette in Japan. Of course, you cannot smoke indoors almost anywhere in Japan. And in those places where you can, the smoking corner has a powerful air purifier that draws in the smoke and filters the air immediately, so you can’t even smell smoke in the immediate environment of the smoker’s corner. What do smokers do outdoors? Well, those people who have to drag frequently carry their own personal, portable, sealable ashtrays. They puff and ash their smokes in the ashtray, extinguish their butts, and then seal them in their personal ashtrays which they put in their pockets and off they go. Astounding!

Let me put my prejudices up front for all to see. I have come to love Japan as I do very few places outside of Israel. I have learned to appreciate its culture, I care for the way people relate to one another with respect, I am thankful for Japanese fastidiousness that keeps everything clean, and I find it most pleasurable to be in an environment that doesn’t scream. But Japan doesn’t have any features that make me lose my breath. There’s no “WOW!” in Japan. Even Mount Fuji, lofty and grand as it may be, is an impressive sight, but not awe-inspiring as are the Rocky Mountains of Canada or exciting as is Africa’s Victoria Falls. I often tell my travelers that in Japan, the exquisite lies in the minute.

So my return to Japan this month was jolted as I walked into the Ohel Shelomo synagogue in Kobe. And it happened, for ever so brief a moment, that I lost my breath. Not from shock, or because of some magnificent spectacle. I lost my breath from the excitement of seeing a beautiful synagogue in the most unlikely of places. Decorated with the flags of Japan and Israel on both sides of its Holy Ark, the Ohel Shelomo is an island of Jewish beauty in a very, very un-Jewish country. 

The tour I led this month took in the usual sights that every first-time visitor to Japan needs to see. Encompassing the modern and the traditional, the secular and the religious, city and countryside, mountains and lakes – I try to give to my travelers the same love for this land that I have. But I had never been here before, and I was glad to set that omission right.   

Built before World War II by one Rahmo Sassoon originally from Aleppo in Syria in honor of his father Shelomo, the synagogue was damaged in the war by allied bombing of the city, but was rebuilt again in 1970. The earthquake of 1989 didn’t bide well for the syangogue, but damage was relatively minor and was quickly repaired. Today, there are some 70 Jewish families resident in Kobe, the Ohel Shelomo has a permanent rabbi, as well as a board of directors on which numerous expatriate Israelis serve with dedication.

Kobe was the city to which many Holocaust refugees from Lithuania arrived. They had been rescued thanks to the efforts of the Japanese consul in Kovno, Chiune Sugihara, who issued some 6,500 transit visas through Japan to Jewish refugees seeking to flee Europe. Sugihara was acting against direct orders of the Japanese Foreign Ministry, and was recalled and fired for his humanitarian efforts. His deeds are recognized at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem where he is honored as one of the Righteous Among the Nations.

Kobe has had a Jewish presence going back to 1868 when Japan opened its borders to trade with the West. It’s probably the most Jewish city in all of Japan, even taking into account that there are probably not more than 2,000 Jews among the 128 million Japanese.   

There is a Jewish cemetery in Kobe as well as an active Mikveh.

The hospitality we were shown at Ohel Shelomo by the rabbi and members of the board was overwhelming. They laid out a feast of delicacies for us, mixing the best of both the Israeli and the Japanese kitchen. And they were genuinely delighted to have us as visitors, even for a very short time. I intend to return to Kobe again to spend a Shabbat at Ohel Shelomo. I strongly recommend a visit here to everyone travelling through Japan. For me, it was a true highlight. Hine ma tov uma na’im, shevet ahim gam yahad – How good and wonderful it is for brethren to sit together!

From Kobe I made my way to Kansai airport which is built out at sea on a land-fill (actually garbage-fill) island. The drive from Kobe is about a 1½ hours from the city. What amazed me is that from shortly after leaving downtown, the drive almost all the way is on elevated roadways, sometimes really high, like past tenth-floor office block windows, and over or through seven-level over- and under-passes, and then over the sea for 20 minutes! And this in a country that has known serious earthquakes! 

Whenever I depart Japan, I leave warmed by my visit to this curious, bashful, unusual, respectful, friendly, home-like far-away place. 

Sayonara!

There have been three times in my life when I have seen something that has taken my breath away. The first was when I beheld Victoria Falls. The broad panorama of this mile-wide behemoth plunging into the abyss, spraying it's plume of spray an equal mile into the air and roaring at a million decibels – took my breath away. You can read about it in greater detail elsewhere on this website.

The second time I gasped for air was when I entered the hallowed gates of the Esnoga, the Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam. I wasn't quite ready for this sense of sanctity that enveloped me. The ancient wooden pews and bima, the wavy-curved candle-chandeliers that light the synagogue to this day, the sand spread over the wooden floor beams, all came together to transport me to a different age, to a place dissimilar to any I had known until then. The result has been that every time I have ever been in Amsterdam (and I worked in the Netherlands for 18 months some years ago) – I would make a point of going back to the Esnoga.

The third time I felt a sharp intake of breath upon seeing something for the first time, was when I walked into the Ohel Shelomo Synagogue in Kobe, Japan. Once again, I was taken by surprise.   

I had been into the two wonderful Chabad Houses in Tokyo, which are shtibel-like in their warmth and friendship, and I love returning to them whenever I am in Tokyo. But somehow, walking into Ohel Shelomo jolted me. The Holy Ark draped with the flags of Israel and Japan on either side caused me some feeling of imbalance. I was having difficulty wrapping my mind around the sight of a Japanese flag in a synagogue. Quite honestly, every time I have returned it takes me a few minutes to settle in my brain that there a fully functional Orthodox synagogue in Japan. I still find it literally mind-boggling.

But I have written about it once before. So what moves me to write again? I'll tell you.

I was recently in Japan with a wonderful tour group, made up of folks from the UK, the USA and Israel. We spent our second Shabbat in Japan with the Jewish community of Kobe. There was another group spending Shabbat there at the same time, a much larger group than ours. They were also a much noisier group; and somewhat offensive too. Among the things I overheard some of them saying, were the following statements:

"What a miserable looking place."

"Half these guys are married to non-Jews."

"I bet the rabbi is not a real rabbi."  

I must confess hearing these things enveloped me in great sadness. My late father z"l used to say that "Hachnassat Orchim" - extending hospitality - is a very important mitzvah. And, he used to say, it's also important to know to behave like a guest.

These people did not behave like guests. While the rabbi was delivering his Dvar Torah, they talked incessantly. When the rabbi translated into a language that some of the other guests spoke, they talked even louder. They enjoyed the hospitality of their hosts, while denigrating them at the same time. It was a shame and an embarrassment that supposedly observant people behave in this manner.

I thought to myself, how can anyone be so judgmental? Who set them up as arbiters of what is and is not miserable? And if some of the young men have married Japanese women, is it not commendable that they make it their business to come to synagogue services every Shabbat? And did they inspect the Semicha of the young, charming, intelligent, knowledgeable and very sincere rabbi who was newly appointed to the synagogue that they dared question the authenticity of his training?

I think the young families who maintain the synagogue in Kobe ought to be carried through the main street of Judaism on the shoulders of us all. There is a small group of folks who could just as easily have walked away from the synagogue and not taken it upon themselves to maintain it.   

They could have lifted the phone to Chabad headquarters and offered them a building ready-to-go, Holy Ark and all. But they didn't do that. They decided that they will keep up the synagogue. They will, voluntarily, pay out of their own pockets to ensure the upkeep of the synagogue building, the maintenance of the mikveh, the hiring and paying of a full-time rabbi and family. They will ensure that every Shabbat there will be a minyan and that they will pray in the Nusach of the founders of the synagogue out of respect for the efforts made by those who came before them to establish a tiny Jewish island in this most un-Jewish of places. And they will be hospitable and open their doors to any and every Jew who lives near and/or far.

So I write these lines to you,  Rabbi Shmulik, Moshe, Moti and Tony and Michael, and the other Michael, and to all of you who are out there on the "front lines." You are deserving of my respect and I give it gladly. I give it along with my admiration and my affection, my longing and esteem and my appreciation. And I attach my love and enjoyment in coming to be with you. And my gratitude that you are there… so that I too can be there.

One of the things of which I remind my travelers in Japan, is that Japan is a fiercely secular state. As it is, religion means something completely different in the east than it does in the west. The Western religions have always had a thing about the truth. The Jews said, we have the truth, and someday everyone will come to recognize that. The Christians said, no we have the truth, and if you don't believe what we believe, we'll kill you. The Muslims said, in fact we have the truth, the rest of you are all infidels and must die. In the east, the truth is to be found within each and every individual. There is no one single truth. You figure out your own.

Thus, Japan, in which the two primary "faiths" or philosophies – Shinto and Buddhism – live more or less hand in glove, with an even mix of each with the other, there are no required rituals, and you can take part of one and some of the other, sprinkle it with a little of something else, and do whatever you wish as you share your soul with the spirits.

However, there is one thing you cannot do. You cannot hold public prayer or devotion in a public place. For that you go to the shrine, temple, church (if you are Christian), mosque (if you are Muslim), other temple (if you are Hindu), synagogue (if you are Jewish), and so on. Muslims will not lay out their prayer mats in public. Evangelicals will not hold their revivalist meetings in public. And Jews will not hold their minyanim in public. That's the way things work.

On my previous (and tenth) tour of Japan, we were fortunate enough to have (for the first time) more than a minyan of men. In keeping with the local rules and regulations, I made sure that Shacharit and Maariv was held in one of our hotel rooms. However, mincha always presented a problem. We were never in the hotel at that time of the day. And so whenever mincha time came around, we stood discreetly behind the bus in the parking lot, or some other place away from the crowds around us.

One day, however, we found ourselves in the middle of downtown Kyoto at Mincha time. We were in a small street behind the Daimaru department store (the Kyoto equivalent of Macy's/Harrod's/Hamashbir) when the time came for afternoon prayers. Hmmm, what to do? Well, we tried to find a place that was as close as possible to the wall of the store, away from where other folks were walking, so we were not blocking the sidewalk or anything like that. A swift mincha prayer ensued. Nevertheless, being in the middle of downtown, it's not like no-one could see us. And it's not hard to figure out that a group of men, all standing facing a single direction with their feet together and some of the swaying back and forth, might, in fact, be engaged in some form of worship.

So my guess is that someone passing by, or looking down from a coffee shop above, or wherever, called the cops.  

As we finished our prayers, Kyoto's finest men in blue arrived - two plainclothes detectives and two uniformed policemen. And they were not thrilled, to say the least. Now, seeing as none of our group spoke Japanese, we had no inkling of what the lead detective was saying, but for me it wasn't hard to figure out why he was there. My Japanese counterpart approached him to inquire as to his wrath, and he explained that they had received a complaint of people praying in public. She waved him off with a "What? That's nonsense. They were just standing around. And anyway, we're leaving." She then motioned to us to beat a hasty retreat and off we went, with the policemen wandering about these folks, some bearded, and all with a variety of colored beanies of their heads.

Like the man who didn't have a ticket for the High Holy Days Services at the synagogue. "You can go in (to Japan), but don't let me catch you praying!"