THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY

Buddy JK is visiting from America, and on Sunday morning, we pulled ourselves out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6:30 to catch a train, having gone to sleep only a few hours earlier thanks to travel delays following a trip to Kyushu (more on that next post).  With no time for coffee, much less breakfast, we rushed to the nearby town of Hasedera, which is fairly famous in the prefecture for its gorgeous temple and idyllic mountain setting.  From the station, we were whisked to the back of a local dango shop, where we dropped our bags, and moved up the mountain to a shrine for the opening ceremony of the Hasedera matsuri (festival).

At 9am, the first cup of sake was pressed into my hand for the opening ceremony toast.  Other JETs, thinking it was water (or happily cognizant that it was sake), gulped theirs down immediately, only to be informed that they were supposed to wait, and were then given refills.  Meanwhile, each person was issued his or her own happi coat, blue for the boys, and red for the girls.  The Year of the Dragon is quickly becoming the Year of Costumes.    

Happy in my happi coat

At about 9:30, the mikoshi was brought out.  Actually, two mikoshi.  First, the daddy mikoshi, which took almost 2 dozen men to move up the steep stairs to the shrine.  Inside the shrine were three young children, beating drums.  

The second mikoshi was far smaller, more Ark of the Covenant-sized, but it still weighed about 350-400 lbs, enough for 6-8 people to carry.  

The mikoshi

The opening ceremony involved lots of moving the mikoshi up and down stairs, bowing, dancing by the shrine maidens, and prayers by the priests.  During one prayer, a priest blessed us by waving a green branch over the crowds, and I had to fight the urge to cross myself, as one would in Catholic church.

Shrine maidens

Opening ceremony

After the sake toast, we made our way back down the stairs of the temple, and through the hilly, tortuous streets of Hasedera.  

Leaving the shrine

The rest of the day was a blur of chanting, shifts carrying the mikoshi, frequent stops for beer, soda, and cigarettes, and prayers at the smaller shrines throughout the town. Walking out of one shrine post-prayer, I spotted the three Shinto priests who had been tailing us on their scooters, standing in a circle in a small playground across the road, drinking beer. Later, I stumbled across them again in someone's home after lunch.  They decided to befriend me (their chattiness no doubt influenced by the small brewery on the table), which was charming. 

My new friends

Post lunch was when the wheels started falling off the wagon, so to speak. The participants had been broken up by height into teams.  The teams would rotate out in helping to carry the shrine for 10-20 minutes, which wasn't so bad until we hit this one area of town and all hell broke loose.  Part of the purpose of this festival is to gather donations from the locals by bringing the parade past the donors' homes.  When someone emerges with an envelope of cash, an organizer yells into a bullhorn "Itadakimasu!" and the team carrying the shrine then stops and hoists the shrine over their heads, chanting and pumping it into the air.  Unfortunately, we hit the jackpot in this one stretch, and moved only a matter of meters in between houses and businesses, stopping to carry out this ritual at least a dozen times.  More unfortunate still was the fact that this was during one of my group's rotations.  We were the short group, even by Japanese standards, and so hefting the shrine on our shoulders was one thing; raising the almost 400 lb monstrosity was another.  During our first ecstatic pump and chant, I got brained by one of the poles holding up the shrine.  Thankfully the guys were encouraged to assist us after that (the festival organizers clearly thought we weren't performing with enough panache), and we persevered, despite cries of, "Please! Stop giving us money!" emanating from the shrine bearers.

Don't be fooled. That's not a smile.  That's a grimace of pain.

Around 5pm, the festival drew to a close, the mikoshi was abandoned, and we were all allowed to limp off to the local onsen to recuperate before dinner. After a leisurely soak, we reconvened for the enkai (banquet party), which featured copious amounts of food, beer, sake, and the nightmare of all sober people when hanging out with drunks, karaoke.

Foreigners living in Japan quickly become aware that our worth is not necessarily based on our skills or our intelligence; rather, most of our value is derived from our ability to entertain the masses.  Japanese cultural events are a boon, not only because they teach foreigners about Japanese customs, but also because there is a certain glee inspired by seeing all of us dressed in traditional Japanese garb, or watching us react as we eat our first sea snail, or telling us to heft the mikoshi above our heads a few more times, just for giggles.  Sometimes being a spectacle is fun, other times, it's maddening.  Most of the time, we accept it as an inevitable trade-off in living in such a wonderful and fascinating country.  However, I think we outdid ourselves with our final karaoke number.  It was about 7:30pm, but it felt closer to 3am.  A discreet agreement was made following dinner that we should make our exit soon; however, no one wanted to offend our Japanese hosts.  Noticing the zeal with which each karaoke act was received, I suggested we sing a group number (and possibly dance, if we could manage to move our limbs), and have that be our grand farewell.  The final call was that we should sing the international classic, "YMCA."  We trooped up to the front, and quickly became a smash sensation.  People were gesticulating wildly, rhythmic claps shook the room, and some of the older men jumped on stage to dance with us and have their pictures taken with the Foreign Wonders.  Our duty done, we left the party to raucous applause, deep bows, and warm handshakes. 

Despite subsequent (facetious) comparisons to participating in the Hasedera matsuri and slavery, and the fact that I couldn't lift my arms above my head for two days and am still sore as I type this, it was, without a doubt, one of my top 2 days in Japan.  

OKAERI

Okaeri is a polite Japanese greeting that means "welcome home," but is not limited to your family or people you live with.  At the beginning of this summer, the obachans ("grandmothers") of the neighborhood started greeting me with "Okaeri" as I made my way home from school, instead of the habitual "Konnichiwa."  It only took a year, but I think this means I've been accepted into the tribe?  

48? WATERFALLS*

With the weather getting cooler, we are all eager to take advantage of being outside before winter hits and we go into hibernation.  To that end, Paul planned a day trip to the neighboring prefecture of Mie to visit Akameguchi, which is famous for its waterfalls.  We were lucky to venture out on a rainy and somewhat chilly day, which kept away most of the tourist hoards. Still, there were some intrepid hikers outfitted in their best mountaineering togs, looking as though they had just stepped out of a Patagonia catalog and were on their way to summit Mt. Fuji.  Keeping it simple in shorts and tennis shoes, we looked vastly less professional, particularly at a rest point, when the Japanese broke out their power bars and Nalgene bottles, while MR, one of the new Brits, bought a beer and a hot noodle stir fry to accompany his 6th cigarette of the day.  It was 10am.

The falls themselves were enchanting; so much so that I completely missed the fact that two 20-something Japanese photographers we encountered on the trail had brought with them a love doll (which is exactly what it sounds like), and were posing it in front of the falls.

*Apparently akameguchi can be translated as "48" or "many."  Turns out the advertising for 48 waterfalls was a bit misleading- the real number is closer to 35.

HIGANBANA MATSURI

In Japan, one of the harbingers of fall is the higanbana, or "red spider lily," which crops up everywhere like a fiery red weed.  This year, JETs were invited to participate in the higanbana festival, which consists of dressing up in costumes from the Nara period (circa 1300 years ago), and wandering through the hills of historic Asuka, which is considered the birthplace of Japanese culture.  The procession was more like a reenactment; there was a queen who sat atop a large shrine, which was then rolled along the trail.  The rest of us, Japanese and foreigners, made up the queen's entourage, shouting "Onaigi!" in unison, which I believe is something akin to "All hail!"  As foreigners, of course, we were relegated to wearing servants' clothes, which were a coarse cotton, compared to the shiny silks of the Japanese courtiers.  

The procession wending its way through the hills.  The higanbana are in the back.

The costume: a long-sleeved cotton under robe, topped by a heavier, long cotton robe and a long cotton skirt that made us all look like maypoles. 

Our homely garb did not discourage people- hundreds of people- from taking photos of us at every possible moment, including the two times we stopped for a brief break over the course of the 8 hour day.  Our fans were particularly amused to watch all of us guzzle cold tea and air ourselves out, hiking up our skirts in a distinctly unlady-like fashion (we all wore pants or shorts underneath).  Sometimes you just can't fight being foreign. 

The Queen's Court

OPENING PANDORA'S BOX: A SPEECH CONTEST

"Have you ever tried to commit suicide?  I have." 

This was the opening line two years ago of one of my students who was competing in a local speech contest, as reported to me by a fellow ALT who was there.  I'm confident that this was an accurate quote, and doubt that the ALT was exaggerating.  Having attended the speech contest this past summer, I've witnessed firsthand the awkwardness of this event.  Speakers open their mouths, and out comes a Pandora's box of misfortunes: deaths, illnesses, handicaps, injustices.  The formula is always the same: something negative happened, and they overcame it.  Sometimes the challenges are framed in unexpected ways.  One girl with dead eyes spoke in a grim monotone and extolled the virtues of the color pink and how much she loves it, and then went on, "And when my baby twin sisters died suddenly, I loved pink even more.  It made me happier."  You could have heard a pin drop.

There's a toneless recitation, however, that robs the events of any meaning, significance or sentiment.  It may be my cynical Grinch heart at work, but it makes me uncomfortable that these otherwise cheery kids trot out stories of the tragedies of their lives in order to curry favor and sympathy from the judges.  My students never seem to pick anything sensational.  The student I'm coaching this year has chosen child abuse as her topic, but thankfully is not approaching the subject with any personal anecdotes, but rather, a more philosophical discussion of abuse.  I feel a slight pang, because I know that no matter how much we practice, there will be a student from another high school who has a parent who went to Bible college in the United States, or studied abroad in Australia for a year, and their accents and inflection will be near perfect, regardless of the content of their speeches. 

The speech contest is in a week, and God knows what awaits us.  Especially since DL and I have been asked to emcee the event.  Pray for us. 

KOYASAN

As part of my attempt to make this the year of doing ALL THE THINGS, I have been trying to steadily knock out some of the entries on my Japanese bucket list.  Recently I escaped to Koyasan, a temple complex in the mountains of Wakayama prefecture, and one of the holiest sites in Japan.  The journey to Koyasan is quite a pilgrimage in and of itself; 3 hours of various train lines, a cable car, and a bus.  The town is unremarkable; it consists mostly of a mainstreet of souvenir shops where you can buy religious talismans, and offerings of beer and sake.  The real draws are the temples nestled into the sides of the mountain, as well as the extensive Buddhist graveyard. 

Cemetery at Koyasan

Hands down, the best part of the getaway was staying overnight in one of the temples.  The monks rent traditional Japanese rooms to travelers for a night or more, allowing guests to explore the old buildings and their grounds.  You're encouraged to wear a yukata (a long, lightweight cotton robe) around the temple during your stay.  On my way to the communal Japanese-style bathrooms at 9pm, my yukata tied around me and grasping my toiletries and a change of clothes, I ran into a young monk in the darkened halls.  He very generously offered to show me and my friends around some of the more beautiful rooms of the temple, including a tatami room with giant floor-to-ceiling screens.  The entire room glowed, as the screens looked to have been made of gold leaf.  

A delicious vegetarian dinner and breakfast were included, with lots of colorful small dishes: soups, fruit, tofu, pickles, and a variety of vegetables.  Each morning, the guests gather at 6am for morning prayer, listening to the monks chant and make offerings of incense.  A glorious way to escape from the hurly burly for a weekend.

Our room

Women's communal bath.  You undress and clean yourself at the showers before soaking in the large tub.  Heavenly.

BACK TO SCHOOL

For me, school life is characterized by questionable comments from my students and entertaining misunderstandings.  Our first week of classes was no exception. 

One student approached me in the staff room and said, "Eri-sensei, I'm friends with you on Facebook.  I saw the photos of the baby you posted.  Is that your baby?"  Momentarily flummoxed, I had to take a minute to recover before saying, "Um, no.  That's actually my nephew."  She was embarrassed; so was I, slightly.  All I could think was, "My students think I'm old enough to have a baby.  I am old." Only later did it occur to me to ask her if she thought I had been pregnant for the past 9 months and then popped out a kid, returning to work the next day.  I guess eating all this tempura has caused me to put on some weight?

Third years were expected to write a short composition in class about their summer vacations.  Assignments like these require close supervision, as it is a struggle to get the students to write 3-5 sentences in English, much less a couple of paragraphs.  The JTE and I circled the room, checking students' work, until the JTE motioned me over.  "She [the student] says that she went on SM Tour this summer," said the JTE to me, wide-eyed.  "Can you believe it?"  I shook my head.  "No, what is SM Tour?" I asked.  "You know!" she said.  No, I really didn't know.  We went back and forth like this, and for a moment I wondered if the teacher was talking about S&M, which seemed to be the only logical answer, given her shock.  However, I quickly put this thought out of my mind, given that 1) the JTE in question is a woman several years younger than I am and quite the innocent, and 2) we were talking about the summer plans of our 17 year-old student.  I turned to the student and asked, "What is SM Tour?"  "It is concert by Korean idol," she responded.  I looked over at the JTE, whose eyes had gotten wide.  "Ooooohhh," she said, exhaling with relief.  "I thought it was SM. You know, like sadism, um, maso..."  I chuckled uneasily and didn't pursue the topic.  But the exchange has definitely made me reconsider my JTE and her straightlaced facade.  

EDUB AFTER THE DENTIST

There are people in our lives who have to meet a certain level of trust for the relationship to work.  Strangely, this doesn't always apply to friendships or romance, but rather to hairstylists, doctors, mechanics, etc.  Some people are pickier about their proctologist than their significant other.  And when you have to switch to a different hairstylist/doctor/mechanic/etc., it can be all the more nerve-wracking to have to build a new relationship with someone else.  

I don't like going to the dentist.  I don't like the idea of someone taking a metal pick and rooting around in my mouth, scraping and prodding, and some of my nightmares are recurring dreams in which my teeth fall out.  I've had two dentists in my entire life; first, a wonderful and jovial man who has known me since before I even had teeth, and feels more like an uncle than my DDM.  Then when I moved to Washington, DC, I figured I should get a new dentist, since a) I couldn't just fly to Texas for my 6 month check up, and b) my old dentist wasn't covered by my insurance.  

So you can imagine my state of mind when I ventured out for my first dental appointment in Japan.  There was a baseline anxiety associated with going to the dentist, and on top of that, nerves associated with going to a new dentist, and beyond that, the trepidation of going into a situation where I can't actually communicate with anyone.  My first we're-not-in-Kansas-anymore moment was when I had to remove my shoes and put on slippers in order to enter the dentist's office.  Backless, too-large slippers are difficult to walk in, much less make a quick getaway, so I shuffled in feeling even more vulnerable.  The cleaning and check up were fairly standard, except for a moment when the hygienist stuck in my mouth what looked like the blunt end of a cell phone charger that you plug into the cigarette lighter of your car.  This probe made strange beeping noises, and a couple of sounds reminiscent of the forlorn sighs of R2D2 in Star Wars.  "Not good," I thought, "Not good at all."  The hygienist started conferring in rapid Japanese with another hygienist.  In America, when hygienists start talking to one another in hushed tones after looking around in your mouth, it's usually a bad sign.  The only word I could catch was "sealant-o" [sealant]. Panicked, I asked the hygienist, "Sealant-o daijoubu deska?" ("Are the sealants ok?") "OK," she flashed back at me, surprised. I heaved a sigh of relief.

The final hurdle was meeting with the actual dentist, who was a fairly young guy who spoke no English, but was determined to do his duty and give me his thoughts after a quick examination.  "Good teeth" was the first bit of feedback.  From there, it got more complicated, as he had certain bits of advice he wanted to impart to me, but the translation proved difficult.  Out came his smartphone, and thanks to an electronic dictionary, he was finally able to convey that I am brushing my teeth the wrong way.  Japanese dentistry dictates that you should brush up and down, not horizontally, starting at the gums, and flicking the toothbrush out over the teeth.  This was demonstrated several times on the plastic teeth model in the office, and then more awkwardly in my own mouth by the dentist himself.  Finally, I had to prove to him that I could perform this task on my own.  Finally satisfied after a couple of tries, the dentist bowed me out of his office.  I waited 30 minutes (having promised the dentist after doing the requisite fluoride rinse), and then had myself a few beers.

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

DL stopped by my desk last week to ask if I had heard "the news."  Lacking any clues, I had no idea what he was talking about. "Well," he said, "I was at the train station on my way home yesterday, and I heard these male students saying some kind of awful things.  At first I thought they were just trash talking each other, you know, because kids are like that sometimes, but then, as I looked more closely, one of them reached out and PUNCHED the other kid in the face! Hard! And the kid's friends just stood there laughing, and no one did anything!"  So DL went to the station manager and told him what had happened, and the station manager asked the kid who got punched if he wanted to call a teacher at school.  The kid demurred, saying he would talk to someone the next day.  Not satisfied, DL called the vice principal and told him what happened, and the vice principal instructed him to come in the next day and point out in the student directory which students were involved.  No word on how the attacker was disciplined, but I think DL was a little traumatized by the whole thing, particularly that no one stood up for the victim.   

The grannies love any bit of gossip I can throw their way (sometimes I get outright requests for it), so I repeated this story to them.  Their faces turned grave, and around the table, heads began to shake.  "This is a big problem in Japan," said Jet Set Granny.  Many students are bullied, and commit suicide every year.  They were surprised to learn how bullying has changed over the years, with technology and the Internet making it possible for kids to torture each other from afar, or even anonymously.  Mr. M spoke up, saying, "When I was child, we would fight all the time.  It was part of growing up.  You fight with other boys, but that's it."  

FREE WHEELIN' 

Biwako, or Lake Biwa, is Japan's largest lake, and the destination for one of my most recent Japanese adventure.  The day had been framed as "a chance to do some cycling" along the lake, suggesting that we would take a leisurely ride, and at some point turn back. The full circuit around Biwa is 220 km, and no one seemed keen to do it in its entirety.  So we set off in the hot sun, dodging joggers (one wearing a black ski mask), before coming across a battle of the rock bands held by some local universities.  They had clearly been partying all night, judging by the litter, sleeping bags, and other detritus.  We stopped to take a look at the set list, which included bands with innovative names like "Scheisse," and "The Dry Sex." 

Scenic Biwa

Moving onward, we soon found that Biwa isn't exactly a flat course.  We rode uphill over several bridges, passing lone fishermen and jet skiers. About halfway into the ride, we stopped for sushi and ice cream (and wonderful mix) at the local 7Eleven.  This decision came back to haunt us as we rode over a long bridge that turned out to be mostly uphill.  Later it was determined that we rode 1.4 km at a 70 degree angle.

How we all felt after the bridge

Post-bridge, we felt it was time to get back to the bike rental office.  Unfortunately, this was the most tired and ugliest leg of the journey, along a major highway that lacked sidewalks for significant stretches.  Thankfully, Japanese motorists are attuned to cyclists, and we rode on without incident.  Five hours, several sunburns, and a mass case of dehydration later, we stumbled and limped around looking for food, coffee, any kind of sustenance.  But we felt a sense of accomplishment, and, in my case, serious bruising in the bum region.  It was all worth it as we watched the sun go down on the lake. We've pledged to do the entire route one day. Thanks to Google Maps, we figured out that we biked 40.4 km that day.  Just 180 km to go!

Sensible athletic practices: group stretch post-ride

AND WE'RE BACK

It's been a while since my last post, and now I'm breaking radio silence one month into my second year in Japan.  My month long blogging hiatus was marked by a milestone: celebrating the one year anniversary of my move to Nara.  I fittingly spent the occasion in America, with a cheeseburger in one hand, and my oh-so-perfect nephew in the other.  Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me this far, and here's to another year of crazy stories from the Land of the Rising Sun.

HOT POTATO (WITH A CORPSE)

One of the big draws of Nara is its sacred deer, population 1,000.  The Shinto religion believes that the deer are messengers from the gods, and as such, must be treated with reverence. Mistreatment or killing of the deer was made a criminal offense after protein-starved locals started poaching from the herd around the time of World War II.  The legislation also spawned a new tradition among the Nara denizens that persists today.  Every morning, homeowners wake up early to inspect their lawns and confirm that a deer has not dropped dead overnight on their property.  Should they find a corpse, the practice is to sneakily move the animal into their neighbor's yard before city authorities find out and start making accusations.

I have no data on how many times a deer carcass has been moved in one morning.

THE BUSINESS OF GROUPTHINK

Japan has been in the news quite a bit lately, not for achieving Olympic glory (though Japan did recently win the Little League World Series) or technological breakthroughs, or other positive developments. Rather, the country has been critiqued for some of its economic and business practices.  First, there was a rather damning article on the penalization of Japanese students who choose to study abroad.  Even graduates with degrees from top-notch institutions like Harvard or Oxford have had a difficult time finding work in Japan.  In fact, many of them were blackballed, because their Western training made them appear unsuitable for integration within Japanese professional culture.  It doesn't take an MBA to see how backwards this is in today's global market.  Equally surprising was the backlash surrounding the announcement by at least one Japanese company that it had taken the drastic step of making English the mandatory language of daily operations.

Rakuten Inc., a competitor of Amazon.com, made waves when its CEO announced that company employees would be expected to communicate almost exclusively in English in their day-to-day tasks, with the implication that any employee falling short of those standards could look elsewhere for work.  The gambit is that by increasing English fluency across the organization, Rakuten will make itself more accessible internationally, as well as more competitive, which will hopefully eventually widen their profit margin.

The final standout article I read recently had to do with the strength of the yen. Several visitors and prospective visitors have complained about the yen-dollar exchange rate.  "Doesn't Japan want to attract tourism?" reasoned my uncle (correctly).  One would think.  However, a year in Japan has taught me that often the most obvious solutions are the least employed.  According to the piece above, the yen is kept at an artificially high level in order to protect the large aging population here.  The stronger the yen, the cheaper various imports are, making it easier for the elderly to live in relative comfort.  Conversely, however, Japanese exports are more expensive, making them less competitive with goods from other countries.  This has really hurt Japanese businesses, many of which are losing big clients, or having to take drastic steps, like relocating to other countries in Asia, where the cost of overhead is lower and conditions are more advantageous for businesses.  A key quote from one such entrepreneur who moved his factory to Vietnam: "Pretty soon, nothing will be made in Japan anymore."

One positive is that the Japanese seem determined to do their part to keep the economy afloat with ceaseless shopping.  I've always thought shopping was an errand you ran, but the Japanese make it into a national pastime.  The best of all worlds is to take a trip to Korea, where you can buy the same goods for a fraction of the price.  

THE CRUDENESS OF CRUDITE

When it comes to my midday meal, I am a lunch bringer, not a buyer, usually some array of leftovers from earlier in the week.  My fellow teachers are always curious about my cooking, and often come over to inspect the contents of my lunch.  Recently, carrot sticks were on the menu, to the incredulity of Panda-sensei.

Panda-sensei: "Eri, what is this?"
Me: "These? Oh, they're carrots."
PS: "Carrot? You are rabbit?"
M: "Haha, no. I just like carrots.  You don't eat raw carrots in Japan?"

I offered him one to try, which he took after making a big deal about finding the smallest stick.  He put the carrot in his mouth, bit into it, and grimaced.  Then he closed his eyes and made a gagging sound that was alarming given his proximity to me.  He opened his eyes, shook his head, and put the rest of the carrot back on my desk. "No, Eri, " he said, "No carrot.  Bad taste.  Very strange."

I asked around, and while some Japanese people said that they found raw carrots to be delicious, most of them clearly thought that I was crazy. At least I'm not alone in this experience.

CONSPIRACY THEORIES

"Hey, did you hear that one of the lost tribes of Israel may be here in Japan?"asked LAL.

I studied her closely, wondering if this remark was prompted by the cold medication she was on.

"One of the lost tribes of Israel?" I repeated.

"Tell her! Tell her what your students told you this week!" LAL exhorted her husband.

The uber-rational BAL shifted in his seat for a moment before answering.  The story goes that a group of Israelites emigrated from Israel to Japan via the Silk Road.  They became known as the Hata Clan.  Over the centuries, Jewish customs began to permeate Japanese culture.  The tokin worn on the foreheads of Buddhist priests (yamabushi) are said to be derived from the tefillin worn by Orthodox Jews.  

Yamabushi wearing tokin.  From samuraidave.wordpress.com

Representations of the mountain god Tengu are reportedly based on Western physiognomy, perhaps even King David.  

One representation of Tengu. From amazingnotes.com

The Japanese syllabary called katakana (used to transcribe foreign words into the Japanese language) is remarkably similar to Hebrew, as are certain words in both languages.  The mikoshi (portable shrines) used in Japanese religious festivals have been likened to the Ark of the Covenant.  Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  A comprehensive list of comparisons can be found at this website, written by a self-proclaimed Japanese Christian.  

Mikoshi being carried.  From  http://pictures.nicolas.delerue.org 

Some of the evidence in support of the connections between Japanese culture and Judaism resembles material from a third-rate stand up act.  The Hata were said to be "adept in financial matters," while images of the mountain god Tengu are characterized by a large nose. Sound familiar?! The implication is that since these stereotypes are often applied to Jewish people, they only reinforce the theories.  It doesn't help that at least one rabbi from the Investigative Body Amishav and a former Israeli ambassador to Japan, Eli Cohen, have been proponents of this historical narrative.  In fact, there have been efforts by the investigative body to perform DNA testing in certain areas in Japan, in order to prove that a link exists between the Israelis and the Japanese.  As far as I know, no genetic similarities have been found.

The most radical claim made by the Japanese-Judaism experts is that when the Israelites came to Japan, they brought with them the Ark of the Covenant. The ark was then hidden within the damp limestone caves on Shikoku Island, which have since collapsed. To me, this is most far-fetched assertion.  Somehow I doubt that the caretakers of the ark would have journeyed so far, only to conceal their priceless (wooden) treasure in a place where it was sure to sustain massive water damage. Apparently other people are skeptical as well; Shikoku is not listed under "Rumored current locations" on Ark of the Covenant Wikipedia page.  

Let's face it, we all know where the ark really is:

P.S. In case you want to learn even more, a TV program called "Mystery File" did a broadcast on the topic, which can be seen here: part 1, part 2, and part 3.

HEALTH CHECKS AND FEELINGS ON AMERICA

Two students recently returned from 10 months living in the US have started stopping by the staff room to chat and practice their English. Their English is pretty good, though it's become clear to me that they've picked up a very different kind of English from what their Japanese classmates are learning. Student Two, who lived in Indiana, kept dropping words like "sketchy," and the sarcastic use of the word "classy" in conversation. Student One, who lived in Georgia, told me that she had become quite the connoisseur of "black English," because many of her friends in Georgia are black. Even though I've heard the term "black English" from other Japanese people before, it still shocks me. I have to resist the urge to climb up on my soap box and deliver an impromptu lecture on why that term is offensive and wrong. I'm not sure that it would make much of a difference. Japan has no real point of comparison to the history of race issues in the United States. They have some abstract notion of it, such as one teacher whose subject is civics. He was talking to his class about the upcoming American presidential election. To prep for his lesson, he asked me about Romney and Obama, before inquiring, "The color- does it matter?" and then pointed at his skin.  It took me a full minute to figure out what he was talking about, and then I was appalled. But to the Japanese, it's a legitimate question, perhaps because race and ethnicity are a huge deal in their country, mainly in that anyone who is clearly not from their country is a big deal. American students visiting our school last month got a small taste of this. When I asked them if they were enjoying their time at our high school, two of the boys said, "It's so weird- they surround us wherever we go!" To which his friend replied, "Dude, it's 'cause we're black." 

I really enjoy asking students who have studied for some period of time in the States about their impressions. Mostly, they're shocked by things like the amount of sugar used in making desserts ("So sweet! Not good!"), the fact that the doors to public toilets don't go all the way down to the ground ("There is a gap! You can see the feet!"), and public displays of affection ("They were kissing! So nice. Americans are so...open." Another student differed: "So strange."). Students One and Two had a lot to say about how much they didn't like their host families, about how great it was that American high schools let you wear makeup to school, and how high school boys are stupid. "One guy asked me if I was Asian. I was like, um, yeah." Then at some point, we veered into the topic of personal grooming. They wanted to know, do I shave my arms (as in, my actual arms, not underneath)? Why do American girls shave their legs? Japanese girls don't do that. Student Two informed me that she had started shaving her pubic hair when she found out that American girls did (how she learned this fun fact, I don't want to know), and then gave me a rundown of the various problems she'd had with making alterations to that area. "I wasn't sure how much to shave, so I just got rid of all of it." It quickly became apparent by her wide-eyed stare that Student One, if not unaware of this grooming trend, had never considered trying it out herself. Still, she weighed into the conversation by asking me, "Do boys shave down there?" There was a lot of animated pointing throughout this exchange to the various body parts concerned, all while teachers and students walked past us. Yet the discomfort of this discussion pales in comparison to what happened later in the week. 

Today marks the second day this year where I have been ambushed at school and asked to remove my clothing for a medical exam without prior warning. Of course I'm behind on laundry, so I'm wearing my less-than-reputable underwear, and I ate lunch at the usual time, even though we were supposed to fast so we could have blood drawn. There was the in-depth questionnaire about my medical history translated for me by a helpful JTE in front of the whole staff room, with other teachers chiming in. "Are you taking any medications?" "Are you going to the bathroom more than normal?" And my personal favorite: "Are you pregnant?" However, nothing rivals the joy of carrying a Dixie cup of your own urine past a queue of your coworkers, who are also waiting for their health check. 

Still, I am grateful that I don't have the job of the female lab technician whose job it is to dip litmus papers in the urine, run them through some sort of machine, and then dispose of the remaining urine in a small covered pail that looks like an ice bucket. It's the little things in life.

Apple pie for our first Japanese 4th of July celebrations