I'm Going Home

Going home to Israel for a month the day after tomorrow. Haven't been there over a year now, or out of Japan for that matter, and as the last days fly by I'm beginning to wonder...

Is there really anything out there? It my be the island thing, or the homogeneity of Japan's population, but it seems that I've caught whatever it is that makes some of the Japanese not quite worldly. I cannot imagine being anywhere out of this country. Imagining myself going out to the streets of Amsterdam (where I have a few hours in between flights) and the air would be cool (and, hopefully breathable, unlike the insane humidity of Kyoto's summer), the people blond (and big) and the city so different. I've been to Amsterdam in 2002, liked it a lot.

Even less can I imagine being back to Israel. It's not like I have lost contact. Through the miracles of modern texhnology I was able to keep record of whatever our neighbours were dropping on us where, and which of our heads of state was inolved in what scandal. But - Israel is a state of mind. Once you are out of its limits - you only think you know.

Ok, time to move. Sincerely hoping to write a lot about the trip. Sayonara, Kyoto!

My Sad Songs

What is your ultimate sad song?
That is a question someone might have asked me during some (drunk, perhaps) conversation , thus eliminating the need for this post.But, unlucky for you, reader, no one did. So here it goes. Thing is, I don't do sad songs. Not as a music choice, but mostly not as therapy. I don't listen to sad songs when I'm sad. I really don't understand people who do...Is it because I'm an escapist? I've been told many times by my girlfriends that the process of wallowing in depression and self pity to the appropriate soundtrack is something to be enjoyed and cherished, but I fail to do that. My life would make a very weird movie where the character's darkest moments of grief and anguish would be accompanied by some outrageously upbeat body shaking Latin tune.

I'm telling you this because that is what makes my ultimate sad songs so special. Cause they have managed to overcome my instinctive objection to anything trying to tell me how sad life is. I have thought a lot about these songs I chose, and they have one thing in common - they are songs that tell a story, with eloquence that, like a good book, like art is supposed to, gently erase the boundaries between your private world and everything else in the universe. So I invite you to listen to them with me. (Unfortunately, the player embedding didn't work, so just press the twango icon with the right button and open in another window)

The first one might be considered somewhat of a cliche, and comes from way back from my impressionable youth. Unlike, I suspect, the other two, this one is probably well known to my readers. The song is "Vincent" by Don McLean . It is about Van Gogh, and the lyrics make use of the images in his paintings to create an atmosphere. Another thing I like about it is that the writer, rather than shouting out his on pain, as more "conventional" sad songs do, is actually thinks of something outside himself and his world, something we all should be doing much more of:


"Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

How you suffered for your sanity

How you tried to set them free

They would not listen they did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..."

Aw Gawd.....

Next one is a Spanish song, by the great singer-songwriter Joaquin Sabina, who's art has pretty much dominated the last 3-4 years of my life. While Spanish lyrics occasionally tend to be very emotional and explicit, every Sabina song is an independent universe , and while I don't understand some of the cultural allusions (not to mention, am nowhere near this level of Spanish) they are incredibly real to me. This Song - "Con la frente marchita"- is a very familiar story of love, interrupted by geographical distances and cultural differences, between our Spanish author and a woman from Argentina. I have no real reason to identify with the story, and it is the little details that make it one of my ultimate sad songs. For a long time it was the one song i didn't dare to defile by translation attempts, but I really want to share it with you:



"Sentados en corro merendábamos besos y porros

Y las horas pasaban deprisa entre el humo y la risa.

Te morías por volver "Con la frente marchita" cantaba Gardel

Y entre citas de Borges, Evita bailaba con Freud.

Ya llovió desde aquel chaparrón hasta hoy.

Iba cada domingo a tu puesto del Rastro a comprarte

carricoches de miga de pan, soldaditos de lata.

Con agüita del mar Andaluz quise yo enamorarte,

pero tú no querías más amor que el del Río de la Plata."

"Sitting among friends we exchanged cigarettes and kisses,
and in smoke and smiles the hours flew by.
You were dying to go back, "Con la frente marchita" sang Gardel,
And amidst quotes from Borges, Evita was dancing with Freud.
And the rain came down pouring from then until now...

Used to go every Sunday, to that place at the market to buy you
Pastry chariots, soldiers of tin.
I wished to concur you with the sea water of Andalusia,
But you needed no other love than Rio de la Plata"

Just so you know I have tears in my eyes while translating this now in the middle of Kyoto university library. Specially when i get to the end (skipped a few verses)

..."Te sentaba tan bien, esa boina calada al estilo del "Che".
Buenos Aires es como contabas, hoy fui a pasear,
y al llegar a la Plaza de Mayo me dio por llorar
y me puse a gritar: "¿Dónde estás?"

Y no volví más a tu puesto del Rastro a comprarte
corazones de miga de pan, sombreritos de lata.
Y ya nadie me escribe diciendo: "No consigo olvidarte,
ojalá que estuvieras conmigo en el Río deLa Plata"

..."And you looked so well, in that beret in the style of Che.
Buenos Aires is just as you've told me. I went for a walk,
When I got to the Plaza de Mayo I broke down and cried,
And I shouted and called "where are you?"

And I never went back, to that place at the market to buy you
Pastry hearts, little tin sombreros,
No one writes to me anymore, saying "I cannot forget you,
How i wish you were here by my side at the Rio de la Plata".

Now, those of you who haven't lost interest by now, we come to the ultimate song. This on unlike the others is very personal to me, and people who know me won't need help understanding why I identify with it. The song is "Amelia" by Joni Mitchell. It is dedicated to Amelia Earhart, the lost pilot, but it talks about many many things, and despite its serene melody is a monsoon of meaning and emotion, at least for me.

"I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain.
It was the hexagram of the heavens,
It was the strings of my guitar.
Amelia, it was just a false alarm.

The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets through to you.
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm"

Once in my dorm appartament in Jerusalem I spent one of my extremely rare Bridget Jones moments playing and singing this song over and over again over a bottle of white wine. Talk about things you didn't know about me, reader.

"Maybe I've never really loved
I guess that is the truth
I've spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm..."

P.S. If any of my readers, specially the blogging ones, want to share their song choices with me, I'm very curious!

Leaving Egypt : Spring for Japanese and Israelis

The spring has finally come. Is it the nature of spring, to always come "finally" and never "too soon"?

The cherry trees are in full bloom, and I shall later perform my duty and share some photos from all the "hanami" - blossom viewings I have attended. But let me tell you first this little secret - the blooming sakura tree is most beautiful not when you come to view it, armed with a camera and the intelligence provided by weather broadcasts, but when you come upon it unexpectedly - a shimmering cloud floating over your head in the dark, as you climb over the closed gates of your university at 3 am., on your way from a wild salsa night. Appearing, breathtaking with it's unearthly purity of colour, in some spot of your everyday life, seen by you alone.

As I have witnessed this year, spring in Japan is all about blossoms and graduation/entrance ceremonies, as it is also the end and beginning of the academic year. Walking around the Kyoto University campus I was able to observe Japan's finest youth going through the various changes the season invites: first, the gorgeous, colorful hakamas of graduation ceremonies. The graduates proudly prancing around with bouquets, accompanied by excited parents and taking group pictures in those familiar Japanese poses...The proud graduates soon change into suits and go searching for jobs, faced with the rather depressing prospect of becoming a "shakaijin", productive member of society, rather than the president of "ghost stories" club or whatever. But the nest doesn't stay empty for long - the entrance ceremony, coinciding with the cherry blossoms, fills the campus again with hopeful freshmen with their shiny suits, and all those annoying club representatives, spreading invitations and wasting the rain forests and my patience as I try to make my lonely gaijin way in the crowd.

(As a tribute to the entrance ceremony only one of us was attending, our controversial Israeli - Malaysian trio also decided to bring out the suits)

In Israel, the main event of the spring is the Pesakh, also known as Spring Holiday or the Freedom Holiday. It is the ancestor of the Christian Passover, and commemorates the Jews leaving Egypt where they had been enslaved and tortured by the Pharaoh. Leaving not before performing various miracles and tricks including covering Egypt with frogs and cutting the Red Sea in two, since the Pharaoh, unlike many other rulers of the world, wasn't excited by the prospect of getting rid of the Jews. The holiday is one of the main pillars of the Jewish calendar, and in the modern Israeli society it is the day of getting all the family together, allowing them to fight over all the small grudges they have been holding for a year, and cooking insane amounts of food. That food then has to wait, so appetizing, while the family sits to the table to read (how Jewish is that) the story of the salvation from Egypt, and whatever our ancient philosophers had to say about it.

One of those comments in the scriptures caught the eye of the host of the Pesakh ceremony conducted by the Israeli community of Kyoto. It said that on this day, each of us must think of himself as he was the one leaving Egypt, and moving from slavery to freedom. Our host (far from an Orthodox Jew, father to a beautiful half Japanese baby boy) noted, that the Hebrew name of Egypt - "Mitzraim" comes from the root "narrow", a space closing on you and slowing down your movement. He suggested that it can be looked upon as a metaphor to all the things in our life that are holding us back, denying us our freedom and progress.

Sometimes we are too attached to our own flows and weaknesses. Too comfortable in the narrow spaces we confine ourselves to. It was with doubt and with mutter that the people followed Moses from the familiar slavery into the vague hope. And, after the glorious triumph over the most powerful ruler of his time, leading his people out of Egypt, he had to walk the desert for 40 years (a miracle of its own if you are familiar with Middle Eastern geography) to take Egypt out of the people. And that is the lesson we are called to remember and to pass on - chances might be handed by the sky, but changes come from within.

So, once the cherry petals glittering in the wind settle down, and the air clears for a new year, my last year on the current Japanese adventure, it is time for me, and possibly you, reader, to put some effort into freeing ourselves of some of our fears and inhibitions, doubts and prejudices, and become more ready for the journey.

Sounds of Israel - 1

A friend from home came to stay with me recently, and her presence, combined with the fact I haven't gone home in almost a year and wont be able to until the summer, made me miss Israel more and more. This specific project I started thinking of (quite different than "working on") after me and my girlfriends had a little cultural exchange over You tube at our autumnal sleepover, but now it can also serve as therapy, so why not.
The Japanese like to claim that no foreigner can ever fully understand Japan, its culture, its people's behavior and so on. I claim that it is possible to get a pretty good understanding of what modern Israel and its people are by personal experience, even a short visit (it can also pretty much be crossed through its length in a one day car ride, very small country, keep in mind). But since for most of my friends such a visit will have to wait for now (in some cases, till hell freezes over, unfortunately), I thought of a way to introduce some of the aspects of Israel's reality and society through its sounds and occasional images. As I've noticed, most foreigners don't really understand how culturally different Israelis are from the image of European Jews of old most of them have from movies and what not. Well, prepare to be surprised. 8-)

I tried to introduce artists of different genres, not necessarily music I listen to myself. I'm everything but an expert on Israeli music (although, in my defence, I did date the guy who wrote the music column in my university's newspaper for a year and a half) I was also limited in my choice by what you tube has to offer, which was surprisingly a lot for, again, such a small country.

I'll begin with one of the most interesting things that happened to the Israeli music in recent years - The Idan Raichel Project. This guy Idan Raichel (and yes, it is his real hair) incorporated his own music and lyrics with the traditional music of the Ethiopian Jews, using Ethiopian musicians and singers, their religious singing and the Amharic language. Providing an insight to one of the most interesting and least explored cultures brought to Israel by immigrants, the project became insanely popular, and the radio stations played it to the point we all wanted to kill the guy. This song is my favorite, and I like the video that shows very typical views of the old city in Jerusalem. Their other songs have amazing female vocals and many other cultural influences, I highly recommend.

The Idan Raichel Project - From the Depths


However, embracing the country's cultural diversity wasn't always as much of a trend as it is now. For a few good decades the country's popular music scene was pretty much monopolised by western influence (as well as musicians of European origin). Some of these people were quite talented, and a lot of them started in the army bands - an important institution in Israeli music. They were young, the country was young, and between the wars they were having quite a good time (as at least the 60's-70's movies seem to suggest). One of the greatest bands that came out of this period and outlived it by far is the band Kaveret (the beehive). These guys, who can be seen in the first video from Eurovision 74, proceeded to become the most unique and influential rock band of their times. What was great about them was their sense of humour that came through in the lyrics, the personages they created, the performances and so on. Few years ago they united for a concert, and the stadium was full of young people who weren't even born at the time they last performed, but who knew all the words of the songs.

Kaveret - I Gave Her My Life


The Eurovision song, seemingly a cute song about hopeless love, was seen by many as a political song, talking about the Yom Kipur war that had just ended, peace with the Palestinians and so on. The English lyrics (that can be found somewhere in the net) don't really reveal all that, but supposedly the songs title - "I gave her my life" refers to the prime minister Golda Meir. "I gave her my life/ I stood on my knees/ Trust me, everyone,/ It wasn't worth it.

I tried hard to find something recent, but 84 was the best I could do. This is another very famous and very funny song (I might find the lyrics later) and you can appreciate the band's music style.

Kaveret - Yo Ya


While as i mentioned, the center of the stage was occupied by the western styles of music, Israelis of the eastern ("mizrahi" - Moroccan, Tunisian, Yemenite and so on) origin had music styles and talents of their own, but those were for a long time neglected and (as western culture would usually have it) looked down upon. The biggest name in this field was doubtlessly Zohar Argov (referred to as "the king"). As you might notice the name Argov sounds quite Russian - the singer was made to change his last name by his managers to become more familiar to the general public. Zohar's voice and talent could not be ignored, but neither, as u may see by the absurd dancers in the background of the video, was the mainstream able to connect to it very well. The singer himself died of drug abuse at a relatively young age. I myself am not a big fan of the traditional "mizrahit" music style, as it was rarely followed by interesting lyrics and was, for the most part, depressing as hell. But this song I do like a lot.

Zohar Argov - The Flower in My Garden


Those days are gone, however, by now artists of eastern origin have taken over the popular music world, and, more importantly - any modern Israeli artist wherever he or his ancestors might be from, views the eastern music styles as part of his cultural background and of what composes the distinctive "Israeli" sound. One of the first to combine eastern sounds in pop music was a band called Etnix, whom I remember well from my school years. This song is not their most famous, and I include it for two main reasons - the social reality portrayed by the lyrics and the fact at least one of my friends might enjoy the guy in the video 8-). It is the actor Sami Huri, and the actual band are the dudes with wigs dancing in the field. The story plays again on the culture clash between the Israelis of European origin (ashkenazim) and the mizrahim. Because of the way he dresses and looks, the golden chain he wears and the music he listens to, the blond girl considers our hero to be a useless punk, a "local Al Pachino", and so he returns to his roots and goes back to the "hood" to party. Please ignore the bar-mitzva boy introduction by a couple of pretty famous comedians.

Etnix - Black BMW


In case the selection is getting too ethnic for you, here is some hardcore rock, where you don't miss much by not knowing the language as the words are pretty impossible to make out as it is.
These are Hayehudim (The Jews). I knew very little about them until in the army I once shared a room with a girl who was all about that music, and this song in particular. These two are actually a married couple in real life. They met (as if to prove a point I previously made) in an army band.

Hayahedim - Ella


Another big name in the rock music is Berry Sacharof, whom I also didn't appreciate until I saw him in concert on some Student Day in Jerusalem. Very interesting musician, great part of his career was side by side with Rami Fortis. I had much trouble choosing a video with a good sound that would transmit the energies of a concert, so to my rocker readers I strongly advise to listen to some more. Fortis and Sakharof can also be heard in English under the name Minimal Compact.

Berry Sakharof - This Is How It Is, Loving You

Ok this is getting long, so perhaps for a first taste that should be enough. If by chance any of my Israeli readers has corrections and suggestions, feel free. Coming up next (if i see someone is actually reading and listening): Zionist hip-hoppers, Hebrew rappers, Israeli Idols (thank God they didn't call it that!) and so on. Stay tuned.

My Stripes and Feathers

I am not some stone commission

Like a statue in a park

I am flesh and blood and vision

I am howling in the dark

Long blue shadows of the jackals

Are falling on a pay phone by the road

Oh all they ever wanted

Was just to come in from the cold

(Come In From The Cold / Joni Mitchell)

The past week or so, I would have trouble answering the question how am I. The good and the bad are like layers upon each other that do not come in contact.

Well, the only bad thing, that hardly qualifies as a tragedy but is getting to me, is the trouble I have been having with installing Internet connection in my new place. I know from others such things occasionally become a problem in Japan, but the inconvenience of living without it together with a little pressure from home, the completely insane amounts of phone calls, forms, letters ans messages I had to endure, all with no consideration of me not being a native Japanese speaker, no help (which I admit, I didn't really ask for) and, probably the only thing I could really use, someone who would understand how difficult all this really is.

The cloud of Japanese bureaucracy hanging over me, together with a sudden attack of what seemed to be nostalgia, but is more likely, in my case, to be hunger for something new, left me with a general feeling that I am in a black stripe. My mom always told me life had stripes, black and white, good and bad. That's why realizing you are in a black one is actually half a comfort, since you can expect an improvement.

A sudden wave of relief was not late to follow. First, the chase after the rare and fast fading Kyoto snow led me up Philosopher's Road, into the mountain temples, that remind me why was it that I came here, and what I love about Kyoto and my life at this point.

Later, my new friend and role model Melinda took me to a calligraphy lesson, were I was not only able to get into a mood of concentrated creativity, but also find out I don't suck in an art so demanding. Hope to continue that seriously.

Another foreign resident of Kyoto had unknowingly contributed to me jumping to the next stripe, by inviting me and my friends to his birthday party, where under the influence of surprisingly tasty drinks I was able to have a lively conversation with people outside my usual gang, spread my feathers a bit, after forgetting I had them for a while. And another little piece of joy in a girls life - having a "high-spirited" conversation all the way to sleep with one of my forbidden Malaysians, and a completely absurd mail exchange with the other.

Ever since my energies are high and I walk the city happily and proudly, being its only bikeless citizen. and from the balcony of my newly furnished apartment I can almost see a new spring coming.

The Gypsy and the Refrigerator

I choose the rooms that I live in with care
The windows are small and the walls almost bare,
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.

(Leonard Cohen / Tonight Will Be Fine)

As unpredictable as the shifts of one’s destiny can be, so it happened that my first time of renting an actual apartment is now, in Japan. For years I have been residing in dormitory rooms and apart from occasionally being bothered by neighbors and roommates, I liked it. So I am kind of curious to see how I would do in this mission of building my own, though temporary, nest from scratch.

Well, notwithstanding the indescribable tortures of Japanese bureaucracy, the need to conduct all my business in Japanese very different from what I’ve studied back home, the unreasonable amounts of money needed for signing the contract, I am actually enjoying it. It occurred to me recently that it is not the thought of having my own place that makes me happy, but the feeling of change, of an adventure. I even enjoy the relative poverty I have been thrown into by the expenses of moving, and the big empty room with nothing but a futon and a window viewing a Japanese style roof and a bit of a bamboo forest.

The emptiness of the room sure makes me understand one of the basic concepts of Zen aesthetics – the beauty of the void. As much as I’m looking forward to designing this room in a way that represents my personality, I can’t help feeling that every piece of furniture or decoration I bring in takes away some of the options. (My personal style of interior design is, by the way, something between a monk’s cell and a French brothel. That means very minimal, but with a lot of red-scale colors).

My first purchases (and also last till next month – no money left) were a kotatsu (a great Japanese invention – a low table with installed heater) and a refrigerator. The thought of me owning something as solid and prosaic as a refrigerator is beyond hilarious to me. I actually have to pretend to be only renting it for a year to avoid attacks of commitment phobia. But other than that, and the Kyoto winter closing on me its cold embrace, I’m really happy. I’m starting a new life again, walking great distances every day, falling asleep on the floor of my empty room while trying to imagine what may this new life bring, and occasionally waking up to scenes such as this snowy day. Living the Gypsy Chic.

On Freedom and Drawers

I'm emptying my drawers before my (still uncertain) move in the beginning of next month. Throwing away few kilos of waste always makes me feel good, I forgot how much! The new sensation of lightness, freedom. Before leaving to Japan I got rid of so much stuff, I felt like I could fly. Apparently, I hate stuff. Clothes I'm not wearing, old school notes I'm never going to read again, all kinds of old newspapers and ads, all the things the routine of modern life forces on you, trying to fill you world with them. And once in a while you must protest against it, saying "to hell with it all. I can take off this moment and go anywhere I want. I refuse to be burdened down by things that have no real meaning in my life."
Another benefit of cleaning up your world is that you might reveal under the waste things that really do matter to you. For example, I stumbled upon a pack of music Cd's I forgot all about. Those few were the only ones I brought to Japan with me, having the others sent later. These I wanted with me at the start of my new life, and it wasn't because of the music, most of which I could keep on my comp or something. Most of these Cd's were gifts from my friends back home
for my last birthday before leaving. If there is something I'm ready to suffer the extra weight upon my suitcase and my existence for, it is the memories of people I love. Gifts are the only thing I never throw away, meaning that during one's life it is impossible, and perhaps, wrong, not to accumulate any burden, as long as you try to keep it a positive one.
Life is such a complicated dance. Like walking on a wire, you must always keep the right balance between so many things. Between being free and being involved, remembering and leaving behind, accepting and changing.
All the things I'm learning at this point in my life, from observing my own reactions to things and those of the people arround me, all of it only became possible after I threw away a very big part of my familiar reality. I know now I will never regret it.

The Floating Bridge of Dreams

The title is the name of one of the chapters in the Genji Monogatari, Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, one of the chapters associated with Uji town. Among the few, very few I might say, reasons I liked the idea of living so far from the center of Kyoto was Obaku's proximity to such a cultural land mark.


Uji, in the past a fashionable resort for the Kyoto nobles, is now famous mostly for its green tea, and of course, Lady Murasaki, who's statue overlooks the river.

The Uji chapters of Genji Minigatari are among the darkest in the book. It is the stage when the protagonist, and more importantly, the author reaches an age of buddhist disilusionment, and the colourful costumes of the Empirial Palace are replaced by the stormy sky over Uji River. Unsurprisingly, reading these chapters back home made me imagine Uji as a gloomy clouded place. But my few visits there were blessed by good weather, blossoms and, recently, momiji leaves.
Starting a cold winter morning in a cosy but fancy Uji restaurant with an extremely non Japanese breakfast of strawberry jam toast and cinnamon tea, I proceeded, along with my matcha crazed friend, to enjoy the leaves, and then shop for some tea ceremony artifacts.

Autumn Winds

What is one to do when sick at home other than uploading pictures and reminiscing? (Well, watching online Seinfeld episodes, but you don't need me to tell you about that).

Autumn has come to Kyoto. With it came the cold, the Christmas themes, and...everything is made from pumpkin and yam. But you haven't experienced Japanese autumn unless you've absorbed yourself completely and actively in the admiration of the autumn leaves and their changing colours. Gazing dreamily from a window or passing by on the way to school doesn't count. Admiring or enjoying something in Japan inevitably requires a camera, and the presence of the rest of the Japanese people there with you. I believe it's a substitute to the Heian era court gatherings, there the guests would each compose a haiku about the tree in question (sakura, momiji), while enjoying tea or sake. Thus it became a shared experience.


The maple leaves are a bit late this year, but all over town the autumn is visible. Visions of autumn leaves (yellow rather than red) make my memory leap over my entire life in Israel and back to my childhood memories, at least some kind of a distant, postcard version of them. In the words of an Israeli song writer "I remember the 80's/always when it rains/as if there was winter all the time". Autumn reminds me of Petersburg, The Summer Garden and Pushkin (the poet, and all the places in the city somehow linked to his person and work). The only living memory of my own I managed to produce is of coming back from school with my friends through streets named after various revolution leaders and picking up colourful maple leaves (the leaves are big there, as the trees are tall, an image a little different than the Japanese momiji.

Here however, apart than enjoying solitary viewing of the autumn around town and uni, I also participated in a "leaf viewing tour" along the Philosopher's Road with a colourful group of ladies, as in best of Heian tradition. The maples, as I said, were still pretty green, but if you are loyal to tradition you can always find the perfect tree and admire the hell out of it.




Resting from this adventure we had a night of movies and warm wine in the Mukaijima dormitories. Warm wine reminds me of Jerusalem ("as if there was winter all the time"). Two of my most memorable encounters with it took place there. First - New Year's eve, 1998. I'm on a bus from Haifa to Jerusalem, to celebrate at the place of my brother's wife to be. Due to the rain the traffic is incredibly slow, it's taking hours more than it should have, as I'm sitting on the bus's back door stairs, and the back of the bus is stuffed with soldiers, sleeping on the floor, singing, talking on cell-phones, we all begin to fear that's how we will meet the New Year. However, we make it barely, and In the apartment warm wine is being prepared with kinds of herbs and berries and it smelled great and was very strong too.
Second one already as a student, a gathering and sleepover at my friend Noa's place. The wine was made with oranges and cinnamon, preceded by a wonderful pasta dinner and followed by Monty Pyton's Holly Grail. Definitely one of the best winter nights. This time in Kyoto was mostly practice - we made it with mandarins (that's what I call it) and cinnamon, and it had the desirable effect of making everything feel good. I'm suspecting the Kyoto winter will bring a lot of improvisations in that field.

Meanwhile - more pictures of the autumn views and more to follow.

My First Halloween

Japan, it seems, has imported a few holidays from the West, but since they really have no roots in the local culture they are mostly about decoration and highlighting the everyday life. And, of course, shopping.

Autumn is a busy season for the Japanese shop keepers / restaurant and bar owners. First come the pumpkins of Halloween, with occasional bat seasoning. (El Coyote had a Mickey Mouse with bat wings!). Not to forget, autumn is also momiji season, and the red maple leafs decorate absolutely everything long before they are seen on the actual trees. And though its only middle of November, in a few shops I've already seen the sales-ladies dragging out little Christmas trees, santas and deers. To my personal relief, they go easy on the baby Jesuses so far.

As to my personal experience - me and my group of friends who also know Halloween only from American movies decided to take a ride on the "imported Holiday" train and celebrate Halloween without much preparation and effort. This meaning minimal costume and a short appearance on a party until our last train (23-30, hate it, will be over soon as we move closer to town).
Now the party wasn't an actual Halloween party, but a regular night in the Metro club, moreover, a "Beatles and Stones" night. Thus we were the only ones dressed up, but being a foreigner in Japan you gradually lose all fear of seeming weird or inappropriate, as you are always it. Riding the train in our costumes we hardly got more looks than usual.

As we all met in Metro and had less costumes and people we passed ours around, and what came out of it was mostly a game called "fun with wig". Presenting our gallery of interracial cross dressing: Afro-Malaysians, Afro-Russian, Afro-British, Afro-Portuguese and yours truly with a hair-do not that far from original.














So, In today's issue of "Anthropology for Dummies" : what is it with people(s) and masquerades?
Since Halloween is originally supposed to be about ghosts, monsters and so on, so I would say its design is to provide a healthy way of dealing with demons and evil spirits, with your fears and with the Unknown.
Someone was explaining me once about the Rio carnival, that it has social functions, as it blurs the boundaries between classes and gives the poor a chance to celebrate, dress up and proudly march the streets, literally shaking their tail feathers.
Purim, the Jewish masquerade holiday, of which i will tell later and possibly celebrate in Japan as well, apart from dressing up, requires you to get drunk until you cant tell the bad guy in the Purim story from the good one. So I guess many cultures got the idea that occasionally one must escape the familiar and defined, shake it up a bit and look at the world from a new perspective.

My Search for Zen

Tofukuji （東福寺） temple made its way to the top of the list of places I must see for no apparent reason. I've seen a few postcards of the place and noticed the train station of same name, that's it. But somehow in past few weeks it was clear to me that next time I go traveling alone it will be to Tofukuji.


In general, of all the numerous temples and shrines in Kyoto, I love those of the Zen sects most. (So if any of my readers want to recommend one I'll be grateful). Mostly because they are less overcrowded with golden Buddha statues that don't agree with my either religious or aesthetic ideas. Instead you get quiet wooden corridors, smell of rain and forest and enigmatic stone gardens.



As I arrived to Tofukuji, my first impression was that way too many people were walking around and no Zen was likely to be had. But as it goes with the big temple complexes, you can always find a secluded corner, some tree or rock no one else is admiring at the moment. And when you breath in the temple's atmosphere, nothing disturbs you anymore. The feeling of raw wood beneath your bare feet, the open corridors drowning in green take your mind away.



I was swept by the Japanese obsession with changing seasons. I can't explain why is it that I can't wait for the leafs to change color but it's true. What do I think will happen once they do? One of the greatest things in Japanese culture is its ability to celebrate nature. The most simple things, colored by ritual, give reason for harmless and effortless joy. And I believe the human soul demands it - the promise of change, of new hope and of continuation at the same time. After all, maybe it's all there is. Flowers blossom and scatter, people live and die, and seasons come and go.



When the leaves turn red this place will be violently beautiful. Now it's just a touch of blush, a hint of change, a promise of a miracle. If I were a Japanese poet it is this passing moment I would find most beautiful.