Of Winter

The cold of winter in the Miura Peninsula comes in waves：three cool days, four cold days and then two mild days. Although the temperature barely dips below freezing, bitter cold comes occasionally. This is because the houses and office buildings do not have central heating and are not insulated as in America. The Japanese have small gas or oil heaters, used only at certain times and in certain rooms. Thankfully it has not broken my spirit, but getting out of the shower, or out of bed in the middle of the night can chill down to the bone.

This said, there are many inspiring points of winter time on the Miura Peninsula.

The season started with the New Year’s celebration. In Japan, such is a 4-10 day event, where families get together from all over the country to enjoy traditional activities and seasonal foods.

New Year ’s Day at the Matsusaki house began with the annual hike to Hiro-o Mountain to see the sun rise on the new year. The house was decorated with New Years’ colors (red and white) and crafts (bamboo, pine and berry creations) and special New Years’ foods (soba noodles, sweet black beans, rice cakes and much much more) were served. Family came from out-of-town and played with tops, flew kites and drew shodo characters (Each individual chose a character that represented their resolution for the coming year. For example, Oka-asan wrote “continue” and I wrote “return”).

Winter is the local area's driest season. This brings many fair and deep blue skies, which unveil views of Fujisan, the sunset and the stars.

The cold and snow of the mountains brings many birds down to the coast. Many new breeds, colors and sounds have graced the skies and trees.
Also, the air is often crisp. I have greatly enjoyed the feeling of walking home from the car at the end of a well fought day; bundled up, with the scent of winter in my nose, its fresh air in my lungs and its slight breeze on my face.

As with the other seasons, winter has its special flowers. The most prized blooming is the ume, or plum blossom, but the Japanese always like to fill their street sides and personal gardens with flowers. A popular seasonal potted plant is an import from the Mediterranean known as shikuramen. It is a strong flower that comes in many different colors and blooms vertical petals that appear as flames.

Thank G-d, winter has brought much blessing and joy. May safe, healthy and fruitful days continue in the coming spring.

Zushi

I moved into Zushi town in mid-December and it has quickly become one of the most fascinating places that I have ever lived.

Before painting its picture, it is important to note that Zushi has a “town feel.” Compared to the streets of Tokyo and Yokohama and Yokosuka suburbs, the people are friendly. Many shops are local and each house and garden has a distinct character. There are few street lamps outside the town center and the nights are dark and quiet. I live near a set of school grounds, and I often see children walking and families supporting their children’s sporting events on the weekends.

Zushi town’s main draw is its beach. Within an hour southwest of Tokyo, scores of youths travel down on hot summer days. The waves are small, but the waters glow sky blue just after sunset. The sand is brown and the waves wash up many colors of shells, stones and seaweeds onto the shore. Windy days attract windsurfers and surfers, even in the winter. The beach itself faces west and offers brilliant views of the setting sun and Fujisan. In fact, this past Sunday about 100 people watched it set with red radiant clouds and a full seven color rainbow.

Just a short climb from the beach is Hiro-o Yama Park. Sitting atop a tall coastal hill, the park has postcard views of Fujisan behind the green cliffs and blue crashing waters of Sagami bay. It has a small animal park with birds, turtles and Japanese macaque monkeys (of which I will write more of in the future).

The bustling town area is centered around two train lines. Surrounding are small surf shops, groceries, flower shops, antique shops and a large variety of small businesses. Also, there are noodle and sushi shops as well as Italian, Thai and French restaurants and bakeries. Nearby is Zushi Plaza, which houses a library, town meeting center for government, recreation and hobby groups and an indoor swimming pool.

I live a mile inland from the beach, amidst thickly forested hillsides. I have traveled a few times to a forested area named Nagoye. This past week I went up into its bamboo forest. I climbed a steep hillside, using bamboo stumps and shoots as my ladder, and sat for some time amidst the wondrous vegetation. The wind would blow strong, loudly rustling its leaves and bending the tall, skinny and hallow poles back and forth. It felt like the massive steel-hard trunks could snap and fall at any moment, but its roots held strong and I was safe.

Above the bamboo forest, is a set of tiered rice and vegetable fields. An old man and woman farm the property with a group of young field hands. The old man is skinny and wears a big green brimmed cap that could have been taken from a farmer in the cornhusks of Nebraska. The woman is bent and wears a head rag. She has yelled at me to leave the property a couple of times, but her husband cools her down and smiles.

The big attraction of the area is its old white ume, or plum blossoms. I have become close to the ume: watching its white flowers against the deep blue sky, its petals glow translucent against the sun or mejiro hop from branch to branch.
Thus is the extent of my knowledge of Zushi town. I hope to stay for the Spring and write of the changes.

Afternoon with Oto-osan

1/25/09

On a sunny afternoon, Oto-osan and I set out on a bicycle trip around Zushi town.

First we headed for lunch at a small ramen shop. The shop was housed in a thin yellow duplex, with floors as large as 2-3 bedrooms back-to-back. The ramen shop area was just large enough to fit a stove, room to stand and cook, a table and four chairs, tightly. Japanese style: no space wasted.

Oto-osan and I waited outside for 40 minutes, before entering. (Later, Oka-asan laughed loud and said that he was crazy for waiting so long for a simple ramen shop, but I didn’t mind. I was with Oto-osan and there was peace.)

As we entered, we were greeted by an old thin man with glasses, a small white cap and a wide smile and his daughter: a roundish woman with glasses, long tied-back hair and an expressionless face. Oto-osan told me that they slept (with possibly other members of the family) on the second floor and used the ramen kitchen to cook their own food. They cooked up some tasty ramen and we ate.

Next we rode onto Nagoye bamboo forest. Such is the place where Oto-osan volunteers once or twice a week.
He told me that the entire forest (about the size of two Olympic sized swimming pools) was in fact one tree, with all roots connected underground. One shoot takes only three months to grow to a full size of almost 50 feet. Preservation work (cutting down old shoots to give room and nutrition for new shoots to grow) greatly extends the life of a forest. For example, there is a forest in Kamakura that has been preserved for over 500 years.

Oto-osan showed me the bamboo club’s workshop, where they take cut-down shoots to make fences and various crafts. He gave me a bamboo cup and we headed out of the forest and up a hill to a sunlit tiered garden.

Once inside the garden, we saw an old blooming plum blossom, or ume, aglow in distant sunlight.
Ume blooms small white, yellow or pink flowers in the winter. As where cherry blossoms, or sakura, are in bloom for one week, ume flowers for one month. Its sweet-smelling flowers attract many kinds of birds and insects.

We asked a gardener for permission and headed over to the relatively large and sprawling ume. We stood in admiration for sometime, when mejiro (a small, roundish and light green jacketed bird with white circles around its eyes and a grey breast) flew to the other side of the tree.

Oto-osan told me that when he was in 4th grade, he caught mejiro with a net and kept it in a bamboo basket for one year. He fed it rice and flowers and let it go with its health.

We sat and watched the green and white contrast glow in the sun, as mejiro jumped from branch to branch, flower to flower, coming closer and closer to Oto-osan and me. It came as close as seven feet, feeding for some time, and then we decided to walk off. When we had walked 20 feet from the tree, mejiro, flew away.

We got back on the bikes and rode into town. First, we stopped at Zushi Plaza, where there was a shodo exhibit. Local calligraphers were displaying there work to the public and congregating.　　
Oto-osan showed two of my recent works to the group. They were surprised that a gaijin, or foreigner, could write with balance. A calligraphy teacher with radiant brownish eyes and some English conversation ability asked for the work. He said he wanted to inspire his students, displaying how one can rise many levels in six months. By the grace of G-d. May it continue.

We stayed for some time until I realized that it was getting late. The sun was just about to set at Zushi beach!

Oto-osan lead us there. He rode at a frantic pace. I could hardly keep up. We went down a main street, along a river and through some thin side streets and arrived at the beach. I was anxious, but we arrived just in time. The sky was clear and the sun set lined an orange glow just above the horizon.

After, we headed home. Oka-asan, Kaori-san and Asahi were waiting for dinner.

Adventure 14: Takayama

1/2/09-1/4/09This past winter break, I took a trip to Takayama: a town in the Japanese Alps, rife with well preserved history. I went with a friend and we stayed in a hotel for two nights.

We set off on a Friday morning with a five-hour bus ride, passing through mountain lakes and alongside a wide green river. Near Takayama, we took a break at a rest stop deep in snow. The vast whiteness and snow smell brought fond memories of youth. Soon we drove deeper into the mountains and progressively deeper in snow and arrived at Takayama.

We got off the bus in a cloudy flurry, walked around town and made it back to the room an hour before sunset. There we made preparations for Shabbat, lit the candles and made Kiddush over some wine and challah from Rabbi Binyomin.

Shabbat morning we made a large Kiddush meal and set off for a day hike around town. Snow was packed on the ground, trees and buildings and the sky was cloudy. We went through a set of well-preserved old street homes. Their small stature and slick geometric architecture made me feel as if I was in a fairy tale of ancient Japan. Then we climbed a hill, saw a good view of the town and swerved through its thin streets for a long time. Eventually, we found a highland park with castle ruins. The trail up was lonesome and iches deep in snow. As we reached the white and eerily silent ruin grounds, it began to flurry. We stayed sometime in silence in the wondrous winter scene and then returned to the room for Havdallah.

The next day we awoke to fair skies, receding snow and clear views of the surrounding mountains. First we headed to a morning market of trinket booths and food stands. A popular new year’s treat named mitarashi dango (rice boiled and pounded into 3-6 marble-sized balls, coated with a mixture of soy sauce, sugar and spicy peppers, stacked on a chopstick, and then cooked over an open stove) was widely sold and eaten.

After, we headed to Hida no Taka, a village of preserved straw-roofed farm houses and then took a bus to a rotenburo, or outdoor hot spring, amidst cold air and mountain views.

After we took a set of trains and returned home, refreshed.

Matsusaki Family

On December 14th, I moved in with a new family in the town of Zushi (of which I plan to explore and write of in the future). Their name is Matsusaki and the members of the house include a grandfather, grandmother, their eldest daughter, her husband and their four year old son. I live with the grandparents, Oto-osan (father) and Oka-asan (mother) on the first floor and Kaori, Iwahito and Asahi live on the second floor. The inhabitants of each floor have their own entrance, kitchen and laundry and most often live and eat separately.

Oto-osan and Oka-asan also have two more daughters. The elder is married, has two young boys and lives within an hour away. The younger is a world traveler. She married an American and currently lives in England.

Oto-osan and Oka-asan are both retired and enjoy their own hobbies and spending time together. Oto-osan enjoys shodo, exercising and a bamboo club, where he helps preserve local bamboo forests once or twice a week. Oka-asan enjoys learning English, ping pong, and spending time with friends.

Oto-osan has been teaching me shodo nearly every night. He is knowledgeable of the art and “way” of shodo and uses his soft deep voice to teach profound lessons. For instance, last week I had a breakthrough. I made my personal best work with a set of characters that mean: “autumn storage, winter stock.” My initial idea was that I had reached an acceptable level on that set of characters and would move on to something new. To my surprise, Oto-osan insisted that I continue with “autumn storage, winter stock.” I made a few works but none were near the level of my “breakthrough.” Oto-osan stopped me and said, “First inspiration is best. Usually you are against your ability. Go beyond. No limit. This is shodo (writing way).” Such was striking, and broke my haughty complacency. I continued with increased concentration and made better and better pieces throughout the night.

Oka-asan is a great cook and sets a beautiful table with multiple plates. She has many multi-colored eye-catching dish sets and decorates the house with worldly art.

Iwahito, their son-in-law, was a heavy weight Judo champion in his youth. Currently, he works a library. Kaori takes care of Asahi and the house.

The eldest four are very gentle, but Asahi is a little spark plug. He runs around the house, jumping around and laughing loud, and crawls up into his father’s arms and buries his head like a little monkey. Sometimes, Asahi will run down the stairs to greet my return home from work or to say “goodnight.” He is a very smart boy and I hope to teach him a bit of English during my stay in the house.

The room I sleep in is of "traditional style." It has tatami (thatched floors) and shoji (paper windows) that glow in the morning. I continue to fold and put away a futon every morning and take it out every night. In one corner, there is a wall designated for scroll paintings. Each month Oka-asan changes the painting, giving the room a new feel. This month's painting is the above portrait of a small bird sitting on the branch of a plum blossom tree.

Living with the Matsusaki family has been a great blessing and I hope hope for many more happy days together.

Foliage of Japan

The Japanese have a great appreciation for nature, and particularly for the colors of autumn. During this time, the reds, yellows and oranges of the momigi (Japanese maple), ginko and various other deciduous trees set the landscapes and gardens afire.

The momigi is world famous for its hand-shaped leaves and its brilliant hot red color. Its trunk and branches are usually crooked and asymmetrical, but well balanced. Its thin branches wave and shake in the wind, but the leaves hold on until late December. Many leaves clench up like a fist and die on the branch, rather than allow the wind to detach them from their source. Because of their stunning beauty and smallish stature, the Japanese plant them near their homes and throughout their personal and public gardens.

The ginko has pale yellow fan-shaped leaves and grows to the size of an oak. The Japanese often plant them along roadsides and flank them next to momigi (making a striking yellow-red contrast).
My two favorite spots for foliage viewing were a small garden near the Chabad Tokyo house and from atop Takatori Mountain.

I visited the Tokyo garden about twice a Shabbat for five consecutive weeks in November and December, watching the change. I would stroll through and bask in its peaceful atmosphere, taking moments to sit and watch the sun set the momigi leaves aglow. At its entrance were tall ginko, standing like guardians. Past the entrance were 30 feet of rock steps, with momigi running along both sides. Within the garden were stepping stones, over a dozen momigi and a small pond at its center. The still surface of the pond reflected the autumn colors sharper and clearer than a direct view.

Takatori Mountain was an ideal spot for viewing the deciduous trees of the hills of Miura Peninsula. During my lunch hour, I would run up the trail to the lookout tower and pray amidst a sea of orange and green (and the occasional yellow of a ginko).

Now the leaves have fallen, and the clear skies, starry nights and cold breeze of the winter have arrived.

Chabad Japan

For the past months, I have continued my Jewish studies and Torah observance at a Chabad House in Tokyo. I have spent the weekly Shabbat, the holidays and some excursions with a very special family.

The family consists of Rabbi Binyomin, Rebbetzin Efrat, and their five children: Moshiach (approx 8), Zalman (approx 6), Chaya Mushka (approx 4), Pinchas (2) and Levi Yitzchak (8 months).

The Rabbi is fiery and immensely stringent in his Torah observance. He nearly always has a big bright smile on his face and seems to speak all the words that come to his mind. The Rebbetzin is wise and centered and does a fine job sustaining the innocence of the children (who are sheltered from TV and computer games and thus spend their days reading and playing with their imaginations). The firstborn, Moshiach is inquisitive and mature well beyond his years. Zalman, who looks and acts like his father, is wild and full of energy. Chaya Mushka, the lone daughter, is bashful to guests, but sings and dances with her brothers. Pinchas is strong willed and very happy when rested. (Once, when asked why he would want to go to Mt. Fuji, Pinchas responded, “to dance.”) Levi Yitzchak, the baby, is feisty and rarely cries for attention. The children have learned Hebrew and Yiddish from their parents, and learn English from the guests.

The family’s mission is to bring the light of religion to the Jews living in Japan and teach the ways of G-d to the Japanese (sometimes the Shabbat table will have as many Japanese as Jews). Their most admirable attributes are their kindness and sincerity. From what I have seen, they live true lives. They think as they speak and act as they believe. The family is very strong in their faith, and I have yet to see them flinch or compromise.

Keeping kosher in Japan is a challenge. They cook most of their own food, milk rural cows, slaughter chickens or cows for their meat and have their wine and other food products flown in bulk from abroad.
The story of Binyomin and Efrat in Japan began seven years ago, when they arrived in Tokyo with $400 in their pockets. To survive to this day, they have been supported and sustained by a string of miracles. One instance occurred a few years ago, when their landlord asked them to leave their home (due to noise complaints). As the deadline to leave approached, Binyomin was nearly out of options and walking with his Japanese friend Muto. Muto asked Binyomin, “Where is your G-d?” Binyomin patted him on the back and said, “Don’t worry, G-d always helps.” Within 30 seconds, a man pulled over his car, greeted them with “shalom,” and offered them a ride. The driver was a kind Japanese gentleman named Sakamoto with interest in Jewish composers and culture. Through the next moment’s conversation, Sakamoto (pictured here with Muto in NYC) heard of Binyomin’s plight, offered a free place to stay in Tokyo and ended up paying all the bills (except for the telephone) for one year.

When asked how long they plan to stay in Japan, the Rebbetzin responded, “Until (the messiah) comes.” Thank G-d that they are here, for they have been a refuge for me in difficult times and have helped many people.