Confessions

It’s one month into the New Year and I have to get some stuff off my chest. I am not an angel, in case you didn’t already know that. I hope none of this is too shocking.

Confession #1

I don’t like tempura. I tell everyone that, when it comes to food, I will eat anything. I can even stomach natto. Tempura, however, makes me want to puke (well, hours later.) The problem is, sometimes wonderful and kind people who insist on ordering for me take me out for a meal and they order… TEMPURA. I eat it. I lie. So there.

Confession #2

Remember that dirty and disgusting house I ended up at when I first arrived? Well, when I moved out I took a few extra little things with me. Here’s an itemized list:
- one pair of scissors
- a roll of packing tape
- a small flashlight
- 2 paperback novels
- half a roll of two-ply toilet paper
Therefore, I am a liar AND a thief.

Don’t hate me yet? Okay, how’s this.

Confession #3

I am a grumpy grinch!
Now, this just happened about 1.5 hours ago and I am waiting for the police to show up at my door and arrest me. My school has already been called, and I hope they accept my lame explanation.

Basically, this is what happened. In December, my students wrote letters to Santa in Canada via the Canada Post programme. The response letters made their way back but with several additional letters to kids in different parts of Japan and several for children in France. FRANCE!

I head to the JP post office, finally, with the best of intentions and some of my own mail and a package. Figuring out how to mail the package is a trial in itself, but we manage. Then, I try to forward these Santa letters and they explain to me that the envelopes are too big for their postal system… there is a huge surcharge for these things. I try to explain that these are lost letters; that they’re not mine. Confusion. I try to explain that I will put them in one envelope then and just send them back to Canada. They want to give me a special delivery EMS envelope. No thanks, why pay the extra to return mail? Why can’t I mail it surface mail? I am frustrated and tired of these letters, so I go to put them in the trash. NO!!! Okay, so they won’t let me throw them out there.

We start over again. This time, I stupidly mention that I am an English ALT at Ota Girls’ and try to explain that these letters are lost and were sent to me by mistake. They try to get someone who speaks English on the phone. I am trapped and have just about enough of the whole thing. We don’t get any further. More frustration. I try and fail again at attempting to toss the letters in their garbage. I leave. I spot a mailbox and think, “These are either lost with me, or lost with a postal service. I am sure they will have better luck with the postal service. After all, if I was in Canada…” My address isn’t on the letters, only Santa’s in Canada, and the indented recipients. So, I shove them in the box, not even considering the fact that I have another option: walk away, relax, and try another way at another time.

So, now the letters are out of my possession; I don’t know if the kids who originally mailed Santa will ever get their mail; my school was called by the post office to alert them that there was some confusion (great!); and I feel like crap and am waiting to see if the police will come get me for putting strange packages in the mail.

There, so how do you like me now?

I’m *** ***

Well, it’s done. I didn’t want to do it, but it had to be done. And now, only a few short months after my arrival in Japan, ***

I feel awful.

Below, is a copy of the letter ...***
---

LETTER

***

Sorry, it seemed to me to be a good idea to sensor this post for a little while. Check back in the future and maybe I'll re-post the details.

Last goodbye

It was understood that Aron didn’t have much time left. He was very old and frail. Yet, knowing how much power and strength and resilience he had possessed, part of me felt as if he just might outlive us all. Still, it was understood. And I knew, when I went to say my goodbye in July that it likely would be my last.

I knew this but I decided to leave for Japan all the same. How could I pass up the opportunity I had dreamed about? How could I stay where I was so unhappy? It was an unhappiness I know he understood. He knew I loved I him. I knew I could make him smile, even laugh.

I remember the first time I met him. Noah and I went to Florida and stayed with his grandparents in a beachside condo for two weeks. He came to greet us with one of the biggest smiles I had ever seen. He took our luggage from our hands and hauled it into the apartment. He had so much energy and so much love to share.

It was Saturday morning when I learned Aron Lander had passed away. I was on the train to Tokyo. I already missed him. I always will.

Onsen Weekend

I’m a pretty shy person. Well, I am when it comes to taking my clothes off. In front of strangers, people I know, doesn’t matter. I am possibly one of the most self-conscious people on Earth regarding my body. And, it’s not for terribly good reasons either. Just that I am a little heavier than I would like, I have all kinds of skin issues, and breasts that belong on someone three, or even four, times my size. There, I said it. That was almost as difficult as stripping down and hoping into a tiny, shared, public bath. I did that this past week too.

Saturday morning, with bags packed Reina and I rode out into the rain to the train station and headed north. We were going to Kusatsu, a famous hot spring resort town, to be exact. Along the way, we met up with four more young women who teach in Ota and the rain turned into beautiful, soft snow.


This was the first snow I had seen in Japan. It was dreamlike. White tufts on top of every branch and every rooftop. It was so calming, the facts that our mochas were bitter, our connections barely gave us time to buy tickets, and we couldn’t find the right bus to our hostel, didn’t phase us at all. For some reason, luck abounds in Japan and everything worked out perfectly.

(Luck, and ingenuity. Later that night, Natasha turned a Pringles chip can into an amplifier and our hostel room was filled with music, as well as talk, laughter, and choco snacks.)

When we weren’t sleeping or hanging out in our rented digs, we were soaking in hot tubs or seeking out our next bath. My favourite was relaxing in the outdoor pools at the Now Resort Hotel. It was wonderful to be submerged in the steamy mineral bath with the snow falling on my face. Hours and hours we spent chatting and turning into giant prunes. The toasty warm feeling lasted for some time afterwards and guaranteed a restful sleep.

On Sunday, we headed out to explore. The ski slopes were less than a five-minute walk. And, although none of us wanted to actually ski, we decided to check it out all the same. We walked into town toting our towels, stopping at souvenir shops and for free samples of steamy manju cake on the street.

At the centre of town was the Yubatake, the bubbling hot water springing forth and bringing with it frothy, yellow sulfur. It is this water that is the source for the town’s many onsen.


We found two public bathhouses that afternoon. Perhaps a novelty in their genuineness, they were not the most comfortable places to bathe. They were cramped, cold, and a touch grimy. Just a touch. Still, it was fun to discover these little places.


What was less fun, was having to strip in the freezing little change rooms. And, if I may offer a small piece of advice, I would suggest that you keep your socks on until the last possible moment. Its amazing how the temperature of your feet can effect your overall well being.

Sleep too. After an evening of onsen and slumber partying, the 7:30 am breakfast was draining. And so, we didn’t make it though the afternoon as genki as we might have liked. And by the time we reached the bus depot to catch the shuttle for the hotel next to our hostel, I was tuckered out.

The station? It was tired too, and nearly closed for the night. There was no shuttle bus. We called the hotel to find out the time of the next one, or so we thought. After several of us taking turns on the phone, a man who knew some English came to our aid. It turned out we called a restaurant. The poor woman kept telling us there was no bus where she was, and we repeatedly asked her when it would be arriving at the station. But, the confusion didn’t end there. The kind man didn’t seem to understand that all we needed was the bus and kept trying to help us make a hotel reservation for the night.

We tried to get a cab at the taxi stand. There was one, but it was minus a driver. And when he finally showed up, he announced he was already reserved. I spotted a cab stopped at the traffic light and ran over to ask if we could get in. No, apparently not. This time no reason was given, no window opened as an offer of explanation or assistance. In my frustration, I found myself in the middle of the intersection, yelling, “Takchi wa doko desu ka?” Where is a taxi? He pointed to the empty taxi stand. And so, we began our long walk back through town and to the hostel. And, just as we turned up the road towards our goal, a shuttle bus to the hotel whizzed by.

Thank goodness, we had another onsen to melt our stress away. Ah, that’s better.

On Onsen

When undressing at a public bathhouse in winter, always remove your socks last.

Finding Myself

I’m not going to lie. There are many reasons I decided to live in Japan. And yes, the cliché applies. I am hoping to “find myself” here. Or, at least discover a little more about who I really am. I spend a lot of time turning over dreams, hopes, and thoughts in my mind. I do this mostly before bed or between stations on the train.

But, sometimes you find things you didn’t even know were lost. Sometimes you find these things in the most unexpected places. For me, it was a small, missing link to my identity and it was in Hong Kong.

At the end of October, I had the chance to travel to Hong Kong and meet my parents for a brief adventure in a fascinating city before we all headed back to Japan. Just a few blocks from our Hong Kong hotel was the Ohel Leah Synagogue. On the Sunday morning, we decided to go and check it out.

Once past the security, we found our way to a building that was fascinating both in terms of architecture and history. An Iraqi family, the Sassoons, built this Hong Kong Synagogue at the turn of the twentieth century. It was fascinating inside. The metal work was traditional Iraqi motives and the parokhet was adorned with evil eye designs.

The idea that a Sephardic, Iraqi family could be so influential in a mixed Jewish community was inspiring. I have heard so many stories from my family about being second-class citizens in Israel, about discrimination and racism. Israel has never had a Sephardic Prime Minister. There are reasons for that. And yet here was a story about an Iraqi family having the influence and means to build a beautiful synagogue in Hong Kong.

More inspiring was the idea that Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jews could form a community together that viewed diversity as its strength, and worked to accommodate various traditions without competing stories of oppression. Persecution sometimes is used as rationale for trying to preserve one set of traditions over another, and at great expense. But here, it felt as if there was a value placed on preserving the unique aspects of the various members of the congregation.

There was something even more inspiring. A reassuring realization, perhaps. The Sassoon family was originally from Iraq. They lived in India for some time and settled in Hong Kong. And yet, they were Babylonian Jews. In fact, it seems that the Jewish people from Iraq had a reputation for traveling and living in other parts of the world. Maybe, they didn’t maintain their identity in spite of their dispersal. Maybe, the Diaspora is integral to the identity of the Iraqi Jew along with the change and adaptation that goes along with that.

I spend a lot of time contemplating the preservation of my identity as a Babylonian Jewish woman. Trying to figure out how to hang on to that unique history, knowing that if there are any Jews left in Iraq now you could probably count them on one hand. I acknowledge that I am part Ashkenazi. But I always feel a strong pull to identify with my mother’s side of the family because I feel as if it is a community and a history that is disappearing so quickly. Maybe even a sense of urgency is attached to this.

But maybe, this is something I shouldn’t worry about. Maybe this is the designed fate of the Babylonian Jew; to move on and grow in new and unexpected ways. And so maybe, nothing has been lost, but only changed. Maybe.

I ♥ Hong Kong

If I were a billionaire, I would buy a condo in Hong Kong. What a fantastic city! Not that I got to really see that much of the place. I only had four days at the end of October to get there, explore, and make my way back home. But, what I saw, I loved.

Early, early on the morning of Saturday, October 20th I headed out to catch a shuttle bus to the airport and meet my parents in Hong Kong. By mid-afternoon I was taxing to the arrival gate. And I swear, the moment we landed I could smell food. Hong Kong is a culinary adventure. There’s so much to do, see, smell and taste.

Our first destination was Victoria Peak. I guess our thinking was the fastest way to take in as much of the city as possible was to get up as high as week could. The setting sun highlighted the hazy view of Hong Kong, the harbour, and Kowloon.



That night we crossed the water to Kowloon in search of a seafood supper and the hustle and bustle of the night market. The things for sale there were touristy and cheap, but the energy was good.


The next morning, we headed out to find a historic synagogue in Hong Kong. It was beautiful, fascinating and worth it’s own story, so I will leave it at that and hopefully get to telling you more about it soon.


Adventures beckoned us in every direction. We choose random adventure and hopped on the first double-decker tram with a destination we didn’t recognize.


We rode until we tired of it and then took the subway back to the ferry port and crossed back to Kowloon for Jade Market shopping, dim sum and incense infused temples.



Dinner and a sunset were enjoyed at a small island fishing village.


Politics and free speech seem alive and well in a Hong Kong under Chinese rule. Dinnertime arguments over politics waft through the air along with the smell of fried fish. The newspapers are full of strongly worded anti-government editorials and even the Falun Dafa practitioners felt comfortable enough to protest.

The next day belonged to Buddha. We woke up early to make our way to one of the biggest Buddha statues in the world. Buddha was beautiful, the chanting from the temple was mesmerizing and the vegetarian lunch one of my all-time favourite meals.



Hong Kong is a fascinating mix. Rich urban, poor rural. Fishermen and businesswomen. Diverse people from around the world. And, lots of English.

On our last night we took a nighttime cruise aboard the Aqua Luna. What a beautiful illuminated and illuminating city.


More pictures here.