2 July 2004 (13 Tamuz 5764)
As my departure from Japan for Israel becomes imminent, I am not only getting busier and busier with the preparation for it but also starting to think more and more about its implications on my life in short and long terms. Although at least we researchers may be connected with each other electronically in the four corners of the world, various physical and sociocultural barriers that still separate us seem more real than theoretical now.
(Re)starting an old-new life in Israel will not require me, I hope, any drastic sociocultural (re)adjustment as I had to readjust myself to Japan eleven years ago upon my return from Israel, wasting a number of years. I feel that this precious experience has taught me how to adjust myself culturally to any society in principle, though I have of course certain preferences and there are societies I will not choose to live in on my own will.
In addition to social adjustment, I have also been making conscious efforts not to rely on Japan (or Israel in this respect) physically. This is one of the reasons why I have become a minimalist without many physical possessions, except for the "minimal" number of books and music CDs. Although there are of course some good things in Japan, I will not miss it so much socially and culturally. There will not be many things I will miss here physically, either, except for one thing: bookstores.
I have visited a number of developed countries, including Israel, US, UK, Germany, France, Italy, etc., but nowhere else did I find such a large number of well-stocked bookstores as in Japan, at least in big cities. In this respect Israel has been doubly amazing me. On the one hand, all the bookstores there seem more like kiosks in Japanese terms. On the other, however, most of the Israeli intellectuals I have met have personal libraries with an incredible variety of books of professional and general nature and in a number of languages at that. I have been wondering how they find these books, but at the same time I have been feeling that the world of nonintellectuals who know only Hebrew, unlike those who know only Japanese, must be quite limited because of the small number of books available in Hebrew, compared with the so-called world languages.
9 July 2004 (20 Tamuz 5764)
There is a theory by a Japanese neurologist about the relationship between the Japanese language and the perception of certain sounds. I first read about it many years ago when it was first proposed. I am taking an interest in it again now because it may explain why I am bothered by the sound of wind bells (furin in Japanese) and have to struggle with it in the neighborhood every summer, while the majority of people here seem to be not only not bothered by it but find it pleasant to their ears.
Since I know nothing about neurology, I cannot judge this theory by myself, nor do I know how other neurologists evaluate it. At any rate, it says that those who have acquired Japanese (or one of the Polynesian languages) as their mother tongue perceive sounds of wind bells, insects (such as crickets), rain, wind, etc. with the left brain, while native speakers of other languages perceive them only as noises with the right brain. This difference, the theory says, derives from the predominance of vowels in Japanese and Polynesian languages.
My hypothesis is that as the knowledge of one's mother tongue is affected by massive exposure to and/or active use of other languages, the perception of these sounds may also change. I fear that I may have lost the ability to perceive them with the left brain, finding them bothering, as I have been using Japanese only as one of the three or four languages on a daily basis for more than 15 years. I do remember, however, finding the sound of wind bells pleasing in my childhood, when I was purely monolingual in Japanese and was not "contaminated" with other languages.
Finding a possible explanation for a problem does not automatically mean finding a solution for it. Although I have less than two months in Japan before my departure for Israel, I still find myself asking my neighbors to stop hanging wind bells on their balconies. What really bothers me, however, is not only the sound of wind bells per se, but mainly the fact that these people cannot always imagine that what is pleasing to them may disturb others, so they end up forcing it upon the whole neighborhood. I only hope that this lack of consideration for others is not due to the exclusive use of the Japanese language.
16 July 2004 (27 Tamuz 5764)
Linguistic and sociocultural differences (and maladjustment to them) are not the only causes for difficulties one may experience in a foreign country. Different foods one is not accustomed to can also make one's life there difficult or sometimes even unbearable. After all, foods are more fundamental to our existence, though for me speaking with someone with a good sense of humor also constitutes food not only for intellectual but also physical nourishment, and we human beings can be quite conservative in this respect.
It is lucky that I seem to be able to manage better in Israel, where I will start living again soon, than in Japan even gastronomically. Quite a few things I like there are either nonexistent or extremely expensive here; locally brewed beers are probably the only thing I do not like in Israel. On the other hand, I do not have any special attachment to most of the foods here, including sushi, sashimi etc., which are considered "Japanese foods" par excellence.
There is, however, one Japanese food I will greatly miss in Israel: Sanuki udon. For those unlucky people who have not had the gastronomic pleasure of tasting it or even of hearing its name, I would like to say that it is a special type of udon (white noodles made from wheat flour, salt and water) originally from Kagawa (formally known as "Sanuki"). The texture of quality Sanuki udon is far superior to that of choicest spaghetti al dente. Of course, eating is believing.
Since my move to Israel became definite, I have been trying delicacy Japan can be proud of in various restaurants in Kobe and its vicinities. Ironically, of all the restaurants the one that has really amazed me (called Suzume) is located not far from my apartment in Kobe, and I found it only recently in spite of its location. Have read how lovers of lovers of Sanuki udon living outside Kagawa went all the way just to eat it there and described their satisfying experiences, I am planning to make a "pilgrimage" to Kagawa on my way to Ehime, where I am supposed to teach a four-day intensive summer course on Jewish languages and cultures in the first week of August.
23 July 2004 (5 Av 5764)
It often seems that humor, especially sarcasm, is my native language in addition to Japanese in that I have acquired both of them without formal, a priori process of learning. The enigma, however, is that no one around me in Japan, both in the past and in the present, seems to have sarcastic sense of humor, or I may simply be aware of such people who helped me acquire it.
Japan can be a difficult place for people whose native language is sarcastic humor. Of course, it has different types of humor of its own, including puns, rakugo and manzai as well as spontaneous humor heavily influenced by them. Unfortunately, however, I have never found any of them funny or intellectually stimulating unlike juicy Jewish jokes, for example. I have been having a lot of difficulties in communicating with my students; the more sarcastically I speak, the less they understand me (and the more they misunderstand me). Of course, this is my problem, not theirs, as I am a kind of "defective product" as it were. But for a person who is used to "pepper" it is not easy to do without it.
I have been wondering why sarcasm is more foreign to the majority of speakers of Japanese than English and other foreign languages and is often misunderstood. I first thought that this was due to Confucianism, but having found that at least those Chinese, Korean and Vietnamese students I have met in Japan seem to understand sarcasm, I had to abandon this hypothesis. I have not investigated all the cultures in the world, but the present Japanese society may be unique in its lack (and misunderstanding) of sarcasm.
Apparently, there is a contradiction. What is sarcasm after all? It is a communicative strategy of conveying what you think by saying something else. The dichotomy of the so-called honne ('what you really think') and tatemae ('what you say') in Japanese is based on the same strategy. If so, sarcasm must be understood here, which in reality is not the case. What then can explain lack of sarcastic sense of humor among average speakers of Japanese? I have asked many people, but no one has satisfied me with their explanations, nor do I have any definite answer.
30 July 2004 (12 Av 5764)
It is often said that one has to wait a century until one can describe more or less objectively a certain important event that occurred in the history of one's own country. What about an incident in one's own life? Of course, such a long time will not be necessary, but one would probably have to wait at least a decade to do so. It seems no coincidence that in the folk wisdom of a number of nations of the world, a period that is characterized as appropriate for a certain purpose in one's life is one decade.
Although I have no idea how I will see in ten years what I am experiencing at this moment, this will definitely be remembered as the end of an old chapter and the beginning of a new one in my life. I am soon leaving the apartment and the city where I have lived longer than in any other in my life, except for my parents' house in my home town.
I am used to cutting my way through untrodden field, but the road I am starting to take now is unprecedented even in my life in that no other person with the same or similar background as mine has ever taken it. I am sure that it will not be so easy and have ups and downs, but unlike other adventures I have made so far it does not scare me very much simply because there is no one who can tell me about his or her difficulties. I am determined to do my best so that someone who may follow me sometime in the future will not have to be scared unnecessarily. My energy for this adventure is all the encouragements I have received from my friends and colleagues, especially this month.