5 May 2006 (7 Iyar 5766)
It is often said that one should buy shoes in the evening and not in the morning as one's feet become bigger in the evening after using them a whole day. The same thing seems to happen to our heart; it is "bigger", or more emotional, in the evening. We can clearly see the change in the emotional "size" of our heart by comparing two letters written about the same topic in the morning and in the evening respectively. If we are to write letters to convey our positive emotions, especially romantic love, the evening is the best time to do so. But most of the letters we write are not supposed to be in an emotionally aroused tone, for better or for worse. This is the reason why it is often advised to send letters written in the evening after rereading them in the morning and perhaps getting rid of too emotional words and expressions.
In the pre-email days this was much easier because we generally had to wait until the morning to post the letters. But with the advent of email we have acquired the convenience of being able to send messages immediately after writing them. This has a price; we generally send them without rereading them in a less emotionally aroused state of mind. It is not easy, at least for me, to resist the temptation of pressing the send button immediately after composing email messages.
As a person whose chief means of communication is email, I am exposed to a greater danger of sending too emotional messages than those who use email only for sending "telegrams". When the emotions are positive, my messages take the form of exaggerated compliments, while in the opposite case, they become harsh criticisms. The former case is not harmful; I only blush when I read it again in the morning. The latter case, however, can offend the person who hears from me because of the tone of my criticism, even if its content is to the point, thus justifiable.
This danger doubly increases beyond comparison when I get drunk, which incidentally happens when I drink, let's say, more than three liters of beer, generally with someone else. Then I lose control not only of my writing but also of the temptation of pressing the send button immediately. I am ashamed to say this, but I am afraid I have made several mistakes of this sort, harming my relationship with those who heard from me. So when I know that I (have to) drink a lot, which is quite rare in Israel, I try to leave at least some self-control not to open my computer in the first place.
12 May 2006 (14 Iyar 5766)
It seems to me that we can learn wisdom more by the follies of others than by our own. When we make mistakes, we do not always notice them, but when someone else makes the same mistakes, we realize them as if we were looking at ourselves in the mirror. This way I have recently noticed at least two embarrassing mistakes I must or may have made.
The first mistake, which I must have made, is hyper-"piety", as it were, as a new or potential member of certain "clubs". As social beings we belong to various "clubs" whose membership is essentially open to all of us if we meet the necessary conditions. If you are new in a "club" or are interested to join it, you tend to be much more "pious" than the existing members so that you look clownish to others around you; only you do not notice this because you are busy trying to prove your "piety". When this hyper-"piety" takes the form of denying your full membership to another "club" which can be compatible with your new or potential membership to a new "club", you become not only an object of ridicule but also an object of pity.
The second is to shame someone in public. There is a Hebrew proverb that says, "Who shames his friend in public is as one who sheds blood." I think this applies not only to our friend but also to anyone we shame in public. I may have made this mistake a number of times, but there is only one case I clearly remember; I still blush when I recall the incident. I also remember one case of experiencing such public shame when I was still a junior high school student in Japan as an indirect consequence of a hysteric outburst by a teacher of mine. I suffered from its aftereffect even after I stopped "bleeding". I somehow managed to turn it into positive energy to prove myself to him and those who laughed at me then. Fortunately, I do not remember experiencing it any more, until someone recently shed my "blood" this way. I was not so much hurt as taken aback, especially because this person was preaching all kinds of nice things. Of course, no one is perfect, so I would like to believe that I was and will remain the only victim of the bloodshed by this person.
19 May 2006 (21 Iyar 5766)
Since I was reminded last week of a neurotic teacher who spoiled the latter half of my junior high school days in Japan, I have been wondering who then is a good teacher. Instead of tackling this question a priori, I would like to answer it a posteriori by trying to find what is common in the best teachers I have had here in Jerusalem, including, in the chronological order of acquaintance, the late Prof. Shelomo Morag (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), Prof. Yechiel Szeintuch (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), the late Prof. Haiim Rosén (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), Rabbi Dr. Dovid Gottlieb (Ohr Somayach Yeshiva) and Rabbi Mordechai Becher (formerly Ohr Somayach Yeshiva, now Gateways Organization).
In my humble opinion the most important characteristic of a good teacher, at least in the higher education, is that he inspires his students. I have been inspired by each of the above mentioned six teachers, though in a different way, to such an extent that even my life itself has been affected. Without this characteristic teachers are nothing more than talking machines.
How then do you inspire your students? There seem to be several components. First of all, you have to have uncontested knowledge about the subject you are teaching. This is a sine qua non. Naturally, this requires a certain level of knowledge on the part of students; those who are totally ignorant of the subject they are studying cannot appreciate the depth of knowledge of their teachers. On the other hand, what characterizes really bad teachers is that they are not only knowledgeable enough about what they are teaching, but they also try to justify their mistakes. This leads to the second characteristic of good teachers, i.e., their academic sincerity, which manifests itself as openness to criticisms even by their students if they are fair and to the point.
All the rest are probably secondary. You can make your courses more palatable with various kinds of pedagogical techniques, including sense of humor, use of presentation software, etc., but if you cannot inspire your students, these techniques are just gimmicks; they can only help the teaching of good teachers more accessible to their students but nothing more.
26 May 2006 (28 Iyar 5766)
There are several things I really miss about Japan. Recently I have found three health-related things I really liked there or their substitutes in Jerusalem, namely, shiatsu, edamame and karaoke.
Running, stretching and isometrics are what I have been doing for a number of years for my physical stamina, flexibility and strength respectively. I chose them as convenient ways of maintaining my physical fitness because they do require neither special equipment nor partners, so I can exercise almost anytime anywhere. There is, however, one thing that these three exercises cannot ease: stiffness in the back, which is probably inevitable as I (have to) spend a lot of time sitting in front of my computer. Of all the methods I have tried, including stretching, shiatsu has turned out to be the most effective for easing this stiffness. During the last few years of my life in Japan before coming to Israel, I used to go to a shiatsu parlor once every one or two weeks. Unfortunately, you need someone else to massage your own back. Recently I happened to see a group of shiatsu therapists practicing shiatsu on the street, asked one of them to massage my back and got their address. Now I finally have where to go when I feel unbearably still in the back.
I really like most Israeli foods and even find them more delicious than many Japanese foods, but at the same time I feel that the former are in general far less healthy than the latter, to say nothing of the fact that more people seem to have a bad eating habit, especially in terms of quantity, and less people are engaged in regular physical exercise in Israel than in Japan. When I was still in Japan, the main source of protein used to be soybean products, including edamame ('green soybeans'), tofu and natto, as well as fish and dairy products. Since I moved to Israel, meat products have replaced soybean products as the main source of protein. My body sometimes refuses to accept meat and fish, especially as they are cooked with a lot of oil here. Since I first found edamane in two stores in my neighborhood and started buying and eating them (they go so well with beer!), I can take in less animal protein and feel better physically.
I have to confess that although I like to sing both alone and with other people, I used to look down on karaoke as an unsophisticated form of entertainment, until one day I was taken to a karaoke box by my friends, experienced karaoke for the first time and realized that what I had thought about it was actually based on a prejudice. Now I consider it not only an economical means of socializing with others but also an effective method of maintaining mental health. Being just a linguist, I cannot explain the medical effects singing has upon us, but I do know from my own experience that it has helped me ease the stiffness of my emotions, then as a result, of my body, too. I know that there are some karaoke (mispronounced as karioki) bars in Israel, but the one I visited did not impress me very much, not only because the equipment was not so sophisticated and the atmosphere was not cosy enough, but mainly because naturally it had no Japanese songs, which must be the case in all the other karaoke boxes here. Since I have been living with no TV set since I started living alone, I am not so familiar with Japanese songs. Nevertheless, my karaoke experience is inseparably associated with them. Most of the songs I used to sing in karaoke boxes are what I heard my friends sing there, so every time I sing them myself, I remember not only my friends who sang them but also the experiences we shared outside karaoke boxes.
While surfing the net, I recently stumpled upon a certain file sharing program. With mingled curiosity and caution, I tried the software to download those Japanese songs I used to sing every time I went to a karaoke bar with my friends (e.g., Aki no kehai, Aogeba totoshi, Manatsu no yo no yume, Osakana tengoku, Sannenme no uwaki, Seishun no sakamichi, Tabidachi, Toki no nagare ni mi o makase, TSUNAMI, Yume no tochu, etc.). Singing along with the original recordings in an ordinary apartment is not the same as singing in a karaoke box, but listening to my favorite songs brought me back a lot of memories of some of my friends and the experiences I had with each one of them back in Japan.