1 June 2007 (15 Sivan 5767)
Differences between men and women in their appearances are becomming smaller and smalller in the modern secular world. This has happened maily because more and more women have adopted what used to be considered men's, including clothes and haircuts. In this respect women have far more options, and men often have to run the risk of being treated sexually and/or socially deviants by immitating what used to be women's. But there is at lease one area in which women generally cannot imitate men in the way they look: mustaches, beards and whiskers.
In Japan even men do not (or cannot) grow them, which, however, do not make them look like women. I remember seeing every year some male students of mine back in Japan trying to imitate me and grow them with no great success, but of course, lack of mustaches etc. did not make them look like women. On the other hand, I have seen here in Israel quite a few women, both young and old, who have mustaches which are not downy but bristles. This is the most horrible kind of sight I have had here.
The fright I would surely take at the sight of men wearing lipstick and rouge may be more social or cultural than physical. But the terrible fright I never fail to get seeing mustached women must be mostly physical. I cannot think of any appearance that is physically more repulsive than women's mustaches. Of course, this is not their fault, but I do not understand why they do not shave them off. Having seen quite a few number of mustached women, I have even started wondering if men in Israel and these women themselves may find their bristles over their lips attractive or at least not so repulsive as I do.
8 June 2007 (22 Sivan 5767)
Some of our close friends are such an integral part of our lives that we forget the fact that they were total strangers in the beginning. Actually, when we come to this world, we know no one, and little by little we extend our circles of friends and acquaintances. Although I have more than forty years' experience in this field, I cannot help wondering and being impressed every time I make friends with people who used to be total strangers to me.
Since I was a small child, it has taken me more time than others - at least to me it seems so - in making friends, except with children. Perhaps this is mainly because I have been poor at marketing myself. There must be some first step so that others may take an interest in us. In many cases this first step has not been what I have taken actively for the express purpose of striking up acquaintance with others. Some common passive contexts for this first step I have been in include my giving talks in conferences, my saying something in class or some social gathering, and my writing something online. In these cases certain people showed interest in what I had to say and approached me; the acquaintance with some of them has developed into friendship.
When there is no such context where I have to express myself, I am in trouble. A typical context of this sort is joining a community where I know no one in advance. Unfortunately, I am not a kind of person who starts introducing myself to everyone present, and old members of the community are busy talking with each other and pay little attention to new comers. So a good first step to getting out of solitude is to greet someone who is also a new comer him- or herself or a non-core member. Once I make the first acquaintance in a community, the subsequent ones become far easier.
This is what often happens at cocktail parties and happened, for example, in the synagogue in Kobe and a synagogue in Jerusalem where I have been davening regularly since last October. When I visited there for the first time, I knew no one, nor did anyone approach me to shmooze with me. In both places it took me quite a while to make the first acquaintance. In the latter, for example, it was only in the seventh month that I managed to pass beyong the first stage. I heard someone there speak Yiddish, so I approached him and started shmoozing with him in Yiddish, and someone else heard us, approached me and even invited me to his house on the same day, and he is kind enough to invite me regularly. Since then I have felt far more comfortable there, have been able to behave more naturally and have made some more acquaintances there.
15 June 2007 (29 Sivan 5767)
Buses and trains I have been using for commuting are the best offices for me; I either read books or write something with a laptop computer. I can work there even more productively than at home, probably because the awareness that I have a fixed amount of time there helps me concentrate on what I am doing.
When I was still in Japan, I taught ten courses at three universities four days a week, spending about 14 hours commuting between my apartment in Kobe and the universities in Osaka and Kyoto. I often noticed that other passengers next to me looked peripherally (but never directly) at what I was reading or writing in languages exotic to them (i.e., Hebrew and Yiddish), but I was only spoken to by a few people in 11 years on a bus or train, and none of them were Japanese. I once had to check the whole Hebrew Bible and its Yiddish translation; I spent 14 hours every week for two months reading them on a bus and a train. But to my surprise, no single passenger spoke to me and asked me what I was reading.
Here in Israel I spend several hours every week commuting between my apartment in Israel and Bar-Ilan University in Ramat Gan. In the past three years I have been spoken to by quite a few passengers. Before being asked what I was reading or what software I was using, I often noticed that they were looking directly at what I was reading or writing. I have always enjoyed conversations with them, as they are almost always people with intellectual curiosity.
Here is a fundamental difference between people with intellectual curiosity in Japan and Israel. I am sure that even though I was never spoken to in Japan by people other than foreigners, there are enough people with intellectual curiosity. But this curiosity is seldom expressed externally in public. This is not restricted to public transportation but is also the case with classrooms. As everyone who has taught in a Japanese university knows well, silence rules most classrooms in universities there. Few students ask their teachers questions. Drinking parties attended both by teachers and students are often the only public context where the former can hear what the latter are curious about but do no dare to ask in class.
Naturally, I consider the Israeli way healthier, hence preferable. The atmosphere that prevents people from expressing their intellectual curiosity freely in public is like high tariffs hindering free trade. Free trade of thoughts can prosper only without such sociocultural barriers. In this respect I am happy that I teach at an Israeli university and commute here. If only passengers could stop speaking loudly with their mobile phones...
22 June 2007 (6 Tamuz 5767)
Although I am used to unique encounters and meetings in Israel, especially in Jerusalem, the one I had this Thursday was absolutely unique. The story that culminated in this meeting dates back to the beginning of this March, when I received from a researcher in Uganda a proposal for an oral presentation at an international conference on Jewish names I and three other faculty members of Bar-Ilan University planned to organize this Thursday.
When we started to correspond by email, we knew nothing about each other except for the fact that both of us submitted proposals for this conference. In the beginning we two wrote mainly about bureaucratic issues related to the screening of the proposals we organizers of the conference. But gradually we also started to write about our respective research interests and academic backgrounds.
It was after we announced him that his proposal had been accepted and he informed us that actually his university would not be able to finance his trip to Israel that we became closer to each other. I promised him to do my best to find some financial aid for him, but to be honest, I had no idea where and how. I consulted with a number of other faculty members, and in the end I found myself left with no choice but to write a letter of request to the president of our university. To my surprise and joy, he accepted my request.
Unfortunately, however, my Sisyphean struggle did not end here. Two more obstacles were waiting for me. The first was how to remit money to his travel agent, and the other was his getting an Israeli visa. It was only five days before his planned flight that he received a visa and confirmed his participation in our conference.
Had I known in advance about all these insurmountable obstacles, I might not have been so stubborn in this effort. Actually, it often seemed to me as if he had lost hope for his coming here. But we have made it against all odds. I met him and his wife at the airport, which could even be a good occasion for saying שהחיינו.
I feel that meeting him in person, speaking about things we did not write about in our email correspondence and finding common interests and characteristics we did not notice before have strengthened our friendship even further. I hope he will have more chances to visit Israel and meet me here. I am also hoping to reciprocate him by visiting him sometime in the future. Thank you very much again, M.
29 June 2007 (13 Tamuz 5767)
[no update due to a busy schedule]