I can think of no better intro for my first Times of Israel Blog post than this: at the Avishai Cohen show at Blue Note Tokyo, everyone tip-tapp-head-bopping and a Japanese man enthusiastically yelling, “Shalom” as the jazz great and his quintet enter the club. 

The audience is peppered with Israelis, even at my table, where the server mistakes an Israeli’s drink request of a margarita for the pizza. Thirty minutes later, she comes back and apologizes–they are out of margherita–how about another pizza?

Here, apart from some innocent gaffes and miscommunication, Israelis experience a kind of liberation. And not just from this lookout at The Blue Note, where Avishai has been coming for the last decade. I’m speaking from my three years of hosting Israelis in Japan. I think of our WhatsApp groups with Israeli locals, our growing Friday night Shishi events, Israelis in Japan Facebook groups, and the constant stream of Israelis DMing our guest house Instagram – all this, despite the steady stream of biased news from BBC and Al Jazeera comprising our public Japanese international news coverage. Here in Japan, Israelis and Jews get a break. 

We are on vacation from much of the alarming discrimination and growing tension surrounding the frequency of antisemitic attacks in Europe, Australia, and the US (though one recent guest had been on Bondi Beach during the horrendous attack). They all come with their own trauma and PTSD, whether their sister’s bedroom was hit in Ashkelon, their dear sister survived Nova or didn’t (we’ve hosted both), or they come from K’far Aza or Kibbutz Be’eri. The stickers line our shoe closet and now, a book with washi pages. We talk late at night over Japanese whisky, some Bamba, sakura mochi, and Shlomo Artzi. Sometimes it’s over a plate of hummus. The exact details don’t matter; they tell me they feel at home and free here.

Japan may be one of the last ports of freedom for Jews. There’s no hassle whether they are in kippot or rock the Israeli flag on their mochila. While it’s a culture of respecting boundaries and volume, it’s not that speaking Hebrew is a problem. Plus, there’s sushi, cameras, vintage shopping,  and plentiful nature. The shekel goes far now; there’s no tipping culture, and direct, round-trip El Al flights are increasing from two to four times each week. Tokyo beckons, and mountains of wagyu await. Japan may be the finest, softest landing and playground for Israelis. Even our McDonald’s shines. 

And that’s not even talking about the emotional, mental, and physical hiatus they need. Japan offers a hush that every single guest of ours has soaked up. They are calmer here, and they deserve it. People seem happy to line up here. No one cuts. Everyone exits the train first before new people get on. The body relaxes from years of war and tension. 

From the geothermal onsen baths to a packed train that is still, somehow, mostly silent, Japan is a wellspring of peace. It’s the Japanese omotenashi, or hospitality, maybe. But it’s also simply providing the space for people to breathe and experience a different kind of movement. It’s stepping into an opposite culture for a trip that holds rest, even with excitement.

I know the promise and hope “The Big Trip” holds–a finding oneself, but after such a long war, many of our guests know themselves well. They’re simply needing respite from the longest miluim service, or months at a time in Gaza. A window for them to write again, read, or rediscover their love for playing guitar or cooking. It’s simply the opportunity for protected time that is the magic ingredient. 

And for as much as this Japan-life offers, we are not completely exempt of tension, either – not completely. They still pass small gatherings for a “Free Palestine”. For as many of our Israeli guests say they go around freely saying they are Israeli when asked, there are people who sometimes still speak ill and accuse them of everything hateful. And these guests, who become our closest friends, still have to deal with it, here in Tokyo, between trips to gardens, jazz bars, or Uniqlo. I hear their stories as we sit around our table in the evening, sometimes with mint or yuzu tea, sometimes with saké/Nihonshu. 

They are ready to discuss the war and perception with whoever actually wants to talk and not just bully or call them names. And I hear them, patient and kind, when recounting the person who cursed at them while they sat at a teeny bar in Golden Gai. When they breathed deeply while ignoring. I marvel at them as they experience Japan without their best friend or sibling who was killed on October 7 or more recently.

For the most part, meaningful exchanges happen. Maybe minds are opened. It often happens easily, like when Barak befriended a great barman at a jazz kissaten. For the Japanese community, our guests may be the first Jew, the first Israeli they ever meet. And the joy and mutual kindness and respect will be enough to nullify any bias, bad news they take in from their dose of BBC or Al Jazeera. This is the hope. This is part of being a Light to the Nations, or l’goyim. It takes movement, and in this case, it helps to have a Suica card. 

That is the worst of it, the uncomfortable confrontations. We could keep it all about foot tapping and how, economically, Japan is more doable than ever before, even at this swanky jazz club, and how it’s wide open for those who embrace Japanese culture. But I’m a longtime resident, and I always want my adopted culture to be this place of goodness for our guests and for Jews, at large. I’m a mom of Jewish children and a kind of mom to the 3k + Israeli guests we’ve hosted. I look out for potential problems and ways Japan may shift with the number of foreigners and the unsettling news bias. I am invested in ensuring that Japan remains the bastion it is. Our local police meet periodically with us following intifada attacks in other countries. They want to make sure we feel secure and heard. Heiwa, in Japanese, means peace, and it includes us. 

Japan is a place of soft, muffled voices in a café, of the strange miracle that so many thousands cross Shibuya Scramble at once, and there is order. We reserve spots at restaurant tables with a phone and a wallet. Lost items are returned intact. You can be yourself within a respectful culture. We don’t elbow our way to get what we need, and it works. Traffic is quiet. Little horns, if any. No yelling. 

There is matcha. Bowls of ramen for vegans and even those who keep kosher. There are Japanese families who wish to host Israelis and hear their stories. The humanity in us wins. 

Israelis access a place to decompress, be themselves, and maybe, even heal. Recently, all across Japan, it snowed perfect, fluffy snow. Even in winter, there is a lightness, a blue sky, and quite often, clear visibility to see Mt. Fuji. 

I look around the iconic jazz club. Despite everything outside – mounting tension with Iran, attacks on Israelis and diaspora Jews in various countries, here, we have what may feel like an impossibly sweet reality. Our outside only features a harsh spring wind, pockets of snow, and crowded last trains. Avishai sings his version of Gershwin’s “Summertime” to a cheery Israeli and Japanese audience, and it may be just that. 

Some of our guests are so smitten by life in Japan that they return to study the language and make a life here for however long. Some keep coming back for more of this—an atmosphere where they are refreshed and feel renewed excitement to sail back to Israel to their families, studies, or units, revived. See, it’s not only about food and shopping. This is the real soft power of Japan–it’s the hush, and it’s good. 

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