Missing Christmas in Japan

TAMARA MICNER

Christmas is a complicated holiday for Jews. I have a Hindu friend whose family always gets together, exchanges gifts and buys a tree for their house but, in my family, no one would consider doing any of that. Christmas seems to threaten Jews uniquely, perhaps partly because our population is by far the smallest of any major religion. What does Christmas matter if you’re one of 1.6 billion Muslims or 1.1 billion Hindus – and you likely live in a non-Christian environment in any case?

The ubiquity of Christmas for Diaspora Jews is one reason that the minor holiday of Chanukah sees more prominent public celebration than any other Jewish holiday. If Vancouver streets and windows weren’t full of Christmas trees each December, would it even cross our minds to plant a huge chanukiyah in the middle of downtown?

Last month, while traveling in Japan, I experienced my first Christmas in a non-Christian country – and it was a mechiah. I’m a Jew who usually enjoys Christmas music and parties but, as it turns out, I would welcome the relief of “missing Christmas” every year.

December in Japan feels like a winter in the West after New Year’s: cold, dark, warmed by teas and soups (and ramen and udon), the same for everyone. You aren’t bombarded with a holiday that may not be yours, with sights and sounds and activities that may not apply to you, that have been spread and diluted to feel non-religious, but fundamentally connect to Jesus.

Peace Boulevard in Hiroshima was as Christmas-y as it got: a mostly secular lights display along the curved sidewalks, with mostly Shinto/Buddhist viewers. A red dragon breathed fire. A tall harp twinkled blue. Trees were dotted pink and white. It was festive, uplifting and religiously neutral. The Japanese have co-opted the trappings of Christmas for outdoor ambiance (and commercial profit). Shops and arcades play the cheery songs; snowmen and trees fill some shopfronts and restaurant windows. But that’s it.

Christmas in Japan is a couples’ holiday. You see them out to dinner, on tatami mats, red-faced from sipping sake, sometimes smoking while eating. They visit temples in kimonos, the women with neat up-dos and bright makeup. They travel there by man-led carriage, the “driver” (runner) dressed in black leggings and matching bandanna, Samurai-style. The visits are an occasion, but not timed to a religious holiday.

New Year’s, however, is for families and temples. People return to their hometowns and have a week off work or school. They visit temples on New Year’s Eve or Day, and queue for more than an hour to be blessed by their shinshoku (Shinto priest), breathe the wafting incense, make a small offering (like a five-yen coin for good luck) and receive fortunes on folded strips of paper. While waiting, they sample eel, dumplings, sweets, Buddha-head rice crackers, even buy DVDs. It’s like a fair, with very ordered lines. It was the closest thing in Japan to movies and Chinese food – and I’d take it again any year.

Tamara Micner writes plays and non-fiction, and performs improv comedy and tap dance.

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