The General's Son: Journey of an Israeli in Palestine (16 page)

I expected hundreds of students to be lined up for classes with Master Higaonna, a master with an international reputation who’d reportedly taught in Tokyo for twenty years and had upwards of one thousand students. However, he had just moved back to Tokyo after spending a few years in his native Okinawa, and his previously huge following had lost momentum. He didn’t even have a permanent dojo of his own and would teach at various dojos around Tokyo.

None of that mattered. I enjoyed most aspects of life in Japan, and the karate training was rigorous and at times painful, which was what I wanted. I trained two and sometimes three times a day, five days a week, and spent as much time as I could with Sensei Higaonna. At the time, there were mostly British, Australians, New Zealanders, and Europeans training. Most of them had come for a few weeks or months to experience karate in Japan. I was able to see and meet some of the greatest Japanese masters within the traditional martial arts world, and I came to realize the immense respect that martial arts masters of all disciplines had for my new teacher.

Gila and I soon met a community of Israelis there, and we all lived together in a “gaijin house,” where we rented a room. It was the first time we were in close contact with Israelis since leaving Israel, and we both loved it—although Gila felt more at home in the group than I did. Even though we did not talk much about politics, it didn’t take long for the other Israelis to figure out that I was the son of Matti Peled and where I stood on the important issues.

I was also set apart by the fact that I was following a strict and very demanding training regimen. Six days a week, I was out of the house by 8:30 in the morning and did not return till midnight. Our housemates kept a more leisurely schedule, waking up at noon and relaxing together before heading out to work or to explore. I would return home exhausted and go straight to bed, and the others would stay up socializing until two or three in the morning. This led to some friction between Gila and me—she wanted me to go along with everyone else’s routine a little more.

Still I enjoyed being there with the other Israelis, and I felt that everyone respected what I was doing. For money, I worked as a waiter in a fancy Italian restaurant called La Scala, in Tokyo’s upscale Kojimachi district. It had a piano bar upstairs and the pianist, an Italian named Ciro, would sometimes grow bored or want a drink. If so, he would play the Israeli tune
Hava Nagila
, and I’d go up and chat with him.

The training took place each morning from 10 a.m. till noon. I would then go with Sensei Higaonna and one or two other students to have lunch. Training would resume at 1 p.m. and last until 3 p.m. During those lunches, Sensei would tell stories and talk about interesting things. He spoke of his own Sensei, An’ichi Miyagi, who was a behind-the-scenes type of person and not widely known. “If people don’t see, I don’t tell them,” Sensei Higaonna said, referring to his own teaching methods. He believed knowledge had to be gained the hard way. At the time, he was also in the middle of an intense research project on the roots and history of Goju-Ryu karate, and he shared a great deal of what he was finding with me. I was glad I was there, and I even had the chance to train with Sensei Miyagi many times over the years.

One day on the way to lunch, Sensei Higaonna said to me, “October, you
Nidan
⁴
grading.” Which meant that I could take my exam for second-degree black
belt that October. I was floored. It had only been about a year since I received my first-degree black belt, and getting my second degree so soon after was a huge distinction and reward. Later, Mrs. Higaonna, an American and karate student herself, said to me, “Miko, you have been training hard and this is a well deserved reward for the many hours of training you put in since you got to Japan.” It was another shock to hear praise for my hard work after a year with the reticent Sensei. This was one of a handful of times where he gave me praise, albeit in an indirect way.

I guess that Sensei Higaonna was in many ways similar to my father. Higaonna did not readily express affection or concern, and except for rare occasions I did not feel that my hard work was of much interest to him. Not unlike my father, he spoke little and when he did he lectured, wanting little conversation or feedback from others. Meanwhile, I was in awe of his mastery of karate and his authority just as I was in awe of my father’s intellect, military achievements, and ultimately authoritarian personality. It was many years later, after I became a father and a teacher myself, that I realized the shortcomings of this type of silent authoritarianism. Ultimately, it must come from a severe sense of insecurity. Certainly the never-ending demand for perfection and endless hours of practice that Sensei Higaonna imposed upon himself reminded me of the way my father was with his own work.

Around the time I received my new rank, Gila and I had enough money saved to go on our dream trip to Asia. Charlie Ramble, an Oxford PhD and an old friend from the London dojo, who had also attended our wedding, lived in Kathmandu at the time, and he invited us to stay with him. We knew he could point us in the right direction in terms of travel, so we decided to start there. We spent two-and-a-half months living, traveling, and trekking in Nepal. The country was underdeveloped and sanitary conditions were appalling, and yet at the same time it was an enchanting place. I got so sick with amoebas that I lost 20 pounds. At one point Charlie suggested that we go to see a young Indian astrologer who lived in Kathmandu. His name was Indu, and he came from a long line of Indian astrologers. The only problem was that I had to find out the exact time of my birth, and the only way to do that was to call home. As I waited for someone at home to pick up the phone, I found myself thinking, “Please let it be my mother who answers, because I don’t want to have to explain this to my father.” Sure enough I heard my father’s short and impatient “hello” on the other end. We had a brief chat and then, trying to sound as casual as possible, I asked him, “By the way do you know what time of day I was born?”

“Why, are you going to see an astrologer?” He was too sharp, and there was no chance of concealing my intentions, which I assumed would seem silly to him. I
had no choice but to confess that that was indeed why I wanted my time of birth. He did not disapprove, but he was a rational person and his only reaction was, “Oh well, just don’t take what he says too seriously.”

Charlie advised us to travel overland from Nepal into India. For me, India was love at first sight. Yes, poverty was widespread, but that could not hide the immense beauty of the country and its people. We took a bus from the border and as soon as I saw the Indian landscape I sensed the richness of the country: enormous rivers and endless forests, huge tracts of cultivated land, and a vast countryside.

It was a very long ride and because in India schedules ran differently than in the West or Japan—in other words, keeping with a schedule was not a priority—we did not know when we would arrive at our destination. The bus stopped several times along the way for people to buy tea and food. A tea
wallah
, or “seller,” would set up a huge pot with strong spicy Indian tea cooked in milk. He would serve the tea in a cup set on a saucer. I remember the first time I saw an Indian pour his tea into the saucer and then drink from the saucer itself—I remember wondering, “Why in the world would anyone do that?” It occurred to me later that it was a way to cool the boiling tea so it was drinkable.

We arrived at our destination, Patna, the capital city of Bihar state, after midnight—instead of the originally projected 9 p.m. The city was completely quiet, and there was not a soul in sight. We walked around for a bit, not knowing where to go or what to do, when a rickshaw driver came up and offered to take us to a hotel. We had a good night of sleep and the next day we were off to Bodhgaya, following in the footsteps of Gautama Buddha.

I had never been in a country with so much beauty and generosity until then. I felt that the country and its people were offering so much and asking for so little in return. When I toured the monumental statues of Mount Abu or the breathtaking architecture in Fatehpur Sikri near Agra, I thought of the great works of art and architecture one sees in Italy. In India, there was no mention of the artist or architect as though it was all offered selflessly, as opposed to the West where every work of art and every building seems tied to its creator’s ego. It’s not that the art in India was any more or less beautiful than the art in Europe, but in India I felt that the creators demonstrated a sense of selfless generosity.

In February of 1987, after two-and-a-half months in India, we went back to Japan to continue working and training. A few months later, Sensei Higaonna dropped a bombshell: “We moving to America, if you want come, welcome.” He and his California-born wife decided to take their son and move to southern California, where they planned to open a dojo. I still wanted my third-degree black belt and the thought of going back to Southern California after all these years appealed to me. So it was a no-brainer for me to follow him, and Gila agreed.

We decided we would visit Israel first before going to the U.S. It was our first visit since we left in 1984. We spent six weeks with our families and both of us felt that we did not want to leave. We realized how much we loved and missed our
homes and our families. Our siblings had young children at that point, and we wanted to be part of it all. In some ways it would have been a lot easier to stay, rather than starting over once again in a new country. But something stronger than all that was pulling me away. I felt I had to continue to train and study, that what I had accomplished so far was not enough. We decided we would go to California for two years, enough time for me to reach third-degree black belt and for Gila to study something, although she was not yet sure what that would be. As the time for us to leave came nearer, we were torn and heartbroken.

We landed in Los Angeles on Halloween day, 1987, with $3,000 in our pockets. My first feeling was that I knew Los Angeles and remembered it fondly. A friend drove us to San Diego, where Sensei Higaonna had already opened his dojo. We arrived at night, and I got into my uniform and went to class immediately. The following day was the grand opening of the dojo, or opening ceremony as it is called, and I was scheduled to take part in the black-belt demonstrations.

At first we felt a little adrift in the U.S., but we quickly became focused. I spent endless hours training with Sensei Higaonna, teaching at his dojo, and doing odd jobs, and Gila worked as a nanny and eventually enrolled in acupuncture school. It was not easy though. I did not want to be a waiter any more. I remember working at a particular restaurant, pretending I was local but not really knowing what anything on the menu was. A customer asked for a salad with no croutons, and I had no idea what those were so of course I gave him a salad with lots of croutons. I was waiting for the day when I could earn my living another way.

In 1989, I received my third-degree black belt, and I was ready to open my own dojo when an opportunity arose to do just that. A Japanese acquaintance told Sensei Higaonna he was opening a karate school and wanted him to recommend an instructor to run it and teach. It was the beginning of a fascinating, fulfilling, and fun career. In fact, it was another dream-come-true and the thought of ever returning to teach in Jerusalem had completely left my mind. From that point on one thing led to another, and there was no stopping it.

I opened the karate school on May 27, 1989, in a residential area of San Diego. A few friends helped me take down the walls and convert a regular house into a karate studio. We decorated two pillars and the front porch with the Japanese words for Goju-Ryu Karate-Do. It didn’t occur to me that I needed a sign in English as well. When I finally thought to place one along with a phone number in one of the windows, people began calling. A year later, I had 10 or 15 students and needed to move to a different location. I found a basement in a newly built apartment building around the corner.