Korean Zionists Say the Darndest Things

I continued my very newly formed routine of using my Wednesday off to go into Seoul and do a little exploring of the city yesterday. This time, though, I had an ulterior motive as well: to begin finding a solution to my whole “way too much free time, and not enough to do” problem. I met a group of friends in the city at what was basically a mall of musical instruments and equipment, and with the help of my friend Kevin (the resident expert) purchased myself a guitar! Teaching myself guitar has been one of those things that I’ve told myself I was going to do for a long, long time. When I was in high school, I bought myself a guidebook for lefties, but don’t think I ever opened it. At the beginning of this summer, I told myself again that I would try and teach myself on my brother’s mini guitar at home, but when I found it and realized it was very much out of tune, I basically gave up. It sat it my room until I left for Korea, haunting me as an unkept promise. So for 80,000 won, I figured, “Hell, learning guitar might be just what the doctor ordered for my Korean listlessness.” I guess we’ll have to wait and see if that is true or not.

What makes for a much better story, though, is what happened afterward. We left the mall and were heading toward a park, guitar in tow, when we were stopped by an old Korean man on the street. Any white person who’s been to Korea (and probably most other places in Asia, as well) knows that getting stopped, questioned, interrogated, or hassled on the street simply because you are, well, white, is a not-too-uncommon phenomenon. There is something strangely exciting about being a physical and visual oddity while walking down the street, as long as you’re able to absorb the unbelieving stares of children and the occasional scowl of an elderly woman or two without taking it too personally.

This particular man began the conversation by asking us where we were from. When we told him we were from the United States and Canada, he then explained to us that he was a person who “studies mankind,” and so wanted to know where our families were originally from. When I told him, “Eastern Europe,” he then asked if I was Jewish, to which I hesitantly replied, “Yes,” not quite sure but interested in what his reaction would be.

When the man heard those words, he basically erupted in excitement. “Jewish!” he said. “I love Jewish people!” With a huge smile on his face, he grabbed me hard by the shoulder and began explaining his deep affection for the Jewish people. He reached up to my face and put his fingers on the crest of my nose, examining its size and explaining to me and the others that I had what was according to him a classically-shaped Jewish nose (yes, apparently that stereotype is alive and well, even in Korea). He started singing Hava Nagila, at which point I really couldn’t help but join in for a few seconds.

The man was particularly interested in talking about Israel, though. “Israel and Korea are the same,” he told me, comparing their histories and each country’s relationship with its neighbors (Israel with the Arabs, Korea with the Chinese and Japanese) and explaining that both had to fight for their respective freedom. He told me that he very much admired Golda Meir for her strength and toughness. The man also said that the Hangul people (which is how you say “Korean” in Korean) and Jewish people were “one,” and then asked me how I thought he could help Israel in the best way. I was pretty taken aback by the question (and frankly by the whole interaction), but tried to think on my feet and told him that the best thing he could do would be to spread the word to his Korean friends about how good of a place Israel is (trying to explain Israel Bonds or the JNF just didn’t seem practical at that moment). Meanwhile, the man had grabbed hold of my arm and kept a firm grip for the length of the conversation. After a certain point, I could tell that my friends weren’t as intrigued by the interaction as I was, so I told the man it was nice to meet him and bid him goodbye.

It’s tough to say whether this was a more contemplative experience than doing Tashlich in the Han River, but it was definitely more surprising. Having a conversation in broken English about Judaism and Israel with an old, probably somewhat drunk Korean man is not something I really expected I’d do during my time in Korea, but then again, I think I’ve come to realize that expectations are not a necessarily useful tool in a place as foreign as Korea is to me.

As a final note, I went running tonight with the intention of getting my regular workout in, as well as officially beginning my short-term training for the unofficial 10k I’m pretty sure I’ll be running in a week and a half’s time. I wasn’t feeling particularly energetic when I left, but about a mile and a half or so into the run, I got a sudden burst of energy, and was able to run for just about the entire length of the Chili Peppers playlist on my ipod nano, which worked out to be a little more than 50 minutes and just over 5.5 miles. This is the longest I think I’ve ever run straight—without stopping or walking at some point in the middle—so that, coupled with the fact that I was tired but not completely dead at the end, made me pretty confident that I at least won’t have any trouble finishing the 10k. I’ve found that with running, I’m at the stage that I’m physically capable of more than I think I am, so it’s really just about putting mind over matter. And thus, I leave you with my self-indulgent shout-out for the day.