Dinner with a Sensei; or, No, Sensei, No!

It is said, in Japan, that before you marry a woman you should eat her　肉じゃが [nikujaga] or meat and potato stew. This stew consists of potatoes and beef (or pork) boiled and flavored with mirin—a sweet Japanese cooking wine—and is a typical winter dish for Japanese families. This stew, it would seem, is the best way to judge what kind of wife a woman will make. That being said, Kashiwazaki Sensei has a fantastic wife!


A few weeks ago, the world-champion Judo player and current director of the bekkasei program at the International Budo University—Kashiwazaki Sensei—invited the foreign Judoka to his house for dinner. Besides the afore mentioned nikujaga, we sampled a wide variety of Japanese foods including sashimi, clams, oysters, tempura, fried sweet potato and fried rice. In Japan, it is not unusual for a Sensei to invite a number of his students to dinner; however, it is an honor to be served in the sensei’s home. The sensei/student relationship is sometimes more akin to an adult/child relationship in the west. Sensei sometimes treat their students in an almost parental fashion.



Allow me, now, to relate the importance that alcohol plays in Judo… and every other Japanese club, place of work, or group of people who are in any way socially related. Nomikais—or, drinking parties—are a common feature of clubs and work places. Basically, the members of the club or, alternatively, the boss and his employees will go out and drink themselves blind. There is much that can be said, both good and bad, on this topic. Some believe that it is necessary for Japanese people to become completely hammered in order to express themselves freely. Others say that the Nomikai is yet another form of social pressure in which you *must* drink because your boss tells you to. Many, though, see this as an opportunity to relate to your colleagues in a somewhat more relaxed environment.


In the case of our dinner—and subsequent round of drinking with Kashiwazaki Sensei—it was just a chance to have fun and, perhaps, for Sensei to show off his wide variety of alcohol. We tried, in no particular order: traditional Japanese Sake, called nihonshu (rice wine); a sweet version of rice wine known as amazake; Okinawan Awamori (with snake venom); a very rare umeshu (plumb wine) that cannot be purchased in stores; some kind of alcohol with flecks of gold floating in it; a number of varieties of shochu, which is a potato or sweet potato based alcohol similar to vodka; and, of course, beer to chase it all down. Kashiwazaki Sensei laughed joyfully and proceeded to pull out bottle after bottle while one of our members cried in panic, "No Sensei, no!" Sensei only grinned evilly and refilled our glasses.






Amidst the revelry, Sensei took out the medal he received when winning the world championship and passed it around for us to see. I personally feel that it is inappropriate for anyone but the world champion himself to wear this medal, but Kashiwazaki Sensei insisted upon putting it around each of our necks and taking a photo. So I did not protest. After all, this quite possibly will be the only time I ever hold a gold medal in my hands.



AS with many Japanese nomikais, its all fun and games until someone pukes over the Sensei’s table. This is the traditional sign, I believe, that the party has been a success and that it is time to go home. I have lived in Japan long enough, now, to know how to hold my licker, but one of our younger members is now proud to say he puked over the bean-bag of a world champion. Far from feeling embarrassed, however, we are all quite proud of our light-weight heavy-weight.

Kashiwazaki Sensei's First Lesson

Our first formal class with Kashiwazaki Sensei began with a simple question:
“Why, when you sit seiza [kneeling], do you lower your left leg first and then your right?”


In an effort to demonstrate our knowledge of Japanese customs and their history, each one of us said in turn, “Because the Samurai carried their sword on the left side of the body.”

“Interesting,” Kashiwazaki Sensei replied. “Before World War II people went down to their right knee first and then their left when sitting seiza. So…. It can’t be related to the sword.”



As we bowed to begin class, Kashiwazaki Sensei posed us a second question, “Why do you bow?”
“Out of respect,” we replied.

“Yes, but why. Why is bowing a sign of respect?”

Sensei went on to ask us how monkeys, dogs, and even ships greet one another. In the case of monkeys, they show their rear ends. Dogs, as most everyone has seen, will allow other dogs to sniff their asses. Ships, in previous centuries, would fire an unloaded cannon as a form of salute.

“Why do you shake hands in America?” Sensei then asked me.
“To demonstrate that we have no weapon,” I replied.

“Yes,” Kashiwazaki Sensei said. “In all these cases, we are showing our weakness. I give you my hand to show you I carry no weapon. Ships fired an empty cannon to demonstrate they were not armed. Monkeys, Dogs, and other animals put forth their most vulnerable areas. Likewise, in Japan, we bow to expose our weakest point…. Our necks.”

Kashiwazaki Sensei explained that there are three reasons we bow in Judo. We first bow as we enter the dojo. This is a sign of respect toward the spirit or, one might think, God of the dojo. In the Shinto religion there are millions upon millions of gods that exist in the world around us. We bow to do honor to that energy that inhabits the dojo. (I like to think of it as “Tatami-sama”)
When we bow to our opponent before a match it is *not* a sign of respect; rather, bowing helps us bring our mind and body under control. When we finish sparring, then we bow to our opponent to show our gratitude and respect for training with us.


The purpose of Kashiwazaki Sensei’s lesson was two-fold. It is our responsibility to carry on these traditions and teach them in our home countries. Few people in America know the true reasons behind the actions they perform in a dojo. The second reason we were challenged mentally—and not physically--is because an action without reason is useless. We must always question. Why? Why why why? Why do we bow? Why do we sit seiza? Why is haraigoshi [sweeping hip throw] done this way and not another? Kashiwazaki Sensei touched upon a lesson that is very important in Budo and one that I believe is often forgotten: the mind plays a role equal to that of the body.


To return to our first question: why do you lower your left knee first when sitting seiza? Well, the answer is remarkably simple. Someone decided to make it the custom. During the 20th century—especially after the two World Wars—many countries created customs to help begin a new age. Tradition is important and it helps create unity amongst people.
It was also interesting to learn about the origins behind seiza or the kneeling style of sitting that is so common in the martial arts. Japanese only began sitting seiza since the development of woven bamboo mats [tatami]. Before the turn of the 18th century, floors were hard stone or dirt, impossible to kneel on for long periods of time. When tatami mats became popular, however, people sat in seiza to prevent their dirty feet from touching the clean floor. Furthermore, the ruling class in Japan realized it was much more difficult for a subject to jump up and stab them if they were seated in a kneeling position and wearing restrictive clothing or armor.

He's Not just a God, He's a Man!

Finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…. At least, if you know anything about Judo and the International Budo Daigaku then it’s the moment you’ve known would come. On Tuesday, the five of us foreign Judoka had our first private class with the living legend of judo: Katsuhiro Kashiwazaki.



Kashiwazaki sensei is a man who embodies the budo spirit not only for his achievements, but also for his attitude. His many accomplishments include winning the silver medal at the world championships in Vienna in 1975 and the gold at Maastricht in 1981. He also dedicated time to studying other forms of wrestling and in 1975 he one the world Sampo championships. Unfortunately, politics prevented Kashiwazaki Sensei from competing in the 1980 Olympics as Japan was boycotting the event held in Russia.



In fine form, the five of us Judoka went to the wrong building and sat attentively with other Japanese students as Koshino Sensei explained the ground-fighting class he would be instructing. We silently wondered, “Where is he…. Where is the Man?”
After 15 minutes, the secretary of the international centre politely interrupted Koshino Sensei’s lecture to say, “The bekkasei students aren’t supposed to be here!” AS we ran quickly from the room, excusing ourselves as we went, “Shitsurei shimasu!” The secretary said, “Kashiwazaki Sensei called; he asked, “Where are my students!””


Now embarrassed—as well as excited—we ran to the next building where we bowed our entrance and rushed to sit attentively at the feet of Kashiwazaki Sensei. In his soft, cultured voice he asked us to make our introductions in Japanese. AS I finished my jikoshoukai, Sensei turned to the other judoka and said, “Listen to Niko, speak like he does.”


Kashiwazaki Sensei explained that he would be giving us a Kata class. That is to say, a class that demonstrates various techniques and fundamental aspects of the art of Judo. This would be our chance to ask any questions we might have about our favorite techniques. It’s like having Jimmy Hendrix invite you over to his house for an hour and a half twice a week and offering to teach you guitar.
Kashiwazaki Sensei went on to speak of the importance of cultivating our minds as well as our bodies. We must learn Japanese, he said, for he would not speak to us in English. He will speak slowly and help us to understand, but he will only speak Japanese. Kashiwazaki Sensei further commanded us to find Japanese girlfriends and told us the two most important words in any language are “Beer” and “Wine”.


AS he dismissed us, Kashiwazaki Sensei asked, “Do any of you have anything you want to talk to me about?” When we stood silently he looked at me and asked, “Niko, are you having any problems?”
I bowed and explained to Sensei that I still had not been accepted by the Japanese students at the Dojo. “At most, I am only doing to or three rounds of randori.”

With simple elegance, Kashiwazaki Sensei replied, “Well… go practice with the women’s team. They will accept you and they train hard. You will learn from them.”



To see a video of Kashiwazaki Sensei performing some of his signature throws, click:
Here