Xu Xin began his career teaching American literature, and through this topic he started to come across multiple authors of Jewish background. With these findings, Xu began lecturing about Jewish contributions on the international stage without having met anyone who identifies as Jewish. This happened for the first time in 1985. A Jew from Chicago came to Nanjing to teach, and the two men formed a bond which saw Xu going to the US to live with the man’s family for a year and learn about Judaism.
Since then, he has studied Yiddish and Jewish texts in Cincinnati and New York and at Harvard University, traveled multiple times to Israel, received honorary doctorates, and lectured internationally, all while continuing to grow the Jewish Studies department at Nanjing University. It now has 15,000 English texts donated primarily from the US and England. The bond Xu formed with the Jewish community, dating back to before I was born, set the stage for me to walk into his department in 2011 and feel at home in the middle of China.
Before I left the center, one of his female students said to me, "Shabbat Shalom!” as the elevator doors opened. Ah yes, it was Friday afternoon, and while back on my campus at the college it was hard to remember, these Chinese students thoroughly respected my background and the value of taking a day of rest.
My article was published in the Vancouver newspaper. I valued the discussion I had with Xu Xin for the story, but I also appreciated his knowledge of the Jewish communities in China on a personal level. He shared with me about the Shanghai community, which prompted me to figure out how to get there for an upcoming Shabbat.
Chapter 3: Shanghai Visits
I still did not speak Chinese, but I had met enough students who were able to help me construct the sentences I would need to buy a train ticket. Shanghai is quite close to Nanjing via the bullet train, but to me living in the quiet, isolated countryside, it felt a lot further.
The journey was more than worthwhile. I booked a hotel near one of the synagogues, and upon showing up, I found that the community who attends the services are all French. Being from Canada, I have remnants of French in the back of my mind, so I was able to feel fairly comfortable there. There were several young exchange students attending the services, including Abby, a beautiful girl originally from Morocco who had moved to Paris for university.
She and I formed a friendship, which allowed me to learn about the Jewish communities in Morocco, France, and China. Her French background and awareness of the overall history of the French in Shanghai was also very educational for me. After the first week we met, I returned for a couple more Shabbats before her time in China was over, and we would explore the French Concession after synagogue services on Saturdays.
The French Concession is a breath of fresh air. The streets are lined with huge leafy green trees, called London planes, imported from France. There are cute fashion shops, artsy cafes, and French bakeries inside the European-style buildings. The scene is out of a 1900s-era novel, and one could mistake their visit with a stroll along the French Riviera. There are still many people on the road, but it feels quieter and more serene than other parts of Shanghai.
With Abby I got my first manicure, and we sat and spoke about what it was like to search for a Jewish community and services in China. She told me what I heard frequently from Jews I met: that in coming to China they found themselves feeling closer to their Jewish roots than they ever had before.
Abby told me she had spoken with several of the other French expatriates in Shanghai and that many of them hadn’t visited a synagogue in their own country for a very long time, but in China, they had sought out the Jewish center and become regulars.
Living in a place where everyone can see you are not from there seems to make people look inward at themselves and their own culture, and come to appreciate things they had previously taken for granted. The synagogues for expatriates in China are very warm and welcoming, and for those who have a difficult time adjusting to life there, it provides a place of respite. Since I had already traveled to many places on my own and sought out the Jewish communities wherever I could, I felt I had always carried an appreciation for my ethnic community, and that did not change for me in China.
Traveling back and forth between Nanjing and Beijing on weekends for Shabbat introduced me to the important history of the Shanghai Jews who found refuge in China from the Holocaust. At its peak, Shanghai was home to forty thousand Jews, and this was not the first time Chinese people had reached out to Jewish populations in need. Harbin in the north of China was at one time home to twenty thousand Jewish people fleeing Czarist Russia. In Shanghai there is a Jewish museum; a Jewish cemetery still stands in Harbin, as well as a museum and the old synagogue building, which has since been transformed into a backpacker hostel. Jews also have a long history in Hong Kong, with Indian Jews forming the basis of a strong community at the turn of the twentieth century.
To me, visiting all these places makes me feel a sense of pride. Thousands of others before me had encountered adversity, and instead of giving in to it, they built cultural outposts and flourished. The majority of these populations have emigrated elsewhere, but their resolve to make the best temporary home in China as possible makes me feel akin to them, beyond the obvious religious ties.
Chapter 4: A Unique Encounter
One of the weekends I spent in Shanghai, I was checking out of a hotel. The front desk staff did not speak very much English, and they were withholding part of my deposit for some reason. I was having difficulty communicating with them about what was going on when a tall young Chinese guy standing behind me asked in English if he could help. I still lived in such a limited reality in Nanjing, and although I had come to Shanghai, my dealings with locals there had been minimal. It seemed astounding to me that a local would have such good English skills. I accepted his help and he got my deposit back for me. I said thank you, and as I was grabbing my bag, he asked if I would like to go to lunch at the Western-style restaurant across the street. I had several hours until my train back to Nanjing, so I agreed.
Bespectacled and wearing a polo, Wang towered over me. He was probably 6’1”, and not as thin as many Chinese men I saw in Shanghai. His easygoing way of approaching me and the very subtle Chinese accent made it apparent quite quickly that he had some experience dealing with foreigners. This was actually the first time I had seen that in anyone in China, aside from when I visited Xu Xin at the university. Wang was a year older than me and worked in consulting for the oil industry where most of his clients were non-Chinese. He had also spent some time outside of China tutoring Mandarin. This was before I looked up the synagogue or knew much about Shanghai, so his "Western” expressions and straightforward way of speaking were very refreshing for me.
Over lunch, the conversation turned to how the school I was teaching at had not given me the whole amount of my salary, and that my Canadian bank card was not working at ATMs, which left me with hardly any cash since most places will not accept Visa credit cards. Upon hearing this, Wang insisted on paying for the meal and ordering extra dishes. This was quite appreciated because I had become ill from the food choices at the school in Nanjing, and had begun to lose weight very rapidly. When food cost five RMB at school, the equivalent of seventy-five Canadian cents, a meal worth one hundred RMB seemed incredibly pricey to me.
Wang’s job in the oil industry was related to my father’s work as a hydrogeologist in Alberta. We spoke about where I’m from and my father’s work, and the conversation turned to my cultural background. This excited Wang because it gave him even more respect for my father’s work. He imagined my father must have a great work ethic, and he began to speak to me about how much Jews and Chinese have in common. He told me he had read an article by a Chinese scholar that said the Chinese people, because of the Nanjing massacre by the Japanese, and other assaults on their territory and beliefs by previous foreign groups, understand the pain of the Holocaust. He said this understanding creates a strong and unique affinity between the two groups. He
proudly described the Shanghai Jewish refugees, and China’s history of reaching out to the Jewish people in their times of need.
The conversation turned back to lighter matters, and I told him how I was a bit upset about my iPod mini being stolen a couple days before. I had opened my side bag to reach for something, and a guy put his hand in the unzipped pocket, grabbed my iPod and a fistful of cash, and disappeared into the crowd. It had been a birthday gift from my father right before I left for China, so it was especially upsetting.
"Close your eyes for ten seconds,” said Wang.
I gave him a quizzical look, and then shut my eyes and counted to ten.
When I opened my eyes, in front of me on the table sat an iPod.
"Oh, no, I can’t take that!” I said.
"It’s okay, it’s an old one with not much memory and I have a new one and don’t use it anymore anyway,” he said.
The gift ended up being a lot more than just the iPod, because on it were audio tapes and songs in Chinese, which enhanced my learning experience.
After lunch, he was being so nice, so I agreed to accompany him to his nearby office. I had mentioned I wanted to see Jing’an Temple, and it turned out his office was in a tower right across the street overlooking the golden structure.
He gave me money in case there was an entry fee to visit, and I went out to take some photos before returning to the office tower. After his help at the hotel, the lunch, and the iPod, I didn’t resist as much when he offered to give me some small cash to get into the temple. I resolved to pay him back at some future time by finding him again somehow. He insisted on helping me because he said he knew how dishonest some Chinese businesses could be, especially those that bring in foreign teachers, and he seemed to feel a sort of responsibility if other Chinese people were leaving me in a less than ideal situation. He felt he should help.
I wasn’t attracted to him, and I didn’t get a sense that he was being more than friendly because he did not invade my personal space or make me feel uncomfortable. But, it was nice to converse, not only in English, but about things I might speak about with my friends back home, like current events, or future travel plans.
We continued on to a pub for dinner. I started to feel bad he had spent the day with me, but he said he didn’t have anything else to do, and that it was really his pleasure to show me the "real” Shanghai. By this he meant places that someone my age, but who is Chinese, might go to day-to-day.
We entered a Western-style establishment with hockey playing on the screens—my good ol’ Canadian pastime—and this was an especially pleasant experience for me. Wang was set on making sure I got back to Nanjing in one piece, so he came with me and paid for the cab to the train station. Before walking me to the train platform, he told me to wait on the sidewalk for a moment. A couple of minutes later, he came back with two thousand RMB (three hundred USD) and asked if that was enough. I had learned by this point that I should not say no to him. It seemed he was a young guy with a lot of money he wanted to spend on a nice girl, so I bashfully accepted the money. It would indeed help me out over the next several days while my employers continued to make excuses as to why I was not paid on time. At his office, he had added me on LinkedIn and Facebook, and I said I would come back to Shanghai again once I got paid. Until the very end, I obviously wondered if he would be expecting anything of me. As a solo female traveler I am careful and pay attention to my safety, but the entire time, he remained polite and respectful, and didn’t attempt to be anything more than friendly with me.
I usually share the iPod-and-money part of this story with people because it was so shocking. While it was nice to get the help and strange to accept so much money from a stranger, the sentiments Wang expressed and the feelings of similarity between his culture and my own are really what have stuck with me.
Some people believe that during the biblical days of King David, the "Ten Lost Tribes” traveled eastwards, and there are people in China who may be the descendants of these Jewish tribes. While there is no historical proof for this connection, the idea is quite interesting to me. It could suggest a much deeper relationship between the two cultures than their shared experiences of suffering.
In the city of Kaifeng there are actual Chinese Jews, whom professor Xu Xin has published books and research papers on, most notably The Jews of Kaifeng, China: History, Culture, and Religion. These people look Chinese and mostly speak Chinese, but can trace Jewish roots back a few generations and have passed down remnants of Hebrew prayers. This presence of Chinese who identify as Jewish, and the folklore about how perhaps many other Chinese are descendants of Israel, has created a different lens through which I see the people.
I cannot say everyone who has helped me on my travels in China did so due to my cultural background, because many just saw me as a laowai, but traveling as a minority with a skin color that people are already not used to seeing in many parts of the country caused me to be even more grateful that these people did not care about religion and just wanted to help me. Moments where, for example, an old woman who does not speak a word of English takes me by the arm when I look lost and points in the direction of a subway station, fill me with gratitude; these moments push me to keep going in my China travels, despite moments of stress or agitation. To have my unique background that isn’t immediately visible to those who meet me spurs me to learn as much as I can about the cultures I encounter.
Chapter 5: My Friend Rachel
After my teaching contract ended, I backpacked for three weeks around China before returning to Canada for the summer. It began with a visit to the small town of a girl I met at the Nanjing college. I had been having trouble getting out of the subway station gate. I had not bought a token for enough stops, but not knowing this, I was considering jumping over the barrier.
"Can I help you?” said a female voice to my left.
The girl told me to stand with her and, scanning her own token, had me walk through at the same time as her. Once through the gate, I said thank you and began walking toward the steps down to the street. She was heading in the same direction and came up beside me.
"Can I walk with you?”
Her English name was Rachel, and upon my telling her that my middle name is Rachel, named after a great grandmother in Russia, she felt as if we were meant to meet. I told her right away that Rachel is a Jewish name from the Bible, and the name of a very strong woman. We chatted until the road parted toward her college across the way. We exchanged phone numbers and began meeting once or twice a week for her to teach me some Mandarin. She helped me to choose my Chinese name, which I hadn’t wanted to pick randomly, as I am too aware of people from other cultures who pick bizarre English names.
She explained that a Chinese family name is best when it is one character, and that she liked characters that are not incredibly common. My last name, Cohen, means priest in Hebrew and translates into mushi in Chinese, so we took the mu character. For my personal name, I had wanted something cool like Firefly, but it was too many characters and had sounds that when I was first learning Chinese sounded very harsh to my ears. I decided shui for water sounded nice to the ear. Rachel came back after the first lesson where I mentioned my desire to find a name, saying, "I thought about it, and I think you should have the word ya, which means elegant, because I think you are very elegant.” And thus, Mu Shuiya and my Chinese identity had a concrete base: a name.
I learned after meeting Rachel that I was the first foreigner she had ever spoken to, and yet her vocabulary was quite good and her accent not strong at all. I think it was very brave of her to come up to me like she did, with so much confidence, having never dealt before with someone who looks like me. She told me she had learned English through watching American movies, and she loved the same actors as me, such as Robert Downey Jr. She gave me Chinese music to listen to (Jay Chou and MayDay from Taiwan), and helped me to learn about modern culture in China.
When we set off to her town in nort
hern Jiangsu Province, she described Binhai as if it were a small backwater place. I realized though, with slight amusement, that her perception of what constitutes a small town is entirely different from my own. I come from a city of one million people and consider it to be large, as it is one of the major cities in Canada. In comparison, Rachel’s city of one million people feels miniature to her compared to the bustling population of eight million in Nanjing.
Her family was too embarrassed to have me stay at their small apartment, so I booked a cheap but nice hotel room and Rachel stayed with me. The first evening I learned about Chinese opera by watching a TV programme that she translated for me. The following day, we explored the town until it was time to go to dinner with her family. She had not been home in several months, so her grandparents came as well, and the dinner was held at a restaurant. As happens every time I meet new people in Asia, they were very impressed that I know how to use chopsticks. I used the sentences Rachel had taught me to communicate.
The restaurant owner came up toward the end of the meal with free plates of watermelon, saying he had never had a foreigner at his establishment before, so it was something special. All I could say was "xie xie” (thank you) and appreciate that Rachel’s family was happy about the gift as well.
At this gathering there was more meat at the table than usual, and while I had been taught to say "Wǒ shì chīsù de,” meaning "I am vegetarian,” many people ask why, including Rachel’s parents. I explained that because I am Jewish I have certain restrictions over what I eat.
The questionable food and the dangers of eating at restaurants using reused "gutter oil” or serving unsafe meats had caused me to return to my kosher upbringing and order vegetarian options whenever possible. This request is difficult for Chinese people to understand, and often in a restaurant when I would say "meiyou rou” (without meat), they would take off the beef but leave the pig, as they couldn’t fathom someone wouldn’t eat pig.
How Does One Dress to Buy Dragonfruit? True Stories of Expat Women in Asia Page 13