Imagine discovering a hidden gem of Jewish wisdom in the most unexpected place – a factory in China! As a Shliach (emissary) working in China, my role involves ensuring the kosher integrity of food products destined for Jewish communities worldwide, a task that takes me to numerous factories across the country. These visits are crucial, as many ingredients used in kosher products originate in China, and it's my responsibility to represent kosher certifying agencies and support these factories in adhering to strict halachic (Jewish law) standards.
Recently, I visited four factories, each with its unique atmosphere and story. My routine is consistent: meticulously inspecting production lines, scrutinizing ingredients, examining equipment, and reviewing records to confirm kosher compliance. But during my visit to the fourth factory, something truly extraordinary occurred.
The factory itself was unremarkable – clean, organized, and efficient, mirroring the countless well-managed facilities across China's industrial heartland. The surprise wasn't in the machinery or the manufacturing process, but in a person: the factory representative responsible for kosher certification, whom I was meeting for the first time.
From our initial interaction, I sensed something different about him. While factory staff are typically polite and respectful, this man exuded an unusual reverence, a profound respect that transcended mere professionalism. It was almost a quiet awe. I learned later that he had recently been transferred to this department, explaining why our paths hadn't crossed before.
After completing my inspection and confirming everything was in order, I packed my notes, ready to depart. But before I could leave, he approached me with visible excitement, asking if he could show me something. Intrigued, I agreed. He led me to a small closet behind his desk, opened it carefully, and retrieved two books, both written in Chinese.
To my utter astonishment, they were about the Talmud! And this is the part most people miss: the Talmud, a central text of Rabbinic Judaism, containing discussions and debates by thousands of rabbis over centuries, influencing Jewish law, ethics, philosophy, customs and history. Finding someone outside the Jewish faith so captivated by it was truly remarkable.
He held the books with a sense of reverence, as if they were sacred relics. Beaming with pride, he explained that these books were his constant source of wisdom, offering him inspiration through regular study. The titles were "Talmud Bavli" (Babylonian Talmud) and "The Book of Wisdom", compiled by a Chinese scholar named Qiuquan and published by the China Federation of Literary and Art Circles Press.
Opening the books, I observed that they didn't include specific references for the quoted passages. But here's where it gets controversial... While lacking direct citations, the content was undeniably fascinating. Each page showcased a deep admiration for Jewish learning, moral reasoning, and the profound life lessons derived from our ancient texts. Some might argue about the authenticity or accuracy of interpretations without references, but the genuine appreciation was undeniable.
I asked him to share one of his favorite stories from the books. He eagerly flipped to a passage and began recounting a tale, interestingly, not directly from the Talmud itself, but from the Midrash, a collection of rabbinic teachings that often elaborates on biblical narratives. The story featured Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, a prominent Talmudic sage frequently mentioned in Jewish literature.
He shared this story:
Once, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel instructed his attendant, Tavi, to go to the market and purchase the finest food available.
Tavi promptly returned with beef tongue.
Rabbi Shimon thanked him and then asked him to return to the market, but this time to bring something bad.
Shortly thereafter, Tavi reappeared, again holding a tongue.
"I'm confused," Rabbi Shimon said. "When I asked for the best food, you brought me tongue, and now when I asked for bad food, you bring the same thing?"
Tavi, the wise attendant, responded, "Precisely. From the tongue comes good, and from the tongue comes bad. When it is good, nothing surpasses it; when it is bad, nothing is worse."
(Midrash Rabbah, Parashas Behar)
The story's apparent simplicity belies its profound message: Our words possess immense power, capable of healing or harming, uplifting or destroying. What struck me most profoundly wasn't just the wisdom of the story, but the storyteller himself: a Chinese factory manager in a remote region of Shandong province, passionately delving into the teachings of our Sages.
Standing there, thousands of miles from home, I experienced a sudden, unexpected connection, one that transcended linguistic, cultural, and geographical boundaries. Here was a man who had found personal meaning in the teachings of our ancestors, teachings that have shaped Jewish thought for over two millennia.
One never knows where inspiration will be found. On this day, it came from a Chinese gentleman in Shandong province, deeply engaged with our 2,000-year-old literature, who in turn inspired me. Encounters such as these serve as a reminder that the light of wisdom travels far beyond its origin, touching hearts in ways we can scarcely imagine.
What do you think of this story? Does the lack of direct citations from the Talmud diminish the value of this man's study? Have you ever found wisdom in an unexpected place or person? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
