Imagine stumbling upon a profound connection to 2,000-year-old Jewish wisdom in the bustling factories of Shandong Province, China—a place where you'd least expect it! This isn't just a story of routine inspections; it's about how timeless teachings can bridge worlds in the most unexpected ways. As Rabbi Shimon Freundlich, a dedicated Shliach working across China, I spend my days ensuring that kosher food products exported worldwide meet strict halachic standards. With so many ingredients originating from Chinese factories, my role involves collaborating with certifying agencies to guarantee compliance, helping manufacturers maintain rigorous protocols that keep Jewish consumers confident in their purchases. These factory visits are a blend of diligence and discovery, allowing me to dive into production processes, verify ingredients, scrutinize equipment, and review documentation to uphold the integrity of kosher products.
On this particular day, I toured four factories, each with its distinct atmosphere, aromas, and narratives. Like always, I meticulously observed the operations for adherence to kosher rules, strolling through assembly lines, double-checking supplies, inspecting machinery, and poring over logs. Everything proceeded as standard—until the fourth factory, where an extraordinary encounter unfolded.
The facility itself was unremarkable: spotless, well-structured, and highly productive, much like the many efficient plants dotting China's manufacturing hubs. But here's where it gets truly unexpected—the real surprise wasn't in the equipment or workflows, but in the person greeting me. The factory's kosher certification liaison, someone I'd never encountered before, left a lasting mark. From the start, I detected an unusual warmth; while most staff members are courteous and professional, this individual radiated an extra layer of respect, bordering on quiet reverence.
Later, I found out he'd been reassigned to this role recently, which is why our introductions were overdue. After wrapping up my evaluation and confirming full compliance, I gathered my materials and was about to depart. That's when he approached with evident enthusiasm, inquiring if he could share a special item. Curious, I consented. He guided me to a small storage area behind his desk, opened it gingerly, and retrieved two Chinese-language books.
To my utter amazement, both were centered on the Talmud, that ancient repository of Jewish law, ethics, and narratives. He cradled them like precious artifacts, beaming with pride as he revealed they served as his ongoing wellspring of insight, which he consulted regularly for guidance. The titles were eye-catching: 'Talmud Bavli' and 'The Book of Wisdom,' authored by a Chinese scholar named Qiuquan and released by the China Federation of Literary and Art Circles Press.
Flipping through them, I noticed they omitted specific source citations for the quoted passages, but the material was captivating all the same. Page after page showcased a genuine appreciation for Jewish scholarship, ethical deliberations, and practical life advice drawn from our venerable texts. And this is the part most people miss—how these adaptations resonate across cultures, sparking curiosity even without direct references.
Eager to delve deeper, I asked him to recount one of his favorite stories. With zeal, he flipped to a section and narrated an anecdote. Interestingly, it wasn't directly from the Talmud but from the Midrash, those expansive commentaries on biblical themes. The tale featured Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, a prominent Talmudic figure frequently referenced in Jewish literature.
Here's the story he recounted:
Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel summoned his servant, Tavi, and instructed, 'Head to the marketplace and fetch the finest food available.'
Tavi set off and returned shortly with a beef tongue.
Rabbi Shimon expressed gratitude and then requested, 'Now, go and bring me something undesirable.'
Before long, Tavi came back, once again holding a tongue.
Perplexed, Rabbi Shimon remarked, 'I don't follow. For the best, you delivered tongue, and for the worst, the same item?'
Tavi, with clever wisdom, responded, 'Precisely. The tongue produces both good and evil. When it's virtuous, nothing surpasses it; when it's harmful, nothing is more detrimental.'
(From Midrash Rabbah, Parashas Behar)
This parable's straightforward surface conceals profound layers. It illustrates how our speech possesses immense influence—capable of healing or harming, building up or tearing down. To clarify for beginners, think of it as a reminder that words are powerful tools; a kind compliment can brighten someone's day, while a harsh remark might cause lasting pain, much like how a single tongue can savor delicious flavors or unleash hurtful insults.
What truly floored me wasn't merely the tale's insight, but its storyteller: a Chinese plant manager in a far-flung Shandong location, passionately absorbing teachings from our ancient sages. In that moment, separated by continents from my own roots, I experienced a profound, unforeseen bond that defied linguistic, cultural, and geographical barriers. Here stood someone deriving personal significance from the wisdom of ancestors whose ideas have molded Jewish philosophy for millennia.
One can never predict where inspiration strikes. Today, it arrived via a Chinese individual in Shandong, engrossed in our millennia-old scriptures, and conversely, motivating me. Such experiences underscore how the radiance of knowledge extends far beyond its source, illuminating hearts in unimaginable manners.
But here's where it gets controversial: Is it culturally appropriate for non-Jews to adapt and reinterpret sacred Jewish texts like the Talmud, potentially altering their original context? Some might argue it's a beautiful form of cross-cultural exchange, fostering global understanding and mutual respect, while others could see it as diluting the texts' authenticity or cultural ownership. What do you think—does this story inspire you to explore diverse wisdom traditions, or does it raise concerns about preserving religious integrity? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear agreements, disagreements, or your own encounters with unexpected cultural connections!
