Imagine discovering a hidden connection to your heritage in the most unexpected of places. That’s exactly what happened to me during a routine kosher certification visit in Shandong Province, China. As a Shliach, my role often takes me to factories across China, ensuring that kosher products meet the strict standards required by Jewish law. These inspections are more than just a job—they’re a vital link in the global kosher supply chain, connecting Chinese manufacturing to Jewish kitchens worldwide. But this particular day was anything but ordinary.
I visited four factories, each with its unique atmosphere and story. The first three were standard fare: meticulous inspections of production lines, ingredient checks, and equipment reviews. But here’s where it gets truly remarkable: the fourth factory held a surprise that left me both humbled and inspired. It wasn’t the machinery or the processes that caught my attention—it was a person. The factory’s kosher certification representative, someone I’d never met before, exuded an air of reverence that went beyond mere professionalism. There was a quiet awe in his demeanor, as if he were guarding something sacred.
Later, I learned he had recently joined this department, which explained our paths crossing for the first time. After completing my inspection, I was preparing to leave when he approached me, visibly excited. And this is the part most people miss: he asked if he could show me something. Intrigued, I followed him to a small closet behind his desk. Inside, he carefully retrieved two books—both in Chinese. To my astonishment, they were about the Talmud.
He held these books with the tenderness of someone cradling a priceless treasure. With a proud smile, he explained that they were his constant source of wisdom, and he studied them regularly for inspiration. The titles were Talmud Bavli and The Book of Wisdom, compiled by a Chinese scholar named Qiuquan and published by the China Federation of Literary and Art Circles Press. While the books didn’t include specific references for the passages they quoted, their content was captivating. Each page radiated a deep admiration for Jewish learning, moral reasoning, and the timeless lessons embedded in our ancient texts.
I asked him to share a story he particularly loved. He eagerly turned to a passage and began recounting a tale—one that, interestingly, wasn’t from the Talmud but from the Midrash. It was about Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, a sage often mentioned in our literature. Here’s the story:
Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel once called his attendant, Tavi, and said, ‘Please go to the market and bring me the best food you can find.’ Tavi returned with beef tongue. Later, Rabbi Shimon asked him to bring something bad. Tavi returned again with tongue. Confused, Rabbi Shimon asked, ‘Why did you bring tongue both times?’ Tavi replied, ‘From the tongue comes the good, and from the tongue comes the bad. When it is good, nothing is better; when it is bad, nothing is worse.’ (Midrash Rabbah, Parashas Behar)
This simple yet profound story highlights the power of words—to heal or harm, to uplift or destroy. But what struck me most wasn’t just the wisdom of the tale, but who was sharing it: a Chinese factory manager in a remote corner of Shandong Province, passionately engaged with the teachings of our Sages. Standing there, thousands of miles from home, I felt an unexpected connection that transcended language, culture, and geography. Here was a man who found personal meaning in the teachings of our ancestors, whose lessons have shaped Jewish thought for over two millennia.
But here’s the controversial part: How often do we assume that our wisdom is confined to our own communities? This encounter challenged me to rethink the boundaries of inspiration. Who gets to engage with our ancient texts? And what does it mean when someone from a completely different cultural background finds profound value in them? What do you think? Is wisdom truly universal, or is it inherently tied to its cultural origins? Let’s discuss in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts. Encounters like these remind us that the light of wisdom knows no borders, touching hearts in ways we could never predict.
