An overview of the Shanghai Jewish Community

Whether you’re visiting, living in Shanghai, or just curious, here is the panorama of Jewish happenings around Shanghai. 

Shanghai has a long history of being home to international citizens. In the last fifteen years, there has been a renewed explosion of expatriates from all over the world, who come to Shanghai for work and often stay permanently. The expat community is incredibly diverse, and the Jewish community reflects this as well: there are American and French Jews, Israelis, European (British, Spanish, Dutch, Eastern European) Jews, and even a handful of Latin and Canadian Jews.

Though there are many students and young-professionals (ages 22 – 30), most of the long-term residents are young families. There is a noticeable lack of two age groups among Jewish expats: people over the age of 60, and teenagers. It is quite possible that, because Shanghai’s permanent expat community is relatively new, there will be many teenagers within the next five years, and even more ten or fifteen years down the line. There is currently no lack of pregnant women, or children under the age of six.

What will it take for people to stay here when their kids are in their late teens, or even when they leave for college? Until now, most families leave when their kids reach high-school age. The problem, of course, is that families require more complex community institutions that individuals. With a rise in population, there might be a rise in educational opportunities for Jews. Shanghai already has a wide variety of excellent international schools; perhaps soon the Jewish institutions in this city will match them, and people will have the option to raise their kids here as Jewishly they would like.

In terms of institutions, there are a wide variety of them. The community has three Chabad Centers and a Sepharadic Center. The Jewish Center in Hongqiao is the biggest and oldest (http://www.chinajewish.org/SJC/index.htm). The Rabbi and his wife have been in Shanghai for about 13 years. They have opened their door and their hearts to the rising number of Jewish families, travelers and temporary residents who arrive every year, and they have truly built a community here. They hold Shabbatot, have holiday services, run a growing pre-school (now up to 1^st grade), sell kosher food, run a kosher café, hold occasional fun community events, and are raising five children.

They also opened the other two Chabad Centers, one in Pudong (http://www.jewishpudong.com/), meant mostly for families who live there, and the other in downtown Shanghai (http://www.chinajewish.org/intownsjc/), run by a French-Sepharadic family.

 The Sepharadi Shanghai Center (sscshanghai10@gmail.com) is a nice alternative. It is also orthodox, like the Chabad Centers, but has a somewhat different atmosphere. It is run by an Israeli guy on behalf of the Shehebar Sepharadi Centers, and the Rabbi is a young Argentinean man, educated in a New York Yeshiva.

Though all the centers are open to any Jew, it seems that they go through different trends in the crowd that they attract at any given time. I think this depends on who is running the centers, but also seems to be somewhat random. Broadly speaking, the center in Hongqiao attracts (aside from most of the families in the community) American students and professionals, Ashkenazi businessmen, and the occasional Israeli.

The downtown center attracts mostly young professionals and couples from France and Europe in general, as well as Israelis (who seem to synagogue-hop just like I do). And the Sepharadic Center, which usually has more intimate gatherings, seems to cater to Sephardic businessmen, though this is where most of the Israelis usually go, and there always seem to be French Jews as well.

There is also a budding liberal community in Shanghai (liberaljewsshanghai@gmail.com). It is interesting to note that the development of the Shanghai Community has not thus far included a more liberal form of Judaism, as it has in other Asian expat communities (Beijing, Hong Kong, etc). A possible reason for this is that the first rabbinical couple who came to Shanghai (from Chabad Hongqiao) had the right approach to building the community, and they have really made their best to make people feel welcome. This shows just how much community is about individuals, and how good leaders can really unite people under the umbrella of caring for each other.

Now, however, it seems that there are enough people who need what only liberal Judaism can provide, beyond belonging to a community, or simply being with other Jews. People are looking for pluralism; they’re looking for a place that welcomes their non-Jewish spouse (and children) without conversion. Others just like the prayers, services, and general way of being Jewish that is part of liberal Judaism. But unlike in other places I’ve encountered, it generally does not stem from “not feeling welcomed” in the orthodox community. It is simply a matter of preference, which in my opinion as an observer, gives it a very different focus.   

My role in all of this – as the JDC Jewish Service Corps Fellow in Shanghai – is to supplement all the communities, to help provide aspects of the Jewish world that are not already being provided. That is why I am working on creating a formal network of young-professional Jews, through informal events and casual gatherings. I want to provide an alternative to religious Jewish events, of which there are plenty in Shanghai, so that people who just like having Jewish friends can hang out together. Through my work with the Museum (http://www.shanghaijews.org.cn/English/), I hope to also provide cultural events with a Jewish theme.

If you would like more information on any of the above information, please leave a comment!

Jews in Asia – a What-if?

I wonder sometimes what Asians would feel towards Jews if Jews had lived in these countries in significant numbers and for significant periods of time. We say that China is one of the only countries in which anti-Semitism doesn’t exist, but that’s not strictly fair or true. China didn’t have the opportunity to develop anti-Semitism, because there were simply never enough strict Jews here.

 India, however, is a good example of a country with long-time Jews and no anti-Semitism (the recent attacks are neither India-based nor aimed against Indian Jews). What would it be like in China? Would Jews – as a consequence of being a minority – be scapegoated, hated, ostracized in the same way? Or would it be as it is in India – different, because of an altogether different combination of factors that led to altogether different results? As opposed to Western or Middle Eastern countries where Jews lived, flourished and were persecuted, in India there is no single predominant religion. Hinduism (simplified) is best defined as a collection of similar-but-different beliefs, traditions, languages and culture. Each mix is unique, but the spiritual-traditional aspect is central to Indian identity. Everyone believes in something or other, and that something is always a little bit different from everyone else’s. So no one cared or noticed if one group of people was praying to an unseen god, or not working on the seventh day of the week, or had strange dietary habits. Every group had its own quirks.

So I wonder if in the East Asian countries it would have been the same (same), but different. What would Judaism have looked like here in big numbers? The picture is not the same as in the West, but it’s also not like in India.

Perhaps people are right when they say that Chinese and Jewish cultures are similar. I think they refer to the work ethic, the importance of family, and the value placed on learning. To me it seems that although it’s true that these are common traits, the cultural consequences of them are so different that it outweighs the fact that the original values are the same. The “way of being” is too different. This might be in part because of the other, multi-facetted influences Judaism has had, as well as the development of Chinese history and the effects it has had on culture and people (most recently communism, which Chinese people do not fail to notice was originally conceived by a Jew…too ironic to my point? I wonder).

Perhaps if the two cultures had mixed – truly mixed, in that way that only history can achieve – they would have benefitted from and nourished each other. It certainly seems like that’s what happened during the time when the Jewish refugees were here and coexisted with Chinese people.

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There is now so much renewed interest for the continued collaboration between the two cultures, with all its complexities and challenges. I’m realizing now, as I finish this post, how utterly privileged I am to be thrown right into the heart of it all.  I AM this experiment, right alongside my Chinese co-workers. It’s kind of fun. 

Some historical roots of “an interconnected world”

I was staring up at the synagogue today, this hundred-year old building in the middle of Shanghai, and it suddenly hit me how small, transient and wide-spread the Jewish experience has been, and for so long. I tend to think of the time before commercial airplanes as slow, and somewhat lazy or relaxed, when it took forever for anything to get very far, especially information and people. Things like the morse code or telegrams had to exist because otherwise nothing would get done. And travelling from Europe to the edge of the Pacific, on either side, seems to have been a trip too long to bother with. Which is probably why only soldiers and rich people did it.

Within this frame I suddenly thought of what it must have been like to be a Jewish refugee here in Shanghai during World War II. Because those are the only other people who would make that trip – people with no other choice.

Let’s picture it. You’re in your teens, arriving with your parents, or maybe in your twenties, arriving by yourself. You have to go through Japan, via Panama, or via the trans-Siberian railroad. Imagine the weeks (the months!) on trains or boats or both! Imagine the discomfort, the motion-sickness, the hard beds. Kids playing games to pass the time. Reading and re-reading the few available books, maybe sharing them with each other. Knowing with certainty that undertaking such a trip – with all its difficulties – is better than the horrors you left behind. Maybe that’s what kept people sane.  

In Japan you stay for a few days, a week, with another thousand refugees, because it’s just one more country that can’t – wont’ – take you in. It’s just part of the trip out of death-ridden Europe. Salvation, of course, but too temporary to be a sustainable solution. Maybe there’s a camp there. Bunk-beds, open showers, too little food and too many people, dirt, lice.

Then, finally, Shanghai. The only city in the world where you don’t need a visa, where you are welcome. Another crowded boat, children and parents on the deck, and you standing there alone with your meager belongings wrapped up in a bundle, lying at your feet. You gaze out and see the spectacular outline of this strange city, this city that you hope will be a free and safe, if temporary, home. High European buildings line the riverfront, hiding the truly local Chinese lifestyle that sprawls behind.

You disembark, cross a bridge over a big creek, and arrive at your new neighborhood.

The people are nice there, warm, friendly. They help with the children, with the food. They are your neighbors. Not refugees, but owning perhaps exactly the same amount of stuff. You learn to communicate with each other. You learn from them. Maybe even make friends. When else in history – how else – would once-affluent European Jews get to share their daily lives with lower-class Chinese? Even today, with all the traveling and mixing, this is a hard thing to achieve.

Then one day, the neighborhood closes in on itself, enveloping everyone in it. The Japanese, to appease the Gestapo, create the first and only Jewish ghetto in Shanghai. The uniqueness of this ghetto is evident. Jews and Chinese coexisted as semi-prisoners, both suffering under the hardness of the Japanese rule.

Life becomes less comfortable. Working is hard, as is going to school, because you need special permit to leave the ghetto. Nonetheless, Jewish books, magazines and newspapers are published. People celebrate the holidays. Shops, bakeries, pharmacies, cafes open and flourish. Children are born. People get married. Maybe you are one of them.

And then, just like that, a decade passes. Suddenly it’s 1950, and almost no one is left. The Japanese are gone. Communism is coming, and business becomes impossible. People found their surviving family members, moved to America, Australia, Israel.  So you pack you bags, now perhaps significantly bigger, get on a boat, and go to reunite with the few distant cousins left to you.  

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Subsequently, the refugees thought very fondly of their time in Shanghai. It seems that the significance of it lies not merely on the fact that they were saved from a horrendous death, but also in that they were truly welcomed by the local population, and were allowed to flourish. Even the Japanese had nothing against the Jews, and were much more severe on their Chinese neighbors.

 A beam of light in an otherwise horrendous decade. 

September 26, 2011

Shanghai feels incredibly familiar, yet is like no other city I’ve ever been in.  I haven’t really seen much of yet, but so far it’s a pretty awesome city. After a weekend here, I’m moving around by myself on the subway and taxis. Granted, being really foreign in a city full of foreign people who have gone through the same thing, really helps. People have printed cards with their address written in Chinese, which you hand to the driver and then lean back comfortably in the cab. Subways are very well-marked, and are in both English and Chinese, and by far easier to navigate than the New York City subway. It feels like Shanghai must have been a very difficult place to arrive to (the way most of China probably still is), so much so that people who did it now make it super easy. I remember trying to do that for guests in Bombay, which is still, I’m realizing, a difficult place to arrive to, and in Bombay people speak English. I know exactly two words in Mandarin (or any other Chinese dialect, for that matter): Ni hao (hello), and xie xie (thank you). My ability to do things is honestly very, extremely limited; but I can see that it is absolutely possible to exist comfortably in this city with perhaps only a slightly larger vocabulary. I want to be conversational at least, and can’t wait to start learning.

At first smell, Shanghai smells like pollution and Chinese herbs. The pollution part is simply that – pollution. At first I tried to place it, but it’s not car-exhaust like in Mexico City, and it’s not sewage-body-odor like in Bombay. It’s not even that gross smelling. It just smells dirty. The Chinese herbs part I can’t quite place, but it’s what the water tasted like also (the taste is starting to fade now, I think I’m getting used to it), and people sometimes smell like that. I’m making it a minor goal to identify that smell within the year (fish-oil, perhaps?).

I’ve been intuitively comparing Shanghai a lot to other places (like I just did above with the smell), and I finally stopped to think about it yesterday. I think that with comparing comes the process of recognition and integration of a detail, a situation, or a behavior. If it’s done in a healthy way, comparing can lead to isolating the ways in which the current experience is unique, through recognizing the collection of factors that make it so. And then it becomes easier to make a place your own.

My frame of reference is so broad at this point that I sometimes get surprised at the analogies I make. They seem so random even to me – and I know the whole story of me. It’s funny what I’ve integrated from each place I’ve lived in, and how the experience I was having mattered so much. I think the place I least compare, in general, is Vermont, in part because it’s so unique, but also because the experience I had there – college – was very singular in my life. (Certain aspects of Israel, however, do remind me of Vermont a lot. Case in point of a weird analogy that makes total sense to me.)The point is that there’s always something; the world, after all, is mostly the same, and so are people as they exist in it. What I love, and would love dedicating my life to, is noticing the little-big things that make each place unique, because each place truly is its own. That is why place, and therefore distance, culture, history, identity, community, nationality, etc., still matter.  It’s also why, in spite of the realm of the Internet, reality, in all its shades of light and dark, is still so overwhelmingly important.

I remember talking about how I should try not to compare Shanghai with Bombay. It seems funny now, given that my first inclination would not be to compare it to Bombay at all. I’m realizing that, out of all the places I’ve lived in (including VT), India really is the most different, the only one in its category. Perhaps after I go to Africa it won’t be so lonely anymore. Shanghai, however, might also be unique in its category, because it is such a wonderfully modern, hip city, with a lot of spunk, terrible driving (still not as bad as Bombay, and worse than Mexico City, but also less heavy in terms of traffic) and an incredible amount of cultural (and culinary!) diversity, both Chinese and international.

However, perhaps the thing that makes it really unique is that it is a city in Mainland China that is home to thousands of permanent westerners. This is a very new thought I’ve started developing, and there’s much to explore in this direction (especially as I haven’t yet been to Hong Kong, another international city, though not in Mainland China). But I’m excited about exploring what this new kind of identity is all about, how it affects its surroundings, and what relevance it might have to my work.