Being Internationally Spiritual

There is nothing quite like having to explain the concept of atonement to a bunch of older kids (or young teenagers, depending how you look at it) to make you really think about it. In Hebrew School class yesterday, talking about Yom Kippur, we defined atonement as repentance, leading to asking for forgiveness.  (Atonement as the main translation for the word kapara).

We talked about why it comes right after the New Year, and what a wonderful spiritual opportunity it is to do some soul-searching and accounting before a new year begins. We explained that in our tradition we talk about our relationship with G-d, with other people, and with ourselves, and how we understand that it is important to work on all of these relationships. I, liberal person that I am, emphasized the individual nature of this, and the fact that they all (but especially one's relationship with G-d) can mean something different for all of us.

My co-teacher is religious, and it's interesting to observe how differently we approach talking about things, especially anything related to faith. She sort of goes right ahead and says "the party line", whereas I'm a lot more hesitant, pluralistic and, well, secular. It may be because I understand who these children are and where they come from a little bit better, and I know that talking too much about religion will not go over well with certain parents. But really I think that she is much more comfortable talking about faith and G-d and stuff and for me it's hard. We don't really do that in the secular bubbles I consider myself a part of.

 We then had the kids write down (as practice for the Shorashim project they're all going to do this year) their resolutions or atonements, giving them an opportunity (which I later realized probably no one has given them before) to actually engage in this practice of thinking about how they want to start their new year. About half the group has had their bar/bat mitzvah, so in many ways I'm supposed to prepare them for Jewish adulthood, too.

I have to honestly admit that the depth of this exercise eluded me when I first thought of it. My original goal had been to get them writing something personal, something to get their juices flowing in thinking about themselves. I realized the impact of it when they all sat, in rapture, listening to me explain something I, in all honesty, understand very little about.

But if there's one thing I've learned teaching Hebrew School across the world (aside from the fact that it's so wonderful to be in a position to get kids to want to come when they initially really don't): you gotta plough through sometimes, and in an elegant way explain that neither you nor anyone else has all the answers. You gotta explain these massive questions of the human existence (thank G-d I've had Hannah Arendt to prepare me for this) in a way that is relatable, real, and accessible. Humility, at this point, is the best tool at your disposal. Humility, and the ability to make things fun.

I left class thinking I should probably do some soul-searching myself this season.

Recently I've been dealing with how professional my Jewish practice has become. I have to go to services, to the various communities, because people will ask me where I've been (and why I wasn’t with them). I usually take a few people with me to different services, as there's always someone new and it's nice to be able to help out – one of the benefits of staying somewhere longer than a year.

There's also an element of fragmentation to my High Holidays experience. This is my second year in Shanghai. Before here I was in India for two years (one year with the very traditional, very unique community, one year  traveling up and down Western India for the holidays with Ronan, going to Chabad Houses but also doing some local stuff), before that I was in New York (modern orthodox, gay-friendly, synagogue in the UWS, Ashkenazi, obviously), before that in Paris (Moroccan-Orthodox), and before that, in Middlebury (Reconstructionist, Ashkenazi, ultra-Liberal). I don't remember what my family does or what "I'm used to", and in any case it's probably changed at least three times since I last spent the HH with them, which was in Madrid in 2004 (Orthodox Ashkenazi in the basement of the synagogue, with some strong Sepharadic undertones). Throw in the fact that I've been working in the Jewish world for three years and it's no wonder (though admittedly quite ironic) that I feel a little disconnected.

Tradition and continuity, and doing the same thing year in and year out, are important. I understand that, now perhaps more than ever. And part of what I'm trying to figure out is what kind of religious practice – and what kind of community – fits this very international lifestyle. The great thing about Shanghai - and other communities in the region – is that there are many people like me, so the culture of the community is very international and diverse. People connect quickly, they're nice and welcoming to newcomers and the institutions and their leaders (mainly Chabad and the wonderful rabbis and rebetzins that are here) are set-up to accommodate transience and international diversity.

Perhaps my problem, then, is that I have not yet found a way to have a coherent, consistent and personal spiritual experience that transcends on one hand place, tradition and custom, and on the other, the issue of working in the field with a community made up of people who are exactly like me. This boundary between the personal and the professional (which I think is always an issue when you're working in the field and have human needs like making friends and other meaningful connections) when put in the spiritual context takes on a more complicated dimension. It requires, for example, not necessarily socializing when going to the synagogue, or not going "for prayers" – as the Indians say – at all (I think I am realizing that this is a personal preference for YK day, for example). While I probably can't do that this year – I almost had a meeting scheduled for that day, and definitely have to go to at least one, if not two, services – being honest about my spiritual crisis is helping me do something about it.  

Cultural Immersion

I love Chinese culture.

Until this past weekend, I really wasn’t sure. I knew I didn’t dislike it – I seldom feel frustrated (though granted, it’s only been a couple of months) – but I also hadn’t felt the connection I felt with India. But recently there were a series of events that made me learn a lot at once. And I really enjoyed it.

I like the way meals work. Round table, many dishes, chopsticks and a little bowl. I like the food, and enjoy learning about different dishes. I’m discovering I’m very squeamish about animals. Part of it is the Indian influence, but also from a spiritual Jewish position.

I went on a retreat with all the museum tour guides and staff this weekend. Lunch included eel (apparently good for women’s skin), frog and wild chicken (which I mention only because I thought it was funny that it’s considered different from regular chicken). I ate vegetarian, and everything was really good. When people say “I don’t like Chinese food”, I’m not really sure what that means. There are so many options, flavors and textures, it’s really hard to dislike every single thing at any given meal. I always have at least four or five dishes that I absolutely love.

I also like the way Chinese people have fun. I was introduces to karaoke last week. I went with a group of mixed Shanghainese and Westerners, and loved it. There really is something to it: a closed room, just your friends, everyone hanging out singing together, with food and drinks. It’s just pure fun.

At the retreat, in the freezing hotel lobby (you could see your breath), there was a constant group at the karaoke station, but people also played cards and mahjong. Some people just hung out and talked. What was unique about it was that all ages were present and having fun together. Not only that, we had people from all sectors and levels of society – the cleaning ladies and guards were also invited and present at the retreat, and they were there with the other volunteers, most of whom are English-speaking university students. 

I am forcefully reminded of my “Intro to Political Science” course, in which we learned that in Communism, freedom is limited but equality is magnified (as opposed to Fascism, which limits both, and Democracy, which attempts to magnify both). Until I came to China, and had not yet lived in a non-democratic country, I had never truly understood how positive the amplification of equality can be. There is obviously inequality in Chinese society, like in every other country. But I’m referring to cultural perceptions of equality. People’s place in a society. The possibility to interact with higher or lower positions. And so on. Perhaps that’s what communism has become: a culture, a way of thinking about society, and not an actual organization of reality, politics, or people.

Drinking culture is also really interesting. First of all, there seems to be no taboo about it. It’s out in the open, though not everyone does it. At the retreat, the drinking started at dinner. The hosts of the event go around every table first, thanking people, toasting with each individual person, and so on. Then other groups go around, thanking the hosts and toasting again. Usually not everyone drinks, especially the girls. You can do the toast with tea, juice or even water. Whatever – the point is to toast each other. The older people had bajio, Chinese liquor. It smells terrible. The younger generation was drinking red wine, and the few people I saw drink bajio had a visible bad reaction to it. It’s funny how much one can understand without language. It’s almost more deep and pure, though naturally slower and limited. But I’m certainly sharpening my non-verbal cue awareness.

There also seem to be no taboo on talking about one’s personal life. We literally went around the circle of girls one by one (in a crowded dinner hall) and expressed our romantic situation in detail. It ranged from single to monogamous relationship to polygamous lifestyle. Money is also discussed quite openly, as is certain personal desires and habits. I know there are taboos, but haven’t actually discovered them yet. That’s one of the difficulties of no language – it’s much easier to find out what people are talking about, than the subtleties of what they don’t discuss openly.

This was the first time I interacted closely with a big group of Chinese people (as the only foreigner, too). I gave a lecture on the diversity of the Jewish people, and on how to give better tours to Westerners. I found their questions genuine, and profound. I am beginning to understand why it’s so difficult for them to really grasp the depth and breadth of the Jewish world. Concepts like community, religious life-cycle events, faith, and helping non-family fellow Jews really elude them. And it makes sense, given their lack of religion-based organization and lack of spirituality. They also live in a very tightly organized society, (Poli Sci 101 again, learning about high-degree of government involvement), so informal things are really an unknown phenomenon. Everything has a place, and not in a wishy-washy, karmic sense like in India. Every aspect of life is regimented, it’s merely a piece in the larger puzzle that is society. Even the retreat – it was organized by the government! But they are really interested in learning about other ways of existing (community is a tough one, though, especially because to a large extent, it’s voluntary).

Which leaves me wondering. There is a huge discrepancy between my own largely positive experiences with Chinese people, and what other expats have expressed to me. Many expats don’t like Chinese people, or Chinese culture. It’s quite astounding how many people live in Shanghai and really have no desire to get to know or immerse themselves in the culture. And even more astounding is the fact that those that have to interact, don’t like the culture. It almost feels like they feel constantly personally affronted by it.

It makes sense if you think about the groups most foreigners interact with: service people, on one hand, and businessmen (or employees) on the other. Nobody, in any culture, is at their human best when acting within these positions. It is precisely those people who are not in business, who are free to interact with Chinese people in a different context, that are really integrated and happy here (they also all speak Chinese, incidentally).

However, I also think that Chinese culture (not unlike Indian cultures) requires a higher suspension of one’s own ways of being and thinking than many other cultures. I don’t mean not being who you are; it just requires opening your mind more to other ways of being and thinking without judging them. That is the key, perhaps. Many foreigners judge the Chinese for being narrow-minded, uncreative and dirty (to list three examples). Those three things are certainly true if seen from a Western perspective. But analyzing behavior from a neutral standing point (in which there are fewer rights and wrongs, and almost no comparison beyond moral issues), or from the point of view of the culture itself (what do Chinese people think about a specific behavior that Chinese people have?), the results are different.

 Chinese people know that some habits of some Chinese people are dirty, and they don’t condone them. Another example is how much the Museum tour guides attempted to open their mind to understand what I was saying. Because I am fully aware that the success of my presentation depended on my abilities and research as well as on their openness not only to listen, but to understand my way of thinking, which is quite different from their own. The fact that they did this is indicative that they can do it, and led to the success of our interactions.

Much to think about.

Wednesday in Shanghai

Here is what has happened today so far. (It’s only 2 pm.)

I got a list of questions from the Museum on things they’d like me to talk about at an upcoming conference with all the volunteer tour guides. These include discussing Jewish celebrities, the difference between Christianity and Judaism, why Jews are sometimes connected with Communism (I wonder if they know about Marx’s complicated relationship with Judaism, and if not, if I should be the one to break the news), and my personal favorite, how come Jews decided to help their fellow Jews (referring to the work JDC did here in the 40s with Holocaust refugees), “despite the fact that they were also under the great pressure of being Jewish themselves?” And I’m pretty sure these have been edited down quite a bit already.

Then I had jelly fish at a fancy press conference lunch. I must say, it’s probably down there with raw tomatoes on my list of least-favorite foods. I had a revelation about Chinese food, though: so much of it is about the diversity of texture, and not of actual flavor. Jelly fish was somewhere on the crunchy-slimy spectrum.

Then I met a North Korean. What’s ironic is that I was walking into a very fancy department store, looking quite fancy myself from the press conference, to go buy chickpeas at the very fancy (and expensive) imported-goods supermarket, to make hummus for the four dinners I have this week (two of which are Thanksgiving). This guy cut me off entering the revolving door, so I stopped to let him through.  He glanced back, made the “Gasp! A foreigner!” face, and gestured for me to go in with him. I refused and then went into the next slot (what are those compartments called?).

He turned back and said “Hi! I’m from North Korea. Where are you from?”

“Mexico,” I replied, thinking it’s probably the most exotic-while-accessible place I’m from, and realized we were already shaking hands.

Then I think he said his name, but I completely forgot because of what happened next.

“You look like Snow White – “ he said.

“I really don’t.” I said, smiling and wondering what I looked like to him. The only Disney princess I (very) vaguely resemble is Jasmine.

“ – and I am Mickey Mouse!” He raised his arms to the ceiling.

Wait, what?

But before I even started thinking about a response, he said “I’m from North Korea! It’s very nice to meet you!” and opened his arms, wide. Too wide for any normal interaction with someone you just met. I literally gaped at him, this short, scrawny, not at all Chinese-looking, guy.

He took a step towards me and muttered something. I swear it was “Now we hug!”

“No…no.” I said, nudging him away slightly (he was very close at that point).

“Ok, goodbye!” He said abruptly, turning away from me. I was left with the distinct impression that they taught him that if the foreigner doesn’t hug you at the end of an interaction, you failed.

I walked away giggling, and stood in front of the escalator for a few seconds. I had never encountered someone performing such a strict script, without even realizing that that’s what they are doing. There are rituals, traditions, ways of greeting people, but they usually evolve naturally and are based on innocent assumptions – guests should be treated with respect, this is how you pray, or eat, or celebrate. Not on fabricated analyses of the Western psyche. And certainly not without reading cues and letting things happen naturally. It’s a terrifying degree of brainwashing that I’d never encountered in such a spontaneous way before.

I feel sad now.  

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.

•

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. 

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.