David Falkof

On the same night as the crazy taxi driver story my friends and I went to a club near Hengshan Rd. called Mural. A club is a club, so that’s not the point of this story, but I met a part-Israeli Jewish girl who told me about the Shanghai Jewish Center (here’s their website http://www.chinajewish.org/ ) that would be having Rosh Hashanah services later that week. I immediately thought how great it would be to invite my Chinese roommate to join me in celebrating the Jewish New Year. My roommate expressed great interest in joining me for Rosh Hashanah, so I called the Jewish Center to inform them that we would attend the Thursday night service and dinner. To my dismay, only foreign-passport holders are allowed to attend events at the Jewish Center. Ten years ago three Chinese citizens celebrated one of the Jewish holidays at the Jewish Center. The following day the Center received a notice from the government acknowledging the presence of the Chinese citizens and reprimanding both the Center and the three Chinese.

From what I learned from people at the Jewish Center, the Chinese government fears large religious gatherings transforming into sweeping national movements. If several Chinese citizens were to attend a Jewish event and afterwards decide to join the Jewish community, there would be potential for more citizens to join and create a Jewish movement in China. In other words, if China can avoid a potential headache, then it does not mind strict enforcement of social restrictions.

The history of Judaism in Shanghai is really cool, but if you would rather read about a rowdy Jewish dinner, skip to the next paragraph. So in the mid 1800’s Jewish people started coming to Shanghai to work in banks, as well as handle investments in Japan. In the 1930’s, Jews fleeing pogroms in Russia found retail jobs available in Shanghai. During World War II, Shanghai was the only place in the world that did not require a visa to enter, so more Jews found refuge in Shanghai. Eventually the Japanese took over Shanghai and constructed a ghetto to house all Jews in the city. Hitler instructed the Japanese to create concentration camps in Shanghai, but the large Jewish investments in Japan discouraged the Japanese from killing off Jews. The local correspondent for my study abroad program tells me that many Shanghainese risked their lives to help the Jews during World War II. The local interest in the Jewish people continues today. In fact, I mentioned to a Chinese student that I am Jewish, and he replied, “Don’t tell my girlfriend, but it is my dream to marry a Jewish girl.”

I hopped on the train at around 5 pm on Thursday Sept. 13^th looking sharp in my Jewish High Holiday clothes. The station that I got off at was a hike from the Center and I needed to grab a cab. Either the first three cabbies did not know the location of the Center - unlikely since most cabbies won’t tell you they don’t know where to go until after they’ve driven a mile – or they were afraid to go to that part of town, but I didn’t make it to the Center until 7:30 pm. Three ladies sitting near the entrance directed me towards the basement where the service was being held. “You will find the men on the left,” they mentioned. This was my first Orthodox service, so maybe this is no surprise, but the men have all the fun. We were singing and shouting throughout the service and when it was all done we sang and danced some more.

As we walked up to the dinning room, I met a man from Buffalo Grove, IL who designs light fixtures manufactured in Shanghai. I soon began meeting people from all over the world including Mexico, Uruguay, Brazil, Denmark, France, England, Israel, and Australia. Before eating, we read some prayers and then began what seemed to be an hour of singing. Some songs were in Hebrew, some Chinese, and some were a mix of the French trying to sing louder than the Uruguayans both in their native languages.  The meal began with dragon fruit, apple fritters, and a big yellow fruit. We were then served a tomato based soup. The main course included potatoes, egg kugel, and brisket (the beef was flown in from Inner Mongolia).

Throughout the entire meal, the Orthodox fellow who led the service served vodka to anyone with an empty glass. When the vodka bottles were empty, he brought out tequila. The songs continued during the meal and several times the man gathered everyone’s attention to tell a story and provide some insight on the holiday. It was an incredible experience to be with people gathering from all corners of the world each with the purpose that night of celebrating the Jewish New Year.

First bottle of spritzer – done. On Friday, I took the bus down to Nanjing Rd. and had a chance to see the Westerner’s China. The street is a massive pedestrian walkway littered with neon signs directing you to shops selling expensive clothes, foul smelling meats, or glitzy jewelry. For a man who has been to American shopping malls and gets a throbbing headache merely by entering a clothing store, going inside the stores on Nanjing Rd. was no different from entering a store in the U.S. Outside of the stores, however, was a whole different story.

Tourists make up the majority of the shoppers and the street merchants feed off of our ignorance. These capitalistic, money hawkers throw themselves in your way and shove in your face a menu of cheap commodities. “Hello, sir, you want to buy Rolex?” “You need shoes? Follow me.” “How are you today? You want cheap pants?” All along the road, these men of aspiration tugged at my shirt, but the true gems were the pimps and the prostitutes. I met my first pimp after purchasing a bottle of 美年达 (a delicious orange soda drink that tastes remarkably similar to Fanta). I was sipping on my orange drink, admiring the commotion of the shops, when I noticed a Chinese fellow wearing a yellow polo and khaki pants walking towards me. “He appears to be an aspiring businessman,” I thought - not entirely wrong, either. I should point out that this took place at around 3:00 pm on a warm sunny Friday.  In the best New Yorker impression I have yet to see a Chinese person accomplish, the man spouted, “Mister, what are you doing tonight? I have beautiful women for you.” I lost control of the bubbly orange drink in my mouth and wound up hosing down the man with orange soda spray.

For dinner that night, three of us Americans decided to check out McDonald’s. The restaurant was clean and on the wall hung a huge photo of two, white, young adults eating McDonald’s on the hood of their car. The place still had the same hard, off-white, plastic chairs and tables, and the menu looked the same, other than the overuse of the color green. My best guess as to why there is so much green is that the Chinese love Jade and Jade is green. As was the case on Nanjing Rd., looks are very deceiving.

The first thing different about McDonald’s is that its prices are equivalent to a good quality Chinese restaurant. A cheap place near me serves a full plate of rice, cabbage, peppers, and pork, soup, and a soda for 8 kuai ($1.07). A Big Mac meal was 16 kuai. So the three of us make it to the counter after being budged by two Chinese girls, and we each order the Big Mac meal - the staple of every McDonald’s, the first item on all of the menus, the vanilla of Mickey D’s. “We don’t have any,” said the employee. By the stunned look on our faces, she took the hint to speak with her manager. “We are out of Big Mac,” said the manager. The three of us squabbled amongst ourselves and after a minute or so, the manager returned. “Okay, we have some.” Now I have no idea if what we ate was a Big Mac or not, but after eating rice and noodles for days, a cheap hamburger and some fries hit the spot.

A thirty something Chinese man and his kid sat beside us at our table. The man was wearing a pink and white striped polo with the collar popped up and on his wrist was a big, gaudy watch. He had his quarter pounder with cheese, fries, and a tall can of Budweiser that he had brought with him. American life fascinates the Chinese and whether it be grabbing a hamburger at an American restaurant or obsessively watching the NBA, they want to know what it means to be an American.

One of the reasons steak is not very popular in China is that the Chinese are not used to eating rare beef. My Chinese roommate said that he once had a steak at a fancy restaurant. When he cut into the beef, the juice (he called it “blood”) pouring from the steak made him queasy.

After McDon’s we took a cab ride downtown to go to a club. One thing everyone should know about cabbies in China is that deep down inside they are all wannabe stock car racers. James Brown, one of the other students, has mastered the art of inspiring these future NASCAR drivers to make full use of the phrase “king of the road.”

Now the cabbie tonight was a slim fellow, fairly short, and had a beaming smile as four white Americans piled into his car. The trick is to make the cabbie think that he is the only person on the road that is good at driving. When a car moves in front of us, James sticks his head out of the window screaming, “Get out of the way!” When the cabbie makes a sweet maneuver to pass three cars, we all whoop and holler. Of course, this is all done in English, and the cabbies typically do not know any English, so tone of voice is critical. In no time, we were flying at over 90 kph in the 60 kph zone. The greatest moment came when we were caught in a huge traffic jam. The cabbie swerves to the left into oncoming traffic. Cars are flashing their high beams, but our driver is unnerved. He’s flying past the traffic jam, honking his horn, and flashing his high beams right back at oncoming traffic. A truck makes a turn from a side street and is barreling towards us head-on. With ten feet of space between us and a world of pain, the cabbie squeezes back into traffic.

My apartment is beautifully furnished. The apartment complex I am in is just for international students studying at Fudan University. I'd go into detail, but I'm already too giddy to talk about it, so just see for yourself. I'll try to post a photo of a Chinese student's dormitory, because the contrast is draw dropping (imagine 6 people living in one room measuring 8'x10', 70 people for every 4 toilets, and only enough drawer space for five days of clothing).

Well I’ve got to get some cereal and trashbins and the sort of stuff that falls in between, and the place to go is Walmart. Now I’m not a big fan of Walmart, so I’m trying to find someplace else to go for essential items, but no such luck so far. The locals keep telling me to go to Walmart. Initially I had a hunch that just because I’m white the locals presumed that I would prefer Walmart, but after visiting Walmart twice and not seeing a single other white person, clearly this is not the case. The place is packed to the brim with Chinese people looking to buy anything from raw eel to a box of cookies. Because the other Americans and I stand out so much, when we're pushing our cart of groceries past a Chinese shopper, we get the same response every time. The Chinese shopper looks us in the eye, looks down at our groceries, studies what we've got, and then continues on his way. I'm tempted to fill my cart with chicken feet just to see how they would react.

On my walk over there, which lacked good direction so I made some poor choices in roads, I came across a fellow with a saw in hand working away at a bike lock and a lady at his side. I straightened up and made my steps more pronounced. The sidewalks aren’t very wide, so I was forced by the side of a building to walk next to the potential thieves and peer down at the man forcefully sawing away at the rusty metal-chained bike lock. The fellow glanced up at me and I put a smirk on my face and nodded approvingly. Yeah, I’m an American with red hair watching you steal a bike in broad daylight with cars wizzing by, and you know what, I think it’s frickin sweet.