On my Journey Studying the Talmud in China
Zhanya Xiang, Shanghai
Translated and annotated by Borong Zhang
In China, the Talmud might seem like an unusual subject of study. However, for me, exploring ancient Hebrew classics offers a meaningful way to connect ancient texts with contemporary discourse. My name is Zhanya Xiang, and I am currently a graduate student in the Department of Religious Studies at the School of Philosophy, Fudan University. I completed my undergraduate studies in philosophy at Sun Yat-sen University.
In this article, I’d like to share my experience studying the Talmud—a journey that has been both challenging and fascinating. I approached the text through the lens of literary criticism, employing techniques such as close reading, while drawing on my personal learning experiences and a cross-cultural perspective. This perspective integrates the Talmud’s rich cultural and historical context with my academic background in Chinese philosophy. This multifaceted approach has not only deepened my understanding of the Talmud but also broadened my appreciation for the dialogue between diverse traditions and intellectual frameworks.
1. Entering the “Grand View Garden”: Enjoying Every Moment at the Eastern Lake[1]
My undergraduate experience at Sun Yat-sen University was pivotal in shaping my academic interests. As the professors in religious studies encouraged the students to develop a broad academic perspective that bridges Eastern and Western philosophy and culture, the curriculum offered us the opportunity to study ancient languages such as Latin, Ancient Greek, Classical Hebrew, Sanskrit, preparing students to engage directly with primary texts and conduct advanced research in the future. My mentor, in particular, offered courses on Ancient Hebrew thought, literature, and history. These courses
[1] （一）初入“大观园”：最爱湖东行不足. The title “(1) Entering the 'Grand View Garden': The Joy of Roaming by the Lake Cannot Be Exhausted” draws on two significant literary and cultural references. The “Grand View Garden” (大观园) refers to the utopian garden featured in Dream of the Red Chamber (红楼梦), one of China’s most renowned classical novels. In the novel, the Grand View Garden symbolizes an idealized space of beauty, culture, and fleeting pleasures, and it is often used metaphorically to describe an enchanting or intellectually rich experience. The phrase “The Joy of Roaming by the Lake Cannot Be Exhausted” (最爱湖东行不足) comes from a poem by Bai Juyi (白居易), a celebrated poet of the Tang Dynasty. The line originates from Evening on the River (《暮江吟》) and reads: “最爱湖东行不足，绿杨阴里白沙堤” ("I love the East Bank of the lake and never tire of roaming, where the white sand dike lies shaded by green willows"). It expresses the poet’s deep appreciation for natural beauty and his tireless delight in experiencing it. Together, these allusions frame the author’s initial exploration of a rich and captivating subject—whether a text, philosophical concept, or cultural experience—with a sense of wonder and an eagerness to immerse themselves in this metaphorical “Grand View Garden,” echoing Bai Juyi’s endless fascination with the beauty of nature. (Ed.)
involved reading the Bible and explored relative topics such as Yahwism, the Deuteronomistic history, and the historiography of Chronicles and Daniel. This experience ignited my interest in studying ancient Hebrew civilization, and inspired me to further explore Jewish culture. I began to engage with a range of texts, including biblical introductions, modern literary works, historical accounts, and writings on the histocial interactions between the Chinese and Jewish peoples.
Meanwhile, at Sun Yat-sen University, the Department of Philosophy, renowned for its focus on phenomenology, introduced me to the study of radical French phenomenology. The lectures I attended on thinkers like Levinas and Marion held me spellbound. Emmanuel Levinas is known for his ethics of “the Other,” which emphasizes the primacy of ethical responsibility in human relationships. Jean-Luc Marion is renowned for his concept of the “saturated phenomenon,” which explores the limits of human perception and interpretation in phenomenology. These thought-provoking concepts resonated with me both as a human being and as a member of the Chinese community, a recipient of a long philosophical tradition going back thousands of years to Confucius—and his great philosophical predecessors.
It was therefore fascinating for me to learn of the deep roots of Levinas’ ethical philosophy in the Jewish classical texts and thought. I therefore began paying particular attention to the biblical references in his works as part of my extracurricular reading on the subject. I learned that Levinas began delivering lectures on the Talmud in the 1960s, originally addressing Jewish audiences. These lectures were later compiled and published in book form. Through his book I first encountered the Talmud, albeit indirectly. My initial exposure to key figures and texts associated with the Talmud—such as Rashi and the story of the “Oven of Akhnai”—ignited a fascination that would deepen over time. At the same time, the courses I took on Chinese Pre-Qin and Buddhist logic further fueled my interests about non-formal logic in ancient texts. This combination of influences inspired me to study the Talmud through the lens of logic and epistemology, shaping a research direction that continues to captivate and challenge me.
From a cross-cultural comparative perspective, my experience of reading the Talmud stands in stark contrast to my experience with Chinese classics, reflecting the profound differences in lifestyles and textual traditions. When reading the Records of Zhu Xi's Conversations (Zhuzi Yulu 朱子語錄), I was deeply struck by Zhu Xi's ability to intertwine philosophical thought with everyday life. His hermeneutic approach felt like that of a “Peter Pan,” speaking with child-like sincerity and authenticity, while his meticulous and thoughtful method of engaging with original texts left a lasting impression on me. I am not a specialist in Chinese philosophy; and yet, like all Chinese people anchored in their ancienct cultre, my life is permeated with Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism, Legalism, and Mohism. Ancient teachings like “Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire” (己所不欲，勿施於人), allusions like “Flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water” （鏡花水月） and the philosophical reflections in “The white horse is not a horse” （白馬非馬） “The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao” （道可道，非常道） and “You are not a fish, how do you know the fish's happiness” （子非魚，安知魚之樂） are deeply ingrained in Chinese culture and widely referenced. These timeless ideas have captivated me as well, gradually teaching me that engaging with original texts is a profoundly enlightening experience. There were sparkles of special joy in the moments when my classmates and I discuss a familiar passage from a classic text, uncover its nuanced meanings, or delight in playful interpretations. These shared moments of discovery are among the most treasured aspects of my learning journey. In this sense, I have embraced the nurturing influence of Chinese traditional classics with a kind of open, unassuming curiosity—a primal connection to the wisdom of these ancient texts.
The most enjoyable aspect of studying the Talmud lies in exploring the diverse settings of the debates between rabbis, which infuse abstract logic with captivating narratives. Take, for example, the “Oven of Akhnai”—a coiled oven resembling a snake, filled with sand after being sliced into strips. This peculiar object becomes the centerpiece of a talmudic debate on ritual purity and impurity. While such ovens are rarely encountered in real life, they make for fascinating thought experiments! At the same time, there are striking similarities between reading the Talmud and Chinese classics. Both offer the pure, text-focused experience of uncovering profound insights, a shared joy that comes from the clever interplay of ideas. This beauty of intellectual discovery is a hallmark of engaging with traditional Chinese classics as well as Jewish religious texts like the Bible and the Talmud.
I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to Professors Aryeh Amihay and Ofra Amihay for their invaluable guidance in my study of the Talmud. Without their mentorship, I would never have truly embarked on this intellectual journey. They led me step by step, from the Mishnah to the Tosefta, and from the Bavli to the Yerushalmi, guiding me through a careful reading of tractate Horayot. In our study of the Talmud they clarified how the rabbis debated laws around particular themes, skillfully quoting and interpreting the text while gradually refining and expanding the discussion. Their comparative approach to reading different collections highlighted the dynamic interaction between the Mishnah and Tosefta and illuminated the historical background of the Talmud, presenting the novel, vast, and intricate world to me. More significantly, after each weekly reading session in Talmud, Professor Amihay would send me an email that outlined in detail new vocabulary, key concepts, and questions that arose during our discussions. These emails not only clarified the key points but also illuminated effective reading habits and demonstrated what it means to be a scholar with a disciplined methodology, embodying the passion and efficiency essential for academic study. I found this learning experience to be a perfect manifestation of what Levinas described in his lecture as the moment of “meeting the mentor face-to-face.” Just as Levinas metaphorically portrays the rabbinical school hosting Talmudic discussions as the “Archimedean point” of study, the coffee shop became our own “Archimedean point.” In a quiet corner of the shop, we immersed ourselves in the curiosity, and exchange our thoughts on the wisdom embedded in the Talmud. This experience deepened my understanding of the subject, and further reaffirmed my passion and determination to continue studying the Talmud in the future.
2. To Be Continued: a Prospect of the Direction of Future Research
My three years of graduate studies in Religion at Fudan University have not only provided me with rigorous academic training but also blessed me with beautiful friendships with both teachers and classmates. I have had the privilege of meeting many remarkable scholars, both on and off campus, each excelling in their respective fields of research. Among them is Professor Liu Ping, whose profound knowledge of the Bible and dedication to nurturing talent in Jewish-Christian religious traditions are truly inspiring. Then there is Professor Lydia Lee, a fluent Hebrew speaker with impressive academic credentials, whose ancient Hebrew courses ignite her students’ enthusiasm and inspire innovative ideas for their papers. I am also grateful to have learned from the world-renowned Professor Takamitsu Muraoka, who generously shares his extensive research on Semitic languages, guiding students through texts with meticulous, word-by-word readings. Beyond my professors, I have formed meaningful connections with like-minded peers. Their deep text-reading skills, rigorous logical reasoning, and eloquent presentation abilities continue to impress and motivate me. Despite our diverse research interests—ranging from logic in Jewish texts to biblical exegesis and medieval Jewish history—we often walk together along the tree-lined paths of the campus, exchanging observations and sharing academic insights. These moments of camaraderie and intellectual exchange are among the most cherished aspects of my time at Fudan.
In an open-minded environment that fosters academic exploration and mutual support, I have felt encouraged to move beyond a predetermined academic framework and engage in more independent reading and critical thinking. Building on the knowledge gained in the classroom and through assigned readings, I have sought to deepen my understanding by pursuing topics that spark my curiosity. The Talmud’s diverse and open debate style offers countless possibilities for research on subjects such as logic and cognitive responsibility. Reading it feels like embarking on a treasure hunt in a maze, with multiple paths leading to discovery. And so, during my last winter break (in January 2024), I revisited the ever-fascinating story of the "Oven of Akhnai" in Bava Metzia 59a–59b. I delved into the original text and supplemented it with secondary scholarship to gain a deeper understanding. However, I remained puzzled by the apparent contradiction between God’s declaration, “My children have defeated me,” and the clear victory of Rabbi Eliezer, which seemed to conflict with Rabban Gamliel’s subsequent punishment—a storm at sea and his death following Rabbi Eliezer’s prayer. Professor Amihay guided me in drawing connections with other related Talmudic passages, which provided new insights and enriched my comprehension. Throughout the semester, I continued my exploration by studying descriptions of sorcery and rabbinic supernatural powers in Sanhedrin 67a–68a, uncovering intriguing details that deepened my fascination with the text. This process of connecting passages and piecing together insights has been both challenging and rewarding, fueling my passion for Talmudic studies.
In addition to studying the classics, I also explored rabbinic perspectives on miracles and magic. Through Abaye’s framework for distinguishing between forbidden magic and permissible manipulation of supernatural powers, I came to understand that the moral criterion employed by the rabbis to judge an action as good or evil rests not on its outcome but on its intention. This principle is indirectly affirmed in Bava Metzia 59a–59b. Although the Hillelites recognized that Rabbi Eliezer's miracles were effective, they still rejected his opinion and ultimately exiled him. Rabbi Eliezer’s exile stemmed from the Hillelites’ refusal to acknowledge his intention of aligning with the will of God—specifically, his commitment to maintaining halakhic law and divine intention. The Hillelites justified their actions by claiming they were “settling disputes in Israel to preserve God's honor.” However, in Bava Metzia 59b, God responds to both Rabbi Eliezer’s position and Rabban Gamliel’s justification, reflecting divine will in both instances and resulting in the defeat of both parties. I argue that the true conflict in the “Oven of Akhnai” story lies in the irreconcilable dualistic interpretations of God’s will by the opposing sides. And the Talmud itself does not entirely reject miracles in favor of human reason, nor does it position supernatural powers or miracles as inherently contrary to Judaism. Instead, it suggests a more nuanced relationship between divine will, halakhic law, and the role of miracles within rabbinic tradition.
Although my master’s thesis continues the focus of my undergraduate studies on Levinas’ thought, with particular attention to his Talmudic lectures, the research methods I have encountered during my master’s studies—whether through courses, lectures, or scholarly literature—have emphasized the importance of an in-depth engagement with primary texts. This has underscored for me the necessity of solidifying my foundational skills in reading and analyzing these texts, which I now regard as my highest priority.
Admittedly, Talmudic studies remain a niche field in China. Given the vast scope of the Talmud, its rigorous demands for proficiency in Hebrew languages, and the intricate blend of technical expertise and intellectual depth it requires, I am fully aware that this will be a challenging and lengthy journey. Yet, thanks to the patient teaching and guidance of my professors, as well as the support and encouragement of my friends, I have gradually cultivated a resilient determination—one akin to the mindset of “walking lightly with a bamboo cane and straw sandals.”[2] In this line, the Song Dynsaty poet Su Shi expressed optimism, encouraging himself to continue on his journey despite the challenges and lack of resources, except for his simple cane and sandals. We also have relatively few resources in Jewish studies here in China; but with patient perservence and humility I believe we can successfully advance the study of Jewish culture in our country.
“The way ahead is long; I shall search high and low.” [3] May we encourage each other.
[2] Su Shi (苏轼, 1037–1101), also known as Su Dongpo, was one of China's most influential poets and statesmen during the Song Dynasty. The line "竹杖芒鞋轻胜马" (bamboo staff and straw sandals being lighter—simpler and more agile—than horseback) comes from his poem "定风波" (Calming the Wind and Waves), written during his exile, suggesting that simple means can be more effective than grand ones. In other words, sandals and cane are simple and crude, compared with horseback riding. (Ed.)
[3] This is a famous quote from Li Sao (离骚) by the poet Qu Yuan (one of China’s earliest and most important poets, living from approximately 340–278 BCE during the Warring States Period): 路漫漫其修远兮，吾将上下而求索. "Long is the road and far the search; I will go up and down to seek it.” This is a well-known expression of determination to pursue knowledge or truth despite the difficult journey ahead. (Ed.)
