The Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, had a special fondness for French Jews,†Rabbi Shimon Freundlich said. He raised his glass, nodding toward a cluster of guests seated in the crowded room, and took a healthy swig.
It was a recent Friday night at the Chabad Lubavitch House in Beijing, a villa on a tucked-away cul-de-sac in China’s capitol city. In the span of an hour, the foyer and living room had been transformed from a modest synagogue to a banquet hall, with guests seated shoulder to shoulder at tables across the length of the room. Rabbi Freundlich was standing at the middle of one of these tables, waving his arms, passing around bottles of spirits, and making one of the evening’s many toasts.
 I had heard about Chabad food in college and Beijing lived up to the billing.  The post-service meal (catered by local Chinese workers) was something to behold: Sushi. Salad. Salmon. Vegetables. Challah. Soup. Chicken. Cake. Hungry travelers passed trays of kugel shared stories trip itineraries. Expatriates swapped career advice in French, Russian, and Hebrew. On the walls were photographs of synagogues in other Chinese cities: Shanghai and Harbin
The service was different in many ways from my home synagogue (a conservative congregation in Providence R.I.). Instead of a cantor’s slow, melodic recitation, Rabbi Freundlich went through the prayers at an auctioneer’s speed. Also, unlike Temple Emanu El, men and women were separated by a wooden partition.
Apart from a plaque next to the door, Chabad Beijing looked like the other houses on Xiao Yun Road. Inside, it felt like an outpost – a far-off place where Jews come for familiar foods and rituals. After a short discussion of the week’s Torah portion from Rabbi Freundlich (about Moses and being in “awe†of the Almighty), we — my three American friends and I – took our leave. On the way back to our apartment, we passed flower shops, locals playing cards on the sidewalks, and the bright lights of the U.S. Embassy.
