Shamil Selim 🕎✡️🪬

My name is Selim, and this is a dual-purpose blog where I talk about Asian (specifically Chinese) history and Judaism. I am Jewish and I study modern Asian history, and love to ramble about the interesting things I see and photos that I take.

Disclaimers: I am unabashedly Jewish and yes, I do believe that Jews are indigenous to the Levant, Am Yisrael Chai, and all photos are my own. I am always open to discussion and willing to be civil so long as you are as well.

I have an intermediate proficiency in Mandarin and some knowledge of Indonesian, Russian, and German, and have been across the world. I hope you get some enjoyment out of this mess of a blog 💙😁

I want to quickly address a phenomenon which gets overlooked a lot in our very temporal contemporary political climate around Zionism and the incredibly dubious narrative of "Ashkenazi supremacism" and the delegitimization of Ashkenazi heritage that comes along with it: Ashkenazi Jews, especially Litvaks/Lita'iim were once perhaps the MOST ostracized and discriminated against minhag and subgroup both within and outside the B'nai Isra'il, or the Jewish community. Especially amongst Sephardim (originally from Spain, which is in fact, also in Europe) who then resided in the Ottoman Empire within the then cultural capital of Judaism, Salonica, their Polish and Ukrainian neighbors in the Pale of Settlement, and frankly across the Diaspora, the prevailing sentiment was that because of both the Haredi and Hasidic traditions practiced by such Jews and their historic opposition to the then-emerging Reform stream and the Haskalah, they were backwards and savage in comparison to the enlightened and sophisticated Sephardic communities. This can be seen in the rhetoric espoused in many Sephardic cultural organs that originated in the Ottoman Empire's Jewish cultural centers, and this sentiment persisted until very recently.

Even in places like New York, there is still an attitude of superiority taken towards many Litvaks and their descendants, separate from critique of Haredi practice as a whole.

The only reasons why this sentiment is largely forgotten is that firstly, me and said friend live in New York, and the dominant Jewish edot in New York are well, Ashkenazim. Secondly, nearly the entirety of the Sephardic community living in Salonica or what was once the Ottoman Empire was systematically deported and wiped out during the closing years of the Holocaust. This is why Salonica, or Thessaloniki, once a city that served as the center of Jewish culture the world over, now bears hardly any sign of its heritage. This is why the city that once went entirely silent on Shabbat now has not a trace of its Jewish population.

Full disclosure, I am firmly Ashkenazi, with my family roots in the historical region of Lithuania, in modern day Poland and Ukraine, so I don't want to speak too much on the experiences of Sephardim and Mizrahim, who do face legitimate discrimination within the Jewish community. There are legitimate problems here, but if you're not Jewish and especially if you're not Sephardic or Mizrahi, don't try to generalize how these communities feel and use them as a token in your antisemitic narrative. I'm merely pointing out the historical context and historic discrimination Jews who resided in Eastern Europe faced for centuries, which is conveniently ignored by those who feel compelled to construct a dubious faux-CRT narrative about Ashkenazim in the present day; I do not seek to discount the real problems these edot face within B'nai Isra'il and will alway oppose any inter-Jewish discrimination and prejudice espoused by Ashkenazim, or any other group for that matter.

However, I do not appreciate the generalization and tokenization of these communities to support a historically illiterate and deeply antisemitic narrative that gets so commonly pushed amongst the left, regardless of how masked it is in faux-intersectional and "progressive" language. Any mention of Jewish supremacy as a defining feature of Ashkenazi culture is truly ridiculous, regardless of what a few singled-out, fringe voices may say.

Also, gentile is not a slur any more than other out-group terms used by an in-group are. Do people think Black/BIPOC folks using non-Black is a slur? Never, and you'd be laughed out of the room for even suggesting such a thing. Gentile has origins going way back to Biblical times and emerged entirely divorced from any derogatory connotations; the use of the Hebrew-derived goyim in the 2010s was very much popularized by the Alt-Right as a reference to cabalistic conspiracies, as is goyslop and any other variation of the term, and although it can sometimes be derogatory, it's no more derogatory than any other out-group term has the potential to be. Thanks for listening!

For more reading and sourcing for this, here are some lovely books on the topic:

Mazower, Mark. Salonica, City of Ghosts: Christians, Muslims and Jews 1430-1950. New York: Random House, 2003.

In the city of Keelung on Taiwan's northern coast, millennia of geological processes have created a stunning natural formation which had captured the hearts and souls of generations, indigenous Taiwanese, Min, Spanish, Dutch, and Waishengren Han alike.

This is Heping Island, a small maritime community known as a noteworthy site primarily for it's geotourism, where beautiful stones resemble various animals, known as the island's guardians in local folklore.

This island was once the landing point for Dutch and Portuguese settlers, who would famously leave now-eroded inscriptions on the small caves that dot the formation. Hokkien-speaking settlers would also use these caves for shelter, among whom they have developed an entirely separate mythos.

Prior to the groups mentioned above, this area held immense significance for the indigenous populations of Taiwan, who are now memorialized with a statue on the site. Generations have inhabited and passed on this land, many of whom now rest at the small temple shown below. Upon visiting in spring of 2026, I lit three sticks of incense and prayed to Guanyin in an act of reverence to both the Goddess of Mercy and those who called this island home, and their memories which now are forever enshrined and embedded in the beautiful landscape I explored that day.

Centuries later, the site would come under control of the R.O.C. Armed Forces, where it was turned into a fort and radar station. They have since, clearly, opened the island to civilians and it is now a prominent tourist locale for many Taiwanese. The former radar station is now a cafe, where you can drink (admittedly overpriced) craft teas and observe the view from the building's roof, pictured as a panorama below.

In the city of Keelung (基隆), situated on Taiwan's northern coast just an hour's bus ride from Taipei City, sits a massive complex of concrete pillars arranged in grids, fenced off and long-since overgrown by the surrounding flora. Ships sit moored along the side, still used by local fishermen and sailors alike.

This is the Agenna Shipyards, all that remains of what was once the world's 7th most important port in the latter half of the 20th Century. This was originally part of the trade network that connected the prosperous mines of Jinguashi to Japan, seeing heavy development under Japanese rule as the commercial center of Taiwan's primary port city.

After Taiwan's liberation, the mining industry had scaled down considerably, yet was quickly overtaken by shipbuilding as American companies set up operations in Taiwan (then recognized by the US as the legitimate government of China), including the National Automotive Fibers Company conglomerate, which commissioned the structure pictured here in the 1960s.

This boom was short-lived, however, as the docks had a tumultuous history of acquisitions and bankruptcies leading to the locale falling into disrepair by 1989. After the land changed hands numerous times, it was acquired by an automotive company that sought to demolish what remained of the place in 2008, beginning said demolition work 8 years later in 2016.

Activists came out vocally and adamantly against the demolition, however, and the city quickly granted the ruins a protected status later that year. The abortive demolition attempt left the site in ruins, with only the array of dry docks pictured above remaining as a testament to what was once one of Asia's most prosperous and critical trade arteries alongside an emblem of a city whose culture is deeply connected to the sea.

Today, the Agenna Shipyards (阿根納造船廠) stand desolate and abandoned, as no-one is allowed to enter the premises. Tourists crossing the Heping Bridge to the nearby Heping Island (和平島) and her mesmerizing beaches will undoubtedly see this little-known historical oddity, and sits with the colored facades and bustling seafood markets as a symbol of the beautiful maritime city of Keelung and her long and storied history.

When I traveled here in April of 2026, I admittedly tried to sneak over the fence to walk along the highly unstable and dangerous concrete catwalks, but got caught in the process. I then took a trip over to the nearby seafood market, where a kind man tried very hard to sell me sea urchin. Alas, after politely declining and hearing his continued persistence, I yelled "我是為猶太人啊，我不能吃海鮮！" which, props to him, he did know that Jews can't eat shellfish. The creatures they were selling were absolutely wicked though, so I hope any gentiles passing through took him up on his 世界最新鮮的海鮮.

In central Taipei, smack-dab in the middle of the Da'an district, there is a "museum" and tourist attraction known as Rongjin Gorgeous Time (榕錦時光), which exists as an exhibition of Japanese culture and architecture. You can sit in replicas of Japanese style buildings, watch Geisha demonstrations, eat Japanese food, and immerse yourself in what feels like a place straight out of the Meiji period, which is a neat experience.

There's one problem, however: the site is built on the remains of the colonial-era Taipei Prison, used to jail Taiwanese independence fighters and activists under Japanese rule.

Next to vivid and "gorgeous" celebrations of Japanese soldiers, plaques memorialize the sites where men were executed for daring to fight against colonial subjugation. It creates a strange and uncomfortable juxtaposition that reflects the broader, strange relationship with the Japanese colonial past in Taiwan. It is a disconcerting and poorly-executed exercise in public history that I believe is firmly disrespectful to Taiwan's history and those who fought for her freedom.

Is it wrong to celebrate Japanese culture and explore it? Absolutely not. Is it insensitive to do so on the site of a former colonial prison for dissidents? I'd argue it is. The site is beautiful, yet it's impossible to shake the uneasiness that comes from knowing that such joyous attractions sit atop ground bearing such grim memories.

Contrast it with the commemoration of Japanese occupation in Mainland China, and you see two completely different worlds. It was one of the most surreal experiences from my time in Taiwan and a great example of how NOT to do public history.

Imagine a biergarten and lederhosen store built atop a colonial-era concentration camp in Namibia, for instance, or worse yet, a celebration of German culture built on an extermination camp in Poland. Perhaps it's my sensibilities as a Jew that made me so sensitive to such a display, but again, horrible exercise in public history.

The Jinguashi (金瓜石) Shinto Shrine is a now-derelict Shrine, known in Japanese as the Ōgon Shrine (黃金神社) in Taiwan's modern-day Ruifang District. It was built during the Japanese occupation of Taiwan in 1898, during the closing years of the Meiji period (明治時代31年) in what was then a prosperous gold mining town. Naturally, it was built to honor the Kami of metallurgy for the large population of miners who called these mountains home.

The shrine once held a pavilion and multiple other buildings, but much like many other Shinto shrines in modern Taiwan, was destroyed following her liberation sometime after 1945. All that remains is the Tori gate (pictured here) alongside lanterns, pillars, an absolution basin, and a container for votive offerings.

As you can see, travelers still leave coins as offerings here today. The remains of the site have been protected and preserved as part of the Gold Ecological Park and nearby museum documenting the town's once-thriving mining history.

I first visited in April of 2026 after taking a bus from Jiufen (九份), and made a short hike up the mountains from the nearby museum bus stop. The view was absolutely magical, yet the lasting memory of Japanese colonization indeed taints the otherwise beautiful location.

On the western side of the port city of Keelung, Taiwan, there lies a small temple carved into a marine cave (仙洞嚴, in English as Fairy Cave Temple）. The entrance is unassuming, save for the gargantuan golden Buddha statue that overlooks all those who enter the temple, yet walking inside shows one a kaleidoscope of Taiwan's unique and transnational history. The site was first used by Hokkien-speaking seafarers during the Qing Dynasty, when the original temple on the site was built. Under Japanese occupation, it was converted into a Shinto shrine, which it remained as until 1945, where it assumed its present form.

The shrine is lined with carvings, both modern and centuries old, and is home to the remains of many sailors who have been laid to rest there in the cave's three century history. On the lefthand side of the cave, the wall turns into a narrow passageway (pictured above) with a small sign warning severely overweight or otherwise unhealthy travelers of the dangers of slithering through such a tight space. The narrow slit gives way to a separate chamber with a shrine to the Shinto and Buddhist god/goddess Benzaiten.

I visited in May of 2026 for the first time, and the Benzaiten chamber was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It's difficult to describe the religiosity inherent to the vapor-filled cavern, but it was surely palpable. Getting to the cave is fairly straightforward; there is a bus departing from Keelung Bus Station that will take you straight there, to a station bearing the temple's name.