From Vienna to Shanghai

In the summer of 1938, the world turned its back on Europe’s Jews. At the Évian Conference in France, representatives from 32 countries debated the refugee crisis — and one by one, they gave excuses. “We have no territory,” said Australia. “We have no resources,” said Canada. “We cannot change our immigration laws,” said Britain and the United States. Only one nation’s delegate offered no excuse — because the Dominican Republic was the sole country willing to accept more refugees, but only in tiny numbers.

But nearly 5,000 miles away, an unlikely port city remained open: Shanghai. With no visa requirements, no passport control, and a population already devastated by war, Shanghai would become the “Noah’s Ark” for at least 20,000 Jewish refugees fleeing Nazi persecution. This is the little‑known story of how China — itself bleeding from Japanese invasion — became an unexpected sanctuary for some of the Holocaust’s most desperate victims.

Why Shanghai? The only open door in a closed world

Shanghai’s unique status as an international settlement and French concession meant it had no central immigration authority. Foreign powers controlled different districts, and the Chinese government, preoccupied with the war against Japan, had effectively lost control of the city’s ports. The result: no entry visas were required. Anyone who could reach Shanghai could land and, at least initially, find shelter.

For Jews in Vienna, Berlin, or Prague, Shanghai became the last hope. The journey was perilous: crossing Nazi Germany, traversing the Soviet Union via the Trans‑Siberian Railway, then sailing from the Soviet port of Vladivostok to Japan, and finally to Shanghai. Others took cargo ships from Italy or Greece, braving submarine attacks and British blockades. But by 1941, thousands had made the journey — and stepped ashore into a chaotic, overcrowded, yet fiercely alive city.

China’s quiet heroes: Ho Feng‑Shan and the “Visas for Life”

Central to this rescue was a man from a small village in Yiyang, Hunan: Dr. Ho Feng‑Shan. As the Chinese Consul‑General in Vienna in 1938, Ho disobeyed his superiors and issued thousands of visas to Shanghai — even after the Chinese embassy ordered him to stop. “I thought it only natural to feel compassion and to want to help,” he later reflected. “From the standpoint of humanity, that is the way it should be.”

His actions directly enabled Jewish families to board ships and trains heading for Shanghai. Without Ho’s visa, the Japanese authorities would have refused entry; with it, refugees had at least a paper that granted them passage. Today, Yad Vashem recognizes Ho as “Righteous Among the Nations” — a story we explore in depth here. But he was not alone. Other Chinese diplomats, such as Wang Zhengting in Berlin and He Chengzhi in Vienna, also facilitated visas, though Ho’s volume was unmatched.

Life in the Shanghai Ghetto: Poverty, resilience, and community

Upon arrival, refugees faced squalid conditions. Most settled in the Hongkew district (now Hongkou), a crowded, impoverished area north of the Suzhou Creek. They lived in cramped apartments, old warehouses, and even abandoned temples. Disease, malnutrition, and unemployment were rampant. Yet, within months, the refugees built a vibrant community: they opened coffeehouses, bakeries, schools, and synagogues. A Yiddish newspaper, Shanghai Echo, began publication. A jazz band played in cafés. Children attended Hebrew school in a former hospital.

In February 1943, the Japanese occupation authorities — who had controlled Shanghai’s international sectors since 1941 — declared a “Designated Area for Stateless Refugees” in Hongkew. Roughly 18,000 Jews were forced to relocate into this 0.75‑square‑mile ghetto. Movement was restricted, but unlike the ghettos of Warsaw or Łódź, the Shanghai Ghetto did not have mass deportations to death camps (though refugees lived under constant fear). The ghetto was liberated when Japan surrendered in August 1945.

Chinese tolerance vs. Western exclusion

While Western nations imposed strict quotas and anti‑Semitic policies (the United States’ “Germany‑quota” allowed only 27,370 Germans to enter per year — regardless of religion), China’s open‑door policy reflected not just necessity but a deep cultural absence of state‑sponsored anti‑Semitism. Chinese communities, themselves suffering under Japanese occupation, largely accepted the newcomers. There were tensions — competition for jobs and housing existed — but no pogroms, no state‑ordered deportations, and no massacres. The Chinese phrase “tóngqíng” (sympathy) often described their attitude toward Jewish refugees. In a remarkable act of interfaith solidarity, the Muslim community of Shanghai also assisted Jewish refugees, renting properties and providing food.

Many Jewish refugees later recalled being treated with “confused kindness” by ordinary Shanghainese, who would share what little they had. “We were both refugees,” one survivor later wrote. “They from the Japanese, we from the Nazis. We understood each other without words.”

Legacy: Remembering the Shanghai haven

After WWII, most Jewish refugees left Shanghai. Many emigrated to the newly established State of Israel, the United States, Canada, or Australia. But they never forgot the city that saved them. Today, the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum (located in the former Ohel Moshe Synagogue) preserves this history. The museum has welcomed hundreds of thousands of visitors, including Israeli presidents and Holocaust survivors and their descendants.

The former Hongkew Ghetto area — now a trendy, gentrifying part of Hongkou — still bears traces of its Jewish past. You can walk past the old White Horse Inn (a former refugee café), the former Mikveh (ritual bath), and the restored synagogue. The Chinese government has listed many of these sites as protected cultural relics.

In 2021, the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum launched a permanent exhibition entitled “Shelter in the Storm”, featuring oral histories, artifacts, and interactive maps. It stands as a testament to how one city — battered by war and occupation — still chose humanity.

From Shanghai to Yiyang: A full circle of remembrance

The story of Shanghai is inseparable from the story of Ho Feng‑Shan, the son of Yiyang. Without his visas — and the visas of a handful of other Chinese diplomats — many of those 20,000 refugees could never have left Vienna. Today, visitors to Yiyang can pay respects at Ho Feng‑Shan’s grave on Huilong Hill, a pilgrimage site that honors not only one man but the compassion of a nation.

Read our complete guide: 🪦 Visiting Ho Feng‑Shan’s grave in Yiyang and 🏅 Why Yad Vashem honored a man from rural China.

The lesson: When humanity prevails

The story of the Jewish refugees in Shanghai is not merely a footnote in Holocaust history. It is a powerful counter‑example to the indifference of the 1938 Évian Conference. It shows that even in the midst of its own agony — the brutal Sino‑Japanese War — China extended a hand to strangers in need. And it proves that individual acts of courage, like those of Ho Feng‑Shan, can shape the fate of thousands.

As antisemitism and xenophobia rise again in the 21st century, the memory of Shanghai’s open door reminds us that compassion is always possible, and that a single visa — a single signature — can be the difference between life and death. Today, Yiyang and Shanghai stand as twin symbols of that legacy: one the birthplace of the rescuer, the other the haven he helped create.

Inspired by this history? Discover modern‑day Yiyang — where affordability meets heritage. Elevator apartments from $15,000, cost of living under $500/month, and direct high‑speed rail to Changsha and beyond. Explore properties and start your journey today →