You’ve probably seen the black-and-white photos of European refugees in 1940s Shanghai, huddled in the Hongkew district. It’s a powerful image, for sure. But honestly? If you think the history of Jewish people in China starts and ends with World War II, you’re missing about ninety percent of the story.
China isn't exactly the first place that comes to mind when people talk about the Jewish diaspora. It feels like a total anomaly. Yet, the roots go deep—back to the Northern Song Dynasty. We are talking about a thousand years of integration, trade, and survival. It’s a narrative that isn't just about escaping persecution, though that’s part of it. It’s actually a story about how a culture maintains its identity—or slowly loses it—when it’s dropped into the middle of a completely different civilization.
The Kaifeng Jews: A Thousand Years of "Becoming" Chinese
The most fascinating part of this whole saga is Kaifeng. Back in the 10th or 11th century, a group of Persian merchants traveled the Silk Road and just... stayed. They arrived in Kaifeng, which was then the capital of the Northern Song Dynasty. The Emperor reportedly told them: "Examine our customs, and inherit the customs of your ancestors." Basically, do your thing, just don't cause trouble.
They did exactly that.
For centuries, the Kaifeng Jews flourished. They built a massive synagogue in 1163. They were known as the Tiao Jin Jiao—roughly translating to "the religion that extracts the sinew," a reference to kosher butchering practices. What’s wild is how they blended in. They started taking Chinese surnames like Shi, Ai, Gao, and Jin. These names were actually granted by the Ming Emperor. Over generations, they looked Chinese, spoke Chinese, and worked in the imperial bureaucracy.
But isolation is a tough opponent.
By the mid-1800s, the community was fading. The last rabbi died around 1850. Floods from the Yellow River repeatedly destroyed their synagogue and their Hebrew scrolls. Without a spiritual leader or a way to read the texts, the rituals became hollow memories. Today, there are still a few hundred people in Kaifeng who claim Jewish ancestry. They don't eat pork. Some wear kippahs during festivals. But the line between "being Jewish" and "having Jewish roots" has become incredibly thin. It’s a bittersweet example of what scholars call "absorption." They weren't kicked out; they were just folded into the fabric of China until the edges blurred.
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The Baghdadi Tycoons and the Rise of Modern Shanghai
Fast forward to the 19th century. The scene shifts from the dusty plains of Kaifeng to the humid, bustling ports of Shanghai and Hong Kong. This wasn't about religion; it was about business.
After the Opium Wars, Sephardic Jews from Baghdad followed the British Empire’s expansion into Asia. You’ve definitely heard these names if you’ve spent any time in a boardroom: Sassoon and Kadoorie. These families were the titans of their era. David Sassoon moved his operations from Mumbai to Shanghai and basically built the city's modern infrastructure.
It was a golden age.
They built the Peace Hotel. They funded the docks. They were influential. At one point, the Kadoorie family owned a massive chunk of the city’s utilities. These Jewish people in China weren't refugees; they were the elite. They lived in mansions that still stand today as government buildings or heritage sites. They were cosmopolitan, British-passport-holding moguls who saw Shanghai as the land of opportunity.
Why Shanghai Became a Sanctuary in 1939
Then things got dark. In the 1930s, as the Nazis took over Europe, the world essentially shut its doors. If you were a Jew in Berlin or Vienna, you needed a visa to leave, but nobody was giving them out. Except for Shanghai.
Shanghai was an "open port" at the time. You didn't need a visa to enter because the city was divided into international concessions. Between 1938 and 1941, roughly 20,000 European Jews fled to China. It’s kind of a miracle when you think about it. People like Dr. Ho Feng-Shan, the Chinese Consul in Vienna (often called the "Chinese Schindler"), issued thousands of visas against orders, allowing people to escape.
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Life in the "Shanghai Ghetto" wasn't easy.
When the Japanese occupied the city, they forced the Jewish refugees into a restricted area in the Hongkew district. It was crowded. It was unsanitary. People were dying of typhus and malnutrition. But—and this is the crucial part—they weren't being rounded up for extermination. They started schools. They had newspapers in German and Yiddish. They even had a bustling café culture.
The local Chinese residents were also suffering under Japanese occupation. There was this weird, shared trauma between the two groups. They lived side-by-side in poverty. Myron Bright, a judge who grew up there, once remarked on how the local Chinese never showed antisemitism. They were just two groups of people trying to survive a war.
The Russian Influence in Harbin
We can't talk about Jewish people in China without mentioning the north. Harbin is a city that feels weirdly Russian. That’s because, in the early 1900s, thousands of Russian Jews fled the pogroms and the Bolshevik Revolution to settle there.
They built a mini-Zion in the middle of Manchuria.
Harbin had a Jewish hospital, several synagogues, and a library that was one of the largest in East Asia. Unlike the Shanghai refugees who mostly left after 1945, the Harbin community was deeply rooted for decades. They were doctors, musicians, and architects. If you visit Harbin today, the architecture still screams Eastern European Jewish influence. The Saint Sophia Cathedral gets all the tourist love, but the Old Synagogue (now a concert hall) is where the real history sits.
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What’s the Situation Today?
Today, the community is a mix of two very different groups.
First, you have the expats. In cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou, you’ll find thriving Chabad houses and international Jewish schools. These are mostly businesspeople from Israel, the U.S., and France. They’re there for the economy. It’s vibrant, but it’s temporary. People come for five years and move on.
Then, there’s the Kaifeng descendants. This is where things get complicated.
In recent years, the Chinese government has tightened regulations on "unauthorized" religions. Judaism isn't one of the five officially recognized religions in China (which are Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Catholicism, and Protestantism). This makes life tricky for the Kaifeng families who want to reclaim their heritage. Signs have been removed. Small communal spaces have been closed. It’s not necessarily an "anti-Jewish" campaign in the Western sense, but rather a byproduct of strict laws on any religious organization that isn't state-sanctioned.
Despite this, the interest in Jewish culture among the general Chinese population is actually quite high. There’s a common (and slightly awkward) stereotype in China that Jewish people are financial geniuses. You’ll find books in Chinese bookstores with titles like The Secrets of the Talmud for Business Success. It’s a form of "philosemitism"—admiration based on stereotypes. While it comes from a place of respect, it’s still based on generalizations that many find a bit reductive.
Realities and Nuances You Should Know
- Identity is Fluid: For the Kaifeng Jews, being Jewish is often about a sense of "lineage" rather than "observance." Most don't know Hebrew. Many have never seen a Torah.
- The "Schindler" Connection: While Ho Feng-Shan is a hero, it’s also important to remember that the Chinese government at the time (the Nationalist government) was also looking for international support against Japan. Every historical act has layers of politics.
- Heritage Tourism: Places like the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum have been massively renovated. It’s a big draw for tourists. China is proud of this history because it portrays the country as a sanctuary during a time when the rest of the world turned its back.
Actionable Steps for Exploring This History
If you’re genuinely interested in the footprint of Jewish people in China, don't just read about it. Experience the geography.
- Visit the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum: It’s located in the former Ohel Moshe Synagogue. The names of 13,000 refugees are engraved on a wall there. It’s heavy, but necessary.
- Explore Harbin's Central Street: Look up. The architecture tells the story of the Russian Jews who built the city’s commercial heart.
- Research the Sino-Judaic Institute: This is the go-to resource for actual scholarship. They’ve been documenting the Kaifeng community since the 80s.
- Read "The Last Kings of Shanghai" by Jonathan Kaufman: If you want the deep dive into the Sassoon and Kadoorie dynasties, this is the book. It reads like a novel but is meticulously researched.
- Support Grassroots Documentation: Follow the work of photographers and historians who are documenting the last of the Kaifeng descendants before that specific lineage is fully assimilated.
This history isn't a monolith. It’s a scattered, beautiful, and sometimes tragic collection of stories. From the silk traders of the 1100s to the tech entrepreneurs in Shenzhen today, the Jewish presence in China is a testament to the fact that culture doesn't just survive—it adapts. It’s about people finding a way to be themselves in a place that is fundamentally "other." That’s a human story, regardless of where you’re from.