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Novel about Chinese rescuer of Jews raises questions about facts vs. fiction in Holocaust stories
TAIPEI (JTA) — Ho Feng-Shan, the Chinese diplomat stationed in Vienna who helped thousands of Jews escape from Europe during World War II, never met Adolf Eichmann.
But in “Night Angels,” a novel based on his life, Feng-Shan comes face to face with Eichmann several times — and his wife Grace’s Jewish tutor, Lola, tries to kill the architect of the Holocaust.
That detail is one of many that has spurred Ho Manli, Feng-Shan’s daughter, to speak out against “Night Angels,” the fourth novel by the Chinese-American author Weina Dai Randel. Manli says the book distorts elements of her father’s story, which was unknown before she spent decades documenting his heroic efforts to issue visas allowing Jews to escape to Shanghai.
“What I have found in doing this story is it’s very difficult to try to maintain the historical integrity of the facts,” Manli told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “Countless people … want to use this for their own means, whether it be commercial like this novelist, whether it be political, or whatever. So over the two decades that I have been doggedly trying to uncover more and more, I’ve been constantly fending off these sorts of opportunistic assaults.”
The dispute is casting a shadow over the novel, released this month, and reinvigorating longstanding debates over the importance of truth in historical fiction — particularly in stories about the Holocaust.
“Night Angels” follows Feng-Shan and his wife, Grace, as they risk their lives by issuing visas that allow thousands of Jews escape Germany and Austria to Shanghai. Grace, one of the novel’s narrators and main characters, is based on Feng-Shan’s real second wife with the same name who was no longer in Vienna after the Anschluss — Nazi Germany’s annexation of Austria in 1938, and the period in which the novel is set. By that time, Feng-Shan had already sent Grace away to Boston. She never witnessed Nazi rule or Feng-Shan’s efforts to save Jews, Manli writes.
Several other events in the book, including Grace’s friendship with a Jewish woman who attempts to assassinate Eichmann and her development of a morphine addiction, are fully fictional.
Manli first took aim at the book in a column last month in China Daily. The novel, she wrote, “exploits real names, real people, real events and places, in what is essentially a Holocaust-themed melodrama.”
“In online reviews, readers say that they are thrilled to learn of my father and this history — except of course, what they have learned is not really history, my father’s, or anyone else’s,” she wrote.
Randel and her publisher, Amazon Publishing, did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
Randel dedicated the novel to “Ho Feng-Shan, his family, and all the angels in Vienna and beyond.” The book includes a disclaimer disclosing that its contents are a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination.
But that’s not satisfactory to some readers, including Tina Kanagaratnam, co-founder of the heritage group Historic Shanghai, whose book group read a previous Randel story set in Shanghai.
“If you’re talking about a historical character, you have to get the history right. Otherwise, just create a fictional character,” Kanagaratnam told JTA. “This is written for people who don’t know the history, but as Manli said, that’s dangerous, because then that’s what they remember. That’s what they take away.”
Ho Monto, left, and Ho Manli stand in front of the Righteous Among the Nations wall at the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem, Jan. 23, 2001. (Isaac Harari/AFP via Getty Images)
“Night Angels” has accumulated thousands of positive reviews on Amazon and has been promoted by Jewish organizations across the country. On Wednesday, the Jewish Book Council, in collaboration with Tablet Magazine and the Jewish Museum in New York City, will hold an event with Randel and journalist Jonathan Freedland that will explore “fact, fiction, and the sometimes blurred line between them.”
Randel’s book adds to a long list of Holocaust stories occupying that blurry territory, dating from the genre’s early days. Many readers believed, for example, that “The Painted Bird,” the pivotal work of Holocaust fiction from the 1960s, was based on author Jerzy Koszinski’s experience during the Holocaust; it was not. Scholars and booksellers have long agonized over whether to call Elie Wiesel’s “Night” a memoir or a novel, and whether the distinction matters when it is taught in American classrooms.
The fight has extended to questions over who can tell which stories from Holocaust. In 2014, Haaretz journalist Judy Maltz filed a lawsuit against Penguin Canada and author Jenny Witterick alleging that Witterick’s novel, “My Mother’s Secret,” copied Maltz’s documentary film about her family’s rescue during World War II. The court ruled in favor of Witterick on the grounds that copyright protection does not apply to historical events.
“An author is only ever responsible to their own fiction. They have creative license. And fictionalization of other people against their will is part of the history of literature,” said Helen Finch, a professor at the University of Leeds who studies representations of the Holocaust in German literature. “But that doesn’t absolve the writer from criticism.”
Manli — a journalist who has worked for the Boston Globe and helped found the China Daily, a state-backed media outlet, in 1981 — has made it her mission to set the record straight on Feng-Shan’s story. She began researching her father after his death in 1997, while writing his obituary. One line in his memoir from 1990 that recalled “saving who knows how many Jews” piqued her interest and led to a 25-year quest to document the extent of what her father did during the war.
His story of defying both his own government and the government of Germany to write Shanghai visas for thousands of persecuted Jews had been previously unknown, even to the refugees themselves — most of whom never met Feng-Shan.
Manli’s research led to Feng-Shan’s recognition by Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and memorial authority, in 2000 as “Righteous Among the Nations,” an honor given to those who risked their own lives to help Jews during World War II. Since then, greater attention has been paid to his story, and memorials across the world, from Israel to China to Italy, bear his name today.
Manli said Randel reached out to her several times before her book was published but after it had already been written. According to Manli, Randel sought out her blessing on the book by phone and email, saying that “the Holocaust history and your father’s history is now being forgotten” and adding that she wanted to help spread that history. Manli, who is working on a book of her own about her father, said she refused to answer, “just from the tone of her letter and what she wanted.”
“I have been burned before by this,” Manli told JTA. “I knew immediately that this was not something that I wanted to participate in and certainly that I wasn’t going to endorse.”
In an email shared with JTA in response to Manli’s editorial, Randel wrote that she has “great respect for Dr. Ho Fenghan[sic] and his family. I’m surprised to hear such strong negative criticism. I’m puzzled to see my gesture of respect is viewed in such a hostile way. If Ms. Manli Ho wishes to speak to me, I’m here.”
Randel, according to a biography on her website, came to the United States from China at 24 and became “the first Asian American novelist who intertwined Chinese history with the Jewish diaspora in Shanghai during WWII.”
Her previous novel, “The Last Rose of Shanghai,” follows a Chinese woman who falls in love with a German Jewish refugee living in the Shanghai Ghetto, the restricted area in which over 20,000 displaced Jews lived during World War II, under brutal oversight by Japanese officials who occupied the area. In interviews before the book’s 2021 release, Randel recalled hearing about Jewish refugees while she was living near the district that housed the ghetto.
After moving to the United States, she married an American Jew and is raising her children with both cultures in Boston. She has said “The Last Rose of Shanghai” was inspired by her interest in the history she saw in Shanghai and a desire to pay homage to her Jewish side of the family.
“I think it’s apt to say the survival of Shanghai Jews is also a story of how we as different races and as human beings shine and triumph over war and adversity,” she said in a January 2022 interview with World Literature Today.
But other researchers and authors deeply familiar with Feng-Shan’s story and Jewish history in Shanghai told JTA that “The Last Rose of Shanghai” also contained historical inaccuracies, including misrepresentation of real people who appear as characters, such as Victor Sassoon, a Jewish businessman and member of the dynasty known as the “Rothschilds of the East,” and Laura Margolis, the first female Joint Distribution Committee representative.
The book also includes a character named Goya, described as “a shameless Jew … who somehow had won the Japanese’s trust.”
The Jewish character is based on the real Kanoh Ghoya, who was not Jewish, but a notoriously cruel Japanese officer who had dubbed himself “king of the Jews” and “was infamous for his inhumane treatment of ghetto inhabitants,” according to the USC Shoah Foundation.
According to Publisher’s Marketplace, “The Last Rose of Shanghai” was sold to Lake Union Publishing — an imprint of Amazon Publishing — in 2021 as half of a two-book deal worth between $100,000 and $250,000. It was a finalist for a Jewish National Book Award that year. (The Jewish Book Council, which confers those awards, did not respond to multiple requests for comments about the “Night Angels” event.)
Kanagaratnam said Historic Shanghai’s book group read “The Last Rose of Shanghai” in 2021 and hosted Randel for an event. The group was unsatisfied by Randel’s response when factual issues were brought to her attention, particularly the characterization of Ghoya as Jewish, Randel dismissed them, Kanagaratnam said.
Randel’s novel is only part of a growing consciousness among the general public of the Shanghai Jewish refugee story. In recent decades, especially following the normalization of Israel-China relations in 1992 and Feng-Shan’s recognition by Yad Vashem, both governments have promoted the history, sometimes distorting facts to push different narratives about their wartime past.
New books and other media adaptations about the Shanghai Jewish refugee story have proliferated, such as the musical “Shanghai Sonatas” (2022) and the novels “Someday We Will Fly” (2019),“The Lives Before Us” (2019), and “The World and All It Holds” (2023). Other films and books are forthcoming.
“The audience of people who are interested in, if you will, an ‘exotic’ Jewish story, I think has meant that we’re seeing more and more of these. Everyone’s heard the Holocaust story. But now here’s one in an exotic setting,” said Kanagaratnam. “I think authors need to take responsibility. But honestly, I also blame the publishing industry, because where are the fact-checkers? A lot of the stuff in this can be really easily googled.”
Finch said novels that are set during that period are “always a work of fiction about the present.”
“So the question is, why is this author writing this book now? What does that say about the current moment when she’s writing? And what is with Randel trying to reflect either consciously or unconsciously in contemporary politics as well?”
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A pioneering Reform synagogue makes way for a booming Iranian Jewish community
Temple Beth-El is an island of Reform Judaism in the Iranian milieu of deep Great Neck, a suburb on the North Shore of Long Island 35 minutes away from Manhattan by train. There are around two dozen synagogues in Great Neck; three of them are Reform, and two of those are tucked away at the edges of the peninsula. Temple Beth-El stands bravely at the center, with frontage on Middle Neck Road, the main street, just steps away from multiple Orthodox synagogues and kosher restaurants serving a spectrum of cuisines.
As an Iranian-American Jew from Great Neck, I’ve been to Temple Beth-El twice before: once, in middle school, for a classmate’s bar mitzvah, and then, in 2021, to get the COVID vaccine. I called it, simply, “the Ashkenazi synagogue.” Tonight, as the oldest synagogue in Great Neck prepares to downsize, I am here for the third time ever, for Friday night services.
Temple Beth-El formed in 1928, when Great Neck was dominated by Protestants. The presence of the synagogue made even more Jews from the city want to move east. Its rabbis were outspoken civil rights activists and hosted Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1967. Now, as Great Neck’s demographics shift further toward more religious Jews, Temple Beth-El’s congregation is shrinking. The synagogue is selling its property to an Iranian Orthodox yeshiva and will be leasing back a portion of it.
In the mid 1980s, Temple Beth-El had around 1,500 families, with a 500-person waiting list, said Stuart Botwinick, the synagogue’s executive director. Now, as members have died off and younger ones aren’t joining as quickly, it has around 400, and can’t fill up its main sanctuary on Rosh Hashanah. Wielding cold economic calculus, I can envision someone arguing that if fewer people choose to attend a synagogue, then whatever happens to it must be natural, or deserved. I can even envision myself arguing that. It’s not guilt, because I did nothing wrong, but as a member of the majority group, some sense of duty makes me want to see with my own eyes what is being lost.
A man hands me a siddur and wishes me a Shabbat shalom. The chapel is beautiful, with a dark wood vaulted ceiling, stained glass and hanging lanterns. I find a seat in the gender-integrated pews among some 30 congregants. I try to follow the prayers, but I don’t know any of the tunes — my home synagogue is not nearly this musical. I am surprised to see some men not wearing kippahs. Rebelliously, I stray from the page everyone else is on and flip briefly to the back of the siddur. There are lyrics to “Hatikvah,” “America the Beautiful,” “God Bless America,” “The Star-Spangled Banner” and, maybe worst of all, “O Canada.” My inner Satmar rebbe shudders.
Fortunately, national hymns are not part of tonight’s repertoire. From the bimah, the rabbi, Brian Stoller, outs me as a Forward reporter. The moment the service ends, several excited Ashkenazi seniors approach me; clearly, the name of this news outlet carries much more clout here than in my typical Great Neck circles.
Stoller holds an optimistic vision of Temple Beth-El’s future that emphasizes adult education and cultural arts above physical space. In other words, “we’re not here to be landlords,” says Jennifer Still-Schiff, a co-president of the synagogue sisterhood. Still, losing ownership and part of their space must be somewhat traumatic. Once the service ends, Howard Herman, an honorary vice president of the board who’s been a member since the 1980s, gives me a tour and shows me all of the things the synagogue will need to sell.
“We have this beautiful Judaica museum, and we’re going to be selling it or giving a lot of it away,” he says. Then he shows me the large sanctuary. We can’t find the light switch, so we turn on our cell phone flashlights to inspect a 55-foot-long sculpture behind the bimah: “The White Flame of the Six Million” by Louise Nevelson. In the sculpture, which integrates the Torah ark, shapes carved out from white wood represent the uniqueness of every life lost in the genocide. “We’re going to have to sell this,” Herman says. “Who can buy this?”
That sanctuary, where Temple Beth-El used to hold regular Shabbat services and now only holds High Holy Day services, seats almost 900 people. It will become part of the yeshiva’s space. Sisterhood co-president Rochelle Rosenbloom says the chapel, which seats about 250, will be enough to seat worshipers even on the High Holy Days. If it isn’t, she and Still-Shiff said, they can stagger two sets of services or have people watch the services on a TV in the lobby.
At a time when Great Neck was still mostly Christian, the existence of Temple Beth-El “was an essential sign that Jews could live in Great Neck and that there were enough of them, committed to religious participation through the Reform movement, to make it safe and desirable for others to try it out,” historian Judith Goldstein wrote in her book Inventing Great Neck. It was the peninsula’s only synagogue until 1941, when Temple Israel of Great Neck formed, said Brad Kolodny, an amateur historian of Long Island Jewish history. In the 1960s, Jews — particularly liberal, Reform Jews — began to outnumber Christians in Great Neck. Temple Beth-El had to build a bigger sanctuary. At times, even that sanctuary — the one with the Holocaust memorial sculpture — filled up, and administration had to set up overflow seating in other rooms.
Persian synagogues started cropping up in Great Neck after the Islamic Revolution in 1979. Great Neck has Iraqi and Syrian synagogues, too, plus several synagogues that are not officially Mizrahi but have Mizrahi congregants. Now, any car trying to drive on, say, Steamboat Road on a Saturday morning must use caution, as the sidewalks aren’t wide enough for the large groups of skipping children, bike-riding kippah-clad young men, and moms pushing double strollers in their Shabbat finest.
People in the Jewish world can get accused of being “Ashkenormative,” but since 1979, Great Neck has become Mizrahi-normative. When I was a child, a last name like “Weiss” or “Katz” connoted nothing to me, and for the longest time I assumed that my classmates whose hair was lighter than mine couldn’t possibly be Jewish. I used to watch The Nanny with my mom; one night, as Fran and Sylvia Fine peppered their speech with schleps, schvitzes, and other Yiddishisms, I asked my mom what language the characters were speaking. “I don’t know,” she said.
Fran was a prime example of what I eventually came to understand as the stereotype of the liberal American Jew, a character so familiar to American audiences that she could speak Yiddish and expect to be understood. But as the growth of the Orthodox community outpaces that of other denominations, I realize that stereotype is becoming less and less accurate. Forty-four percent of Jews ages 65 or older identify as Reform, but only 29% of Jews who are 18 to 30. And more concerningly: among people raised Reform, 12% of them are “no longer Jewish,” according to a 2020 Pew research study. When, in 1994, Fran Fine wished for “a husband and a house in Great Neck,” she was talking about a place already in flux, a place where a legacy of civil rights activism would soon give way to people who voted heavily for Donald Trump and helped elect George Santos.
When I told my mom I was writing about Temple Beth-El, she told me in an approving tone of voice that they lend out wheelchairs and other medical equipment for free, and collect donations from families of people who’ve died and no longer need theirs. Indeed, “social action” is an important value here: The synagogue also sends volunteers to an interfaith food pantry based at a local church, and some congregants volunteer to support undocumented immigrants, said Botwinick.
That willingness to look outward distinguishes Temple Beth-El from, say, my synagogue, and Botwinick argues many Iranian Jews benefit from it. “We believe that the Jewish community and the greater community actually falls in line with a lot of what we do and what we believe,” but doesn’t say so “because of cultural pressures,” Botwinick said. “Equal rights is important, health is important, caring for the immigrant community matters. It takes a strong voice — Temple Beth-El is that strong voice — to say these things matter.”
This is the most compelling thing anyone has told me for this story: that even Orthodox Jews benefit from having a Reform synagogue for a neighbor. If, for example, Temple Beth-El hadn’t opened as a vaccine hub, I struggle to see my synagogue, where many congregants are vaccine-skeptical, filling that gap.
Dr. Gary Zola, Temple Beth-El’s historian in residence, addressed the threats of decline facing Reform Judaism in a March 13 sermon, and said the synagogue’s long history should serve as a source of hope. “Let’s not forget that 98 years ago, a handful of Jewish scholars decided to create a Jewish community out of nothingness.”
“It is clear that the enervation of liberal Jewish life is a challenge,” he said, “but it’s a challenge that awaits our response.”
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Top British private Jewish school closing amid funding challenges
(JTA) — Immanuel College, a top-ranked Jewish private day school in the outskirts of London, announced on Tuesday that it will close its doors at the end of this year amid financial pressures and declining enrollment.
“This is an incredibly difficult and painful moment,” Daniel Levy, the chair of governors for the school, said in a statement. “Immanuel College has been a cornerstone of education and community life for more than 35 years, and we know how deeply this news will be felt by all those connected to it.”
The Modern Orthodox Jewish day school, which was ranked the U.K.’s top-performing Jewish school in The Sunday Times Parent Power Guide in 2025, is one of a small number of independent Jewish schools in the London area.
Founded in 1990 by Lord Immanuel Jakobovits, the former Chief Rabbi of the British Commonwealth, the school serves roughly 360 pupils ages 10-18. Last year, Immanuel College’s prep school also shut down due to “unprecedented financial pressures.”
The school sits alongside a much larger network of state-funded Jewish schools, including the prestigious JFS (formerly Jews’ Free School) and the Jewish Community Secondary School.
Levy said that the school was “committed to ensuring that every pupil is guided to the right next step,” and was working with schools across the Jewish and independent school landscape to find placements for its students. (Independent schools in the U.K. are fee-paying private schools, while state schools are government-funded and free to attend.)
A press release pinned the closure on a litany of factors, including “the introduction of VAT on independent school fees, rising operational costs driven by inflation and increased National Insurance contributions, and a decline in pupil numbers.”
VAT, or the U.K.’s value added tax, was applied to private schools in the country last year after they were previously exempted from it.
In the release, the school also said the decline in enrollment “reflects a broader trend across the sector, with a growing number of independent schools closing in recent years.”
“Additionally, changing dynamics within the Jewish education landscape, including the increased popularity of Jewish state schools, have contributed to reduced enrolment,” the release continued, adding that Immanuel faced ongoing annual losses exceeding £2 million, or $2.3 million.
Oliver Dowden, a British lawmaker and member of the Conservative Party, lamented the closure in a post on X, writing that it was “yet another victim of Labour’s VAT raid on private schools.”
“Very sad to learn of closure of the brilliant Immanuel College at the end of the current academic year. A real blow to Bushey and the Jewish community,” Dowden wrote, referring to the Hertfordshire village where Immanuel is located.
Writer and political analyst Arieh Kovler described the school as an “oddity” in the British Jewish educational landscape, writing in a post on X that it was “not religious enough for ‘black hat’ type modern Orthodox, not prestigious enough for parents who want excellent private schools, and parents who just want a Jewish school for their kids have many free state options now.”
According to Britain’s Institute for Jewish Policy Research, of the Jewish children enrolled in Jewish schools, 60 percent attend haredi (or “strictly”) Orthodox schools, a figure that does not include haredi Orthodox teenagers studying in yeshivot and seminaries not included in government data. In the 1990s, only 46 percent of Jewish students attended haredi schools.
For many parents and members of the British Jewish community, the loss of the school cut deep.
“At a time when our children’s strength in their own identity is so essential, it feels doubly tragic for a school that instills that Jewish pride to close,” Naomi Greenaway, an Immanuel College parent and journalist, wrote in an op-ed in The Jewish Chronicle. “But this tragedy is one that the Immanuel College community of parents, pupils, teachers, trustees, governors and alumni will have to mourn together.”
Rabbi Alex Chapper, the leader of the Borehamwood & Elstree United Synagogue in England, wrote in a post on Facebook that the closure served as a reminder of “just how important Jewish education is for our community.”
“It must never be taken for granted, outsourced, or undervalued,” Chapper wrote. “Instead, we should redouble our commitment to supporting the education of the next generation, so they can build a proud, knowledgeable, and confident Jewish future.”
The Hertfordshire Friends of Israel also mourned the closure in a post on Facebook, writing, “This is more than just a school closure story, it’s about a community, a legacy and the growing pressures on Jewish education across the UK.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Hochul pushes 25-foot buffer around New York houses of worship as Mamdani wavers on local bills
New York Gov. Kathy Hochul on Tuesday doubled down on her support for proposed legislation that would create a 25-foot buffer zone around houses of worship statewide, stepping into a growing debate over public safety and free speech in a move that puts her at odds with New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani.
Hochul, who is running for reelection this year, pushed the plan ahead of a final budget agreement with the state Legislature, now more than two weeks past its April 1 deadline. It comes as Mamdani has declined to say whether he will sign a more limited measure passed by the City Council aimed at curbing disruptive demonstrations outside synagogues and schools.
“I want to get that done,” Hochul, speaking alongside Jewish leaders and law enforcement officials, said about her proposed 25-foot buffer, which would be upheld by police around places of worship. “That is common sense. It’s a statement when people leave their homes, that they will feel safe from harassment.” She added that the fear of Jews facing antisemitic attacks and harassment “is not a hypothetical. It is happening. It has happened, and the effects are lingering.”
The governor’s proposal marks a more aggressive statewide approach than the one recently passed by the New York City Council, led by Speaker Julie Menin, who is Jewish, as anti-Jewish incidents continue to make up a majority of reported hate crimes in New York. The Council’s package of bills directs the NYPD to develop a plan within 45 days for managing protests near houses of worship and educational institutions. The synagogue-focused measure passed 44–5 — a veto-proof margin — while a companion bill addressing protests near schools cleared the chamber with a narrower majority.
Mamdani, a strident critic of Israel who rose to power aligned with pro-Palestinian activism, has not committed to signing or vetoing the legislation, citing “serious concerns” raised by free speech advocates and pro-Palestinian supporters about limiting New Yorkers’ constitutional rights. Under city law, the bills could also become law automatically if he takes no action within 30 days.
The mayor, however, did publicly express objections to the Council’s initial proposal to establish buffer zones of up to 100 feet outside synagogues. “I wouldn’t sign any legislation that we find to be outside of the bounds of the law,” he said. The perimeter proposal was omitted in the final version of the bill following reservations expressed by Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch, who cautioned that a one-size-fits-all rule might not withstand legal challenge and could prove unworkable across neighborhoods with vastly different street layouts.
A City Hall spokesperson referred to Mamdani’s previous statements when asked for comment on the Hochul proposal. The state measure could supersede any action he takes.
The proposals emerged following disruptive protests outside houses of worship in recent months centered on events promoting immigration to and real estate in Israel, at Park Avenue Synagogue in Manhattan and Young Israel of Kew Gardens Hills in Queens.
Hochul was uncompromising about her approach. “I believe I have the right to protect people’s constitutional right to free exercise of religion,” she told reporters. “And so if that needs to be tested in court, bring it on.”
Hochul, who endorsed Mamdani in the mayoral election last year, has maintained a warm relationship with Jewish leaders since becoming governor. If passed, the buffer zone bill could bolster her chances among the state’s more than one million Jewish voters against Bruce Blakeman, the Republican candidate and the first Jewish executive of Nassau County on Long Island. In 2022, former Rep. Lee Zeldin came within five percentage points of winning the governor’s race, powered by strong Jewish support.
Hochul made the announcement to call for an additional $70 million in funding for the state’s Securing Communities Against Hate Crimes program, which provides grants to protect vulnerable institutions, as well as a new online system for reporting bias incidents. Hochul has already allocated $131 million in grants for a total of 1,745 security projects since taking office in 2021.
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