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The real Jewish history behind Netflix’s ‘Transatlantic’ and the WWII rescue mission that inspired it
(JTA) — While the United States swung its door shut to most refugees during World War II, a young American in France saved thousands, including some of the 20th century’s defining artists and thinkers — such as Marc Chagall and Hannah Arendt — from the Nazis.
The rescue mission of Varian Fry, which went largely unrecognized during his life, is the subject of Netflix’s new drama “Transatlantic,” launching Friday from “Unorthodox” creator Anna Winger.
Starring Cory Michael Smith as Fry, the seven-episode “Transatlantic” aims to recreate his operation in Marseille after the Nazis defeated France and before the United States entered the war. Winger has injected several imagined romances, war efforts and characters into the fictionalized series, including one posed as Fry’s lover, named Thomas Lovegrove (played by Israeli Amit Rahav). Although Fry’s son has said that he was a “closeted homosexual,” no such person is known to have existed.
Winger believes these inventions will invite Netflix viewers to learn more about the true story.
“The people who lived through these stories are dying out,” she told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “My job is to bring this to a wide audience, to people who don’t know anything about it.”
The story behind the series
The real Varian Fry, a 32-year-old journalist and suit-clad Harvard graduate, showed up in Marseille with $3,000 taped to his leg and a list of 200 names in August 1940.
After France surrendered to Germany, Fry was among 200 Americans — including journalists, artists, museum curators, university presidents and Jewish refugees — to create the Emergency Rescue Committee at the Hotel Commodore in New York. This group was concerned with Article 19 in France’s armistice with Germany, which required French authorities to surrender any individuals demanded by the Germans.
The private relief organization drew up frenzied lists of anti-Nazi intellectuals who were trapped in France. With the help of first lady Eleanor Roosevelt, the ERC obtained some emergency visas and sent Fry to lead the rescue efforts in Marseille, a port city in the southern, unoccupied part of France.
What he found there was impossible to manage alone. His mission began in his room at the Hotel Splendide, where long lines of refugees waited in the morning before he woke up and at night after he went to bed. They sometimes walked straight into his bedroom without knocking, Fry wrote in a letter to his wife shortly after he arrived.
Gathering a small devoted staff, including Frenchmen, refugees and American expatriates, Fry moved his office to Rue Grignan and later Boulevard Garibaldi. Outside of Marseille he rented the Villa Air-Bel — colorfully recreated in “Transatlantic” — to house eminent writers and eccentric Surrealist artists waiting for visas.
The group developed legal and illegal branches, with the cover organization offering humanitarian relief while a behind-the-scenes operation flouted the law to help refugees escape. Using Marseille’s lively black market, the staff found hiding places, forged documents and bribed officials. Bil Spira, a Jewish Austrian-born cartoonist, forged passports for the ERC. (He was caught and deported to Auschwitz, but survived.) Resistance fighters Hans and Lisa Fittko devised an escape route to Spain, guiding refugees across the Pyrenees mountains on foot.
By the time he was forced out in October 1941, Fry’s shoestring operation had enabled 2,000 Jewish and other anti-Nazi refugees to flee Europe, including such towering artists as Chagall, Max Ernst and Marcel Duchamp, and intellects such as Arendt, Heinrich Mann and André Breton. It has been estimated that 20,000 refugees made contact with the rescue center in Marseille.
Fry’s illegal efforts made him plenty of enemies from his own country, who accused him of interfering with American neutrality in the war. He angered the state department, officials at the American consulate in Marseille and ERC members in New York. In August 1941, he was arrested by Vichy police and sent back to New York.
Fry died in 1967 at the age of 59. Only a few months earlier, he had received the Croix de Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur, France’s highest decoration of merit — and the only official recognition in his lifetime. In 1994, he became the first American honored by Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust memorial and history authority, as Righteous Among the Nations.
The Emergency Rescue Committee merged with another relief organization and became the International Rescue Committee in 1942. It is still in operation today and currently led by a Jewish CEO, former British politician David Miliband.
What’s in the show, and why some are against it
Some of Fry’s colleagues are fictionalized in “Transatlantic,” including the Jewish Berliner Albert Hirschman (Lucas Englander), who would become an economist in the United States; the Chicago heiress Mary Jayne Gold (Gillian Jacobs); and the Jewish Austro-Hungarian activist Lisa Fittko (Deleila Piasko). American diplomat Hiram Bigham, who gave Fry crucial help and even hid writer Lion Feuchtwanger in his home, is also a character in the show.
Throughout the seven episodes, rescue missions swirl around a series of fictional love affairs. In addition to Fry’s relationship, a triangle unfolds between Hirschman, Gold and the fictional American Consul Graham Patterson. (There is no evidence that Gold romanced either with her comrade or with any American consul in Marseille.) Lisa Fittko has an affair with the fictional character Paul Kandjo, who organizes armed resistance to Vichy.
Gillian Jacobs as heiress Mary Jayne Gold. (Anika Molnar/Netflix)
Several wartime plot points are also invented, including a prison break at Camp de Mille and Gold’s collaboration with British intelligence.
The degree of fictionalization has angered some people close to the real history. Pierre Sauvage, president of the Varian Fry Institute, called the show’s trailer “shocking.” Born in 1944, Sauvage survived the end of the Holocaust in the French village of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, although his Jewish parents were turned down by Fry’s overwhelmed committee. He became close friends with some of Fry’s fellow rescuers in their later years, including the late Gold, Hirschman and Fittko.
“Are there any red lines?” he said. “Can one fictionalize at will, with no concern for the reality of the story, for the false impression that people will get — and for the way it affects the private lives of the families of people portrayed?”
Sheila Isenberg, who documented Fry’s operation in her book “A Hero of Our Own,” has described the series as a “travesty.” Thomas Fischer Weiss, a child survivor who attempted Fry’s escape route through the Pyrenees at 5 years old, also said the historical events needed no embellishment.
“I think you should tell it straight,” he told the JTA.
The legacy of the ‘troublemakers’
Sauvage believes that if Fry and his associates were alive today, they would like to be remembered for their convictions.
“These were people who were sort of in your face,” he said. “People who knew clearly what they felt and expressed it. They would often describe themselves as troublemakers. Mary Jayne [Gold] said about Varian that he was an ‘ornery cuss’ — it took orneriness to stick to your guns.”
That orneriness was critical at a time when many Americans were apathetic to the plight of European Jews — a 1938 poll in Fortune magazine found that fewer than 5% believed the United States should raise its immigration quotas for refugees. By the summer of 1941, it was too late to open the doors. The German policy of expelling Jews had changed into extermination.
According to Sauvage, America’s refusal to accept more refugees had something to do with that shift.
“The Nazis could legitimately come to the conclusion that the world wouldn’t do anything about the murders and wouldn’t really care all that much,” he said. “What the Varian Fry mission symbolizes is people who cared.”
Varian Fry with Miriam Davenport in the first offices of the Centre Américain de Secours in Marseille in 1940. Davenport, a friend of Mary Jayne Gold, also worked in the rescue effort but is omitted from “Transatlantic.” (Varian Fry Institute)
After their year in Marseille, the rescuers settled into more ordinary lives. Hirschman became an economist with appointments at Yale, Columbia and Harvard. Lisa Fittko ended up in Chicago, where she worked hard in import-export, translation and clerical jobs to earn money, eventually joining protests against the Vietnam War. Gold divided her time between New York City and a villa on the French Riviera.
They all remembered the rescue mission as their finest hour. Speaking with Sauvage, Gold called that year “the only one in her life that really mattered.”
A refugee story for troubled times
Fry’s rescue mission inspired Julie Orringer to write “The Flight Portfolio,” a 2019 novel that became the basis for “Transatlantic.” Orringer was captivated by the image of a young man arriving in Marseille, idealistic and unprepared for the depth of anguish he would find.
“The task was way too big,” she told the JTA. “He realized quite early on that he was going to ask for help, that he was going to have to turn to others who had deeper experience. And in collecting this group of incredible individuals around him, he assembled a kind of collective mind that really could make a difference under the very difficult circumstances that he faced.”
She believed that Fry left an example for the inexperienced. “If you‘re the kind of person who wants to take action on behalf of refugees, but doesn’t know how to do it, ask for help,” she said.
Winger, a Jewish Massachusetts native who has lived in Berlin for two decades, conceived of making a series about Fry in 2015. Germany saw an influx of more than a million migrants that year, most of them fleeing Syria’s horrific civil war. She optioned Orringer’s book in 2020.
“I thought a lot about the fact that people like us — artists, Jews, both — had to leave Berlin as refugees, but now there were so many people coming to Berlin as refugees,” said Winger.
Then, just as she started filming “Transatlantic” on location in Marseille, a new war broke out in Europe.
“The war in Ukraine started three days into the production and there was a whole other wave of refugees coming to Berlin,” she said. “Suddenly we were making it in another refugee crisis.”
Russia’s invasion of Ukraine hit close to the show, whose cast and crew hail from across the continent. Winger’s cinematographer is married to a Ukrainian woman. In Berlin, she saw thousands of refugees crowding into the central train station, some without shoes, food or plans for shelter.
“I think it gave us all a strong sense of purpose,” said Winger.
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Leqaa Kordia, the last Palestinian Columbia protester still in ICE detention, has been released
(JTA) — Leqaa Kordia, a Palestinian woman and the last person still detained in the Trump administration’s crackdown on pro-Palestinian campus protests last spring, was released from ICE custody on Monday.
Kordia’s release came weeks after New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani petitioned President Donald Trump in person on her behalf. Mamdani celebrated the development in a statement.
“In my meeting with President Trump last month, we discussed ICE’s actions at Columbia University. I asked that the federal government release Leqaa Kordia and drop the cases against four others,” he tweeted. “I am grateful that Leqaa has been released this evening from ICE custody after more than a year in detention for speaking up for Palestinian rights.”
Kordia, 33, who immigrated to New Jersey from the West Bank in 2016, had been held in a U.S. immigration detention center in Texas since last March after she was arrested for her involvement in a pro-Palestinian protest at Columbia in 2024. Kordia had overstayed her student visa and was never a student at Columbia.
On Friday, an immigration judge ordered her release on $100,000 bond. It was the third time that the judge had ordered her release, which was granted after the government declined to appeal.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m free! I’m free! Finally, after one year,” Kordia told reporters after being released from the detention center.
Kordia was among a number of people arrested last spring amid the Trump administration’s crackdown on noncitizens who had participated in anti-Israel protests, some of which drew allegations of antisemitism, on university campuses.
Among those arrested was Mahmoud Khalil, a Columbia University graduate whose release Mamdani also called for. Earlier this month, Khalil broke the Ramadan fast at Gracie Mansion with Mamdani and his wife Rama Duwaji. Duwaji, whose pro-Palestinian social media posts have increasingly drawn scrutiny, also celebrated Kordia’s release on Instagram.
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For the first time ever, NBA game features 3 Jews — Deni Avdija, Danny Wolf and Ben Saraf
(JTA) — BROOKLYN — The Barclays Center had the energy of a bar mitzvah party on Monday night, as kippah-clad basketball fans and kids waving posters with Hebrew words of encouragement came to cheer on an NBA first: a game featuring three Jewish players — all Israeli citizens.
The Brooklyn Nets were hosting the Portland Trail Blazers — whose forward Deni Avdija recently became the first Israeli All-Star in the league.
He joined Danny Wolf and Ben Saraf, two Jewish players who have galvanized the Nets’ Jewish fanbase since joining the team this year. Saraf was raised in Israel and got his start in basketball there, while Wolf grew up in Illinois and secured Israeli citizenship to play for Team Israel in international competitions.
Avdija, who normally averages about 25 points per game, struggled to find a rhythm on Monday night, as did Wolf, who has intrigued scouts with the ball handling skills of a point guard despite his nearly 7-foot height. But Saraf impressed, scoring 15 points and notching four assists and four steals in 24 minutes of play.
Saraf’s efforts were not enough to buoy his team, though, and the Nets lost to the Trail Blazers, 114-95.
That hardly dimmed the enthusiasm of the crowd, who thrilled at seeing Avdija and Saraf hug on the court before the game and exchange jerseys after the game in a show of respect and friendship.
Some draped in shawls printed with a fusion of the Israeli and American flags lingered court-side for a chance to get Avdija’s attention. At times when the game was quiet, some fans could be heard shouting “Deni! Deni!” Some wore hats with “Brooklyn Nets” spelled in Hebrew.
Avdija said in a postgame press conference that he had been surprised to see the arena sold out and that the energy reminded him of the Menora arena when he played for Maccabi Tel Aviv.
“I haven’t fully processed it yet,” he said about the significance of having three Israelis on the court. “It’s tough that many people from Israel couldn’t come because of the war. I hope everyone is okay. Representing on the biggest stage — it’s emotional for me and for many others. One of the most fun nights I’ve had.”
Saraf, too, said the game was a highlight for him.
“A very emotional night. It’s too bad that we lost, but it’s bigger than that. The number of Jewish and Israeli fans here — when Deni was introduced, the whole crowd stood up. Every basket, it was emotional for me, for Danny Wolf, for everyone. It was a big event.”
He added, “Three Israelis on the court at the same time was something very special.”
It is possible that the trio represents not just all of the Israeli citizens but all of the Jews currently playing in the NBA. A fourth player was reportedly exploring converting to Judaism, but he has not publicly disclosed whether he completed a conversion.
The previous record for number of Israelis in an NBA game was two. It came on Oct. 30, 2023, when Omri Casspi and the Houston Rockets played the Dallas Mavericks and Gal Mekel, whom the Mavs had recently picked up, made his debut with the team. They were the first and second Israelis in the NBA.
The game also appears to tie the league record for the number of Jews in a single game, set on Nov. 10, 1953. In that game, Dolph Schayes scored 11 points for the Syracuse Nationals, while Irv Bemoras and Red Holzman both took the court for the Milwaukee Hawks.
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Louis Theroux’s Netflix documentary on the manosphere takes a detour into antisemitism
“LOUIS IS A DIRTY J-E-W.”
This comment features during Inside the Manosphere, a new Netflix documentary from Louis Theroux, during a conversation between Theroux and podcaster Myron Gaines, host of Fresh and Fit Podcast.
It’s not the only time someone calls Theroux a Jew; Harrison Sullivan imitates Theroux, tenting his fingers conspiratorially and leering as he says the documentarian “just sat there with his Jew fingers.”
Theroux, however, is not Jewish. He has also made several edgy documentary specials for the BBC interviewing extremist settler groups in Israel, which have received acclaim from Israel’s critics and hostility from its supporters. And either way, the focus on Theroux’s supposed Jewishness seems off topic for a documentary on the manosphere, the generalized term for the world of podcasters, YouTubers and online streamers who cater to men.
The manosphere includes both mainstream creators like Joe Rogan as well as extremists like Andrew Tate, who was arrested in Romania for sex trafficking. Most creators in this world are anti-LGBTQ and endorse traditional gender roles, often familiar stuff about how women should be the primary caregivers for children and men should be breadwinners. Sometimes, however, on the fringes of this world, there are more extreme beliefs, like that women should not have the right to vote or need to be hit as a form of discipline by men; there are even open endorsements of rape.
Theroux spends most of the documentary talking to a few of the more extreme figures in the manosphere, including Gaines, the streamer Sneako, and Sullivan, who goes by the cringe handle of HSTikkyTokky. He follows them to their gyms, meets their girlfriends and watches as they produce content, largely by accosting people — mostly young women — on the street to slut-shame them. He speaks to the adoring young men who greet them in public. He gently asks follow-up questions, such as whether they all hate women. (The content creators, to a man, insist they love women, offering as proof their desire to have sex with as many of them as possible.) He wonders aloud whether young men can actually make any money off of the get-rich-quick courses hawked by many of the manosphere influencers.
Still, none of this obviously connects to antisemitism. The manosphere generally directs its ire at women, not Jews. Why, then, was Theroux accused — because it is, clearly, an accusation — of being a Jew?
In the current world of online extremism, it can sometimes be difficult to draw connections between different extremist ideologies. There’s not a clear throughline between antisemitism and the violent misogyny of, say, incel, (involuntary celibate) forums. Nor is there an obvious connection between the pseudoscientific skepticism of the anti-vax world and hatred of Jews. And giving disillusioned young men advice on how to be more manly and succeed in the world — or at least grifting off of their desire to do so — has little to do with Jews.
But for the most part, the main reason antisemitism springs up in the manosphere or in other extremist spaces is simply because it, too, is an extremist belief, and beliefs on the fringes tend to bleed into each other. There are sometimes distorted ideas that can connect the two, like an offshoot of the age-old antisemitic conspiracy theory that Jews control world governments, which feeds into some anti-vax groups who believe that Jews are unleashing secret poison in the form of vaccines. But once you’ve decided one crazy thing is true, like that women are biologically only suited to be the property of men, so many other seemingly crazy things start sounding just as reasonable.
The comment about Theroux being a Jew came when he objected to a bit of pseudoscience Gaines presented during Fresh and Fit Podcast, asserting that women retain DNA from every man they’ve had sex with, genetic material they then pass on to children they have with a different partner. Theroux called this misinformation — because it is — and users in the chat trashed him by calling him a Jew.
Later in the documentary, Sneako gave an unprompted rant on camera about the Antichrist, Satanic symbols on magazines in a store window and the “one world government” causing it all, which, the influencer says, was started by the Rothschilds. Theroux finally pushed on the antisemitism.
“Is it Jewish in character?” he asked. “Because that does have some of the hallmarks of an antisemitic conspiracy theory.”
Sneako denied that a Rothschild-run world government had anything to do with Jews. But plenty of other influencers — including, outside the documentary, Sneako himself — have been more open. “Fuck the Jews,” HSTikkyTokky chants in a clip. In others, manosphere creators blame Jews for “feminism,” “homosexuality,” and “vibrations that are going to negatively bring you down.”
Theroux’s signature mild British mien allows him to blandly ask questions and let the influencers say whatever they want and allows the audience to observe alongside him.
He does little to explain either the antisemitism or the misogyny. That’s a strength; conspiracy theories do not operate by logic, and trying to force them into a rational framework can backfire, allowing proponents to proffer their own evidence, however faulty.
Antisemitism is an age-old hatred. Misogyny is nothing new either. That’s all they have in common. But as Inside the Manosphere shows, that’s enough for both to spread.
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