History not only tests great powers but smaller nations as well. When the Jewish people faced two defining moments in the 20th century—the desperate search for refuge from Nazi persecution and the struggle to re-establish sovereignty in their ancestral homeland—the Philippines made a choice that placed it on the right side of history.
Separated from Israel by geography, culture and continent, the Philippines might have remained a distant observer of the Jewish story. Instead, at both moments of crisis, it chose involvement over indifference.
The first test came in 1937. As Nazi persecution intensified and the gates of the world narrowed to a sliver, the Philippines did what far larger and more powerful nations refused to do: It offered refuge.
Under Manuel L. Quezon, who served as the country’s second president from 1935 until his death in 1944, working with U.S. High Commissioner Paul McNutt and the Frieder brothers of Manila, as many as 1,300 Jews fleeing Europe were granted sanctuary between 1937 and 1941. In an era defined by quotas, excuses and closed borders, Manila opened a door. Quezon even backed an ambitious, but ultimately unrealized plan to resettle thousands of Jews as farmers on the island of Mindanao, underscoring how far the Philippines was prepared to go when others closed their doors.
These refugees rebuilt their lives in the archipelago. They established businesses, practiced medicine, formed a functioning community and worshipped at Temple Emil—the first synagogue in the Philippines, dedicated in 1924 and named for communal leader Emil Bachrach. At the edge of Asia, Jewish life took root.
But the Jewish presence in the Philippines, in fact, predated the refugee era. During Spanish colonial rule, conversos—descendants of Iberian Jews forced to convert during the 14th and 15th centuries—are believed to have reached the islands in the 16th and 17th centuries.
In the late 19th century, Jewish merchants from Europe, particularly from Alsace-Lorraine and Germany, settled in Manila as trade expanded. By the early 20th century, a modest but organized Jewish community had emerged.
World War II brought new uncertainty. When Japanese forces occupied the Philippines in 1942, Jewish refugees once again faced danger. Though some were interned alongside other foreign civilians during the occupation, they were not subjected to the systematic annihilation unfolding in Europe. The community endured until liberation.
Many later emigrated to the United States, Australia or the newly established State of Israel, but some remained, preserving a small yet continuous Jewish presence in Manila. After Temple Emil was destroyed during the war, the community rebuilt with help from the U.S. Army and renamed it Beth Yaacov, preserving Jewish life in the archipelago.
A decade after the rescue effort began came the second test.
In November 1947, when the United Nations voted on the partition plan that would determine whether the Jewish people would regain sovereignty in their ancestral homeland, the Philippines again chose principle over pressure. It was the only Asian nation to vote in favor of the resolution that paved the way for the establishment of the State of Israel. In a vote that required a two-thirds majority, every affirmative ballot mattered—and the Philippines provided one.
Formal diplomatic relations with Israel, established in 1958, have since grown into a multifaceted partnership grounded in the gratitude for 1937 and 1947.
Today, the Jewish community in the Philippines remains small, centered primarily in Manila, where Beth Yaacov synagogue serves as its communal hub. The community includes descendants of early settlers, expatriates, diplomats, businesspeople and a number of Filipinos who have formally embraced Judaism. Though modest in size, it reflects continuity—proof that Jewish life, once planted, can endure even far from traditional centers.
At the same time, some 30,000 Filipinos, the vast majority working as caregivers, have become part of the social fabric of Israel, forming a living bridge between the two nations. In Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Haifa, the Tagalog language can be heard in parks and on buses. Filipino workers care for Israel’s elderly and vulnerable with dedication and warmth, forming bonds that often transcend employment. These quiet, human connections have deepened ties between the two societies in ways that official communiqués cannot replicate.
The relationship extends beyond people-to-people exchanges.
The Jewish state has provided agricultural expertise, water technology and emergency assistance to the Philippines. When typhoons and earthquakes strike the islands, Israeli humanitarian teams are often among the first to arrive. For example, after Typhoon Haiyan in 2013, Israel deployed a 148-member search-and-rescue and medical team that operated a field hospital and treated thousands of survivors.
Both nations understand adversity. Both are democracies navigating complex regional environments. Both are societies shaped by faith and anchored in family.
For the Jewish people, memory carries weight. We remember those who offered refuge when others would not. We remember those who stood with us when sovereignty hung in the balance. By opening its doors in 1937, the Philippines saved not only lives but generations. Children and grandchildren of those refugees are alive today because Manila chose action over indifference.
In an era when moral clarity is often diluted by political calculation, the example of the Philippines endures. It demonstrates that influence is not measured solely by size or power. It is measured by choices.
Not once, but twice, the Philippines aligned itself with Jewish survival and Jewish sovereignty. That record speaks for itself, and its echoes can still be felt in Manila, Jerusalem and beyond.
