Zionism, the Melting Pot, and the Galveston Project (with Rachel Cockerell)

Rachel Cockerell: Thank you, Russ.

Rachel Cockerell: Initially, I envisioned writing a straightforward family memoir. I had been influenced by Jewish family narratives like The Hare with Amber Eyes and East West Street. While I knew about my Jewish heritage, I was largely in the dark about my family history—I didn’t even know how to spell my grandmother’s last name. Fannie Jochelman became Fannie Cockerell after marriage, and she seemed eager to distance herself from her Jewish roots. My curiosity was piqued by her father, David Jochelman, whose obituary in the New York Times indicated he was a prominent figure among Jews in the Russian Empire. It struck me as odd that his legacy was forgotten by our family.

I started collecting old letters and envisioned a journey of discovery, but as I delved deeper, I traced my family’s story back to the founding of Zionism. This was a surprising starting point for a family history centered in London. I gradually realized that I wasn’t the main character in this narrative, leading me to consider how to remove myself from the story and craft a non-fiction work that felt almost novelistic.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a unique method to achieve this.

Rachel Cockerell: My initial draft was a hodgepodge, beginning with the founding of Zionism and concluding with my family’s journey up to the mid-20th century—complete with my own overzealous commentary. The draft felt cluttered with my interjections, which I instinctively felt needed to be removed to allow historical voices to take center stage. This meant I had to create a narrative where the past could converse without my modern interruptions.

As I revised, I discovered moments where historical figures’ voices juxtaposed beautifully against one another. I craved more of that dialogue, leading to a new draft that largely consisted of these voices—my interjections were minimal, serving only to connect the threads. It felt like a tightrope walk, but I managed to create a book where the past spoke for itself.

Rachel Cockerell: Exactly.

Rachel Cockerell: I have a reputation for being disorganized—my school days were marked by a whirlwind of papers, with important documents often disappearing. I was among the last to experience a primarily non-digital education, so my notes were a chaotic jumble. However, writing this book in the digital age was a blessing. I maintained lengthy Google Docs that often reached 250 pages before I would start a new document. I ended up with ten of these extensive notes, which, while chaotic, allowed me to use the search function to find specific quotes.

So, it was a sort of organized chaos. I believe that any creative endeavor involves subconscious processing, where the mind seeks patterns, even amid incoherence. My narrative, which spanned early Zionism to post-war America, seemed to lack structure at times, but I was always focused on finding a coherent storyline.

Rachel Cockerell: Thank you. That was my ultimate goal—to create a time machine effect. The joy of reading newspapers from the early 1900s is that while the writing style differs from today, it’s not so alien that contemporary readers feel lost. The prose captures a beautiful, cliché-free eloquence. As I immersed myself in these archives—especially during the pandemic—the early Zionist Congresses felt more tangible than the reality of the 2020 lockdown.

Rachel Cockerell: Absolutely. I would encounter extensive articles—mini-portraits of Herzl or coverage of the early Zionist Congresses. I instinctively knew which lines resonated with me. Creative individuals often have strong visceral reactions to their work; George Saunders likens it to knowing precisely when to edit a piece of writing. I found cutting to be immensely satisfying, even after the book was “finished.”

Rachel Cockerell: Certainly. Herzl initially suggested alternatives to Palestine in his foundational text The Jewish State, mentioning potential locations in South America. He sought British assistance in the early 1900s, leading to an intriguing offer from Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain to establish a Jewish settlement in Uganda. Herzl, however, found this suggestion unpalatable.

At the subsequent Zionist Congress, he raised the offer, igniting a fervent debate among attendees—some were enthused by the Uganda Plan while others felt it betrayed the core mission of returning to the ancestral homeland of Palestine. This schism marked a significant fracture within the Zionist movement.

Interestingly, my great-grandfather sided with the Ugandists, who felt that if they couldn’t secure the Holy Land, they could sanctify another land—a slogan that, while catchy, was ultimately poorly branded, as their organization adopted the rather dull name of the Jewish Territorial Organization, or ITO. Zangwill, a prominent writer of the time, took charge, advocating for a temporary refuge for Jews while historical circumstances unfolded.

Rachel Cockerell: I aspired to shed light on Zangwill’s contributions. While I wouldn’t label his writing as immortal, he was indeed a Victorian celebrity whose influence was profound. His play The Melting Pot coined a phrase that remains relevant in discussions about American identity today.

During its premiere, Roosevelt applauded enthusiastically, recognizing Zangwill’s vision of American assimilation. The play encapsulated the notion of immigrants melting together to forge a new identity, paralleling the Jewish Territorial Organization’s aim of finding refuge, potentially in America.

Rachel Cockerell: Absolutely. The play is set in New York at the turn of the century, featuring two immigrants—one Jewish and one non-Jewish—falling in love against the backdrop of their cultural differences. Their struggle to reconcile these differences culminates in their decision to embrace the melting pot ideal.

Critically, the male protagonist flees the Kishinev Pogrom, an event that captured American sympathy and outrage at the time. Zangwill cleverly intertwined this historical context into the narrative, allowing audiences to connect emotionally with the plight of Russian Jews.

The play was met with a spectrum of reviews, from rave applause to critical disdain, exemplifying the variety of reactions to immigrant experiences in America.

Rachel Cockerell: The Galveston Project was a unique effort in the early 20th century to settle Jewish refugees in Texas rather than New York. Zangwill and Jochelman sought alternatives to the Holy Land, aligning with American Jews who wanted to redirect immigrants away from overcrowded New York.

They envisioned Galveston as a new Ellis Island, aiming to bring two million Russian Jews to America through this port. However, the reality fell short, with only about 10,000 immigrants arriving over seven years due to stricter immigration barriers and the onset of World War I. This initiative ultimately faded, highlighting the complexities and challenges of immigration during that era.

Rachel Cockerell: This aspect of the Galveston movement is bittersweet. While those Jews escaped their perilous situations in Russia, they were dispersed across Texas and beyond, rather than forming a concentrated community. Upon arrival, they were directed to board trains to various destinations, often becoming isolated in regions where they were the only Jewish families.

This scattering meant many assimilated more quickly than Jews arriving in New York, where vibrant communities provided cultural continuity. In contrast, the Galveston immigrants faced a more challenging path to maintaining their traditions.

Rachel Cockerell: My great-grandfather was indeed a pivotal figure. After initially settling in Kiev, he migrated to London, where he had a second family. Interestingly, he had a half-brother, Emmanuel Jochelman, who emigrated to New York during the Galveston movement, despite the prevailing advice to avoid the city.

Emmanuel, feeling his name was cumbersome, adopted the moniker Emjo Basshe and became an experimental playwright. His daughter, Emjo Basshe II, now in her 90s, brings a vibrant connection to this narrative, representing the blend of identities that characterize American immigrant experiences.

Rachel Cockerell: Emjo II was a captivating interviewee. I spoke with her regularly for about a year, and her stories flowed effortlessly. She shared vivid memories of her upbringing, her father, and her grandfather, contributing rich detail to my narrative. Despite being related, her life experiences were largely unknown to my family. Her recollections intertwined personal history with broader historical events, underscoring how individual stories are woven into the larger tapestry of history.

Rachel Cockerell: Yes, she has read it, and her initial reaction was hesitant, as she didn’t understand the book’s structure of primary sources. However, once she grasped its intent and the representation of her father, she found it meaningful and significant.

Rachel Cockerell: I wanted to avoid overlapping with Zangwill’s title, The Melting Pot. While there’s no copyright on titles, I felt his work deserved to retain that identity. My title reflects the themes of assimilation and the nuanced moments of cultural blending—when does one fully become part of another culture? The concept of a melting point encapsulates the intersection of identities, particularly in my grandmother’s journey from Russian Jewry to English identity.