Was Teddy Roosevelt’s favorite play the original ‘Nobody Wants This’?
‘The Melting-Pot’ by Israel Zangwill provoked outrage among American Jews for its depiction of interfaith marriage
Kristen Bell and Adam Brody play an interfaith couple in Nobody Wants This, which returns Thursday for its second season. Courtesy of Netflix
The Emmy-nominated Netflix show Nobody Wants This, a series about the challenges of an interfaith romance between a “hot rabbi” and his non-Jewish girlfriend, is now back for a sophomore season. When it debuted last fall, Nobody Wants This sparked heated criticism for trafficking in negative stereotypes about Jewish women. A writer for Glamour called her own mother to lament of the series: “I can’t imagine any guy who watches this show who would then say, ‘I really want to date a Jewish girl!’”
The commentary on Nobody Wants This is just as noteworthy for what it does not emphasize: the possible implications of interfaith marriage for the perpetuity of the Jewish people. That silence is all the more notable given the Jewish reaction more than a century ago to another dramatization of Jewish-Christian romance: The Melting-Pot, by the British Jewish playwright Israel Zangwill.
Whereas the early 20th-century play provoked outrage for seeming to endorse Jewish self-erasure, the modern TV program has not stoked such existential angst. Comparing Jewish reactions to these two tales of interfaith love reveals how much the landscape of Jewish life has shifted to accept blended families.
Noah Roklov, the hot rabbi in question played by Adam Brody, confronts professional and familial pressure to leave Joanne Williams (Kristen Bell) in favor of a Jewish substitute; Joanne—memorably described by Noah’s senior rabbi and boss as a “nice blonde crabcake”—struggles to confront the reality that she might have no place in his future.
When Nobody Wants This debuted, there was practically instantaneous pushback to its portrayal of Jewish women, all of whom were depicted as either materialistic, nagging or controlling—or some combination thereof. There’s Noah’s ex-girlfriend, Rebecca, who cares far more about achieving the milestone of marriage than about who she would be marrying. Even worse is Esther, Noah’s sister-in-law, whose principal purpose in life is to berate her daffy husband into obeisance.
The apex of Nobody Wants This’ deeply flawed Jewish female representation is that of Noah’s mother Bina, who tries to puppeteer her son out of his relationship with Joanne through both cajoling and sabotage. (Would it even be a hackneyed Jewish trope without the archetype of the overbearing Jewish mother?)
In contrast to the portrayal of Jewish women, the communal response to a rabbi in an interfaith relationship was notably muted. The show itself was very much alive to those stakes—Noah’s boss cautions that his path with Joanne, absent her conversion, would lead to a world in which every Jew “marries a goy, then there are no more Jewish children, and then our people become extinct.” Yet critiques of the series overwhelmingly focused on its unflattering portrayal of Jewish women.
This relative silence from critics about Jewish continuity would have stunned Jewish audiences of Theodore Roosevelt’s era, who railed against the celebration of Jewish-Christian romance in The Melting-Pot. That play tells the tale of David and Vera, both emigrants from Russia who found their way to New York. David is a Jewish survivor of the notorious Kishinev pogrom, a real-life massacre in what is now Moldova that took place in 1903. Vera is the Christian daughter of a Russian military official.
Their improbable romance takes root in the assimilative soil of the New World. The young couple is even able to overcome the morbid revelation that Vera’s father had ordered troops to shoot innocent Jews during the Kishinev pogrom. Yet in Zangwill’s idealized version of the United States, newcomers like David and Vera could free themselves from the tired identities and bitter tragedies of the Old Country and smelt their ethnicities into an unadulterated American identity.
In the play’s closing scene, David watches the sun set over the Western horizon and reflects in awe, “There she lies, the great Melting Pot. … Celt and Latin, Slav and Teuton, Greek and Syrian, black and yellow.” Vera warmly presses into David and adds, “Jew and Gentile.” He goes on, “Yes, East and West, and North and South, the palm and the pine, the pole and the equator, the crescent and the cross—how the great Alchemist melts and fuses them with his purging flame!”
The Melting-Pot premiered in October 1908 at the Columbia Theatre, mere blocks from the White House. Then-president Theodore Roosevelt himself was in attendance on opening night. After the final curtain, the president called down to Zangwill from his box, “A great play! A great play!” Roosevelt’s Jewish constituents did not share his enthusiasm.
Across the country, Jews denounced The Melting-Pot for ostensibly making a virtue of self-annihilation through interfaith marriage. A throng flooded into the Free Synagogue on the Upper West Side to hear Rabbi Leon Harrison condemn Zangwill’s production. The rabbi warned that “the little Jewish race would be diluted to extinction” if life imitated Zangwill’s art. Harrison excoriated the playwright for “sacrificing the ancient sanctities of his people’s faith on the altar of sentimental claptrap.”
The repudiation was no less pointed on the other side of Central Park, where Rabbi Judas Magnes of Temple Beth-El seethed against Zangwill’s “pernicious” play. “The melting process glorifies disloyalty to one’s inheritance,” Magnes griped. He saw in The Melting-Pot the alarming prospect of voluntary eradication, insisting, “We cannot be thankful to anyone for preaching suicide to us.”
Even as Zangwill’s fantasy of mass assimilation into the American Dream applied to all subgroups, Rabbi Magnes argued that intermarriage posed a particular menace to the Jewish people. After all, the new immigrant from Ireland or Germany could marry outside their heritage while resting assured that back home, their people would endure from generation to generation. But the Jew had no homeland where fellow coreligionists would ensure Jewish survival. “America spells his great hope for the preservation of Judaism,” Magnes pleaded.
The divergent reactions to Nobody Wants This and The Melting-Pot are striking. Perhaps one reason that the TV show has prompted a muted response regarding Jewish perpetuity might be that multi-faith matches have become normalized. When Zangwill’s play first ran, interreligious unions for Jews were exceedingly rare; his idealization of Jewish-Gentile love shocked the Jewish conscience.
But nuptials between a Jew and non-Jew are now more common than not, especially outside the Orthodox community. A 2020 study from Pew found that 72% of non-Orthodox Jews who had married in the preceding decade were wedded to non-Jews. Another possible explanation why Nobody Wants This did not elicit angst about Jewish self-erasure is that the children of Jewish-Gentile couples are increasingly likely to identify as Jewish. That same Pew study determined that among children resulting from interfaith marriages, those under 50 were more than twice as likely to identify as Jewish as their older peers.
This trend might preempt worries that intermarriage inevitably marks the end of Jewish tradition for that family line. Still another factor is Israel: no longer do Jews lack a homeland designed to safeguard their peoplehood.
The Jewish responses to Nobody Wants This and The Melting-Pot are in a sense mirror images of each other—the former effectively criticizes Jewish characters for being too insular, the latter for not maintaining enough distance. After all, the Jewish women of Nobody Wants This are at their worst in their rage-laden rejection of Joanne. Critics’ consternation about the show’s gender stereotyping can be understood, then, as a kind of plea: “America, don’t believe this show. Jews are actually warm and welcoming, not gratingly clannish.”
It is telling that the most favorably depicted Jewish female character, Noah’s former Jewish camp counselor, is also the one most favorably disposed toward his Gentile girlfriend. The Jewish reaction to The Melting-Pot was, of course, just the opposite, inveighing against any embrace of interfaith romance.
But in another sense, critics then and now have really wrestled with the same question: how should Jews navigate the fraught relationship between belonging and survival? To win the acceptance of Gentiles is to ensure Jewish security. Yet when acceptance becomes so complete that Gentiles are willing to marry Jews and raise children together, then Jews risk dissolving into the broader society. Belonging could well spell the end of survival.
Such is the tightrope walk of the Jew. Too little inclusion can threaten your safety; too much might result in your self-induced disappearance. Whether to shift your weight more to one side or the other in order to maintain equilibrium will depend on the contingencies of the day.
With season two of Nobody Wants This finally here, our own critical reaction—even more than the show’s plot—will suggest much about how Jews think they can best maintain an always precarious balance in our own uncertain moment. To stick to the tribe at all costs, or melt into the culture around you? No matter the decade, the same Jewish questions persist.
