Chil­dren’s

A Place Called Galveston

  • Review
By – January 6, 2026

Most Amer­i­cans will not imme­di­ate­ly asso­ciate Galve­ston, Texas, with Jew­ish his­to­ry. Yet this port city was once the des­ti­na­tion for thou­sands of Jew­ish immi­grants. Between 1907 and 1914, phil­an­thropist Jacob Schiff fund­ed the Galve­ston Plan, designed to bring Jews flee­ing the pogroms of Europe to the Unit­ed States. While East Coast cities had much larg­er Jew­ish pop­u­la­tions, hous­ing was less con­gest­ed in Galve­ston and the Mid­west­ern towns which even­tu­al­ly became home to these immi­grants. A Place Called Galve­ston evokes both the dif­fi­cul­ties and the promise of this less­er-known Jew­ish Amer­i­can experience.

Andrea Shapiro’s text is an unusu­al meld­ing of off-rhyme met­ric lines and prose: Eyes brim­ming with tears, hearts frozen in fear,/we gath­ered togeth­er by soft Sab­bath light.” The text con­veys a sense of spe­cif­ic events that might be unfa­mil­iar but are nonethe­less part of the broad­er panora­ma of Jew­ish his­to­ry. Pover­ty, oppres­sion, and vio­lence were strong moti­va­tions to embark on a long voy­age to an uncer­tain future. Class con­scious­ness emerges from the obser­va­tion that on board ship, some pas­sen­gers enjoy the lux­u­ry of steak and ice cream in fine din­ing rooms,” while the Galve­ston-bound Jews sleep on straw beds in steerage.

All immi­grants arrive in a strange place. Even its attrac­tions, such as cars, trol­lies, and man­sions, may seem vague­ly men­ac­ing. For­tu­nate­ly, the Galve­ston com­mu­ni­ty, whether tran­sient or per­ma­nent, has the sup­port of Rab­bi Hen­ry Cohen. Not only does he speak Yid­dish, but also he con­veys empa­thy and strength. Shapiro por­trays Rab­bi Cohen as a kind of qui­et hero, ensur­ing a min­i­mal lev­el of phys­i­cal com­fort to the new arrivals, and also con­nect­ing them to oth­ers who can offer help. Some of this assis­tance takes the form of job place­ment. Not every Mid­west­ern state could absorb Jew­ish cob­blers, tai­lors, or black­smiths; a high lev­el of coor­di­nat­ed effort was necessary.

Valerya Milovanova’s illus­tra­tions com­bine sepia and gray with touch­es of brighter col­ors. Using min­i­mal detail, she brings out char­ac­ters’ emo­tion­al respons­es to their sit­u­a­tion through upturned mouths, quizzi­cal eye­brows, and fear­ful dreams enclosed in clouds. The illus­tra­tions match the poet­ry of the text; both express how indi­vid­u­als are influ­enced but are not defined by their his­tor­i­cal cir­cum­stances. Every per­son in the book strug­gles with lone­li­ness, but also knows the joy of find­ing safe­ty and, at best, encour­ag­ing fam­i­ly mem­bers across the ocean to join them. Young read­ers will learn about the best that the Unit­ed States has rep­re­sent­ed to Jews and oth­ers in flight from adver­si­ty toward hope.

A Place Called Galve­ston is high­ly rec­om­mend­ed and includes an after­word with his­tor­i­cal background.

Emi­ly Schnei­der writes about lit­er­a­ture, fem­i­nism, and cul­ture for TabletThe For­wardThe Horn Book, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions, and writes about chil­dren’s books on her blog. She has a Ph.D. in Romance Lan­guages and Literatures.

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