This week I finally caught up with the huge number of the Jewish community who have been to see Tracey Anne Oberman’s re-visioned production of the Merchant of Venice! Despite the clever interweaving of Shakespeare’s dialogue with Jewish rituals, and the backdrop of the Battle of Cable Street in 1936, Shakespeare’s play is an extremely uncomfortable watch, with both a deeply humanising speech made by the central Jewish character, and vile antisemitic tropes, Christian antisemitism threaded throughout, and a fair dollop of general racism. One of the most moving moments of the show came right at the end. The Jewish community on the set are depicted as barricading themselves against the fascists trying to march down the East Ends Cable Street, shouting ‘You Shall Not Pass!’ Oberman breaks out of the action and directly addresses the audience. She talks briefly about how the story of cable street is the story of her own Grandmother (it is, of course, also the story of my grandfather too) and talks about how at Cable Street, the Jewish community joined with the Irish, the Trade Unionists, the small Afro-Caribbean community and others to block the marching British Union of Fascists headed up by Oswald Mosely. She turns to a well worn phrase: ‘We are stronger together’. Hearing this just before National Holocaust Memorial Day, and knowing the online abuse Oberman has received as a Zionist, that felt like a particularly powerful statement.
Perhaps it was even more poignant because of the tension of last weekend, waiting to see if a ceasefire would be achieved, and if any hostages would be released. I am still on edge, to be honest, wondering if this calm in the horrendous storm of the last 15 months will hold – both for the sakes of the innocent civilians of Gaza and for Jews in Israel and around the world, recovering from the horrors of October 7th, and living an ongoing nightmare as we wait to see the fate of our hostages. 4 more were released just this morning, and we wait to see what will follow. At Joshua’s rehearsal 10 days ago I wondered aloud if Keith Segal’s seat to my right would be empty of his poster by today. It is not. We continue to wait with his family, and so many others, hoping for a happy ending to come soon. But we know there won’t be a happy ending for so many, and it is hard to celebrate when so much has been lost. In our portion this week, which Joshua read from so beautifully, we hear the famous words: ‘Let my People Go’. And of course, we hear Pharoah’s refusal, over and over again. Every year when we read Torah we hear new resonances with our lives. Sometimes they teach us new joy. Sometimes they are agonising.
There is a scene in the Merchant of Venice, where the main protagonists find themselves in the courtroom. The Jewish moneylender, Shylock, is seeking the settlement of a bond signed by Antonio, who has lost his merchant ships at sea and cannot pay his debt. He has a history of antisemitism and of directly attacking Shylock in the street, but had agreed that if he could not repay his debt, he would forfeit a pound of his own flesh. Shylock is demanding Justice, and the full settlement of the bond in Antonio’s flesh.
A lawyer takes centre stage, arguing not for justice, which they acknowledge is in the payment in flesh, but for mercy, and emphasizing its divine quality. Ultimately Shylock received neither justice nor mercy. There is also a sense here that an erroneous and long standing dualism is set up – Christianity represents mercy and love, Judaism is only interested in justice and blind obeyance to the law. This is a common trope I still find today among trainee Christian clergy I have taught, and many aren’t even aware that they have absorbed this misconception. Judaism of course embraces concepts of both Justice and Mercy – indeed the two names of God heard in the first line of the Shema which we just heard Joshua recite as he took a hold of his Jewish heritage, are said to each represent the God of Justice and the God of Mercy, and the need for these two to be kept in balance. Justice and mercy are tricky to balance, particularly in times such as now. And ultimately, it is we as humans that face the real challenge of balancing them as we try to build a functioning society together.
It’s hard to talk about mercy balancing justice this week without thinking of Bishop Marian Edgar Budde and the speech she made in Washington as part of President Trumps inauguration. She spoke with incredible bravery, asking the President to have mercy on those in the nation who are scared. For the gay, lesbian and transgender children, for migrant and undocumented workers, and to have mercy on the stranger, for as Torah reminds us again and again, we were ourselves strangers in a foreign land. As an American Rabbi, Jason Holtz, wrote this week ‘Bisop Budde’s views on religion are quite different than my own […] I’m confident in saying our political views aren’t exactly the same either. At the same time, her message, I believe, is to be especially mindful of the people who are particularly vulnerable. This is a core message of our shared Bible’[1].
We will see once again in the coming week’s of torah readings how hard it is for the Israelites to create the Torah’s vision of a society with the right balance of justice and mercy, with care for the vulnerable at its core. The world is still struggling with this problem.
I heard a remarkable speaker in December; his name is Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib. He, like Bishop Budde, is based in Washington, working for a think tank exploring Middle Eastern security. He was born in Gaza, and left in 2005 after he was deafened in one ear by an Israeli air strike. He has lost 31 members of his family since October 7th 2003. And I have never heard a fiercer critic of Hamas. He is no fan of the current Israeli Government either, but he sees that for the Palestinians and for Israeli’s to both find justice, they also need to both find mercy, and acknowledge each others realities. He wants to see Gaza liberated from Hamas, who he says recklessly endangers Palestinian lives, relying on Palestinian suffering to delegitimize Israel globally, ensuring an unending conflict with no meaningful resolution; neither justice nor mercy. His is a powerful voice advocating for a two state solution, in which both Israel and Palestine have found a balance of justice and mercy that allows them to co-exist. I won’t pretend we are close to achieving Ahmed’s vision, indeed that goal has likely been set back decades in the last months, but his voice is a powerful reminder that we cannot talk in generalisations about Jews (as Shakespeare did) or about any other group either!
I would like to live in less interesting times. The hopes and fears of what will emerge from Gaza in the coming weeks sits heavily on my chest. I cannot stop thinking about the Bibas family, and whether they will come home to celebrate more birthdays, or to be buried. And yet I am prone to search for hope, perhaps where there may only be the faintest glimmer. When life is dark, it is being together with community that brings me light. We may veer more towards justice or more towards mercy, but together we strive to find the right balance, and to see one another through the darkness. We are stronger together. Not just as a Jewish community, but as communities determined to march forward together and to find a way to live together.
Cain Yehi Ratzon, may this be God’s will. Amen
[1] Written on Facebook, used with permission
