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2009-12-19
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Kaddish

Summary:

At the end of The Merchant of Venice, Shylock is compelled, under pain of death, to convert to Christianity. This is the story of what might have happened next. As you can imagine, it's rather bleak.

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And the blessing of Almighty God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
be upon you and remain with you always.
Amen.


"What? That's it? We don't have to come back later?"

The crowds of the faithful streamed out of church into the bright winter sunshine, chatting merrily. But the yellow-coated man lingered with the priest at the door.
Padre Marco laughed. "We're an impatient people, we Christians," he said. "We can't sit for hours like you do in your synagogues."
"You're like little children," said Shylock.
The priest smiled. "Verily I say unto you," he said, "except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."
"Crazy religion," muttered Shylock.
"Come on," said Padre Marco. "Back to my study." People stared at them as they walked through the arches and narrow cloisters. A nun crossed herself, and a mother pulled her child closer in fear.
There was a warm fire in Padre Marco's study. Shylock took off his garish yellow coat and put it on the back of his chair.
"You won't have to wear that for much longer," said Padre Marco, trying to sound cheerful.
Shylock grunted. By law, all Jews had to wear the yellow coat. It was supposed to be a shameful colour – the colour of whores and of sickness. But better that than the shame of forced conversion.
"If it's all right with you, we'll do the baptism next Sunday," continued Padre Marco.
"And what if it isn't all right with me?" asked Shylock.
Padre Marco hesitated, then dropped the cheerful tone. "I'm sorry," he said, "but the law is clear – if you don't convert by then, the penalty is death. Look, I don't want to have to do this but..."
"Well, nor do I," said Shylock. "So how about we call it quits? You could say you baptised me privately."
"I can't," said Padre Marco. "I swore as well."
"And to avoid perjuring yourself, you'll make me perjure myself?" Shylock spat out the words. "That's your Christian morality, is it?"
"I can only say I'm sorry," said Padre Marco, firmly. "Now, can we continue with the catechism?"
Reluctantly, Shylock opened the little book. "What is martyrdom?" he asked, putting as little expression into the words as he could.
"Martyrdom is the supreme witness given to the truth of the faith," read Padre Marco. "It means bearing witness even unto death. The martyr bears witness to Christ who died and rose, to whom he is united by charity. He bears witness to the truth of the faith and of Christian doctrine. He endures death through an act of fortitude. 'Let me become the food of the beasts, through whom it will be given me to reach God.'"
"And would you do that?" asked Shylock. "Would you bear witness even unto death?"
"I pray God I would," said Padre Marco. "But I don't think anyone can tell what they'd do in the face of death, until that time comes."
Those who were condemned to die shared a single filthy cell. In the corner, the lunatic played with the corpse of a rat, humming and mumbling to himself. The Jew sat on the bench, hugging his knees, praying. He looked up when the door opened, but it was too dark to see anything but the newcomer's outline.
"Hello?" said a trembling voice. "Hello? Is anybody there?"
The Jew recognised the voice at once, and anger boiled up inside his breast. "Antonio? Antonio? Isn't this enough for you? Must you come and mock me too?"
Antonio laughed then. Laughed and laughed until it hurt, and the lunatic joined in, clapping his hands. "Shylock?" said Antonio, once he could. "Old Shylock?"
"Leave me alone!" Shylock snarled. But then the snarl became a whimper. "Please, I beg you... just... in the name of mercy..."
Antonio felt his way forward and sat down on the bench beside him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for everything."
"Then just go away!" said Shylock.
"I can't," said Antonio. "I wish I could, but I can't, any more than you can."
There was a pause while Shylock took that in. "You are condemned as well?" he said, slowly.
"Yes," said Antonio. "Condemned to hang tomorrow. By your side, it seems. Oh Christ!" The merchant's head dropped down into his hands and he began to weep uncontrollably.
"But what did you do?" asked Shylock once Antonio was quiet again, though he had already guessed. Those who werre most afraid of being despised themselves were always quickest to despise him.
Antonio shrugged. There was no point in being coy any more. "I'm a sodomite," he said. "I was caught with... Oh God..." and he began weeping again.
"Ah," said Shylock. "I wondered." He sighed. All the fight was gone out of him. Suddenly there no longer seemed to be much point in hatred. "Bassanio?" he said.
Antonio shook his head. "Not any more," he said. "Not since Portia caught us." He felt something scuttle over his foot. A cockroach? He drew up his legs. "It was stupid. Really stupid. I went to a prostitute. I didn't even enjoy it, Shylock. They're killing me for it and I didn't even enjoy it. It wasn't like it was with Bassiano. And now I'll never see him again."
"And I'll never see my daughter again," said Shylock.
Jessica. She had been to visit Portia only a few days ago. "She's having a baby," Antonio said, looking up. "You're going to be a grandfather."
"No Christian baby is a grandchild of mine," said Shylock, but he said it half-heartedly. He remembered Jessica herself as a baby: her bright eyes, her little hands reaching out to clutch at his sidelocks. His eyes filled with tears.
"Christians believe in begging forgiveness for sins and reconciling yourself with your enemies before death," said Antonio.
"We believe in forgiveness as well," said Shylock.
And in the silence, their hands reached out and found one another.
"I'm frightened," said Antonio.
"So am I," said Shylock.

Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will.
May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon.

May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.

Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honoured, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One;
blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world...

"Jessica!"
I started in fear, and I felt the baby move too. "My Lord!" When had Lorenzo come in? I got up as quickly as I could and bobbed a respectful curtsy.
"What were you saying, Jessica?" His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
"Oh... nothing," I replied, blushing. "I mean... I was praying."
"It didn't sound like prayer to me. I didn't sound like words."
"It was Hebrew." Yes. And though it broke my heart to say Kaddish for my father, speaking it for the first time in a year felt like coming home from a long, hard journey.
"Oh." Lorenzo wrinkled his nose. "Don't you think God can understand Italian?"
"It's no different from the mass being in Latin," I said. "Half the bible's in Hebrew!" I sounded whiny, petulant, and hated myself for it.
"Yes," said Lorenzo. "The Jew half. You are not a Jew, you are my wife, and the mother of my child."
And that's when I knew. My marriage will end as it began. On the seventh day after my son is born, I will wrap him up, pack what is mine, put on my yellow coat and my breeches and return to my people. I will say I am his brother, and that our mother died giving birth to him, and on the eighth day, he will be circumcised. And I will pray for G-d's forgiveness.

...May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel.

Amen.