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White supremacy takes center stage in a new reimagining of ‘The Merchant of Venice’
(New York Jewish Week) — When William Shakespeare wrote “The Merchant of Venice” 400 years ago, he had almost certainly never met a Jewish person. In fact, in 1596 or so, when he created the infamous character of Shylock — a greedy moneylender who thirsts for a literal “pound of flesh” from his Christian antagonist, Antonio — Jews had been banned from England for nearly 300 years.
Like most of Shakespeare’s work, “The Merchant of Venice” — which centers on Antonio’s default on a large loan from Shylock — continues to be performed in the present day, despite its reputation as “the most vexed single play in the Shakespearean canon,” as New York Times film critic A.O. Scott wrote in a 2004 review of the film version starring Al Pacino as Shylock. At the time, Scott noted that “the first task of any modern adaptation is to confront the anti-Jewish bigotry that propels its plot and informs its poetry.”
In his new play “The Shylock and the Shakespeareans,” Edward Einhorn confronts that bigotry head on. Now onstage at the New Ohio Theatre in Greenwich Village, the Untitled Theater Company No. 61 production that debuted June 1 and runs through June 17 reimagines “The Merchant of Venice” from the perspective of Jacob, a Jewish diamond merchant who is called “Shylock” as a slur. In this new version, while still set in an “ancient Venice, of sorts,” a group of white supremacists known as “the Shakespeareans” have co-opted the public discourse, and Jacob finds himself embroiled with them when his daughter falls in love with an Asian immigrant.
Using contemporary events and framing, alongside techniques associated with the Theatre of the Absurd, the play attempts to explore the continuum between the historical and the modern in order to create a conversation about antisemitism as it exists in our current time.
“What’s really interesting to me is how a lot of this resurgence of antisemitism has such old libels embedded in it,” Einhorn told the New York Jewish Week. “You can see whoever is the latest celebrity antisemite coming out and saying something [they think is] new when it’s actually 500 or even 1,000 years old. I think a lot of people don’t realize how historically embedded many conspiracy theories are.”
Despite its old age, conversations about “The Merchant of Venice” continue to be potent — perhaps even more so today, amid rising rates of antisemitic crimes and statements in the United States and beyond. Contemporary artists continue to grapple with what the play can and does mean, often making use of modern-day politics to propel these conversations.
A “race-conscious” production of “Merchant” at Brooklyn’s Polonsky Shakespeare Center last March, for example, tackled anti-Black racism, while a recent United Kingdom production of “The Merchant of Venice” by Tracy-Ann Oberman sets the tale in 1930s Britain, and Oberman portrays Shylock as a version of her own great-grandmother. Both of these versions make no qualms about declaring the inherent antisemitism of the play — and so, too, does “The Shylock and the Shakespeareans,” which sends the message that such hate is alive and well among us today.
When it comes to “The Merchant of Venice,” Einhorn said that “playing it straight, rather than staging it with a point of view [and context] is not the best choice.” In his spin on the tale, the playwright retains the main storylines of “Merchant”: The plot revolves around an unpaid debt to Jacob by Antonio on behalf of his friend Bassanio, who seeks to woo the wealthy Portia; Antonio is an outspoken antisemite who slanders the very Jewish man who is lending him the cash he needs.
The twist in Einhorn’s play is the analogy to modern U.S. politics — and the rub is that it’s not particularly difficult to make these connections. The Venetian citizens who persecute Shylock in Shakespeare’s play become white supremacists, led by a hateful politician called Shakespeare. They call out “Jews will not replace us,” an intentional reference to the 2017 “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, Virgina. Portia, originally the central love interest who tests suitors and creates the judicial conditions for Shylock’s unraveling, is also transformed: she becomes an over-privileged brat who plays cruel games with people’s lives, treating her suitors with blatant racism and disregard.
“It’s cute in ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ but here it’s scary,” actor Jeremy Kareken, who portrays Jacob in this new iteration, told the New York Jewish Week. “[Portia] is playing games with people’s lives and their destinies. People end up married, people end up dead — she’s playing games because of her privilege. And the people she chooses to believe as judges [in Jacob’s trial] are deeply suspect. That’s why it’s a kangaroo court — it’s such an obvious miscarriage of justice.”
Justice is a central theme of the play, and something that Einhorn seeks to subvert and question. “[In the original], people just accept these things are happening,” Einhorn said, referring to Shylock’s trial, during which the moneylender attempts to get his revenge on Antonio but instead loses everything — even his own identity as a Jew.
The play also calls into question the idea of Jewish identity itself by highlighting the narrative arc of Jacob’s daughter, Jessica, who leaves her Judaism behind to marry her love.
“Even if you are no longer religiously Jewish, how does that identity impact you in life?” Einhorn mused. “No matter how you’ve chosen to identify previously, when major life events happen, do they bring you back to that upbringing?”
To Einhorn and Kareken, who are both Jewish, it’s not about how one practices the religion or even if one chooses to do so. (Kareken, who is also a playwright of Broadway’s “The Lifespan of a Fact,” is adamant that there is “no wrong way to do it, within the bounds of ethics.”) Instead, it’s about how a person connects to where they’ve come from and how their culture informs the path they take in the world.
At this fraught moment — when polarization among Jews is intensifying and antisemitism is ascendent — these questions feel palpable. Einhorn admits that some audience members have found it too hard to face, walking out mid-play, but overall the response has been one of reflection and consideration.
“It’s working best when the comedy and the ridiculous aspects are working as well as the drama,” he said. “And I could feel that working from the audience reaction around me.”
“The Shylock and the Shakespeareans” will be performed at the New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher St.) through June 17. For tickets and info, click here.
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At Eurovision, Israel’s near triumph shows the limits of tolerance
VIENNA — A keffiyeh was blocking my view, and it bothered me less than I would have expected.
It was around 9:45 pm, and I was standing outside Vienna’s city hall, where the city had erected a “Eurovision village.” The pan-European singing competition was taking place in the former Habsburg capital, grand architecture framing massive public viewing screens.
Security was tight. Visitors weren’t allowed to bring bags inside the area, and we were patted down by two separate guards before we were allowed to enter. In August 2024, a foiled terror attack led to the cancellation of three Taylor Swift concerts, an international embarrassment authorities were keen not to repeat.
And then there were the protests over Israel’s participation.
The day before, an anti-Israel solidarity concert had featured a video call with Unorthodox author Deborah Feldman, who said she was protesting the “whitewashing” of a genocide. A separate “song protest” reportedly escalated from chants of “One love” to “Death, death IDF.” Earlier that day, demonstrators had marched along Vienna’s main shopping boulevard. By the time evening rolled around, a group of clowns had gathered outside the parliament, practicing creepy, Joker-like laughs and holding signs that said “United by Genocide,” a play on the Eurovision Song Contest’s slogan. “United by Music.”
For a contest that insists on being apolitical, Eurovision had become unmistakably political.
I didn’t care much for the music, but world events were unfolding here in Vienna, and I wanted to see them up close.
Israeli singer Noam Bettan was the third to perform. As he got on stage and started singing “Michelle,” a couple of people in the crowd I was standing in started shouting “Free Palestine” at the screen. The chants weren’t loud enough to drown out the performance
Then, someone in front of me raised a keffiyeh, stretching it between both hands and waving it in the air. It blocked my view. I considered asking him to lower it. But did I really want to risk a confrontation? Instead, I stepped sideways – slightly annoyed, but telling myself this was the price of tolerance.
Only later that night did I begin to wonder whether tolerance was, in fact, a shared value.
Back home, I watched the voting. Just before 1 a.m. the audience vote catapulted the Israeli act into the lead. In the previous two years, Israeli entries had also performed strongly with viewers, placing first and second in the public vote without winning overall. The reasons have been debated: diaspora support, savvy promotion, or simply songs that fit the Eurovision formula — catchy, theatrical, sung with a powerful voice. (Israel has won the competition four times, most recently in 2018.)
Israel’s promotional efforts have drawn criticism, but no evidence of manipulation has emerged, and the public broadcaster KAN has responded quickly to European Broadcasting Union reprimands.
It didn’t matter. Social media filled with accusations that Israel had cheated. In the arena, just before Bulgaria’s points were announced, the booing aimed at Israel’s entry grew so loud it was clearly audible on the broadcast.
Bulgaria won, Israel came in second, and I felt something close to relief. At a time when several countries had already stayed away and others were wavering, it seemed less like a celebration than a breaking point. I wouldn’t want to witness what would happen if Eurovision were to be held in Israel next year.
It had been easy to move when the keffiyeh blocked my view. One step to the side, and the problem was gone. However, there was no stepping aside from what came later. Freedom of speech is about making space, but it can also be used to close it.
The post At Eurovision, Israel’s near triumph shows the limits of tolerance appeared first on The Forward.
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Israel’s Noam Bettan takes 2nd at Eurovision, buoyed by scrutinized public vote
(JTA) — The Israeli contestant in the Eurovision Song Contest won second place for the second year in a row, drawing a strong public vote despite protests over Israel’s inclusion in the contest.
Noam Bettan and his song “Michelle” ranked third in the public vote and eighth in the jury vote, which combined to give him second place behind the entry from Bulgaria, which won the contest for the first time.
Bettan thanked his fans in a post on Instagram after leaving the stage.
“I’m still processing everything and trying to find the words for this incredible journey. You guys are amazing and this is all because of you. I love every single one of you!” he wrote. “This is just the beginning, there are so many amazing things in the way! 🤍Am Israel Chai!!!”
Five countries boycotted the contest this year over Israel’s inclusion, citing Israel’s military operations in Gaza. After the competition, a spokesperson for VRT, Belgium’s national broadcaster, said the country was unlikely to participate next year unless the European Broadcasting Union, which runs the contest, makes “a clear statement against war and violence and for respect for human rights.” Belgium came in 21st of 25 competitors in the final.
Bettan faced a smattering of boos both during the semifinal on Tuesday and during the final on Saturday in Vienna, as well as when Israel briefly led the leaderboard during the announcement of the audience votes. He told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency ahead of the final that he believed he had more fans than detractors and that he would focus on them.
Israel scored 220 points in the public vote after drawing a formal warning from the EBU for its campaign urging supporters to send all 10 of their votes to Bettan. Israel’s broadcaster called off the campaign after being told it was “not in line with our rules nor the spirit of the competition.”
Israel also drew 123 points from national juries, more than twice what it earned last year when 22 countries awarded Israel no points at all in a result seen as driven in part by political tensions.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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It looks like a kaffiyeh, but this pro-Israel influencer wants you to wear a sudra
In a recent viral Jubilee video viewed more than 1.5 million times, pro-Israel activist Rudy Rochman sits across from a group of 20 pro-Palestinian activists, debating the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Draped around his neck is a black-and-gray checkered scarf that looks almost identical to a kaffiyeh.
Look closer, and the pattern resolves into something else: tiny Stars of David clustered together, alongside Hebrew lettering spelling out Am Yisrael Chai — “the people of Israel live,” which has became a mantra after Oct. 7 and the hostage crisis. It’s not a kaffiyeh, Rochman says, but a modern twist on the sudra, a cloth head covering once worn by Jews across the Middle East — and he wants to bring it back.
Since the Gaza War, the kaffiyeh has become an increasingly visible symbol of pro-Palestinian activism. Now, Rochman is part of a small but growing effort to revive the sudra as a marker of Jewish identity rooted in the Middle East. He runs the company My Sudra, promoting and selling the garment online. It has been embraced by a niche but visible group of young pro-Israel influencers.
Rochman, a 32-year-old Jew of Moroccan and Algerian descent, said he and his family wore sudras during celebrations like bar mitzvahs and weddings. In old family albums, Rochman says most photos of his grandfather and great-grandfather show them donning the garment in Morocco.
As a child, Rochman understood the head covering as Middle Eastern rather than distinctly Jewish. Once he learned about its connection to Judaism, he set out to revive it, beginning to create sudras in 2016 while a student at Columbia University.
The term sudra appears in rabbinic literature, including the Mishnah and Talmud, as a general term for a cloth typically worn as the religiously prescribed head covering, though some sources describe Jews wearing it around their necks. Experts say Jews across the Middle East wore sudras, likely before the Middle Ages, with styles varying by region and period.
From the Middle Ages into the modern era, Jews in the Middle East, classified as dhimmis, sometimes faced legal restrictions on dress. One notable prohibition during certain periods was the wearing of a headscarf or turban by Jews, including the sudra.
“This form of headgear by Jewish men was not tolerated in many communities,” said Gillian Vogelsang-Eastwood, a textile historian specializing in Middle Eastern dress. “Men could wear the kippah, but nothing significant in public on the head.”
Over time, she said, those constraints contributed to the fading of the custom.
“For me, it’s about reviving an aspect of our culture that was beaten out of us by force,” said Rochman. “It’s not like we consciously made a decision. ‘Hey, we want to stop wearing sudras.’ We were forced to stop wearing it.”
Historically, sudras did not usually feature identifiably Jewish symbols. The Kurdish sudra is an exception, incorporating circles and dots with religious meaning. Even in Rochman’s own family photos, his ancestors typically wore plain white sudras.
Rochman, however, has deliberately added Jewish symbols to make the garment legibly Jewish to contemporary eyes.
Rochman sells sudras in various colors, including a black and white version that looks exceptionally similar to the Palestinian version of the kaffiyeh. Instead of the pattern of zig-zag stripes and criss-crossed squares that can be found on that kaffiyeh, Rochman’s sudra has stars of David juxtaposed to create a similar checkered pattern, as well as Jewish symbols like the menorah, along with the phrase Am Yisrael Chai.
The resemblance to the kaffiyeh is not accidental.
The kaffiyeh is widely seen today as a symbol of Palestinian identity and resistance, but it did not always carry that meaning.
According to Vogelsang, “The kaffiyeh is basically regarded as a 19th-century development worn by farmers in Syria,” she said. “The Jordanian army later adopted it as part of their uniforms.”
Vogelsang says its political symbolism developed in the 20th century, particularly through its association with Palestinian nationalism and figures such as PLO leader Yasser Arafat, who popularized the black-and-white kaffiyeh widely worn today.
Some say the patterns on the Palestinian black-and-white kaffiyeh represent different aspects of Palestinian culture. The criss-cross lines represent the Palestinian ties to the Mediterranean Sea because of their resemblance to fishnets; the black stripes symbolize trade routes through Palestine; and the curved lines are said to symbolize olive trees.
But Vogelsang and other experts say that this symbolism is a modern interpretation of older patterns. “They didn’t have these meanings. The Palestinian community has given them these meanings,” she said.
Patterns like checks and stripes were often used for garments in the Middle East, not because of any particular symbolism, but because “they are just an easy, convenient design to make,” said Vogelsang. Both Jews and Muslims used whichever fabrics were locally available, often checkered and striped patterns commonly associated with the modern-day kaffiyeh.
In a similar way, Rochman’s sudra takes on explicit political meaning through the inclusion of the phrase Am Yisrael Chai, popularized in the 1960s as a rallying cry for Soviet Jewry and now widely used at pro-Israel demonstrations. In that sense, his garment does not just revive a historical practice, but imbues it with ideological significance.
“Being a Zionist outwardly was kind of seen as excessive before Oct. 7, but after Oct. 7 it became something that was cool again,” Rochman said, adding that interest in — and sales of — his sudras increased following the attacks and the war in Gaza that followed.
I asked Rochman if he’s ever worried about being mistaken for wearing a kaffiyeh or accused of cultural appropriation. Dozens of Reddit threads are dedicated to the topic online. In the Jubilee video, one Palestinian activist tells him, “Are you going to pretend that the kaffiyeh you’re wearing is not a culturally appropriated kaffiyeh? And you just added the Hebrew and all of that to it.”
But he is not particularly bothered by either accusation.
“I look at it as just an opportunity to tell that person, whether a Jew or not a Jew, that doesn’t know anything about a part of Jewish culture, who we are and what we are.”
And while Rochman’s main goal is to help younger generations of Jews understand a part of their history that has faded, he hopes that more Jews wearing the sudra will also foster a greater understanding of Jewish history in the Middle East.
“We need to know where we’re from,” Rochman said. “And if it helps us connect with other Middle Eastern peoples, that’s amazing too.”
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