I could do no more, no less. The fate
that brought my father here, ill-omened town,
stinking of show, deceit and filth-filled
waterways—so outwardly respectable.
But still I thrived, fitted into the walls
vital as the mortar, though reviled.
No goose that lays the golden eggs,
the rat that vents the ducats of increase.
But then I found my Leah, found my peace,
those few brief years of comfort. Jessica,
hope for a son to chant my well-earned kaddish—
till Leah was torn from us by cruel plague.
And now to lose Jessica! My dear wife’s soul….
my brain a writhing serpent striking, blind,
parched for blood to slake my righteous hate,
gnawing the apple of that evil tree.
Antonio, Lorenzo, even Launcelot,
such names to grace a poet’s masterpiece—
uncircumcised jackals wagging scaly tails,
clawing at the remnants of my faith.
How could I not pursue my pound of flesh,
so small a token of Venetian villainy?
Till Portia compounded sin on sin—
preaching mercy, while she forged a bogus law.*
By then my life was naught, a broken pot,
a pit of sodden ash in which to drown,
to quench the searing flame of God-lost grace,
wasted like Leah’s tender waxen face.
So listen well, you dreamers of reward,
who think to bloom amid the writhing weeds,
be you as steadfast as Jehovah’s staff,
remember Shylock, be his epitaph.
_________
Amiel Schotz was born in Glasgow, Scotland in 1936. He studied at Glasgow University and later at Brandeis University, earning both an M.A. and an M.F.A. In 1965 he made Aliya, beginning a long and varied career in Israel as an educator, actor, translator and editor. He served as editor-in-chief of the Voices Israel Annual Anthology, and has also been an adjudicator for the Reuben Rose and Bar Sagi poetry competitions.