Cracked Carnival Mirror

Amos Oz’s Judas conjures Jesus and Judas’s suffering to reflect on the novel’s central characters anguish. Jesus’s nature and plights echo within Shmuel Ash while Judas’s resonate within Atalia Abravanel and Gershom Wald. While split, in Judas’s case, and imperfect, in both, the nature of the transfigurations highlights the realistic blemishes present when strife clouds clarity.

Shmuel Ash starts his life in a small flat in Haifa amid the backdrop of mid-20th century Israeli conflicts. To add onto the unrest around him, there is, with one exception, a consistent animosity between him and the rest of his family. The anomalous instance occurs when a scorpion stings him. This unfortunate event gives way:

For a space of two or three days…[were]…it was as if a crack had opened in one of the walls and through it something had emerged that Shmuel had never ceased to long for when he was growing up, and even now that he was an adult, when he remembered the scorpion sting he was filled with a vague urge to forgive the whole world and to love everyone who crossed his path. (Oz 130)

The message of forgiveness and universal love brought about by this initially painful experience is reminiscent of Jesus’s teachings and is what first distinguishes him from the other characters in the novel. While Atalia and Wald love or have loved, they cannot let go, and Shmuel, in contrast, is not just capable of love, he has a desire to forgive.

The capability to do so does not mean that it comes easily to him though, especially at the beginning of the novel. One of Shmuel’s defining characteristics is that “His eyes easily filled with tears, which caused him embarrassment and even shame” (2). This personal vendetta he has for himself hampers his desire to forgive because he cannot absolve himself from his shame and feelings of inadequacy. Thus, in questioning his own worthiness he finds it difficult to move past his resentment and distain for others.

Atalia brings this doubt to the forefront of his life when she meets him for the first time. She raises, “her elongated brown eyes to Shmuel…[and while]…not smiling…her face…[has]…an expression of curious sympathy with a faint hint of challenge” (24). This challenge and sympathy entrances Shmuel into timidly vying for her affection, to prove to her, and himself, that he is good enough to get and give love.

Atalia, however, fixates on the past, where her husband’s death and the agony from Israeli-Arab clashes fester. She declares to Shmuel that she, “…can’t love men. You’ve held the whole world in your hands for thousands of years and you’ve turned it into a horror show. A slaughterhouse” (187). The inability to care about the difference between men of conscience and those of malice when pertaining to love stems from her inability to accept the tragedies in her past as worthwhile or meaningful.

This is mirrored in the books rendition of Judas who similarly feels an immense revulsion to what he deems as the man who had held the whole world in his hands for thousands of years, God. He says, “I recoiled from him: a jealous and vengeful god, visiting the iniquities of the fathers on the sons, a cruel, angry, bitter, vindictive, petty blood-shedding god” (269).  But, like Atalia, Judas sees a challenge in his beliefs in the man he garners sympathy with. He admits that while he still hates God, “ …the Son seemed to me loving, compassionate, forgiving, but also, when he wished, witty, sharp, warmhearted, and even funny” (269). 

This contradiction between the hatred of the father and the adoration of the son shows a longing for what once was to be again in both characters. Judas finds it in Jesus, who is more assured in his benevolence, while Atalia finds it in Shmuel, who she admits is “…not a predator. You never boast, you never throw your weight around, you’re not too much in love with yourself. And another thing I like about you: everything is always written on your face. You’re a child with no secrets” (275).

Unfortunately, as the realization of these longings is met, the awareness of the inaccessibility of the past comes into clarity which leads to two divergent tragedies.

Atalia’s acceptance of Shmuel culminates in her having sex with him. Before she does the deed, “…she went first to the desk and turned her father’s photograph…[a symbol of her inability to love men]…face-down. Then, without uttering a word, she removed the blanket and sat down on the bed next to him” (276). 

After this, however, she tells him that his time with her is limited to only a few more days, just enough for him to get his bearings before being thrown out into the world again. This shows that this event’s purpose is not to bond with Shmuel but to reminisce on the past, one she can never gain again, for her father’s photograph is still there and her husband is still dead.

The other tragedy reflects in Wald’s misfortune, someone whose appearance is that of “…an ugly man, broad, crooked, hunchbacked…[with a nose]…as sharp as the beak of a thirsty bird, and the curve of his chin…[that]…suggested a sickle,” (18). This depiction illuminates a similarity in appearance to a portrayal of Judas that is prevalent in circles that see him as a betrayer of Jesus. The dispositions of Wald emphasize a contrast to the caricature however, as rather than a malevolent force of evil he is both a cripple and full of sorrow for his actions.

Shmuel is a caretaker for him for the length of the novel and slowly uncovers the intricacies of his regret. Sometimes Wald is vibrant and full of life, but whenever he stops and listens, he looks like a dead man, “Because his neck was bent at a right angle…so that for a fleeting moment he…[looks]…like a hanged man with a broken neck,” which is another allusion to Judas (39). This quote allows Judas, who hung himself after Jesus died, and Wald, who is still alive after his tragedy, to momentarily share a fate, while highlighting how lifeless Wald’s life has become after his only son’s death in the Israeli-Arab conflict (153).

Eventually, Wald unveils his past and laments to Shmuel that he blames himself for his son’s death. He states that:

I programmed him…In those years we all used to recite passionately the words of Hannah Senesh: ‘Then a voice called and I followed.’ A voice called him and he got up and went…He is gone and I am still here. No. I’m not still here. Micha…[my only son]…is gone and I am also gone. Look at me: the man sitting opposite you is not alive. A dead chatterbox is sitting opposite you, chattering. (178)

The unwillingness to forgive oneself is a trait originally shared by both Wald and Shmuel, but what distinguishes the two is the severity of the pain and the ability to rectify the past. Shmuel is able to forgive himself for his self-imposed inadequacies because Atalia deems him worthy enough to sleep with and go back into the world. For him there is still potential, potential to improve and to move on to new possibilities. Wald, on the other hand, cannot get his son, youth, or faith in his nation back because of the blemishes wrought upon him by time. The extrinsic rather than the intrinsic is the main cap on Wald.

Jesus and Judas share a similar dyadic relationship. Jesus stops himself because he has doubt, while Judas goes forward because he has faith. Shmuel, who reflects on this in is writings, claims that Jesus:

Deep down in his child’s heart a worm of doubt had been gnawing: Am I the man? Am I really the man? Maybe I am not up to the task…[but]…Judas was relentless: You are the man. You are the Savior. You are the Son of God. You are God. You are destined to save all men. Heaven has laid this charge upon you, to go to Jerusalem and to work your wonders there. (150) 

The faith then gets shattered when reality strikes, and in a similar vein to Wald Judas cries, “I murdered him. I put him on the cross. I hammered the nails into his flesh. I shed his blood,” taking all the blame upon himself and rejecting forgiveness because he cannot undo his actions (270). In the end, Wald, Judas, and Atalia are unable to move on with their lives, being stuck in the past and mourning what was, while Jesus, particularly his legacy, and Shmuel are able to.

Wald and Atalia recognize this, which is why they push Shmuel to move out of their house, out of the land of the dead, and into the world. Atalia’s last words to him, “You must turn over a new leaf,” state as much, while Wald’s underline how much he cares for him with him saying, “‘I’ve lost one son. Come here, boy. Move closer, please. Closer. A little more.’ And he leaned forward and planted a single kiss in the middle of Shmuel’s forehead with strong, cold lips” (294, 296). The kiss, like Judas’s on Jesus, symbolizes the death of his old life and the potential beginning of a new one, if Shmuel is willing.

The novel is a cracked carnival mirror with Atalia, Wald, and Shmuel on one side while Judas and Jesus are on the other, with both parties trying to see the truth and escape. The imperfect reflections, despite being warped through time, tragedy, and circumstance, still show truths about humanities strife to find love and peace if one is able to see them from the right perspective soon enough. Judas, Atalia, and Wald have all given up, some say Jesus has made it out, others say he has not, but one thing is certain, by the end of the Amos Oz’s Judas, Shmuel, as imperfect as he may be, is still striving and more importantly wondering about the way out.