As actor Yousef Sweid freely admits near the start of his solo show, the name Between the River and the Sea promises controversy – controversy that never really comes, because you see, he’s a bit of a centrist dad.
That’s a very flippant way of cross pollinating a silly meme about ’10s Labour moderates with the very complicated reality of life as a secular Arab Israeli (who is also a dad). And let’s be honest, Israel (and its associated controversies) is such an emotive subject that I’m sure the affable Sweid and his autobiographical monologue (co-written with its director Isabella Sedlak) might offend some people – especially if they’re looking for fiery condemnation of the country of his birth.
But Sweid knows all that: he knows that even the act of not describing himself as Palestinian is problematic in some circles. And in this amusing, poignant and somewhat-slippery hour he details a half century on the planet trying to avoid trouble. Now living in Berlin and dealing with a divorce from his second wife (who wants to take their daughter to live in Israel), he confesses to seeking out the company of the city’s glossy international class, rather than its Arab and Palestinian diaspora. He’s fond of these communities. But he’s also a middle-aged Euro hipster.
Really it’s a story about trying to live an unremarkable life in an area of the world cursed to experience constant remarkable events. Growing up in Haitha and attending a Jewish school, he describes how a four-year-old classmate called him ‘stinky Arab’ one day, the first time he’d been aware of any difference between him and his fellows. But as he points out, a lot of this stuff is meaningless or at least wildly subjective – the classmate admitted he didn’t know what an Arab (or a Jew) actually was, and the chap in question’s eventual fate is, shall we say, surprising.
Divorce aside, the closest Sweid comes to getting into trouble is going to a beer festival in Rammalah, and travelling through Hamas-controlled neighbourhoods where he’s advised not to to be heard speaking Hebrew. On the whole, he tries not to think too hard about the Nakba, or the multiple intifadas he lives through.
Is this a cop out? Or is it noble trying to live a life that speaks of a harmonious Middle East that doesn’t exist but perhaps could, if more people wanted it?
There’s also an intriguing understatedness in places. He doesn’t give a big speech about his precise feelings on October 7: there’s little question he thinks Hamas are bad, but he describes simply not being able to give his Jewish-Israeli friends an answer when they demand an explanation for his not exhibiting the same public lust for vengeance that they did.
It was originally commissioned by the Maxim Gorki Theatre in Berlin - where Germany’s complicated relationship with Israel has prompted much debate over what an appropriate artistic response to crimes committed in Gaza should be. Now it’s staged at the Royal Court – which has been involved in multiple antisemitism scandals. It’s not hard to see that Between the River and the Sea’s appeal to programmers might be ‘an authentic response to the current situation in the Middle East, but make it moderate’.
But it is authentic, and Arab Israelis trying to live normal, boring lives are rarely platformed. It’s hardly a cop out to learn about the lived experience of a man who grew up in Israel and felt he had to call himself Yoni to fit in, but only really interrogated this in later life. Even the details of getting divorced as a member of the Berlin diaspora are fascinating. Between the River and the Sea is a moderate show and a modest one, but it‘s a pleasure to spend time in Sweid’s garrulous company.
