Needformoreafterporridge

JOSEPH WAS the first Jew to be cast into prison — but he was not the last. There have therefore been both whoops of delight and a whiff of regret among many Jewish families at the government’s announcement that HM Prison Reading — formerly known as Reading Gaol and memorialised as such in Oscar Wilde’s powerful Ballad — is to be closed and inmates transferred to a “super-prison” . The delight is from former inmates who still shudder at the time spent in that Victorian building. The regret comes from those who value its association with Wilde’s poem, written in 1897 during his incarceration there. His words still hold true for many modern Josephs: I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol Is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, A year whose days are long. … And never a human voice comes near To speak a gentle word: And the eye that watches through the door Is pitiless and hard: And by all forgot, we rot and rot, With soul and body marred.

Prison conditions have certainly improved since then but the sense of isolation that some inmates feel is still profound. This can apply particularly to Jewish prisoners and for several different reasons.

The comparatively tight-knit nature of the Jewish community means that everyone is connected, so there is no escaping the intense social shame that comes with a custodial sentence.

That affects the prisoner’s family just as much— sometimes even more so, for they have to carry on everyday life as normal in abnormal circumstances — with the result that some disown the incarcerated family member.

Once the prison gates close, Jewish prisoners find that, as they come from one of the smallest faith groups in Britain, there are few other inmates from the same background, so they are cut off from their social and cultural milieu in a way that other prisoners are not.

Jewish prisoners are also faced with being a potential target in a world where the usual niceties of society do not operate and minorities can be especially vulnerable.

Of course, life in prison should not be wonderful and should be a place to which they never wish to return; so there has to be a balance between punishment and rehabilitation, neither making life too enjoyable, nor warping them into a mind-set of permanent criminality.

Being a visiting prison chaplain, as I was for several years, involves a strange, mental doubleact. On the one hand, there can be no excusing the crime which a person has committed and the lives they have disrupted and harmed.

On the other hand, there is no ignoring the fact that everyone has a good side and potential talents, and these aspects have to be recognised and nurtured.

It feels wrong laughing when a murderer tells a joke, but if it is funny it is hard not to respond. At the same time, treating prisoners as normal, and helping to restore their belief in themselves as worthwhile, is essential if they are to eventually re-emerge into society.

This is where the wider Jewish community can play more of a role, for although we are good at providing a kosher meals service and sending in prayer books, we are less good at helping to reintegrate ex-prisoners.

It is partly a matter of attitude and saying “this person has paid the penalty for what was done, has wiped the slate clean and is to be given a fresh start”. It may be difficult to put aside their past but, unless we do, we condemn them to repeat it.

We also need to provide employment for exprisoners, so that they can feel they have a place in society, earn an income and see a future for themselves. Even though our first instinct is not to trust them, we have to have the courage to risk reaching out to the better part of their character. If we do not make that move, how can we expect them to do so?

Reading Gaol will shortly disappear, but the challenge posed by Jewish prisoners and Jewish former convicts remains. Jonathan Romain is rabbi of Maidenhead Synagogue