Three years on from October 7, British Jews are asking: Are we safe here?
Three years on from the October 7 massacre, Benjamin Bell writes how life has changed for him as a Jewish Londoner.
AI. Brexit. Covid. Donald.
Recent years have brought seismic change. For British Jews, 7 October 2023 was a watershed like no other.
Not just the day itself – etched on our souls as the largest loss of Jewish life since the Holocaust. A different pain has been the aftermath of hate and delegitimisation that followed and has only grown.
Ancestors have dealt with worse, before making valuable contributions to the UK since the 1800s. Whether grafting for a better life, building businesses and opportunity for others, or in the British army fighting Hitler.
But it wasn’t meant to be this way for those they raised. As kids you learnt the stories of Jews through the ages with their bags packed, just in case. The very notion felt quaint and historical.
Yet I know too many now who are beyond that point and on the move. It no longer feels far-fetched amid our Jew Normal. A way of life that demands we think about things we shouldn’t have to.
Whether to conceal a religious symbol on the bus. The date of my next synagogue security shift. The walking route to avoid a bigoted march in town. The inclusion advocates meeting antisemitic atrocities with silence. My son asking why everyone hates us – while I mull whether the Star of David on his Sunday League kit will expose the young team to violence.
Then those suitcases re-enter the mind. Brought on by constant chats about whether Britain remains safe for Jews, before it’s back to discussing the match last night. The extraordinary has become ordinary.
Community Security Trust data show this isn’t Jewish neurosis cosplaying as an alarm call. It is an evidential crisis. A crisis well-documented, yet not well-heeded. It only gathers pace. Fuelled by the cesspit of social media and motivated bad actors.
Before 7 October, I feared telling colleagues I was Jewish. After, I fear not telling them. The paradox of Jew Normal is that antisemitism has simultaneously made people more anxious at being visibly Jewish and yet more determined to be so.
We have danced harder at weddings. Sung louder at Friday night dinners. Turned up for vigils, charity events and each other despite record threat levels. That will maintain, but isn’t enough. It shouldn’t demand courage of allies to speak up for us and speak out against racism, but today’s reality means it does. Regardless, you need to find it – quickly. For the sake not just of the Jews but civilised society at large.
The moment also requires strong policing and political leadership to stamp out the flames, not fan them. And calls for a culture that values history, not just the now. For without learning from the past, we are doomed to repeat it.
Nothing, though, matters more than what we control ourselves. We must defend our beliefs, continue our traditions and raise proud Jews. As our elders taught us, whatever may engulf this tiny community, the torch of Judaism has passed through millennia by doing just that.
AI. Brexit. Covid. Donald. Is our E for Emigration? That wasn’t the plan.
Benjamin Bell is a London-based corporate affairs leader