Insecure

It was Kol Nidre, the eve of Yom Kippur, on Wednesday night. You know this by now.

I spent the final hour of the service on security duty. Standing at the front gate as folk departed, I found myself in the unusual position of bidding my entire community goodnight and well over the fast. There were plenty of jokes about their safety being in my hands - as we nodded to the security guards standing outside the gate, men who know what they’re doing and who do so much more to keep us safe. It’s a lovely, friendly community, and people departed to a convivial atmosphere. But we all know that synagogues are a target, and those of us on security fastened our protective vests a little tighter than usual.

The following morning, word spread of the horror of Heaton Park Synagogue. At a gate just like our one, two members of their community killed, three more badly injured. The inevitable had tragically arrived.

I’ve always rather enjoyed my security shifts. In truth, I spend a lot more time outside our synagogue and only occasionally venture indoors in search of some form of spiritual replenishment. But I’ve always regarded the very notion of me and security as a juxtaposition. As kind of funny.

I’ve stopped laughing.

We take these security shifts for granted. That whenever and wherever we congregate – whether to pray, or to meet or to celebrate, we need a physical presence at the doors and around the building to deter others from doing bad things to us. Because we are Jews.

While all of this has been normalised, it should not be normal, but we’ve muddled through decades of equilibrium, and accepted it as part and parcel of being a Jew in Britain.

That equilibrium is rapidly disappearing. The tide of antisemitism that has risen over the last 2 years since October 7th has permeated our lives, the unsayable now perfectly sayable, that longest hatred still doing its thing.

Here are some of the other things for which we now need to give careful consideration as we go about our lives:

- Is that university a safe environment for my kid if they openly identify as Jewish?

- If I go to that music festival, will I find myself in a field full of haters cheering on an artist who openly supports antisemitic terrorists?

- If I publicly acknowledge any connection to the Jewish state, will I get targeted?

All of these questions, and many more, are a part of our lives. There is a level of prejudice and hostile treatment that simply would not be tolerated if it were aimed at any other minority, because the progressive activist class treats antisemitism completely differently.

But Gaza?

The events in Israel and Gaza over the past 2 years have been horrific. Any decent person would hope that the bloodshed will soon be over. But the pervasive focus on Israel, the ongoing efforts to frame any Jew who refuses to publicly renounce the very existence of a Jewish state as a genocide enabler – that is the toxic atmosphere in which violence occurs. And innocent Jews, views on events thousands of miles away entirely unknown, are the victims.

Conversations are happening around Jewish dinner tables. You may think they are wrong-headed, but believe me, they are happening. How hostile does an environment have to get before we get out of here? And in which case – where would we even go?

I hope it doesn’t come to that, of course. But it’s going to take more than “thoughts and prayers” and “we won’t let this divide us” words to map out a secure future for Jews in Britain. It’s going to take a genuine willingness to confront the Jihadist fascism which is aided and abetted by the part of the left that has completely lost its way.

That will be an enormous challenge, but it will be necessary. If you don’t have the stomach for that right now, you can always drop a line to your Jewish mate. The expressions of solidarity mean a lot. And you can donate to the incredible CST, an organisation devoted to keeping us safer by clicking here.