Under the Corbyn years, when North London Jewish parents gathered at middle-class dinner parties, the first question wasn’t about holidays, careers or our children. It was: “What’s your exit plan?” Where would you go if things got worse? How would you keep your family safe? Would you really leave?
For a time, those conversations faded. But now, painfully, they have started again.
I have never felt so worried about being Jewish and living in this country. Yesterday’s horrific attacks were a reminder that it could just as easily have been my shul, my family, my community.
When the news broke, on Yom Kippur, the holiest day in our calendar, I sat in synagogue as we were placed into lockdown, asking myself a chilling question: who’s next?
I have never felt so worried about being Jewish and living in this country
At first, it was hard to get information. Like many Jews on this day, I had my phone switched off. That’s when the panic sets in: the silence, the uncertainty, the knowledge vacuum that makes your mind race.
Then whispers began to circulate. A comment here, a murmur there and your heart sinks. How could this be happening here, in the country I was born, the country I love, where I am raising my family?
My children, who attend a Jewish school, are even taught what to do in the event of an attack to hide under their desks, to keep silent, to wait
When we see more Palestinian flags across London than British ones, and watch week after week as thousands march through our streets, too often with anti-semitic slogans and chants echoing through the crowds, how are Jewish Londoners meant to feel? It is not just unsettling, it is a reminder that our place in this country is constantly questioned, and that hatred against Jews is still tolerated far too easily in the public square.
Read more: Why London Jews fear for their future in the capital
My children, who attend a Jewish school, are even taught what to do in the event of an attack to hide under their desks, to keep silent, to wait. After October 7th, Palestinian flags were driven past their school in a chilling show of intimidation. This is the reality for Jewish families in Britain today.
I am scared. My family is scared. And we are not alone. Across Britain, Jews are quietly asking themselves whether they still have a future here.
My prayers are with those directly impacted by the attacks. May the victims be at peace, and may their families be comforted with a long life.
But prayer alone is not enough. Words of sympathy are not enough. We need action. How many times do we need to say it, enough is enough.
