Fri, October 11, 2024 at 7:30 AM GMT+1·12 min read
Miranda Levy
It’s a Friday night in autumn and 150 people are crammed
into a small synagogue hall, not a spare seat in sight. Last year, before October
7, there would barely have been two dozen people in attendance. But tonight,
children squeeze onto parents’ laps and teenagers squish together to create
room for new arrivals searching for seats. As the congregation sings psalms to
welcome in the Sabbath, children run in and out helping themselves to biscuits
and sweets from a trestle table.
The atmosphere is filled with warmth and chat, plus a
smattering of habitual Jewish chaos. At the end of the service, the crowd
begins to instinctively sway, arm in arm, as they culminate the service with
the psalm “Acheinu”, which translates as “‘our brothers”’. The ancient words
proceed thus: “We are praying for our brothers in captivity: bring them out of
the darkness and into the light.” Words that have never been more prescient
when we think of the hostages in Gaza.
Rabbi Josh, who gives a weekly sermon at the service,
believes the surge in attendance is instinctive: “I think it’s the need to come
together in a safe space, in the comfort of other human beings,” he says. “Then
there is the desire to express emotion through prayer which often takes the
form of song. When we can’t find words, song is the best way to express
emotion. The Friday night service is one of pure positivity – we want to look
for the light.”
As one other congregant puts it: “This is my weekly therapy.
I think a lot of Jewish people have felt very isolated this year and so coming
here, being surrounded by people who understand the anguish, is cathartic –
especially for those who have found work, school or university to be a hostile
environment.”
Jews, it seems, are returning to worship. According to
the United Synagogue, which comprises 56 mainstream communities around the
country, their membership went up around 10 per cent in the aftermath of
October 7.
As Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis puts it: “Our synagogues,
schools and community centres have needed more guards and higher walls – yet
inside, they are more vibrant than ever.” He has been “deeply moved”, he adds,
by the spirit of the community. “During the past most challenging and tragic
year, the Jewish community has shown extraordinary resilience. The first six
months of 2024 saw the highest number of anti-Semitic incidents ever recorded
in the UK. In difficult times we have drawn strength from the power of
community, and I have been truly inspired by the countless prayer services,
vigils, fundraising campaigns and volunteer drives that I have encountered over
the last year.”
That engagement in community is something Guy Davis,
chairman of Mill Hill Synagogue in London, has witnessed first-hand. “In
the immediate aftermath of October 7 we found that our synagogue services were
full. A year on, community engagement has soared. Every event we put on – from
challah bakes (for example, a challah bake organised by Gift, a Jewish charity
whose mission is to inspire and enable giving) to Holocaust remembrance
services or talks about October 7 – is oversubscribed. Whether people are
religious or not, I think Jewish people want to feel connected.”
A recent study by the Institute of Jewish Policy Research in
the UK found a higher proportion of British Jews now feel attached to the
Jewish community: 67 per cent compared with 61 per cent two years
ago. That theme is echoed on campuses too. The hostility outside, it
seems, has triggered a connection. A recent survey of 400 Jewish students by
the University Jewish Chaplaincy, an organisation set up at the
instigation of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, found that 53 per cent increased
their engagement with Jewish life and practice as a direct result of events in
Israel. They also found that over 50 per cent experienced anti-Semitism on
campuses once a month or more. In the last academic year, the Chaplaincy
recorded over 33,000 student engagements, ranging from social events to
initiatives tackling anti-Semitism – an increase of nearly 6,000 from the
previous year.
Shira Joseph is programme director of GIFT (Give It Forward
Today), a Jewish charity which since 2003 has run a Kosher food bank and
distributes hot meals for the disadvantaged in London and Manchester. She has
had her own experience of that engagement. “On October 8, we turned on our
phones and were overwhelmed with people asking how they can help,” she says.
“While we’ve been historically UK-based, people wanted to send items to Israel
for the victims. Within an hour, our north-west London drop-off was packed with
sleeping bags, toothbrushes and electrical appliances.”
A new WhatsApp giving group swiftly swelled to 900 names and
GIFT has seen a 250 per cent increase in the number of new regular volunteers.
“What has really struck me is these are people who aren’t usually affiliated to
Judaism,” says Joseph. And while the initial outpouring was in response to the
Israeli crisis, the benevolence has continued. “It’s been a very painful
situation, but there have been heart-warming moments too,’’ says Joseph.
The cultural arena has seen that surge, too. Raymond
Simonson, the CEO of London’s JW3, the UK’s first and only Jewish Community
Centre and arts venue, says: “We’re offering moments of love and joy in the
community – far away from politics. And despite fears of anti-Semitism – where many would prefer us to
dial down our Jewishness – here at JW3, we’re turning up the volume.”
For self-confessed “lapsed Jew” Judy Rollinson, a
57-year-old executive PA and paralegal from Middlesex, the past year has been
transformative. “I used to think Judaism was about family and food, but it’s so
much more than that,” she says.
Like many of the 287,000 British Jews, Rollinson considers
herself “secular”. She grew up in a traditional household, going to synagogue
regularly until her mid-teens, but that eventually dropped away. “But then,
October 7 made me think: ‘woah’,” she says. Rollinson spent the day glued to
the TV, moving from disbelief, to confusion to anger and tears. “I was shocked
by how visceral it felt,” she says. “It was as if I had been kicked in the
gut.”
In the 2010s, Rollinson had spent five years as an assistant
at Doughty Street chambers, the human rights barristers’ practice where Keir
Starmer once worked. “I felt a natural affinity with humanitarian causes, but
after October 7 I was very disappointed by the response of others in that
fold,” she says. “I expected immediate condemnation of the massacre – but after
some initial sympathy, it never happened,” she says. “Every day I have felt
angry, confused, horrified and disgusted by the lack of understanding of the
situation that Israel has faced, and the lies and propaganda spouted on social
media and various mainstream media. I have thought to myself: this is how the
Holocaust was able to happen.”
Rollinson has also been dismayed by much of the coverage. “I
used to love James O’Brien on LBC, for example,” she says. “But now I can’t
listen to him.” (O’Brien has consistently been contemptuous towards Israel over
the past year, calling the state “barbaric”, with statements such
as: “everybody knows that Israel has little or no concern for the civilian
death toll”.)
When it came to attending the March Against Antisemitism in
November, Rollinson was initially “nervous. I had an intrinsic fear that
something would happen, but having felt isolated at times, I wanted to be
around people who understood. It was an amazing feeling.” Since October 7, she
has also started wearing a Star of David around her neck for the first time.
Here, Rollinson is in good company. Actress Felicity Kendall
has worn hers every day too. She recently explained that soon after the
massacre she was walking through a London park when a Jewish woman approached
her and thanked her for wearing a Star of David around her neck. “I was quite
taken aback. Would people say anything like that to someone wearing a cross or
a turban? It made me think, right, I am wearing this all the time now, and I
do,” she said in a July interview. She also attends synagogue weekly. A year
on, she tells the Telegraph: “It gives me peace and a routine of
meditative thinking.’’
Across the UK, Jews are seeking solace – and not just in
their social lives. Anti-Semitism in the workplace has emerged as a new issue
over the past year. Dave Rich is head of policy at the Community Security
Trust, which protects British Jews from anti-Semitism and related
threats. “Lots of workplaces and employment sectors now have new Jewish
WhatsApp networks that emerged after October 7. Jewish employees need a space
to discuss everything that has been happening,” he says.
Ruth* recently set up a group in her company. “Immediately
after October 7, I felt really uneasy about going into the office,” she says.
“Everybody there knows I’m Jewish and a Zionist, so I felt very
self-conscious.” Her colleagues were going on pro-Palestinian marches and although they never said
it outright, she felt there was a feeling amongst them that the Hamas attacks
were somehow justified, which she found deeply offensive. “My boss was very
understanding, but said there wasn’t anything she could do, and that I could
work from home when and if I needed to.”
But Ruth didn’t want to shy away. In the end, she and a
colleague set up a dedicated Jewish network. “It gives us a feeling of
solidarity, despite the pervading unfriendly atmosphere amongst some of my
colleagues,” she says.
So affected was former bookshop-owner Joanna De Guia by the
relationship with colleagues in her industry, that she changed careers
entirely. “I was hurt and angry by the silence of my friends who worked in
publishing,” she says. “After October 7, I waited for my “allies” – such as
those in the gay community – to jump in and support me. I have hundreds of
people in my social circle, but barely 10 contacted me. So I either left my
comfortable spaces, or felt pushed out.”
Rewind to September last year and De Guia, a married mother
of one, lived a similar way to many Jews in Britain. “I was Left-leaning and
barely celebrated the Jewish festivals,” she says. Nor – like many Jews in this
country – did de Guia think very much about Israel. “I’d been for a couple of
beach holidays in my late teens,” she says. “But I didn’t feel particularly
politically aligned with the country.” October 7 changed that.
De Guia eventually sold her business and now works full-time
at the London
Centre for the Study of Contemporary Antisemitism, combating anti-Semitism
on university campuses. “Our goal is to change the weather in British
universities,” she says. Universities in particular have been a difficult arena
for young Jews, with pro-Gaza encampments hollering against “genocide”, and demanding
their administrations cut ties with Zionists. In the meantime, students have
found comfort in university Jewish societies. President of the Union of Jewish
Students Sami Berkoff explains: “Students have needed somewhere to join with
other Jewish students and just be. Jewish students have as much of a right as
any other to have the full student experience.”
For example, a gathering run by the Union of Jewish Students, which has
seen more student engagement as anti-Semitism has increased on campuses.
Rabbi Naftali Schiff, the founder and executive director of
Jewish Futures, a family of 10 educational and social organisations dedicated
to engaging young Jewish people in a positive way, has also found that
engagement has been unprecedented. “Over the past year, we’ve arranged
dozens of Friday night meals for students on campuses across the country and
events for young professionals,” he says.
“Like many people, I was shocked at the level of vitriolic
hate that punctuated some elements of the demonstrations in the streets and on
the campuses after October 7,” he says. “Let’s just say it’s been a trip down
the memory lane of anti-Semitism. Young Jews have felt targeted, experiencing
disconcerting levels of concern, especially on campuses. For the first time in my own life,
when waiting at an airport with my beard and a yarmulke [skullcap], I found
myself looking over my shoulder with a genuine sense of anxiety.”
However, Rabbi Schiff strongly feels that “the UK is a
wonderful place to live as Jews. It’s easy to look at the darkness, however the
authorities by and large have been very sympathetic to our concerns and I am
confident we shall turn this corner.’’
Since October he has kept two treasured items in his pocket:
“A cigarette case, which my grandfather received when demobbed from national
service in the First World War, and my father’s dog tags from the Second World
War.” Both are symbols of his British pride. Rabbi Schiff adds: “It’s a
reminder that we are privileged to live in a liberal democracy and a reminder
to be appreciative that in Britain we can live freely as Jewish people,
contributing to society as we go. I feel grateful to live in a country like
Britain.”
‘The Friday night
service is one of pure positivity – we want to look for the light’
