As a Jew living in the United Kingdom, I do not have to run to a bomb shelter or fear losing my children in this war. But I hear about what’s happening in Israel from family and friends, and I worry about you all constantly.
I know the names of the hostages, hold them in my heart, and pray for them; and I raise awareness about them with British politicians and the general public through holding vigils, going on marches, and posting on social media.
And sadly, I also face a rising tide of antisemitism at home.
The Community Security Trust, the charity that protects British Jews from terrorism and antisemitism, has reported a stark rise in the number of antisemitic incidents recorded in the United Kingdom since October 7, 2023.
There were 2,019 antisemitic incidents reported from January to June 2024, up from 965 in the same period the previous year – an increase of nearly 110%.
This is the highest figure that has ever been reported to the CST for the first half of any year.
And in the first half of 2025, there have been 1,521 antisemitic incidents thus far.
The CST considers that the rise has been directly fueled by ongoing reactions to the conflict in the Middle East.
The incidents being reported are vile. They include the following:
- Verbal and physical abuse and intimidation of Jewish students and staff at universities.
- Jewish cemeteries and a Holocaust library have been vandalized, businesses boycotted, and hate spewed online.
- A visibly Jewish teenager was shot in the head with an air rifle in Bournemouth.
- Kosher food has been labeled with “Don’t buy apartheid” stickers in supermarkets; and houses with mezuzot have been daubed with swastikas.
I am both devastated and exhausted by this reality.
I am also frustrated by the constant drip-drip of anti-Israel rhetoric in the media and online.
Institutions that I used to look to as impartial and reliable – such as the United Nations, Amnesty, and the BBC – are failing us British Jews.
I can’t bear to watch the weekly pro-Palestinian marches in London and other large cities, with people shouting, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” and calling to “Globalize the Intifada.”
I am fearful when I see badges with Palestinian flags worn by National Health Service employees at work, and people standing along the roads and in shopping centers with posters reading, “Stop the genocide” and “Israel is an apartheid state.”
ON OCTOBER 8, 2023, in London, outside the Israeli Embassy, there was a celebration of the October 7 massacres, followed by a denial that they had taken place. I’m seeing victim-blaming and conspiracy theories around October 7, with claims that the massacres were a plot by Israel, that they didn’t happen, or that they were justified by the “occupation.”
It now feels as if being Jewish is only acceptable to many people if you declare your opposition to the Israeli government and preferably say that you are not a Zionist. That’s tough when around 85% of Jews in the UK identify as such and proudly so.
I should not have to justify myself or my views on politics in Israel; that in itself is antisemitic.
With most friends, I can discuss my longing for the return of the hostages, for an end to the war, and the hope for a two-state solution.
But I am wary of having any conversation about Israel or about being Jewish because of what the response might be, sometimes even with other Jews and family members.
Keeping silent and censoring myself takes its toll on me and on my friendships. Sometimes it is easier to be at work, where I am lucky to be able to put it to one side.
Over the past two years, one important reaction I’ve had to my distress and fear was the realization that I needed to stand up and do something, both to counter the growing antisemitism and for my own well-being.
I have taken part in marches in Leeds, Manchester, and London with the Campaign Against Antisemitism and others. Slogans included “United Kingdom – united against antisemitism”; “Stand up to hatred of Jews”; and “MeToo Unless You’re a Jew.”
I’ve found it both comforting and energizing to be with the many thousands of people marching at these rallies.
However, every time, I have also been left hurt and questioning by the lack of representation from the organizations I had previously been part of as a proud Jew: the trade unions and the feminist, socialist, and anti-racist groups I had marched with in the past.
The absence and silence of these former allies is deafening.
Do Jews count?
I feel that Jews don’t count.
And Jewish women – like those raped on October 7 – are not believed, contrary to everything such organizations claim to stand for.
SINCE MARCH 2024, I’ve also been part of a grassroots organization called Leeds Leads Against Antisemitism. LLAA’s mission is to combat the antisemitism that threatens Jewish communities and to correct the misrepresentation of Israel.
As a volunteer, I take part in weekly education and advocacy events, marches, and October 7 memorial vigils, and I attend events hosting speakers.
It has also been difficult, at times, being on the streets. Some people have screamed “Baby killers!” and obscenities in our faces. The “baby killer” line hurts the most because it is a revival of the ancient blood libel that Jews have faced for centuries.
One young man told me that Israel was “finished.” Some are convinced that Jews control the media, the banks, and even the weather.
But I take comfort in the fact that we are not alone. As British Jews standing up to antisemitism in 2025, we have found new allies.
While promoting calm discussions and rational arguments about Israel and antisemitism on the streets of Leeds with LLAA, I have found that most of my fellow citizens are not extremists or antisemites.
Most of them don’t know how many Jews there are in the UK (or in the world) and are surprised by how few of us there are. Many don’t know what antisemitism is or what Zionism is.
Many are sympathetic about what happened on October 7 and care about the safety of Jews in the UK. Some say that they support Israel. Some Christians tell us that they pray for us.
At LLAA, I stand alongside a group of strong, courageous Jews, united with equally strong non-Jewish allies, including atheists and people from Christian and Hindu communities, all of us from across the political spectrum.
At the first march in November 2023, I was encouraged by people holding placards that read “Shoulder to shoulder with British Jews” and “I’m not Jewish but in solidarity with the Jewish people.”
People do support us, and many understand that antisemitism is the canary in the coal mine: a warning of deep problems in a society that affect us all. We know that, as Lord Jonathan Sacks, the UK’s late chief rabbi, said, “Jews cannot fight antisemitism alone.”
We are still fewer in number than the anti-Israel crowds that march. But at marches in London, Leeds, and Manchester, and by standing every week in the streets of Leeds raising awareness about the hostages and educating people about antisemitism, I have found allies and supporters among the people of Yorkshire.
I find hope when I stand with them.
And I remember that it only takes a little light to dispel darkness.
(This article was written before the heinous attack at a synagogue in Manchester on Yom Kippur.)
The writer is using a pseudonym out of concern for online abuse and, potentially, her safety.