By virtue of being Jewish, I am indigenous to the Land of Israel, but I was born in Scotland. I lived in Hong Kong and I now reside in London. During only one of my thirty-eight years on this planet did I live in Israel. I love to queue; I believe in hierarchy and order. I wore a kilt to my bar mitzvah and I dress like a cross between an Englishman and an Italian. I speak English fluently, but my Hebrew is only conversational at best.
However, for the first time in my life, I’m grappling with doubts about my future outside Israel. Online discussions on this often draw heartless responses from some Jews, accusing me of “fear-mongering,” yet many others seem to share my concerns.
Before we begin this discussion, let me state (as if it needs to be stated) that this conversation brings me no joy. I am culturally British and European and, to an extent, feel part of these worlds. However, it is the current levels of Jew-hate which propel me to question and doubt. I wish this wasn’t the case, but it is.
My uncertainty doesn’t solely stem from the idea that we might be forced out of the Diaspora. While I do believe that many places are becoming less safe for us, my internal conversation goes deeper than just my safety. Though this is undeniably important, it’s not the only pressing question on my mind.
What swirls around my thoughts, what keeps me up at night, is a question of principle.
Some advocate for staying and fighting for our right to be here. I think I agree with that sentiment, but then a nagging question arises:
“Why should we fight? If being here is such a struggle and challenge, why not simply leave?”
Importance of the diaspora
I UNDERSTAND the importance of a strong Diaspora for Israel. It’s deeply ingrained in our history that Jews have resided outside our indigenous land for over two and a half millennia, with the ideal right to live wherever we choose. However, we’re not dealing with the ideal right now – nor do we ever, really. We’re perpetually engaged in the struggle to assert our belonging and integrate.
This struggle has been ongoing, especially following the Enlightenment and the subsequent emancipation of the Jews. We made truly extraordinary efforts to demonstrate that we were British, French, German, or whatever nationality – and by and large, it hasn’t been that successful. It’s not been an outright failure, of course, and we’ve managed to build successful and meaningful lives in the Diaspora. However, we have consistently faced incredible persecution, even after making powerful statements of loyalty.
Again, it’s not necessarily that I want to leave the UK. I’ve lived here for many years, and I quite like it. Or rather, it’s familiar. Being from the UK, London in many ways makes sense to me. I understand and am a part of the culture.
But then why is it so hard?
Why have parts of London become no-go areas for Jews on a Saturday (and congratulations if you don’t feel like that, but I do)? Why do the police seem to be ineffective at best when it comes to dealing with the Jew-hate emanating from these hate marches? Why is the BBC – which British Jews pay for via taxation – spewing anti-Jewish propaganda? Why does it seem like ideologies inherently opposed to us are taking over the country?
THE TRUTH IS, we know why. It’s the same reason the world turned against Jews throughout history: Jew-hate. Deeply embedded Jew-hate. And it’s exhausting. This is the issue the non-Jewish world has failed to come to terms with. Dismantling Jew-hate is their fight, not ours, yet they repeatedly fail to properly engage in it.
I find myself questioning over and over again: “Why bother? Why can’t our lives just be a little easier?” I’m not under any illusions about life in Israel being easy, but its challenges don’t include having to deal with constant Jew-hate from the society in which you live.
And there’s something else I think about: pride, self-esteem, and self-worth. Why should we fight to remain in societies that at worst seem hostile to us and at best seem indifferent? My attitude has always been to not go to parties I am not invited to. It feels like our invitation to the Diaspora is being withdrawn.
And it’s not just the hate marches taking place or the racist encampments at our universities. It’s the general disinterestedness of the wider population. Whatever we do, we must never be naive to the damage a small group of people can inflict if the majority stands by and allows it to happen.
Yes, we can still enjoy our lives here. We’re not in crisis – yet. But that doesn’t mean we’re not facing potential existential threats. Again, I ask myself: “Why are we fighting to remain in a place that seemingly doesn’t care if we come or go?” Perhaps there would be a communal outpouring of grief from the various diasporic populations if all their respective Jewish communities up sticks and left, but then that would be too little, too late.
FOR EVERY diasporic community, there are challenges. We exist in the tension of belonging to various worlds. As Ijeoma Umebinyuo, the famed Nigerian poet, wrote in Diaspora Blues: “so, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both.” This tension is real and must be recognized by Jews in the Diaspora.
Obviously, the depth of your diasporic identity will undoubtedly influence your decision. As my questioning suggests, I don’t feel as deeply attached to my British identity as I do to my Jewish one. If your diasporic identity holds equal weight to your Jewish identity, or is indeed higher in the hierarchy of identity, then I can see how the choice to stay or leave would be even more difficult. You’d feel a strong sense of connection and a desire to advocate for your right to remain here. This I understand, but it is not how I feel. Nor is it a sentiment shared by many Jews around the world.
In fact, I think the opposite is true. Jews from all over the Diaspora are having similar internal dialogues to the one I am having and questioning their connection to their diasporic identity. And this, honestly, is rational. Blind loyalty – especially when that which you are loyal to seems intent on rejecting you – is not logical. Jews must bear in mind our historical and contemporary experience as well as our identity as a diasporic people when engaging with our identities. We also experience micro or macro aggressions, sometimes daily.
But now, the reality of the Jews has changed. We no longer need to put up with it. For the first time in literally two thousand years, we have sovereignty in our indigenous land. We are the majority. And though imperfect, it is home.
In the end, I’m uncertain about what I’ll do. I would love to live in Israel, but I’m aware that life there poses tremendous challenges. It’s also difficult to determine the right moment to leave. As a Holocaust educator for almost twenty years, I’ve always wondered about the German Jews who chose to stay. Now, I understand how difficult it is to know when the right time to leave is. The tragedy lies in the fact that by the time a definitive answer emerges, it’s likely too late.
Each of us gets to choose where we live. That is our right. It is your right. For me, the constant need to assert my British identity and fight for my right to remain in the UK feels exhausting and humiliating. I’m not sure if that humiliation is too much to continue bearing.
The writer is the founder of the modern Jewish Pride movement, an educator, and the author of Jewish Pride: Rebuilding a People. His new book is Reclaiming Our Story: The Pursuit of Jewish Pride.