British Jewish life has irrevocably changed

“Let’s say an extra special thank you to the police for keeping us safe today. They have worked so hard patrolling the premises. And they almost outnumber us!”

These were the half-joking remarks of the Vice Chair of my local synagogue at the end of our Rosh Hashana service.

It would’ve been funnier had it not been one of a dozen or so reminders that day of the necessary and robust security presence.

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During his sermon my Rabbi congratulated the congregation on our “bravery” for continuing to show up to Shul despite the soaring levels of antisemitism and the evident risk of terror.

Then, as we exited the building, there was no opportunity to catch up with old friends and eat rain-soaked honey cake in the courtyard like we used to before 7 October.

Instead security anti-socially shrieked at the congregation: “do not loiter by the gates”, “exit the premises quickly”, “do not gather in groups outside”, “thank security on the way out”, “keep moving”.

So quickly was I made to flee the premises, that I lost sight of my grandparents who were forced walked to ours for lunch by themselves.

Then later at Tashlich in the park, the practice of Jews symbolically casting away their sins by throwing bread into a local, flowing stream, patrols of police officers roamed round our little local eden until the last Jew had retreated home.

This level of vigilance is noticeably more extreme than it has ever been before.

Of course I’m grateful we are allocated the security and that CST does such a wonderful job. But it does make you feel like a sitting duck.

The awful spectre of what happened last year at Heaton Park synagogue in Manchester now hangs solemnly over all of us. And the constant glimpses of men and women in high viz jackets ensures you don’t forget the fact that being at the service makes you a target.

This is not how I remember my Rosh Hashana’s as a child where the worst thing that could happen is the Rabbi could go on for a bit. Since those innocent days, the amount of security is noticeably greater. The plague of antisemitism; noticeably worse.

Of course it’s a small inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.

But this need to conduct our religion discreetly, quietly, efficiently and under enormous protection, is becoming increasingly intolerable.

Why should we have to put up with this? Why is Jewish practice being spoiled with increasingly strict security protocols?

How hot does the frog need to get in the boiling pot before it starts complaining?

These precautions might feel dramatic, but as the Head of the Met’s antisemitism fighting operation James Conway reminded me in an interview last week, Britain’s terrorist threat level was raised to severe in May, meaning an attack on British soil is now considered “highly likely”.

And the threat picture directed at the Jewish community is particularly complex due to a confluence of multiple threats including risk of hostile state attacks, terrorism and antisemitic hate crime.

Then after Yom Tov went out and I switched on my phone, the same old stories started to trickle in.

A gang of masked youths launched fireworks at Lauderdale synagogue in London.

A gaggle of visibly Jewish  congregants were heckled with “free Palestine” outside their synagogue in Brighton and a man allegedly spat at a security guard.

Of course these pale in comparison to last year’s atrocities. But the message it sends is the same: you are not wanted here.

It’s hard not to feel bitter.

How long can British Jews endure this chipping away of their sense of security? Their dignity?

We are not the Jews of our ancestors who had nowhere to flee.

Many of my peers have already started to build their lives elsewhere: New York, Tel Aviv or Miami.

I have long argued Britain is one of the best places in the world to be a Jew.

But my illusion that we were completely safe in this country and Jews would not be murdered in antisemitic attacks shattered on that day last year.

We are a people on edge waiting for the next arson attack, or the Iran-sponsored stabbing. It makes me feel like the Jews of Anatevka, waiting to be pushed out of their homes. I thought we were modern Jews. I never dreamed it could happen to us too.

Of course, who knows when or if there will be another attack.

But what happened in Manchester has irrevocably changed British Jewish life. I don’t know how we recover our confidence