It’s time to stop measuring our value to this country by our success stories

The history of Jews in England is earmarked by two specific dates. In 1290, during the reign of King Edward I, Jews were banished. And in 1656, during the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, our presence here was officially acknowledged and tolerated once more.

Jews have now lived openly in this country for 370 years from the date when the first Spanish and Portuguese merchants – some of whom had already been living secret lives in London for some decades – were allowed to publicly profess their religion. What this means is that now, in 2026, England’s Jews have been living in this country for a longer period than we were banished for.

We are, in fact, the oldest group to have moved to this country and maintained our own very specific identity alongside our patriotism. Another group who entered in the same century as we did were the Huguenots, persecuted and ultimately driven from Catholic France. But beyond lingering memories contained in certain surnames, the descendants of those French Protestants do not cleave to a dual identity.

Parts of my own family have lived in the UK since the 1760s. We’re lucky to have various records, beyond the normal birth and death notices. So I know, for example, that my one of my ancestors was a glover, originally from the Netherlands, and that his employer in England wrote a note praising his craftsmanship. That is the history of Jews in this country in a microcosm – hundreds of thousands of people, over centuries, quietly living their lives, working industriously, raising families, Most, beyond their immediate families, are never known, or much thought about. And in a way, I feel very strongly that this is as it should be.

There is a relatively longstanding tradition, among British Jews, of what I would describe as a Roll of Honour. Put simply, every so often – including in this very publication – an upstanding and highly respected author will provide a list of many of the great and the good of British Jewish society. And – while I have a great deal of respect for many of the writers who have produced them – I hate the concept. I cringe every time I see yet another list of all our renowned academics, captains of industry, brilliant legal minds and writers of distinction, displayed in all their glory on a page or screen. I wince every single time some well-meaning social media poster tells us that fish and chips – that well known British staple – was created by a Jewish immigrant of Portuguese origin.

Why do I react that way? Because I feel that we try too hard to prove our value. “Look at us”, these pieces say. “Look how important we have been to this country’s development! Look at how well integrated we are, how British we are, how useful we are to the nation! You should be happy that we are here – and continue to allow us to stay.”

Those last seven words are the crux of it, for me – such articles make me feel that we are here on sufferance, that after centuries here we still, even now, keep having to demonstrate our value, precisely because in some ways we are still, even now, being viewed as outsiders. In 1656 we were not, technically, invited to return – it was simply decided that our existence would now be openly tolerated.

Nor, for the most part, were such sentiments the result of Christian charity. Some of those who supported Jews coming to these shores hoped to convert us. Others subscribed to a millenarian vision which held that Jews needed to be present in all corners of the earth to precipitate the Second Coming (not, you may note, a hugely different sentiment to Evangelical Christian Zionists who support the Jewish presence in Israel today).

I wince every single time some well-meaning social media poster tells us that fish and chips – that well known British staple – was created by a Jewish immigrant of Portuguese origin

Many may find my view of such rolls of honour ludicrous. They may well see those articles as a simple manifestation of pride in what we as a community have contributed to this country. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being proud of such contributions – as long as we do not mistake that for something remotely tangible.

A month ago, Jewish News published polling showing that a plurality of voters would see Britain as neither better nor worse if Jews left the country because of antisemitism. Most people, to be frank, do not care whether someone Jewish founded Tesco, or that someone born Jewish who was baptised as a boy would go on to become one of the 19th century’s most famous prime ministers. Nowadays, it often appears that the most celebrated Jews in British society – whether in politics or the arts – are those who can be found to bash the beliefs of the mainstream Jewish community for the entertainment of the general public.

There is a comforting myth, bolstered by the fact of the Kindertransport, that if Britain had come under Nazi occupation it would have responded differently to a dozen other European countries, in terms of its Jews. That theory was tested – and found wanting – in the experience of the handful of Jews who were living on the Channel Islands when Hitler’s troops invaded. Some ended up in Auschwitz. Jewish slave labourers were also among those at Lager Sylt, a concentration camp operated by Nazis on the island of Alderney – a Nazi concentration camp which operated on British soil.

More than 100,000 Jews fought for King and country in the 20th century. But more than 100,000 Jews fought for Germany in World War One – for all the good it did them a few decades later.

If this column seems too depressive, I apologise. Of course Jews in England – and Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, for that matter, have every right to be proud of what our community has given this country. But ultimately, as history has repeatedly proved – what our co-religionists may have done for a country won’t make a damn bit of difference to our position there in the long run.

We are British Jews – and we are British, in the same way that other communities who have come here since are also British, despite the growing number of far right voices suggesting that we are not. And we would have the same right to be here even if we did not have a glowing list of our ancestor’s achievements to point to, but simply had the everyday lives of our forebears as our testament.