OPINION: The day my antisemitic abuser turned up at the office
The teenager who made the call came into my office, with his mother at his side, to admit what he had done and express his deep regret at having done it
Eighteen months ago, my phone rang with a call I will never forget. A voice on the other end invoked Hitler’s name and told me: “We’re coming to get you.” The threat was directed at me, my family, and the synagogue I serve.
It was not an isolated act. Later, the same phone was used to call one of London’s largest synagogues with similar threats. This was not a prank. It was hate in its rawest form.
The police treated it with gravity. Their advice led me to install over £5,000 worth of new security measures at my home. Our family life changed overnight: routines disrupted, caution heightened, a sense of safety fractured. At the university where I work, colleagues were concerned not only for me but for the wider Jewish community which I serve. The ripple effects of one hateful act spread far beyond the phone call itself.
And then today, something unexpected happened. The teenager who had lent his phone to a friend — the phone used to make those calls — came into my office with his mother at his side.
He wanted to apologise.
He did not come to excuse what had happened, nor to brush it aside. He wanted to understand the damage done. His regret was visible, his apology heartfelt. What began as a deeply unsettling episode ended in an unexpected moment of humanity. We spoke openly. We found closure. We even shook hands as friends. I offered to mentor him if he pursued his ambition to study law.
What made today even more striking was what followed. I explained to him and his mum that the work we do here in Surrey is about bringing people of different faiths and beliefs together — supporting one another, learning from one another, loving and respecting one another.
They looked with me through a photographic exhibition of students of faiths and beliefs: Jews, Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Sikhs, and Humanists. He was interested in faith and identity. He spoke about his Muslim faith and, with sincerity, asked about my Jewish faith. He wanted to know more about what I believe, about how I practise, and about the community I serve.
We went on to talk about my work: supporting students of all faiths and none at the University of Surrey, and my engagement with the United Nations and other agencies to promote peace and reconciliation here in Europe and further afield in the Middle East.
In that moment, we were not rabbi and perpetrator, victim and offender. We were simply two people of faith — one young, one older — exploring how coexistence can triumph over division, how dialogue can replace hate. It felt like healing the world one conversation at a time.
I believe his sincerity was genuine. I hope today helps him choose the path of coexistence over the path of division. We spoke about the importance of Surrey having strong community relations, and of the ancient call to love or respect our neighbours.
That meeting did not erase the fear, or the expense. It did not diminish the seriousness of the threats. But it transformed the narrative. It turned a story of hate into one of dialogue, accountability, and hope.
I share this not because my story is unique. Sadly, many people — Jewish and otherwise — face threats, harassment, or hatred because of who they are. But I am determined that my experience should not only be a tale of intimidation. It should also be a testament to the power of forgiveness.
Forgiveness is often misunderstood. It does not mean forgetting the harm or excusing the act. It does not mean that consequences vanish. Forgiveness is a choice: to release the grip that fear and hurt can hold over us, and to open a path for transformation. In my case, forgiveness allowed me to reclaim agency from the person who had threatened me. It turned fear into strength.
As a rabbi, I cannot help but frame this in the language of my tradition. The Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, is approaching. It is a season of teshuva — repentance and return. In Jewish thought, teshuva is not a grand, instant transformation. It is a series of small steps: recognising harm, seeking forgiveness, making amends, and choosing differently in the future.
That is precisely what I witnessed today, when a young man, eighteen months after the fact, walked into my office with his mother to apologise. It was a small step. But it mattered. It was real.
Redemption, in my view, is rarely achieved in sweeping gestures. More often, it comes through these small, human encounters — moments where dialogue replaces silence, where accountability replaces denial, where reconciliation replaces estrangement.
I also know this: reconciliation is not always possible. Forgiveness cannot be forced. Many wounds are too deep, some harms too great. But when the possibility does arise — when someone reaches out with genuine remorse — we should not underestimate its power to heal.
My experience underscores a wider truth. In a society fractured by prejudice and polarisation, we cannot simply legislate our way to tolerance. We need dialogue. We need restorative approaches alongside protective ones. We need to model the possibility that people can change.
This is not about being naïve. The police were right to treat the threats against me and a major London synagogue seriously. Security measures were necessary. But beyond safety and justice, there must also be space for humanity, for growth, for change.
Eighteen months ago, hateful calls shook my family, my community, and others. Today, a teenager’s apology — and his sincere questions about my Jewish faith and our shared hopes for peace — reminded me that even from dark places, light can emerge.
As we enter the New Year, my hope is that we all find the strength to take those small steps — to forgive when we can, to seek forgiveness when we must, and to believe in the possibility of renewal. Hate may seek to divide us, but forgiveness has the power to heal.
Thank you for helping to make Jewish News the leading source of news and opinion for the UK Jewish community. Today we're asking for your invaluable help to continue putting our community first in everything we do.
For as little as £5 a month you can help sustain the vital work we do in celebrating and standing up for Jewish life in Britain.
Jewish News holds our community together and keeps us connected. Like a synagogue, it’s where people turn to feel part of something bigger. It also proudly shows the rest of Britain the vibrancy and rich culture of modern Jewish life.
You can make a quick and easy one-off or monthly contribution of £5, £10, £20 or any other sum you’re comfortable with.
100% of your donation will help us continue celebrating our community, in all its dynamic diversity...
Engaging
Being a community platform means so much more than producing a newspaper and website. One of our proudest roles is media partnering with our invaluable charities to amplify the outstanding work they do to help us all.
Celebrating
There’s no shortage of oys in the world but Jewish News takes every opportunity to celebrate the joys too, through projects like Night of Heroes, 40 Under 40 and other compelling countdowns that make the community kvell with pride.
Pioneering
In the first collaboration between media outlets from different faiths, Jewish News worked with British Muslim TV and Church Times to produce a list of young activists leading the way on interfaith understanding.
Campaigning
Royal Mail issued a stamp honouring Holocaust hero Sir Nicholas Winton after a Jewish News campaign attracted more than 100,000 backers. Jewish Newsalso produces special editions of the paper highlighting pressing issues including mental health and Holocaust remembrance.
Easy access
In an age when news is readily accessible, Jewish News provides high-quality content free online and offline, removing any financial barriers to connecting people.
Voice of our community to wider society
The Jewish News team regularly appears on TV, radio and on the pages of the national press to comment on stories about the Jewish community. Easy access to the paper on the streets of London also means Jewish News provides an invaluable window into the community for the country at large.
We hope you agree all this is worth preserving.
