To my Jewish friends; I stand with you

I am lost for words at a time when words do not feel sufficient.

I write, because silence especially in this moment carries consequences.

Right now there is a serious empathy deficit across our British society. We are struggling to hold one another’s pain without immediately filtering it, contesting it, or redirecting it. That deficit is not abstract. Jewish communities across Britain are feeling fear, exhaustion, and a growing sense of isolation.

Antisemitism is not only visible in moments of overt hostility. It is also present in the ambient atmosphere people are forced to navigate every day, the quiet recalibration of what is safe, the hesitation before visibility, the background noise of suspicion and hostility. And too often, this is met with silence. Worse with indifference disguised as neutrality.

That silence is not neutral. It is experienced. And it has weight.

As a Muslim, I cannot accept it. As an ally, I will not normalise it. As a friend, I refuse to be absent.

There is no moral justification for attacking Jewish people on the streets of Britain. None. There is no grievance, no political frustration, no international conflict that can ever legitimise harassment, intimidation, or violence against Jewish communities. Jews in Britain are not responsible for global geopolitics. They are citizens, neighbours, classmates, colleagues, and friends. To conflate identity with international conflict is not only unjust, it is dangerous.

We must also be honest about something that is becoming increasingly urgent: we are importing conflict into spaces where it does not belong. The Israel–Palestine conflict is real, painful, and politically complex. But when it is dragged into British streets, classrooms, campuses, and neighbourhoods in ways that collapse distinction and humanity, it becomes something else. It becomes a justification for prejudice that must be resisted without ambiguity.

We cannot allow global anger to become local hatred.

This is where education becomes critical. Not as a slogan, but as a long-term responsibility. We need better education within schools, universities, religious institutions, and community spaces that helps people distinguish between critique of states and hostility towards communities. Education that builds historical, political and religious literacy, emotional intelligence and moral clarity. Education that teaches people not only what to think, but how to engage with difference without dehumanisation.

But education alone is not enough. We also need to rebuild the capacity to build bridges, which means investing in relationships that are sustained over time, not activated only in moments of crisis. It means meeting communities where they are, not where we would prefer them to be. It means listening without defensiveness, and speaking without euphemism.

Bridge building is not about agreement. It is about recognition. It is the discipline of seeing another community as fully human, even in disagreement, even in tension, even when the emotional temperature is high.

This is where allyship becomes real, not in statements, but in practice. Not in curated moments of solidarity, but in sustained commitment. It means challenging antisemitism when it appears in our own spaces, not only when it is easy or socially rewarded. It means refusing to let silence become complicity.

We must do more than share empty words.

What will be remembered from this moment is not only the words of those who preached hatred. We will remember the silence of our friends, those who could have spoken, but did not. We will remember who stood nearby and chose not to stand beside us.

We stand hand in hand. We stand shoulder to shoulder. Not as metaphor, but as responsibility. Not as performance, but as practice.

Only collectively can we make a difference. And that collective work begins with refusing to normalise hate in any direction, against any people, under any justification.

To my Jewish friends: I see you. I hear you. I stand with you, not conditionally, not intermittently, but consistently.

I will continue to work for a society where education replaces ignorance, where bridges replace distance, and where no community has to question whether they belong.

Ali Amla is Youth & Partnerships Director for Solutions not Sides