We cannot let fear close the door to partnership

In July, I attended ‘Together We Rebuild’, a Jewish–Muslim summit convened by the Board of Deputies and the UK Muslim Network, bringing together people determined to rebuild relationships across our communities despite the deep divisions of the past three years. This is one of several such encounters I have been involved in, including regular gatherings of faith leaders through the Board’s ‘Optimistic Alliance’.

These conversations are not always comfortable. We disagree, sometimes profoundly. But I invariably come away reminded of something that ought to be obvious: there are Muslims in this country with whom we share concerns about religious extremism, and with whom we have far more in common than we might imagine.

I’ve been thinking about these encounters as I watch the political discourse around the Israeli elections and listen to anxious conversations about the future of Jewish life in Britain.

The trauma of 7 October, after decades of terrorism and conflict, has left Israelis fearful and distrustful. Here in Britain, rising antisemitism and the threat of Islamist extremism have shaken our sense of security. But fear, however justified, can also be dangerous. We risk seeing entire communities through their most extreme members, and treating the very idea of partnership as naïve, or even threatening.

In Israel, the Prime Minister has sought to exploit this fear. Record Arab voter participation ought to be welcomed as a sign of democratic engagement. Instead, their votes are being portrayed as a threat. There are real political differences between the Arab parties, but Ra’am has previously participated in an Israeli governing coalition and has indicated its willingness to do so again. If we want more Arab citizens to choose political engagement over alienation, we need to show that engagement can lead somewhere. We should also remember the Arab citizens, including Bedouin Israelis, who risked and lost their lives saving Jews on 7 October.

Here in Britain, we must be clear-eyed about Islamist extremism and uncompromising in confronting it. But we must not allow concern about extremism to transform into suspicion of Muslims more generally. British Jews and Muslims have different histories, beliefs and experiences, but we share a stake in this country’s future. A Britain in which faith communities increasingly retreat from one another is not one in which either will flourish.

Last Shabbat marked the sixth yahrzeit of Rabbi Lord Sacks, who understood both the importance of our particular identities and our responsibility to reach beyond them. He also understood the importance of refusing to let fear define our relationships with others. He wrote in Future Tense: “The Jewish task remains to be the voice of hope in an age of fear, the counter-voice in the conversation of humankind.”

Next Shabbat, in Parashat Chayei Sarah, we read that Abraham’s two sons, Isaac and Ishmael, come together to bury their father (Genesis 25:9). It is a remarkable moment given their painful family history and the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael years earlier.

An earlier Midrash offers an intriguing insight into how this reconciliation may have come about. When the Torah tells us that Isaac had returned from Be’er Lahai Roi (Genesis 24:62), the place associated with Hagar, Bereishit Rabbah suggests that he had gone there to bring her back to Abraham. Rabbi Sacks sees in this the possibility that Isaac himself took the initiative to reunite the family.

And the relationship appears to have endured. Another Midrash, commenting on Isaac’s subsequent settlement at Be’er Lahai Roi after Abraham’s death (Genesis 25:11), suggests that he lived there with Hagar, his father’s widow.

What strikes me is that Isaac did not wait for the estranged members of his family to come to him. He reached out, despite everything that had happened. Rabbi Sacks saw in the brothers’ reconciliation a message of hope for Jewish-Muslim relations. The Torah does not tell us that the brothers resolved their differences, but it does tell us that they stood together.

There is a lesson here for both Israel and Britain. We share our societies with people whose histories, beliefs and aspirations may be very different from our own. We cannot wish one another away, nor should we want to.

I am heartened by the work of organisations such as Nisa-Nashim and the Board of Deputies in sustaining Jewish-Muslim relationships here. It is slow, sometimes frustrating work, easily undermined by events beyond our control. But it matters enormously.

We should be under no illusion about the divisions between us, or the very real threats we face. But neither should we accept that they make partnership impossible. The image of Isaac and Ishmael standing together at Abraham’s grave reminds us of another possibility. Abraham was called to be a blessing to all the families of the earth. Surely, whether here in Britain or, with all its additional complexities, in Israel, we have a responsibility to try to live up to that legacy.