Jeremy Corbyn's Labour is pushing away droves of young Jews like me
People talk about my generation with disdain. Apparently we're all apathetic snowflakes, preoccupied only with instagramming our avocado on sourdough. Despite the presumption that we moan about the state of the world without ever doing anything about it, few of my friends fall into that category. Many care deeply, about issues ranging from race to Brexit, and express their thoughts on social media, at casual get-togethers and through formal activism. I put myself in this category, I'm not apathetic - far from it - but I am disenfranchised.
I am a 22-year-old, left leaning, politically engaged graduate, but I don't have a party to turn to. If Theresa May were to call an election tomorrow, I don't know who I would get behind in the ballot box. But I know who I wouldn't vote for.
As a Jew, I can't support a party which continues to do the wrong by my community. Do I think Jeremy Corbyn is an antisemite? No. But his ignorance verges on negligence and he is surrounded by people who at the very least facilitate antisemitism. And it is turning droves of people my age away from the party which might otherwise be their natural home.
In many ways, I have been protected from antisemitism, both at home and at university. I grew up in north London, went to the Jewish Free School - the biggest Jewish school in Europe - and then to Oxford where, broadly, I've been surrounded by smart people who have strong views but also a moral conscience and some level of familiarity with Jewish life and Jewish historical experience. People who believe issues around antisemitism matter, whether they are Jewish or not.
In this privileged bubble, it's good to know that people care, especially non-Jews. However I don't know how far this care spreads and even within these walls, the sad truth is that if I don’t say anything about antisemitism, nobody else in my Oxford College (with the exception of some Jewish friends) will. I am deeply worried by the state of antisemitic feeling in this country. Some within the Labour party - including its leadership - might argue that antisemitism is hard to detect, hard to call out, and hard to define. It's why they are in the mess they find themselves in this week, amid a row over the definition of antisemitism in their code of conduct. But to Jews, antisemitism is often blindingly obvious. Allowing a group to define their own oppression is not just a matter of dignity, but is also one of expertise.
Whilst antisemitism has persisted over the last fifty years, the channels of its delivery have changed to some extent since my parents were growing up. Much of the antisemitism experienced by young people like me today isn't physical or brutish in its nature - though I did once have a deodorant can lobbed at my head aged-11 for being a “Jew boy” - rather, it's sinister and politicised and digital: Facebook posts, memes, blog posts and tweets which cross the line between critique of Israel and visceral Jew-hatred. Some of this is so conspiratorial and pointed you can ignore it, whilst at other times the antisemitic content is latent and I feel obliged to illuminate it for the insensitive eye. However, this responsibility is an exhausting one.
For this reason, many young Jews would rather just keep quiet. I’m lucky that my education and upbringing has inculcated pride and confidence in my Judaism, as well as the tools to contest abuse publicly. However, other people my age choose to keep their heritage private. Perhaps they don't want to be "outed", fearing barbed comments or controversy. You'll be at dinner with a mixed group of people and rather than admitting they’re Kosher, a Jewish friend might say he or she is vegetarian so as not to draw attention to their identity. We even had a joke at Jewish Society at Oxford about "secret Jews", people who you didn't know were Jewish for months, possibly years, before they quietly admitted it to you. For some it might just be they don't feel that connected to their identity, for others it might because they’re embarrassed—even fearful of what it brings with it.
That people my age feel this way in 2018, at the supposed zenith of progressivism, is madness and, more importantly, worryingly indicative of the vitriol and complacency within our public discourse. Because if my generation are being subdued by the antisemitic feeling in society, then we have a serious problem.
And let's not forget, what starts at the discourse level can soon become something more sinister. I am fundamentally optimistic - I believe there is enough goodwill, enough of a commitment to safeguarding, that we will never again live through an era like my Holocaust-survivor grandparents were forced to endure. But that doesn't mean that we should overlook the slow build of antisemitic discourse in our society. You have to have zero tolerance for it.
I often worry that my friends get bored of me talking about antisemitism. This is to do them a disservice and is more a reflection of my own insecurity. But there's a sense that you have to pick your battles, and in the list of battles to be fought in 2018, antisemitic rhetoric isn't high up on the list, particularly given my relative privilege of an Oxford education and comfortable home life. What do I have to complain about? But antisemitism is not a battle you can sideline, because without a zero tolerance approach, it spreads uncontrollably and violently. My friends and I know this, why doesn't Jeremy Corbyn?
As told to Eleanor Steafel
