"As a young Jewish woman, I’m glad we’re finally talking about antisemitism"
Last Friday, while my mother was busily preparing our Shabbat dinner – lighting candles and unwrapping freshly-baked challah bread – my Twitter feed was alight with antisemitism. Wiley, an established rapper often dubbed ‘the godfather of grime’ was just getting started on his 48-hour Twitter rant about Jews to his almost 500,000-strong following (that’s at least 200,000 more than the entirety of the UK’s Jewish population). He called Jewish people "snakes", and "cowards"; he accused us of being responsible for the slave trade, that we are the "law" and laughed that he didn’t care about Hitler. Even more alarmingly, he received hundreds of likes and retweets; many people, including other rappers who jumped to his defence, said he was simply "speaking truth."
As I scrolled through Wiley’s tirade, my heart pounded – but not because this hatred shocked me. Sure, I had never seen an antisemitic outburst from a famous person as consistent, sustained and obvious as this. But I had heard every one of his insults and conspiracy theories before. That Jews – and particularly Israelis – are responsible for all the world’s evils. That Jews control the banks, world politics and media. That Jews are "slippery" and sly. That the Holocaust has been exaggerated. I know many people who were rightly outraged when they read Wiley’s tweets, and who felt disgusted and hurt on behalf of Jewish people. I was grateful for this response, and yet my heart was beating so hard because I wanted to scream: "Now do you see it? Now do you believe us? Now, finally, will you listen?"
I’m a 25 year-old British-Israeli Jewish woman, and I have experienced antisemitism my whole life. But, up until now, I have felt my concerns ignored or dismissed. There seems to be a widespread assumption that antisemitism started and ended with the Holocaust, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Antisemitism existed long before World War II (in the form of expulsions, pogroms and blood libels) and, because engrained stereotypes don’t just disappear, it continues to exist now, although now it’s often skilfully disguised behind criticism of Israel (note: you can criticise Israel without being antisemitic, but discussions surrounding Israel tend to be convenient breeding grounds for Jew-hate).
It’s important to note that I haven’t been systemically oppressed or held back by my Jewishness. I’m half Ashkenazi (European) meaning that I experience, and benefit from, white privilege. I’m aware that Jews of colour suffer discrimination on all sides, and Orthodox Jews, whose identity is more visibly obvious, often bear the brunt of the increase in antisemitic hate crimes in recent years. I can’t speak for the entire vibrant and diverse Jewish population, only from my lived experience, as a liberal practicing Jew growing up in London. And that involves feeling othered, disdained, and fearful.
I was the only Jew in my year at school, and I experienced antisemitic comments regularly. I was teased for my ‘Jewfro’ (leading me to obsessively straighten my hair), and kids would sing Borat’s parody ‘Throw The Jew Down the Well’ song when I entered a room. I remember a group of boys staring and giggling at me during a Holocaust Memorial assembly, while another boy leaned behind me and whispered "synagogue monkey" into my ear with such venom I felt faint. My school did nothing about it. When tensions flared up in Israel, my classmates would raise this with me at any opportunity, as if I – a 13-year-old girl who still played with Bratz dolls – was somehow responsible. During these times, I’d feign sickness to avoid going in. My mum gave me strict instructions not to wear my Star of David necklace above my clothes. She felt it wasn’t safe.
I can understand why she felt that way. My parents had received late-night phone calls saying, "die Jew, die, and I’ll spit on your body" as well as the wittier but no less terrifying "do your daughters need to learn to concentrate? They should go to concentration camps". They followed this up with the police, but nothing came of it. One of my five sisters was assaulted on a bus by a classmate who shouted "dirty Jew". When she went to the school, she was told she "must have provoked him." Another sister was called a "baby killer" on her personal Facebook page, and when she called in to a radio station to tell a prominent politician about her experiences with antisemitism, he told her that antisemitism doesn’t exist in this country anymore and if she is experiencing it, she should leave (which she did – she now lives in Tel Aviv). My other sisters have received disparaging comments (for example, "classic Jew looking after the money" and "you’d be hot if you weren’t Jewish") and I have regularly heard the comment "so Jewish" casually dropped into conversations when describing someone who is stingy or money-grabbing.
When Corbyn became leader of the Labour Party, with his known links to Holocaust deniers, his off-cuff offensive comments and his inability to condemn antisemitism, my family and I were scared. Our grandparents and great-grandparents were forced to flee Russia, Poland, Bulgaria and Egypt; we know the consequences of antisemitism going unchecked. And although antisemitism started gaining attention in the press, I still felt that most people (within my own left-wing echo chamber) dismissed, downplayed or straight-up denied it. Meanwhile, I was noticing an uptick in antisemitic comments online. The antisemitic hashtag #JewishPrivilege, suggesting Jews are responsible for oppression of other minorities, was trending earlier this month. And still, whenever I have tried to speak out about these incidents, I have felt myself shouting into the abyss. Can anyone see me? Does anyone care?
So, in a strange way, seeing the confidence and blatancy of Wiley’s antisemitism was a relief. It pulled all the dirt and grime (pardon the pun) of antisemitism right up to the surface, clear as day for everyone to see. This isn’t just a man on a rampage – these are stereotypes, conspiracies and deep-rooted beliefs that have existed for centuries and will continue to exist, unless we do something about it. At least if we know where the pain is, we can start to heal.
"I want to show that Jewish culture isn’t just about suffering and survival, but chicken soup and excitable dancing"
As many people – with good intentions – took a 48-hour social media hiatus under the hashtag #NoSafeSpaceForJewHate to protest Twitter’s handling of the incident, I did the opposite. I have been silent for so long; now is the time to get loud. Finally feeling emboldened to speak out about my experiences with antisemitism, I have shared educational resources online, alongside moments of Jewish joy; I want to show that Jewish culture isn’t just about suffering and survival, but chicken soup and excitable dancing. The response has been heartening, and I know we have the extremely important Black Lives Matter movement to thank for that – I have noticed that people seem much more willing to listen, understand and engage with minority experiences. Although Wiley sought to attack Jews under the guise of defending BLM, I’m hopeful that the result has been the opposite; less division, and more empathy and solidarity than ever before.
Many people have messaged me asking if I’m okay, and I appreciate the concern and well-wishes. But, actually, I feel great – like a weight has been lifted. Although the antisemitism of recent years has been traumatic, I now feel liberated to discuss my Jewishness, with all its accompanying pain, sadness, love and spirit, without fear of dismissal. For the first time, I feel seen and heard. Maybe not by everyone, maybe not quite yet, but the conversation about antisemitism is finally cracking open. I hope it lasts.
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