“I am Jewish, not Israeli.” If you spend time on social media, you will have felt a pull to use this line: minding your own business, tweeting about daily events when Israel’s dirty laundry is dropped on your virtual doorstep.

“But what about the Palestinians?” someone will ask. It has happened to me many times.
Now, in one sense this line is obviously true. I am a British citizen, not an Israeli one.

Why should both of us be bundled up together in that way? But in another sense, this line is misleading.

For while we are not bound to Israel by law, it seems to me that most of us are tied up in more important ways, albeit in ones that might differ from person to person.

And it’s not so much the religious connections I have in mind, the fact that the Old Testament brims with references to Israel or the Talmud tells us to face the Holy Land when we pray.

Ben Gurion International GettyImages-809039658

Ben Gurion International Airport, where so many of us have arrived at the start of holidays (Getty Images)

It is more the fact that we go on holiday to Israel, have family there, our fridges are full of their food, our bookshelves with their writers, our walls with their art.

It is where many of us spent our best summers: hiking, singing, falling in love. And, in our heart of hearts, all of us know it would be the place of refuge if it happened again — all Jews know what is meant by “it”.

Hard data confirms the strength of these softer connections. In 2010 a survey of British Jews found that Israel plays a “central” or “important” role in their identities.

And for that small minority that falls through the cracks, whose identity is stubbornly independent of Israel, tough luck: whether we like it or not, Israel is the Jewish state.

Just as you cannot chose your parents, you cannot choose your country in this case. So in part, this line — “I am Jewish, not Israeli” — is a disingenuous defence.

It simply does not reflect the nature of the relationship between the majority of British Jews and Israel.

But the other problem is that it is a dangerous defence. All too often, it cedes the intellectual ground, however ridiculous the accuser’s claims might be. This defensive line is interpreted as meaning not just “it isn’t any of my business because I’m Jewish not Israeli”, but also “you might be right in your claim about Israel”.

As a result, all sorts of absurdities about Israel have been allowed to fester over the years, particularly online.

The other reason that “I am Jewish, not Israeli” is dangerous is that it ignores the responsibilities that come with our connection to the place.

Many British Jews now believe that Israel is going off the rails. And if that is right, Israel needs our diaspora voices now more than ever, with the sobriety of distance, to do what we can to help them change their direction of travel.

This is the time to reaffirm our connection with Israel, not deny it.
I understand that the pull to distance from Israel is strong. Indeed, in most cases, the conflation of “Jews” and “Israel” is so obviously motivated by malevolence.

But again, we should not shy away. So, with this in mind, I propose we bin the line “I am Jewish, not Israeli” and replace it with another: “I am not Israeli, but I am Jewish”.

And with that affirmation, one that recognises our deep connections to the place, we should let our voices be heard, even if not as citizens.