There is set to be a sea-change in my son's life come September. Like most 11-year-olds across the country, he is anticipating the autumn with a mixture of nerves and excitement as he prepares to go from being the big fish in a little pool, to the tiny plankton in the great big ocean.

His Oyster card awaits for the commute to and from secondary school, where he will be responsible for everything that until now has largely been organised by yours truly. It's a rite of passage, but not an easy process. Beside the usual parental concerns, I must confess to experiencing an extra layer of angst.

My boy, Benji, has been in Jewish education since he was two-and-a-half and has thrived in that warm, nurturing environment. Yet soon, with just a year to go before his barmitzvah, he will embark on a new life at a secular school alongside children from every walk of life. Unlike many other families I know, we were lucky to get our first choice. So why the misgivings?

My husband and I are secular British Jews. We do not keep kosher nor go to synagogue. Yet through our strong connection to Israel and our cultural traditions, our identity is as deeply entrenched as the most observant. When we first considered a primary school for our eldest, we were hesitant about closeting him in an environment where everyone else was the same as him, to a greater or lesser degree. But what was the alternative?

According to the Board of Deputies, more than 26,000 children currently attend Jewish schools. In 2008, approximately 60 per cent of all Jewish children were in Jewish education - more than double the level (25 per cent) 30 years previously. That number will have risen still further as the number of Jewish schools continues to grow. Half of attendees hail from the strictly Orthodox community, where demand for Jewish education is universal. That leaves a significant proportion remaining - including my three sons.

I myself attended a Jewish primary school in the 1970s and early '80s but the majority of my peers attended mainstream schools with a significant number of Jewish pupils. Our generation developed its Jewish identity through extra-curricular organisations like Jewish social clubs, scouting organisations and youth movements.

Things are quite different today. As the number of Jewish schools grows, the Jewish representation in mainstream schools diminishes - as does the relevance of Jewish youth movements and similar organisations. Britain has become increasingly tolerant and multi-cultural and Judaism has flourished in a largely welcoming environment over the past generation. So what caused this trend, which could be construed as a community in retreat? In a survey carried out by the Institute for Jewish Policy Research, more than three quarters (77 per cent) of respondents said they believed Jewish schools strengthen pupils' Jewish identity, while nearly two thirds (61 per cent) felt a Jewish education would help prevent intermarriage.

Like us, many parents find themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. With the Jewish element all but obliterated in mainstream schools, we had to choose between a culturally homogenous world or singling him out as the only Jew in the classroom.

JPR's research threw up a startling revelation. With the exception of Orthodox and Charedi families, Jewish schools are most popular among middle-income families. Yet as household income rises above £110,000 per annum, Jewish schools are less likely to be chosen. In other words, the secular education is more palatable if private. It's not cultural exclusivity we are after, but the kind of quality education that we believe Jewish schools deliver, and for free.

While we are in no position to go private, our son will not attend the local comp, but a highly competitive selective grammar. Had that choice not been available, a Jewish secondary would have topped our list - and may still do so for our subsequent children.

But what will happen to our young when they emerge from their cocoons and spread their wings in the real world?

I recently volunteered to accompany a school event at another primary in the borough. Standing outside were a group of Muslim women with covered heads. The children were all but trembling at the prospect of entering the school. One child branded the women "terrorists", while another said "they want to kill us". The children didn't see mothers on the school run but murderous fundamentalists.

It recalled another episode years ago, involving a relative who had just finished his all-Jewish education. On applying for university accommodation, he requested a kosher flat – not for dietary reasons but because he felt uncomfortable sharing a shower with a non-Jew. Seriously.

Imagine non-Jewish children spouting such views about us. We would be appalled. I cannot help feeling that such cultural isolationism will only lead to problems in the future. Who will educate society about Jewish ways and traditions if we are not there to represent ourselves?

Institutions such as the one my children attend are an asset of which our community should be proud. Yet perhaps more should be done from within to facilitate better inter-cultural education and dialogue. Surely that is our responsibility, not just as Jewish parents and educators, but as citizens of Britain and the wider world.