Life
Is this what it is to be a Jewish patient in the UK today?
When Israel-Palestine eventually became the topic of conversation in my physiotherapy appointment
August 1, 2025 09:48
When Israel-Palestine eventually became the topic of conversation in my physiotherapy appointment
August 1, 2025 09:48The area around my ribs on the left side – the side of my radiation – had turned “gristly,” in my physiotherapist’s language.
During my early July appointment, which was to be my second last appointment for many months, my physiotherapist, whose name means “bride” in Arabic (I was pleased with myself for knowing this) kneaded the region, trying to break down the cording, which, with her efforts, melted like fat off an A5 Wagyu steak. As always, we talked about all manner of things. The only topic I had unequivocally steered clear of until that day was Israel-Palestine.
But suddenly there it was. She was asking if I had watched the Louis Theroux documentary on the settlers in the West Bank, and I was saying no. “I think it would be too painful to watch,” I said. I meant two things at once: that it would hurt my heart to see what some settlers are doing to the Palestinians, and that I was likely to be aggravated by the boundless anti-Israel bias of the BBC. I didn’t name these two reasons, though. I just said I thought it would be too painful.
She said: “It must be very hard being Jewish right now.” I agreed, but again I meant it in more than one way. To me, it’s very hard because the actions of some Jews in the Israeli government, and in the West Bank, are repugnant to me, and it’s horrible to think people judge me by their actions. I think that’s where we were aligned.
But also, foremost, because I’m still reeling from the events of October 7 and mourning those lost, because many hostages still haven’t come home, because how Jew-hatred is so strong today. I truly believed we would never see the likes of such hatred again.
Iran had struck a couple of weeks earlier, and I mentioned my aunt in Bat Yam, 92, with no safe room, only a staircase to run to when the sirens sounded. My physiotherapist responded that her Palestinian friends’ families didn’t have homes at all. “Of course,” I said, “it’s terrible.” I might have even said “more terrible”. But perhaps mentioning my family in Israel was leading her to feel we weren’t wholly on the same page. She tried to show solidarity, however. As I was leaving, she said she followed a Jewish group on Instagram.
“Which one? I practically follow all of them!”
“Do you know JVP?” Oh, I know JVP, which supposedly stands for Jewish Voice for Peace, though it’s not clear to me that peace – at least for Israeli Jews – matters to them. Their statement on October 7, 2023, was entitled “The Root of Violence is Oppression,” and four days later, they were already crying genocide. I said nothing.
The work on my rib gristle was amazing. Unfortunately, two days later, a new cord sprang out of nowhere, beginning in my armpit and stretching the full length of my arm, impacting my mobility. Soon, I would be going away and then my physiotherapist would, and we wouldn’t both be in the UK until 2026. I was grateful to have scheduled one last appointment.
…which was, moments before I left the house for the hospital, cancelled. “She’s sick,” said the receptionist, “and booked up until next month”. But by then I would be long gone, as she and I both knew. I hung up, and my mind immediately began to whirl. Our conversation about Israel/Palestine flashed before me. Had she been angry? Disgusted? Done with me?
A few days later, I was having coffee with my Israeli ex-pat friends, and the husband told me about the 1980 Dartmouth Scar Experiment, in which female Psychology students had realistic scars painted on their cheeks before going to speak to someone.
They were told that the study would determine how people discriminate against individuals with physical deformities. Unbeknownst to the women, however, right before they walked into their interviews, the experimenters wiped off the scars. Nonetheless, when questioned later, the women talked about the ways that their interlocutors stared at them or struggled with eye contact and were tense in their presence, all of which they attributed to their physical deformities (which weren’t there).
I thought of my cancelled appointment. Was my physiotherapist really punishing me for my attitude toward Israel? Was it like a scar she couldn’t bear to look at? Is this what it is to be a Jewish patient today?
Or was I completely deluded? Was there no scar – only an empathic conversation between two individuals with different loyalties, but politics not a million miles apart?
It was entirely possible that she was just sick.
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