After the fear, I felt pride – proud that our communal grit and defiance mean that Jewish life will go on, as it always does
October 13, 2025 11:18
What next? What now? Where do the events of Yom Kippur leave our Jewish community? These are the questions that have been swirling in my mind – in our minds. Questions that have no simple answers.
I see only two certainties in this turmoil of shock and sadness. The first was clear from the very first moments that news began trickling through on Yom Kippur: fear won’t weaken our community. As I sat in shul for Musaph and whispers of this atrocity began to circulate, I could see expressions of horror and shock ripple through the congregation. For those with family in Manchester there was a terrifying wait to hear the missing pieces of the unfolding story. For some, the details brought a level of relief, for others, only heightened panic. The instinctive reaction of parents in shul was to check on their children’s whereabouts – and to tell them not to linger outside shul. That felt like a sensible precaution. But out of everyone I saw and anyone I have spoken to since, not one person went home.
I’m not judging those who may have done so. In a sense it would have been a perfectly rational decision. But it didn’t cross my mind. And nor many others’, it seems, if any. Other than one synagogue closed in Manchester and Heaton Park itself, Yom Kippur services continued around the country. For Neilah, my shul was full to bursting – not a seat spare. The Chief Rabbi led the service, as he does every year. As always, there was passion in his voice – the only difference this year was a slight crack as we reached the final Shema.
Was it the emotion of the day or the gravity of the last moments of Yom Kippur? Only he knows. But, all over Britain, news of the terror attack did not send people flocking home. It kept people together. Perhaps it’s part down to delusional mental self-preservation. If Britain is a place where it’s no longer safe to attend shul, what has this country become?
And then, of course, we would have to ask ourselves that question no one wants to pose: are we safe here in Britain any more? If Britain no longer feels British – then what? If, instead of being that civilised nation we are so proud of, it becomes a hub of extremism, is it time to question whether it still feels like home?
So many of we British Jews need not look back more than a generation or two to have tragedy in our family history. That makes us wary of warning signs
Of course, if life for Jews in Britain starts to become more unpleasant and, more importantly, dangerous, some will no doubt want to leave – and try to find the answer to that question we have probably all mulled over. Where would you go?
Israel is the obvious answer, but for those primarily seeking safety, not the most straightforward choice. Where is there in Europe that feels any less under threat of extremism? I might once have joked about the Maldives but even that’s no longer a good joke. Having banned Israeli passports it’s not even an idyllic fantasy. Is there anywhere truly safe from this extremism? For me that point of moving is way off.
So many of we British Jews need not look back more than a generation or two to have tragedy and struggle in our family history on account of us being Jewish. That makes us wary of warning signs – and perhaps makes us feel that we should never be 100 per cent comfortable, even in a place we call home.
That history also means we have some communal grit and defiance in our blood. And I think we’ll find that our community events won’t become emptier, our synagogues won’t become quieter – but the opposite. That spirit is also reflected in the record number of people who have registered to become volunteers for CST since the attack.
This horrific event won’t weaken our community. Of that I have no doubt.
The other certainty, not that we needed this tragedy to tell us, is that we have a problem with extremism in this country. None of the government over the past decade or more have been focused enough or effective enough to find the solutions. If they weren’t spurred into action when teenagers were blown up at the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester Arena, or when eight people were murdered on London Bridge, or five were rammed and stabbed in Westminster, they’re not waking up now.
Extremism is a threat to our entire nation but as Jews we have always been alive to it. And so we look for our own solutions. CST is certainly one of those solutions. The police delivered that decisive action on that fateful Thursday but it was CST who laid the groundwork for it to happen. They operate with the help of government funding, but the planning, innovation and logistics was all theirs.
It was CST who operated the control centre that meant the security guard could call in for immediate reinforcements – and CST who had the direct line to counter terrorism units, meaning armed police could be on site within minutes.
As a community we always strive to create solutions rather than rely on others to do so for us. Interfaith work is one such initiative that I believe is valuable to our community. Some people felt disillusioned by the silence from counterparts in the Muslim community following the attack, but positive relations between Jews and Muslims in this country are so important to strive for.
Interfaith work is not a magic wand to counter extremism, but connecting on a human level and building bridges has to be positive. It may not reach the fanatics but it will nurture a connection with the moderate voices in the Muslim community. Every friend is a valuable one.
But what will really change for us in the wake of the attack? In truth, perhaps very little. As always, Jewish life goes on.
Naomi Greenaway is the deputy head of Long Reads at The Telegraph
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