I wasn’t planning on having a conversation about antisemitism with my six-year-old son, Max, as we approached his school for drop-off. I’d have preferred to stick to our usual topic: which snack I would be bringing him at pick-up.
“Why is there a sniffer dog at my school gate?” he asked.
And then: “Why does my school have security guards and a sniffer dog, but the school next door doesn’t?”
Finally: “Why are there more security guards at my school today than there were yesterday?”
I spent a minute searching for just the right words. I didn’t want my response to scare him or make him anxious. I felt instinctively that I had to be honest, but that I should be reassuring, too.
“Mama?”
“Well, it’s very sad, but some people in the world don’t like Jewish people,” I said. “They may say unkind things to them, or try to damage Jewish buildings. The security guards and the sniffer dogs are all working very hard to keep you safe.”
Accepting this response to his questions, he skipped off to his classroom.
My son’s school is a place of Jewish joy, from which he emerges singing Hebrew songs, and where festivals and life-cycle events are woven seamlessly into the fabric of his days. He often walks out of the classroom with his arms full of Jewish arts and crafts – from hand-painted Seder plates to carefully constructed clay menorahs. He is already proud of being Jewish. He can’t yet begin to understand (nor would I want him to) the vileness of antisemitism and the way it manifests itself.
His sister and my daughter, Ruby, is ten and goes to a non-Jewish primary. Her school isn’t behind a wall, and it doesn’t have security guards shooing us away lest we pose a safety risk for “congregating”. At her school gate, we have the luxury of lingering. And unlike Max, she has never had to do an invacuation drill.
And so it wasn’t until she was nine that she started asking me questions about security (at our shul) and about antisemitism. “What’s the difference between racism and antisemitism?” she asked me. Around this time, I came across the beautiful children’s picture books Sharing Shalom by Danielle Sharkan and Red and Green and Blue and White by Lee Wind. These stories, fiction but based on real events, are contemporary and relatable, centring as they do around the theme of antisemitic vandalism and featuring secular Jewish protagonists.
I found it helpful to read these books with my daughter and talk together about the big ideas within them – being proud of your Jewish identity, finding solace in familiar Jewish ritual, and the power of community and kindness in the face of antisemitism.
These days, living a Jewish life means we have to be careful, and we have to gauge risk. When my son wants to sing a Hebrew song on a public London bus, I tell him that this isn’t the place.
Meanwhile, the parent WhatsApp chat for my son’s year group at school is lit up with texts about a security briefing with the head of policing for our London borough. In the words of a friend of mine, a mother of three: “With our kids, we talk about how to stay safe – such as having no visible signs of our Jewishness in public – unfortunately. We talk about antisemitism as a fact of life.” Another friend said: “The hardest part about explaining antisemitism to my seven-year-old is that it doesn’t actually make any sense. We tell her that there are people who will hate her without even knowing her. Nothing to do with her personality, nothing to do with anything she’s done or not done. Not even anything to do with her personal beliefs or ethics. The hate is based purely on her mother’s bloodline.”
One of my friends, a primary school teacher, told me that her student, aged five, asked her: “Why do some people not like Jews?” and another told me that she was asked by her student, aged six: “Why do some people think that Jews are different?”
Teachers and parents are being asked so many hard questions all the time, often before a child reaches the end of primary school. Campaign Against Antisemitism has produced an excellent resource pack for schools, suitable for children above the age of nine. There’s a real need for more resources to help parents and teachers of younger children, too. While we’d all rather be talking about topics such as after-school snacks, we’re in a new reality now.
A script for a difficult conversation
“Antisemitism is a big word that means hating Jewish people just because they are Jewish. Sometimes people believe mean things and lies about Jewish people or blame them for things that go wrong without knowing the truth. When they do, people who believe these negative ideas can say or do things that hurt Jewish people or places where Jewish people are, just to show their hate. It is not fair and never OK. I wish I could tell you why people believe these untruths. It has been happening for a long, long time.”
How to talk to young children about the world’s oldest hatred
Consider your child’s age. Ten-year-olds may already be discussing discrimination and hate in school. Five-year-olds, on the other hand, are likely only talking about treating others with kindness and respect. Take the lead from your child.
Be proactive. You don’t need to wait for your child to experience antisemitism to bring it up. You can explain what it is and let them know that they can come to you at any time if they experience it.
For very young children, keep it simple. Define antisemitism as unkindness or unfairness towards Jewish people simply because they are Jewish.
Use age-appropriate language and avoid graphic language.
Emphasise safety and reassure your child that they are safe and that most people are kind.
Reassure your child that you’re there for them if they want to talk about antisemitism.
Build resilience by modelling joyful, meaningful Jewish identity and creating shared family Jewish rituals at home.
To get more from Life, click here to sign up for our free Life newsletter.