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ByGrant Feller, Grant Feller

Opinion

One of us... but is that good enough?

April 20, 2015 09:47
Ed Miliband
4 min read

I have a vivid memory of being about eight years old and sitting around Booba’s Saturday afternoon tea-time table in Golders Green, surrounded by the merry cacophony of family. Suddenly I announced that, no, I didn’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer or Malcom Macdonald, I was going to be Prime Minister. “Ah, my grandson the Prime Minister,” she said. And they all laughed.

Well they’re not laughing now. Because in three weeks’ time, a similarly tormented middle-aged Jewish man with bad hair and a dodgy relationship with bacon could finally be running the country. A man who, like me, was a bit of a nebbish growing up, was always an outsider among a privileged elite, who tried to be cool but instead retreated into books, solitude and cricket, who never looked anything other than a dork in photos, spent Thursday evenings on Hampstead High Street awkwardly trying to fit in, and whose teenage years were plagued by terrible taste in music, fashion and girls.

Ed Miliband and I have never met but I wouldn’t be surprised if we “knew” each other. That sense of not quite fitting in (and perhaps not wanting to), of using over-confidence to mask shyness, fear of failure and fraternal tensions, and knowing that our instincts are borne not from a religious upbringing but the freedom of thought our parents instilled within us.

So why wouldn’t Booba vote for me? At least that’s the message I took from last week’s extraordinary JC poll that revealed most British Jews — a tiny, if influential, minority of the electorate — would vote for David Cameron not Miliband.