England, my England

The country I grew up in 70 years ago no longer exists.

Post-war England was a land where people were emerging from a period of hardship and austerity. There was a sense of solidarity within and between different groups, whether based on religion or ethnicity, and what interested most people was the success or failure of their favourite football team, the comings and goings of the Royal Family and the weather.

It was a country of ‘live and let live,’ of free education and free health services for all. One where the daily newspapers reported political events in measured tones, and only a few of them were in tabloid form. It was a time when no one shouted in public or thought of carrying a knife. It was an era that could be called ‘pre-Murdoch.’ It was only in 1969, five years after I left England to live in Israel, that Rupert Murdoch bought up several British newspapers and, in my opinion, brought down the tone and level of reporting of the entire English press.

It seems a bit unfair to sit far away from England and claim to analyse developments there, but I have always maintained a close connection with the country, watching the news from there on TV, visiting it often and continuing to be in contact with friends and relations there. I grew up in England, went to school and university there, continue to speak English in my work and my daily life and am forever marked – for good and for ill – by those formative influences.

So even if I’m not there in person, I’m aware of developments in most areas of life there. I followed the process by which the referendum on leaving the European Union (‘Brexit’) took its course, and was horrified to see how events developed, with Boris Johnson’s simplified slogans and a sense of enmity towards newcomers. The economic and social consequences of Brexit are still marking the lives of British citizens in England and abroad.

And although I thought that leaving the European Union was a mistake, I cannot avoid acknowledging that the unrestricted acceptance of immigrants, usually single young men, has had a deleterious effect on British society. So-called ‘grooming gangs’ have destroyed the lives of innumerable English girls and women. Knife crime among youngsters has spiralled. And most alarming of all, the scourge of antisemitism has risen to an unimaginable extent.

There has always been a certain streak of antisemitism in English society, but it has always been more insidious, remaining under the surface, spoken in low tones or just hinted at by a raised eyebrow, a wink or a shrug. No one imagined that a peaceful individual would be stabbed in the street, spat at or insulted verbally merely for being Jewish.

When I lived in England religious Jewish men did not openly wear a kippah or other identifying item. My father sometimes wore a fedora hat, as did many English men, or even went bareheaded, like many of my male Jewish friends. No one felt the need to flaunt their identity visibly. On the other hand, in a London department store a few years ago I was amazed to find myself sharing a lift with two ladies swathed in black from head to toe, the only visible part of their bodies being their eyes. I felt sorry for them, but not threatened. I’m not sure I wouldn’t feel threatened today, even though I don’t think I openly proclaim my Jewishness. Adherents of the Muslim religion have become increasingly prevalent throughout England, and a minimal acquaintance with that religion and its worldview is enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone who believes in individual freedom, equality and the pursuit of happiness.

Be that as it may, the idea that only Jews have to conceal their identity in England today, while all other identities are accepted and even celebrated, is harrowing. The country that was once the centre of the world, and the centre of my world as a girl, seems to have fallen into an abyss from which it will be difficult to emerge.