Interfaith dialogue requires more than words

There was a time, fairly recently, when it seemed almost axiomatic that improving Jewish-Muslim relations in Britain was simply a matter of putting in more effort. More dialogue, more hummus, more workshops. But that assumption no longer holds.

The war in Gaza has not simply strained interfaith relations; it has exposed their fundamental weaknesses. Those who fell silent from engagement following October 7 did not do so because they were confused or grieving; they fell silent because their political instincts outweighed their social commitments. Because the bonds, in many cases, were never much deeper than PR.

October 7, though, clarified things. The muted response of some Muslim communal and faith leaders to the Hamas massacre – see Mohamed Hoblos who, last November in a speech at a rally in Sydney, Australia, mocked those who call on Muslims to denounce Hamas terror, declaring, ‘Don’t forget that Israel is the oppressor’ – revealed much. The reluctance to condemn, or even name, the violence of the worst antisemitic massacre since the Holocaust; their refusal to express horror, to call evil by its name, made plain what polite interfaith dialogue had obscured; that for too many, solidarity ends at the gates of Sderot.

In the months since, the corrosion has been truly unmistakable. Trust has deteriorated, contact has largely – if not entirely – dried up, and the issue of Gaza has become some sort of political litmus test. Gaza has become a rallying cry and a wedge issue, as new independent candidates emerge, many of whom have been shaped by a movement of political mobilisation that goes far beyond the Israel-Hamas war. The Labour Party, sensitive to these dynamics, has tempered itself on matters of communal tension.

To see all of this as a direct consequence of Gaza, though, would be to miss the longer arc. The war on Gaza only revealed the rupture, not caused it. Much of the interfaith project was always built on soft ground, and the very idea that British Jews and Muslims were on a convergent path often relied on ignoring the central disagreement: Israel. It was treated as a rather unfortunate, inconvenient sidebar; a topic to avoid lest shouts break out. But there is a dissonance: for many Muslims in Britain, Israel-Palestine is not simply incidental. It is central to their sense of global justice and political identity. For many Jews, too, Israel is core to communal and religious life. Such dissonance was never going to remain dormant forever, because the dialogue was always conditional.

Israel, though, is not a peripheral issue; it is the issue. And, when it rises to the surface, it tends to overwhelm all else.

Such a predicament does not mean interfaith work is without value, but rather that it is now necessary to be even more clear about what it can and cannot do. Dialogue, when it skirts moral clarity, risks becoming more of a performance than anything else. There is no merit in listening to those who justify terror or regard Jewish suffering as little more than a political inconvenience. That is not bridge-building; it is indulgence.

Nor should we assume that all partnerships are equal. Interfaith works must distinguish between those who genuinely seek coexistence and those who see dialogue as more of a tactic. Some communal groups are explicit about their unwillingness to engage with Zionist Jews. Others, in a less direct fashion, offer goodwill until the matter of Israel arises – and then walk away. That is not bridge-building, either.

British Muslims, particularly younger voters, are undergoing a political shift. Gaza has galvanised many; not solely out of concern for Palestinian suffering, but as a broader expression of alienation from the political mainstream. There are legitimate frustrations at play here: disaffection, lack of voice, and perceived double standards in foreign policy. But some of the rhetoric surrounding Gaza has become extreme and polarising; not solely anti-Israel, but antisemitic. Essentially, when antisemitism comes in Arabic, people look away.

That distinction matters. Criticism of Israel is entirely legitimate, but when opposition to a government’s policies slides into hostility toward a people, the line has been crossed. It is truly unfortunate that we have seen examples of such crossing – in chants, in protests, in graffiti, in public discourse – and that Jews are left increasingly vulnerable because of it.

Some Jews have responded in kind, with fear, withdrawal, and the occasional defensive suspicion that shades into prejudice, though that too is corrosive. We should be careful not to generalise in return: British Muslims, like Jews, are not a monolith. There are many who reject extremism, who condemn antisemitism, and who have continued to extend cooperation and friendship even when it became more difficult to do so.

We should also be honest about the asymmetries. Jews do not turn out in large numbers to protest against mosques as some Muslims do. There is no movement among Jewish communal organisations aimed at undermining British Muslim civic life. The climate of suspicion is genuine, but it is not equally driven.

So, where does this leave us? The interfaith project, if it is to mean anything, must move beyond smiles and symbolic gestures. It must be anchored in mutual recognition, not simply strategic silence. Jews should not be expected to set aside their connection to Israel to be seen as worthy dialogue partners, nor should Muslims be expected to abandon their concern for Palestinians – on the contrary, cooperation is only possible when both sides recognise mutual suffering. Both Jews and Muslims, though, must reject dehumanisation. There are Muslims who condemned October 7 without caveat. These are the people with whom relationships can be built; not because they agree with us, but because they are the ones who recognise that coexistence requires moral consistency.

The goal, of course, cannot be to make everyone agree. It must be to ensure that disagreement does not become hostility. That those who value liberal democracy, who believe in the rights of all minorities – the half a million Jews and four million Muslims especially – can still converse with one another across lines.

It must be said that some friendships may not survive this, but others will. And those – of the real, tested, principled sort – are the ones to hold onto.