Before 7 October, Zechariah and Nava Deutsch had a warm working relationship with Farhat Yaqoob, the Muslim chaplain at Leeds University. As the Jewish chaplains on campus, the Deutschs would regularly work alongside Yaqoob to host interfaith events, breakfasts and so forth.Â
After 7 October, everything changed. In the weeks following the massacre, Nava told me that she contacted Farhat, suggesting an interfaith event that addressed the emotional challenges faced by both sets of students. Nava never heard back.
You may have read about what happened to the Deutschs next. As an Israeli man, Zechariah was called up to do reserve duty and duly flew to Israel to serve as a guard on supply convoys going into Gaza.
Back in Leeds, all hell broke loose. In late October 2023, Deutsch shared a video of his unit singing and dancing together with some students back home. The video was leaked and the Deutschs became the target of a hate campaign, which included a wave of vicious death threats, forcing them to temporarily move out of their home.
Josh Glancy
But they never heard from Farhat Yaqoob again. Through a mutual acquaintance, they were told that Yaqoob found the idea of meeting up too difficult. In March of 2024, with the Deutsch row ongoing, Yaqoob resigned from her job as chaplain, saying that her principles no longer aligned with the university’s.
Different versions of this sad story have played out across Britain and indeed the world over the past 18 months. Once convivial Jewish-Muslim relationships have been torched. Friendships have been broken and associations shattered. The fragile tapestry of interfaith relations, with the odd admirable exception, has all but unravelled. It will be extremely difficult to put it back together again.
Of course, relations between Britain’s various Jewish and Muslim communities have always had strain upon them, particularly in times of Middle Eastern conflict. But there has also been a shared solidarity too. After all, a fair amount of the bigotry aimed at both communities emanates from the same place.
Rabbi and Rebbetzen Zecharia & Nava
Deutsch
Jews and Muslims have both had to find their way as immigrants to this country, both have felt the sting of otherness that leads to a natural sympathy. Any number of valuable organisations, from Muslim Jewish London Roots to the Muslim Jewish Forum of Greater Manchester to the Nisa-Nashem Jewish Muslim Women’s Network, have sought to build bonds and bridges between the two faiths.
Ten years ago, I used to watch an interfaith comedy troupe called MuJewz, who had fun playing on the similarities and differences between the two faiths. I’m afraid it’s difficult to imagine such a troupe flourishing today.
Since 7 October we are in a very different and much darker place. Again, there are exceptions, resilient bonds left unbroken. But many interfaith relationships have simply been washed away by the flood of anguish and resentment that continues to sweep over anyone connected to this conflict. This issue of Israel and Palestine is uniquely corrosive and can dissolve even firm friendships in a single acidic argument.
Gaza has sparked a political awakening for Britain’s Muslims that has ramifications far beyond relations with the Jewish community. It has frayed the once close relationship between many Muslims and the Labour Party, leading to the emergence of independent MPs and councillors and serving as a rallying cry from Whitechapel to Walsall.
Young Muslims, given time off school to protest against Israel in Tower Hamlets
The pollster Luke Tryl has compared the Gaza issue for Muslim voters to that of Brexit for Red Wall voters in the north of England. It is something they care deeply about, but also something that is a vehicle for expressing deeper dissatisfaction about a lack of political voice. For a generation of young Muslim voters, this Gaza war will serve as a coming of age moment, a turning point.
The war has also, if we’re frank, provoked a surge of antisemitic sentiment and incidents across Muslim communities in Britain. This is a problem that runs deep and broad and isn’t going anywhere. And, if we’re really frank, which we should be, there has also been a clear rise in anti-Muslim sentiment among some British Jews. We’ve all heard it from friends or relatives, or seen it in Whatsapp groups and Facebook pages. There has been a normalisation of bigotry and often a reluctance to call it out.
So I’m not going to end this column with a call for everyone to hold hands and sing kumbaya, because that would be naive. Clearly, many Jews and Muslims have deep and potentially irreconcilable differences over Israel and Palestine. And their allegiances and emotions towards this issue far outweigh any commitment to interfaith goodwill, which was perhaps in many cases only ever skin deep.
Given where things seem to be headed over there, we can expect relations to degrade further over here. And given there are four million Muslims in this country, this represents an understandable concern for British Jews about where things are headed.
We can’t just all link arms and pray for peace. But nor can we simply give up on the idea of improving and maintaining relations with our Muslim compatriots, with whom we share an inextricable future on this island.
We mustn’t forget that four million encompasses all manner of different people and communities; among them many moderates who reject radicalism, friends who reject bigotry and neighbours who yearn for peace.
We should continue working to reach these people, for they are not our enemies.
