There’s something deeply comforting about walking into your childhood synagogue on Kol Nidrei. The chazan singing that haunting old tune, absolving us of all vows; rows of familiar faces – the old guard a little shorter and greyer, my peers a little balder and portlier – but all still recognisably themselves.
And yet there was something different about Yom Kippur this year. It was the first day of atonement since 7 October and there was a different emotional charge, as though the stakes were somehow higher, the desire to pray and repent together stronger than usual.
There were other differences too. My Jewish observance is sadly minimal these days, so this was only the second time I’ve been in a British synagogue since 7 October. Both times I was struck by the new presence of an Israel flag next to the Aron Kodesh. On Yom Kippur, as the Neilah service drew to a close and my thoughts wandered to large slabs of fresh honey cake, we sang for the first time a rousing chorus of Am Yisrael Chai. And then, to my surprise, the Hatikvah too.
These are small but important changes and it is worth dwelling on them for a moment. The presence of Israel in shul is not entirely new of course, and shul is not an explicitly apolitical space. Every Shabbat we say a prayer for the state of Israel, alongside the traditional prayer for the British royal family. In a canny piece of United Synagogue cakeism, the new Israel flag next to the bimah in my shul is matched by a new Union Jack, mirroring those two prayers: for Britain and Israel.
But clearly the main point of this development is to have an Israel flag in shul, as a response to 7 October and all that has followed. I admit I felt slightly unsettled by this change.
Why though, I wondered, as I walked (trotted) home to break my fast. Is my unease a reflection of discomfort over how Israel has conducted its military campaigns since 7 October? Perhaps that’s part of it. Even as I continue to support Israel’s right to self-defence and to destroy those who seek to destroy it in turn, I must admit my feelings towards the Jewish state have at times been soured by the images I’ve seen, the scale of the damage inflicted.
Beyond this, however, faithless Jew though I am, I do still think that some division between spiritual and temporal is worth maintaining. Synagogue is a place for examining the contents of one’s own soul, pondering the existence of God and observing ancient rituals in the company of fellow Jews.
Josh Glancy
Shul does not ignore the outside world, but I worry that bringing national anthems and flags into that space blurs the useful boundaries between what the gentiles call church and state. These new customs won’t bother most, but not every shul goer will be an ardent Zionist, so expecting them to sing the Hatikvah has the potential to alienate and distract them from matters of faith.
Does the Israel flag raise an issue of dual loyalty? I don’t really hold with such complaints, which usually carry a whiff of antisemitism. It’s perfectly possible to hold multiple deep and abiding loyalties, to Britain, to England, to Israel, to Arsenal and so forth. Furthermore, just because British Jews share a peoplehood with – and loyalty towards – Israel, as reflected by these new customs, doesn’t mean they should be held directly accountable for its political or military decisions.
Synagogue is a place for examining the contents of one’s own soul, pondering the existence of God and observing ancient rituals in the company of fellow Jews.
But it is true that for many Jews, the balance and focus of their affiliations have shifted perceptibly towards Israel this past year (while the opposite will be true for others). The new flag in shul embodies this change.
My real concern here though is the way that the national Jewish identity, Zionism, is subsuming the diaspora. This has been happening for decades, as Israel increasingly becomes the focal point of world Jewry, but the war has put this journey into fifth gear, reorienting our emotional lives around events unfolding in the Middle East.
There is something totalising about Israel, the existential threats it faces and agonising wars it fights demand our attention and our fealty. This war has, I sense, permanently reshaped the identity of British Jews in ways we are only beginning to comprehend.
After more than a year of painful war, accompanied by soaring antisemitism and mounting alienation, many British Jews are now more closely attached to Israel than ever, whether they want to be or not.
By its defiance of international sentiment, its defiance of history itself – doubling down on an ethno-national project even as the liberal west recoils from such thinking – Israel drags any who are attached to it along on its quixotic, messianic journey. This is proving a bumpy ride.
After more than a year of painful war, accompanied by soaring antisemitism and mounting alienation, many British Jews are now more closely attached to Israel than ever, whether they want to be or not. I know people who now prefer being in Netanya, facing the explosive danger of Iranian ballistic missiles, to the creeping discomfort of being in London and wondering what your neighbours think of you or what mad new Jeremy Bowenism will appear on Radio 4’s Today.
But even those who view Israel with ambivalence cannot escape the way the war has dominated media and social media, inserting itself into conversations, forcing stances to be taken and changing how Jews perceive ourselves in our own country – and how we believe ourselves to be perceived by others.
Of course, these emotions may abate if and when some form of peace arrives. Levels of antisemitism should drop and the global discourse will hopefully move on. But the Israel flag in shul isn’t likely to be removed anytime soon – such changes are rarely undone. And what the flag represents, the growing dominance of Israel over Jewish diasporic life, is a trend that is unlikely to be reversed.
- Josh Glancy is News Review editor at the Sunday Times. Read more of his Jewish News columns HERE
