Julia Neuberger (Rabbi Baroness Julia Neuberger DBE)
Many years ago, I was asked to write a piece about my identity for a small interfaith conference. I could not do it. I have many identities, all overlapping. And I believe most of us do. As ‘identity’ and ‘one’s particular community’ gain increasing salience in British politics and public discourse, as they have done increasingly world-wide, I think it is vital to remember that many of us feel various identities, a bit like a Venn diagram, overlapping within ourselves, and parts overlapping with other people.
So, now, if I had to describe myself, I would say British – not English. My family roots do not lie in England, but Britain has been amazingly good to my family, and we have flourished here. My mother was a refugee from Nazi Germany. She came in 1937, and with the help of many English friends, not Jewish, got her younger brother and her parents out of Germany before the outbreak of war, and saved their lives. My father’s family came from Germany before World War I, for economic reasons, and my father was a proud British subject from his earliest years, with a Union Jack a proud possession in his metal box from serving in World War II, and a commitment to King, then Queen, and country.
But all four of my grandparents were born in Germany, all Jewish. And I have acquired German citizenship in recent years, in part to get back what was removed from my mother, in part to acknowledge what Germany has done in acknowledging the horrors it committed from 1933 to 1945. And also in part because of Brexit.
So, British, not English, Jewish, a passionate European, German. Add into that feminist, female, a rabbi, religious but not orthodox, politically liberal, mother and grandmother – and you have a set of identities which overlap and rarely clash but which have different meanings and different weight at different times.
Since the horrific Hamas attacks and murders in Israel in October 2023, my Jewish identity has been to the fore. Not because it has become more or less important, but because of the rush of antisemitism in the wake of those attacks, and the varying responses of those who are my friends – some no longer – and colleagues. And the need to become closer to Muslim colleagues, in all that I do, has become paramount – as a Jew, as a rabbi, as a religious leader, as someone who believes most people (not all) want to live in a tolerant world. With one close Muslim colleague, I hope to go into schools to show we are friends but do not always agree. With another, we are hoping to build a new more practical model of interfaith conversations.
Our identities are being challenged. Including by those whom we might describe as ‘our own’. It is seen as disloyal by some to criticise the Israeli government right now, yet Israelis do it all the time! Some fellow British Jews, sensitive in the extreme to possible antisemitism, think any criticism of Israel is in itself antisemitic. It is not, although it is probably fair to say that it is more likely to be now than hitherto.
For antisemitism abounds, in a way I cannot remember in all my 74 years of lie. What Jewish students have experienced on campuses across the UK is shameful – and stretches my trust in the decency of many senior academic leaders. Why has there not been more support for Jewish students from their fellow students and from senior academic leaders? I find that seriously troubling, and the widespread nature of demonstrations and catcalls has made me feel less comfortable than hitherto. They may not think they are being antisemitic by letting these verbal and occasional physical attacks take place, but to my eyes they need to do some serious self-examination, and ask themselves where their empathy has gone, whatever they may feel about Israel and/or Palestine.
So the result of that is a certain discomfort, a slight feeling in the pit of the stomach that my absolute sense of ‘belonging’ in the UK, a proud monarchist and a member of the House of Lords, may be about to shift. Perhaps those in power will not always stick up for us, although in my experience, unlike for my younger fellow Jews, they always have.
And meanwhile we are experiencing, as a society, rising nationalism and anti-immigrant sentiment. The attacks last summer on mosques and hotels believed to house asylum seekers, after three children were killed in an attack by a 17-year-old in Southport, were truly shocking – and disgraceful. Nor was Britain alone in this. Anti-immigrant feeling is rising in France, the United States and Germany, and there were demonstrations and would-be attacks on buildings housing asylum seekers in Dublin as well, in a country which until recently had sent hundreds of thousands of its citizens abroad to find work and perhaps even a welcome from strangers. And every time there is proposed new immigration and nationality legislation in the UK, it is harsher and less understanding, positively cruel as far as children are concerned, and broadly trying to deter rather than to speed up the process of decision and provide a welcome until that decision is made.
As the child of a refugee, I feel strongly about the injustice and inhumanity of all that. As a proud Brit, I feel ashamed. As a campaigner on these issues, I am delighted the Rwanda scheme is dead, but wait to see a combination of justice, kindness and compassion in what comes next, knowing we cannot possibly take everyone who wishes to come. English nationalism should give way to British fairness along with self-interest – and welcoming the stranger is a part of all our religious traditions, whilst acknowledging the benefits immigrants have brought to Britian is something governments too often fail to do.
Since October 7, 2023, I have been alternately disturbed by what I read and hear, and appalled that antisemitic slogans are permitted, and then encouraged by the support shown to us as a community and as individuals. The police at my synagogue are beyond friendly and supportive. The officials and security staff at the House of Lords have been beyond sympathetic in asking how I, and other Jewish colleagues, are doing. And colleagues in all other areas of my life have been kind and supportive. Is that enough to make us feel wholly secure? Probably. But not necessarily. I have been more aware of my ‘difference’ than in any time in my life, and I have been more grateful for simple messages of personal support from friends all over, especially from Anglican clergy, than I would have expected.
So, British, Jewish, female, establishment, quite old, European, and, and, and… many identities, but a sense of a shift in how they fit together, and a passionate hope in the wisdom and tolerance of the British people, who, I hope, will try to make us feel comfortable once again as proud subjects and citizens of this great country.
Rabbi Baroness Julia Neuberger DBE is a cross bench peer, Chair of University College Hospital NHS Foundation Trust, and Chair of The Whittington Hospital NHS Trust. She was CEO of the King’s Fund from 1997 – 2004, and Senior Rabbi of West London Synagogue from 2011 – 2020, where she is now Rabbi Emerita. She is a Trustee of the Rayne Foundation and of the Yad Hanadiv (Charitable
Foundation), and has been a Trustee of the Van Leer Group Foundation, Chairman of the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute, and Chair of Independent Age. She is a Commissioner for the Integration of
Refugees and was a Commissioner on the UK Commission for Bereavement. She also chairs the Walter & Liesel Schwab Charitable Trust, set up in memory of her parents to help refugees and asylum seekers access education. Her latest book, Antisemitism: What it is. What it isn’t. Why it matters, was published by Orion Books in May 2019.
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