THE first time that I remember giving any thought to my Jewishness was when I was a child, playing football in the local park in Ilford, Essex. A boy I’d not met before asked whether I wanted to go back to his house for some cake. Of course! We played entirely innocently, until his father came home. He seemed angry. Then, “Is he a Jew?” My new acquaintance didn’t know, and I’m not sure I did, really. “He is! Get him out of here!” I should have told the old nasty that I had three Jewish grandparents, but that mum’s mum had been raised Anglican, and could I perhaps stay until tea?

I had no bar mitzvah, wasn’t part of the wider Jewish community, had little interest in or knowledge of Israel and Zionism, but was acutely aware of anti-Semitism, because I had no choice. It never quite left the room. There was some at high school; there were media stereotypes on television; and the local National Front and their rancid comrades were active.

As a young journalist, one of my first assignments was to interview Roald Dahl after he had written an attack on Israel which bled over into pure anti-Semitism. During the interview, he unleashed a spew of Jew-hatred, which now features in an award-winning play, Giant, starring John Lithgow, that is about to transfer from the West End to Broadway (Arts, 11 October 2024).

So, I have never been able to escape what can be a painful ambivalence. In other words, I am acutely aware that, whether I am a Christian priest or not, there are still people who detest me simply for my heritage. If you doubt what I say, spend a day reading my emails.

The haters always did their thing; but 7 October and the Israeli response smashed whatever reservations there had been: there have followed endless anti-Jewish venom on social media, physical attacks and murders, and a need for security at all Jewish institutions. I live in Canada. In this generally peaceful country, Jewish schools have been repeatedly shot at, synagogues arson-attacked, and Jewish people targeted for violence and even planned abduction. That pattern is repeated internationally.

I guarantee that, by now, some of you have reacted with comments about genocide and demanded “What about Gaza?” This goes to the heart of the problem. The racist victimisation of innocent people is repugnant, and condemnation does not require qualification.

This isn’t about withholding criticism of Israeli policy, and I have been immensely proud of those Anglican bishops who have spoken their minds after visiting the West Bank (News, 6 February). Without compromising on calls for Palestinian justice, they have emphasised the difference between the Jewish diaspora and the Israeli government, and spoken of the sin of anti-Semitism. But not all Christians behave thus. There are, for example, podcasts hosted by “proud” Christians, with millions of followers, who thrash around in ignorance and loathing.

Some of the new anti-Semites are undisguised; others argue that they are not anti-Jewish, but anti-Zionist. Perhaps. When Stalin purged patriotic Soviet Jews, he condemned them as Zionists. Mussolini, before Israel was even established, spoke of “Zionists” when he introduced his racial laws. The list goes on.

As Christians, we have to accept that, for centuries, Jews were treated appallingly by the Church. Frankly, if that hadn’t been the case, it is unlikely that European Jews would have left their homes for a desert 2000 miles away. Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism, reported on the infamous Dreyfus trial and said that, if a loyal French soldier could be persecuted and incarcerated, what hope was there for assimilation and acceptance? The industrial slaughter of the Holocaust seemed to prove the point. In the circumstances, Christian empathy and sensitivity are the least that we should now expect.

There is no doubt that anti-Semitism has, at times, been exploited to silence criticism of Israel; but, surely, we can hold two clashing thoughts in our heads simultaneously. When Jewish people tell of feeling intimidated, frightened, and unsure whether Britain is still a safe place for them to live, do not dismiss, but listen.

My wife and I have four children, all raised Christian, all products of Roman Catholic schools. Recently, one of them drove into the parking lot of his Toronto home to see “Fuck the Jews” scrawled on the wall. It is becoming far from unusual and cuts to the bone. In tribute to my father, I gave all of our children Hebrew middle names. Let me admit something that I’ve never mentioned before in public: I now genuinely ask myself if that was a wise idea, and my heart breaks. It just shouldn’t be that way.

The Revd Michael Coren is a journalist, and a priest in the Anglican Church of Canada. His new book, Diary of a Low-Born Cleric: A year in priesthood, is published next month by Dundurn at £16.99, and is available to pre-order from the Church Times Bookshop for £15.29.

Andrew Brown is away.