The Chief Rabbi isn't coming to Limmud

In an extraordinary development, the new Chief Rabbi has registered to attend Limmud next week, the cross-communal festival of Jewish learning that is one of the most innovative educational endeavours to have ever emerged out of the British Jewish community. Lauded by participants, presenters and journalists alike, Limmud’s educational model has been replicated in almost sixty different communities worldwide, and, according to a 2011 study, has served as the inspiration for thousands of Jews to engage more deeply in Jewish life.

Given its astonishing success, one might be forgiven for wondering precisely why it has taken so long for the Chief Rabbi to turn up. Someone with his standing and commitment to Jewish learning should surely have regarded this event – almost above all others – as a major priority in his calendar. And it seems he finally has. It has taken a change of personnel in his office, but now, thirty-three years after Limmud’s establishment, the Chief Rabbi is finally coming.

Except the Chief Rabbi is not coming to Limmud. In fact, the Chief Rabbi can never come to Limmud.

Let me explain. Limmud has several core principles. It embraces the diversity that exists within the Jewish community, seeing it very much as part of its richness. It encourages everyone to be ambitious about their contribution to Jewish life. It creates opportunities for Jews to connect with one another.  And, to achieve this, it carefully minimises any hierarchical gaps that commonly exist between people.  At Limmud, everyone should be accessible to everyone else, irrespective of title, position or standing.

One of the ways Limmud accomplishes this is by putting aside titles. The name tags everyone wears have only two things on them – first name and surname. That way, everybody becomes seen, primarily, as simply their name. And I mean everybody. Lord Winston is Robert. The Israeli Ambassador is Daniel. And the Chief Rabbi, when he comes, will be Ephraim.

Some might consider this disrespectful. But its purpose is to break down barriers. How many of us feel intimidated when standing in front of a world-renowned scientific, political or religious authority? But if that individual becomes his or her first name, it reduces the distance between us, and breaks down the formal barriers that exist. The great authority suddenly becomes more approachable, and an atmosphere is created in which anyone can connect with anyone else.

Furthermore, Limmud has no ‘green room.’ There is nowhere for Robert, Daniel or Ephraim to disappear off to when they are not presenting. They are no more special than anyone else. And, when they are not teaching, the expectation is that they will participate in sessions run by others, and learn from them. Indeed, at Limmud, everyone should be a student, because everyone – even a chief rabbi – has something to learn. And everyone can be a teacher too – Limmud’s strongly believes that any participant should feel empowered to teach their Jewish passion. In essence, the hierarchical boundary that usually exists between teacher and student is minimised at Limmud, which is part of what makes it such an empowering communal experience.

Of course, it can be quite threatening. Some authorities find it unsettling because they can’t hide behind their title. They might attract a crowd initially because people know who they are, but people vote with their feet if the substance doesn’t match the presenter’s reputation. But anyone who gets it right – irrespective of their position or title – quickly achieves iconic status. People with outstanding levels of knowledge, the humility to learn from others, and a genuine willingness to engage with anyone, have the commodities that carry the most currency.

It can be pretty threatening for novice presenters too, because they never know who is going to walk into their session. An undergraduate student may teach something they are learning at university, and Robert, Daniel or Ephraim might turn up. But that dynamic is critical to Limmud too. It can be extraordinarily empowering for a young presenter to have someone like that learn from them, and to receive constructive feedback afterwards.

So in reality, the hullabaloo about the Chief Rabbi coming to Limmud is nonsense. The truth is the Chief Rabbi will be going AWOL for a few days next week. He will be nowhere to be found. But if you wander around Limmud for a few days, you might find someone called Ephraim knocking about – teaching a bit, learning a bit, and maybe just hanging around having a conversation with one or two people in the bar.

(Also published in The Jewish News)

Jewish life in Europe: Impending Catastrophe or Imminent Renaissance?

There is much debate over the future of Jewish life in Europe. Some Jewish commentators, observing rising levels of antisemitism and Islamic extremism, maintain that Europe is becoming an increasingly treacherous place for Jews to live. Others, witnessing changing modes of Jewish identity and the emergence of innovative forms of Jewish communal activity, argue that Europe offers a fertile environment in which Jewish life can thrive. And, in the midst of this debate, demographers bring data about Europe which demonstrate that the nature of both the Jewish and wider populations is undergoing significant change.

My new policy paper, published by the Institute for Jewish Policy Research, examines these hypotheses and assesses their veracity. In doing so, it brings new data into the discussion. In 2012, after winning a competitive tender from the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights (FRA), JPR, working in partnership with its multi-national team of Associate Fellows and the global research agency Ipsos MORI, undertook a pan-European survey of Jewish perceptions and experiences of antisemitism. The findings have now been published by the FRA. The data comprise arguably the largest dataset ever gathered on Jews in Europe, and shed new light on our understanding of contemporary reality.

To read my paper, click here.

To read the FRA report, click here.

Is criticism of Israel antisemitic?

It’s the debate that seems to rage continually in political discourse, the media, on online forums, university campuses and in Jewish communal circles. It has been going on for some time, it has led to diplomatic incidents, court cases, tribunals, verbal insults and physical violence, and no small measure of psychological distress. It’s fraught with political tension, it’s littered with innuendo, and it’s extraordinarily divisive. Is criticism of Israel antisemitic?

In many respects, the question has become rather hackneyed, and tends to yield a sense of exasperation among many, so I raise it with a considerable degree of caution. But the recently published results of the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights (FRA) survey of discrimination and hate crime against Jews in EU Member States, conducted by the research team at JPR in partnership with Ipsos MORI, sheds new and important light on it, that ought to be brought to bear when discussing the question in future.

The survey is the largest ever conducted of Jews in Europe. It covers the Jewish populations of nine EU Member States, which, collectively, are home to over 90% of Europe’s Jews. It was conducted in eleven languages, thereby allowing optimum opportunity for all to participate. It was undertaken as part of the FRA’s efforts to survey minority populations across Europe, and is designed to be used by policy makers at all levels – European, national and local – to inform anti-racism policy going forward.

Because it is extremely difficult to create a common sampling frame for Jews in each of the countries surveyed, the researchers could not use random probability sampling for the survey. Whilst this means that further work is required to determine whether the percentages reported in the FRA’s report can be generalised to the Jewish populations of Europe as a whole, the academic team responsible for the survey is clear that the results broadly reflect the communally-involved and engaged sections of the populations.

So what did it find? Respondents were presented with fourteen statements, and asked about the extent to which they would consider them antisemitic if expressed by, or observed in the behaviour of, someone who is not Jewish. The response scheme was “Yes, definitely”; “Yes, probably”; “No, probably not”; “No, definitely not”; and “Don’t know.” The statements included various common antisemitic canards, as well as more ambiguous attitudes and ideas. Among the fourteen statements tested was one which asked the Jewish respondents if they would consider a non-Jewish person antisemitic if he or she “criticises Israel.”

Interestingly, it came bottom of the list. Across the eight countries reported, two-thirds of respondents said criticism of Israel is either “probably not” or “definitely not” antisemitic. The proportions varied slightly from country to country, but in no country did a majority feel it to be either definitely or probably antisemitic.

However, that’s not the end of the story. Other statements listed included comments related in some way to Israel or Israelis. Notably, respondents were asked to rate the statements “Israelis behave ‘like Nazis’ towards the Palestinians”, and “Supports boycotts of Israeli goods/products.” And, faced with these statements, the respondents reacted very differently. 81% of them considered the Israeli-Nazi parallel to be definitely or probably antisemitic, and 72% considered support for a boycott to be so. Whilst there is by no means unanimous agreement on either one, not least because both comments are, on occasion, voiced by Jews themselves, it is clear what the majority view is for respondents in every one of the countries investigated.

The implication is that most Jews surveyed appear to hold the view that whilst criticism of Israel is not antisemitic per se, it can become so when it is manifested in particular ways. In essence, criticism of the Israeli government is by no means off the table. Like any other government, the Israeli government should be held to account for its actions, as it is regularly by Israelis themselves in the country’s media, civil society and polling booths. But when the nature of that criticism tips over into these more hostile or aggressive realms, it is experienced as much more prejudicial.

In general terms, the survey found disturbingly high levels of anxiety and fear among Jews in Europe. Three-quarters of respondents feel that levels of antisemitism have increased over the past five years. Almost half are worried about falling victim to verbal insult or harassment. Two-thirds hide their Jewish identity – at least on occasion – because they are concerned about being identified as Jewish. Almost a third have contemplated emigrating. They are particularly concerned about antisemitism online and in the media, both of which they say have increased in recent years. The overarching impression is that they believe antisemitism is becoming more culturally acceptable in Europe, particularly in parts of the political left and parts of the Muslim population. And, not surprisingly, they’re worried.

It is totally unacceptable that any minority in twenty-first century Europe should feel like this. It’s probably even more unacceptable that Jews should feel like this given their history on the continent. Antisemitism has famously been described as “the longest hatred.” It has existed for at least two thousand years. It has led to forced conversions, expulsions, pogroms and genocide. It’s enough. Criticism of the Israeli government is legitimate; plenty of Israelis criticise it every day. But the vitriol around the criticism has to stop. It’s not solving the problem, it’s creating a new one.

My prayer for Rosh Hashana, 5774

That we become:

More secure in who we are, and more free to become who we ought to be;

More dedicated to sustaining the Jewish world, and more committed to giving to those outside of it;

More conscious of making sense of our past, and more engaged in building a sensible future;

More aware of our contemporary realities, and more visionary about our dreams;

More engaged in our quest for personal meaning, and more immersed in communities that enable us to give meaning to others;

More creative and sensitive in our efforts to address the problems of the world, and more steadfast and courageous in our attempts to solve them.