Jewish history is all about courage. Despite being such a small nation, we have survived all of the great empires of history.

Courage is embedded in our literature and our culture.

Every time we finish leining a book of the Torah we say: “Chazak, Chazak, v’nitchazek” – “Be strong, be strong and we will be strengthened”. In Judaism, courage begets courage.

We have role models who teach us exactly that. Esther, who stood up to her husband, the most powerful man in the world, to save the Jewish people, giving the Jews of Persia the courage to fight back against their attackers.

Or Hannah Szenes, a Hungarian Jew who had the courage to join the British army in Mandate Palestine and be parachuted back into Nazi occupied Europe. Without her bravery we would not have the State of Israel today.

Courage underpins so much of what makes us who we are. It can be brilliant and bold like Esther and Hannah, but it can also be small and quiet.

When I think of courage, I think of Ernest Levy. A young man from Bratislava who experienced five Nazi concentration and death camps. During a long Death March to Belsen towards the end of the war, Ernest picked up a sardine tin that a guard had discarded. Instead of drinking the dregs of oil he fashioned a small wick and lit a flame. In a cramped and freezing cold barn, Ernest and other surviving camp prisoners sang Maoz Tzur to mark Chanukah.

I think of Elie Wiesel and his father. Starving and weak in Auschwitz, they still chose to fast on Yom Kippur.

And I think of Anka Bergman. A young newly married, pregnant woman volunteering to accompany her husband on a transport from Theresienstadt to the east, having the courage to conceal her pregnancy, and to finally give birth near the gates of Mauthausen concentration and death camp just days before liberation.

Courage comes to us in different ways.

Today, almost a year on from the October 7 attacks and with antisemitism rising yet again, courage feels hard to summon. But, as Jews, we know, it is always there.

It can be seen in the Jewish people who despite everything continue to speak out.

It can be seen in the Holocaust survivors, who speak of their fears today but refuse to slow down, sharing their testimonies in schools across the country.

And it can be seen in our allies.

At the Holocaust Educational Trust, we see quiet acts of courage every day. People like Salvatore, who had never met a Jewish person before taking part in our programmes, and who since October 7 has personally been subject to antisemitic abuse for daring to speak out.

It can be seen in people like Zafran, who had never heard of antisemitism until he was 17 and visited Auschwitz through our Lessons from Auschwitz Project. Now at University, he has spoken about his dedication to speaking out against antisemitism. He said that as a Muslim, he knows how it feels to be judged.

It can be seen in people like Zac, who teaches in a diverse school in Stockton-on-Tees. In the aftermath of October 7, he has led discussions in school, supporting his students to separate fact from opinion, despite it at times feeling like an overwhelming challenge.

Today, with antisemitism at levels not seen since records began, we can lean on each other for courage

This week at our Appeal Dinner surrounded by survivors, HET Ambassadors, Educators and friends, I was reminded of where that courage exists. It is a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

We only need the courage to see it.

Karen Pollock is chief executive of the Holocaust Educational Trust (HET)