Last night, I watched a recording of Manchester's recent communities-wide Yom Hashoah memorial presentation. As a member of the organising committee, I wanted to remind myself of what had been an astonishing event.
There were many reasons for this - not least the speakers who included Holocaust survivors and their families as well as veteran broadcaster, Jonathan Dimbleby.
But there was one especially surprising aspect to the evening, which, a few weeks on, continues to amaze and bewilder. And that was the sheer size of the audience. Usually, the annual Yom Hashoah presentation is held in a shul hall in north Manchester and attracts around 600 people. A respectable figure, even if nearly 30,000 Jews live in and around the region.
This year, however, the organising committee decided to relocate the presentation to a larger venue. Event City, a cavernous space just outside the city centre, which we had been offered gratis. After all, since this year marked the 70th anniversary of the liberation of the camps, we thought we might well attract a few more people .
Yet attendance defied all expectations (as well as the number of chairs – 950 – which we had optimistically set out). Over 1,300 spilled into the hall, grappling for sitting and standing space wherever it could be found. Yet, even among such huge numbers, the desire to unite on this most humbling of occasions was palpable.
It would be crude, in the context of what Yom Hashoah represents, to term the extraordinary turnout a "success". Yet the response this year begs an unavoidable question: what drives our community to suddenly decide to mobilise and come out in significant numbers.
As many previous communal events testify, as a community we can swing between apathy and solidarity even when it comes to so-called special occasions.
So what were (again to be crude) the market forces, that drove hitherto absentees to get off the sofa and make up the numbers? There is, of course, the ability to harness the power of social media. However, doing a straw poll among those who don't usually attend Yom Hashoah, I asked what had compelled them to come.
Some admitted they hadn't previously thought it necessary to be there, since they were ''unlikely'' to forget the Holocaust. There was also a strong contingent who felt that, after a surge in provincial and global antisemitism together with upheaval in Gaza, it was more important than ever to stand up and be counted.
(Points which may well have galvanised and increased numbers at Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut - often the Cinderella of events in our communal calendar.)
Others, as suspected, felt that the 70th anniversary was an important milestone, since they spoke of this being the last ''landmark occasion'' when survivors in any number might be in attendance.
As Jews, possibly more than any other community, we are good at mobilising ourselves when we need to show strength - even when it is disproportionate to our demographic. One need only look to hastily convened pro-Israel rallies and demonstrations against antisemitism
But, as Jews, do we also need the pressure of our detractors or the hook of a special number to support other communal events, too?
We should not need such clarion calls to shake us from a sluggish default position which suggests a ''call me if you need me'' ethos.
Meanwhile, here in Manchester, our Yom Hashoah committee has already started to ponder what it will do for next year's memorial event.
It will take place on the 71st anniversary of the end of the war. Not a neat number. But as the Holocaust above all has taught us, it's not the figures of the masses but the actions and memories of individuals which count above all.
