I’m not really one for New Year’s resolutions, but this year there was one that I seriously considered making.

Should I give up my Twitter account, and quit a platform which increasingly feels like a cesspit of antisemitism, verbal violence and anti-Jewish hatred? The case “for” felt clear.

Over the past couple of years, there has been a clear deterioration in the quality of our public discourse. As the stakes have risen on issues such as Brexit and the political divisions sharpened, people have become increasingly aggressive in the way they speak to each other online. Ad hominem attacks and crushing insults have become a normal mode of communication on social media, particularly on Twitter.

You could potentially avoid all the ugliness if the only people you’re following on Twitter are your friends or harmless pop stars. But if you are interested in Jews and in Israel, then Twitter requires a particularly strong stomach.

People who, at first glance, appear to be completely normal members of society —teachers, nurses, people tweeting about their pets — suddenly come out with comments about Jewish lobbies and “Rothschilds”. The platform is overrun by people accusing regular British Jews of nefarious agendas, of complicity in alleged “Israeli crimes” and — worst of all — of “weaponising” the issue of antisemitism in the Labour party to unseat Jeremy Corbyn.

As a journalist I learned to shrug off vitriol, but still, wading through my Twitter feed takes an emotional and mental toll. The sheer level of antisemitism — and the casual way it is wielded — is profoundly depressing. The deliberate provocation of Jews on Twitter (known as ‘trolling’) is enraging, as it is designed to be.

A chance comment made me realise the kind of impact this discourse can have. Another commentator lamented the fact that an unemployed friend spent every day reading posts by the far-left activists responsible for much of this. He believed they “radicalised” his friend.

On the receiving end, it feels like a form of abuse. It is impossible to be regularly exposed to such Jew-hatred (and sometimes be the subject of it) without feeling like you’ve taken an emotional pummeling.

So why put up with it? Why not just close my account, and put an end to the punishment?

For two reasons. First of all, despite all of the above, Twitter still has much to commend it. Practically every top journalist is on there, as well as MPs, thought-leaders and figures from the art world, sharing their observations, insights and commentary in real-time. The quality of that discourse can be outstanding, and it’s quite different to reading their polished, edited thoughts in the paper a day later. Then there are regular people who may not be well-known beyond the “Twitterverse”, but whose perspective is interesting, valuable and often humorous.

If you are interested in current events, politics or culture, Twitter still feels like the place where the valuable conversations are happening. And it’s happening on steroids, because all this comes at you thick and fast, in hundreds of tweets each hour. That part of Twitter is still enjoyable and fun.

Secondly, watching all this antisemitism unfold online has changed me and changed my perspective on the society in which I live. Once upon a time, I could live in blissful ignorance. I knew that antisemitism existed in theory in this country, but it was not fundamental to the way I understood Britain. I didn’t need to know about it personally.

But now that I have seen, up close, how Jew-hatred is creeping from the margins of society towards the mainstream, I can’t unsee it. And I can’t ignore it.

On the contrary — it has become key to how I understand the political landscape. I’m not sure it’s possible to fully understand the challenges faced by Anglo-Jewry any more, without reading what is being said on Twitter by assorted political activists — and by some of our neighbours.

So yes, I could log out of Twitter, close my eyes to all the nastiness and live a calmer, more pleasant life, but that would just be pretending. I could no sooner stop watching the news, because that’s upsetting, too. It wouldn’t be real.

To borrow from the movie The Matrix, I’ve swallowed the red pill. I prefer to see. Which is why I might occasionally check out from Twitter during 2019 — but will probably never leave.