In the foyer of Frozen: A Musical Invitation hangs a large framed photo of Walt Disney. It’s hardly surprising, given we’re in the European branch of his theme park, but as my five children variously whine and complain and fight in the queue, I zone out and fixate on his beaming grin.

Is this just the expression of someone proud of their work, or could he be having a premonition of the bedlam his gaze would one day be taking in? Torture that I’d paid a small fortune for; exhaustion from the twilight drive, feet already blistering, shoulders aching from usage as a ladder, patience whittled down to a hair trigger. Would his smile be even broader if he knew we’re Jewish?

There’s some disagreement to the extent or even veracity of Disney’s antisemitism, but it’s certainly true he backed an openly antisemitic group, and dodgy representations of our people peppered his work.

That knowledge tainted my emotions whenever the Disney logo appeared — yet apparently not enough to prevent our family from fully immersing ourselves across all elements of the brand. Clothing, toys, books, television, cinema, and now the loosest possible definition of a “holiday”.

Usually I’m pretty thorough cutting things and people out of my life when I deem they’ve crossed the line from everyday background antisemitism to outright targeting of Jews.

Admittedly it’s a somewhat arbitrary moveable line, and there are so few of us that the actual impact may be negligible, but still, symbolism matters. In the supermarket, no, that two-for-one offer will NOT tempt me back to buying that delicious Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food.

Scrolling through my contacts, former friends lost to the cult of Corbyn whizz past. A Wiley track shuffles onto the car sound system, I jab instantly for the skip button.

The proscription list keeps getting longer. Kanye takes up so many spots on my playlists I’m now going to have to spend more time pressing forward than listening to music. My son’s beloved Yeezy foam trainers from his barmitzvah mock me in the hallway, defying me to chuck them out, or at least reutilise them as ornamental plant pots.

And now Dave Chappelle is shuffling himself closer over the line, precariously balanced at the tipping point along with Mark Ruffalo.Even without tokenistic attempts to punish a product or person for their bigotry, the ability to enjoy the fruit of their labours suffers.

We’re told to separate the artist and their art, but if art is about eliciting emotions, it’s difficult ignoring the artist who elicits hatred. Of course, some creative endeavours are so magnificent they transcend their origins, but alas, despite the valiant efforts of the committed cast, Frozen: A Musical Invitation doesn’t quite make the cut.

I rationalised our presence because how directly tied was Mr Disney to any of this anyway, to what was around us? The Marvel section would never have existed if not for the imagination of Jews, and what holes would be left in Pixar and the rest if you removed the work of our people across the board.

Concerns over compromises are jettisoned though the moment I glimpse my daughter’s face, utterly captured in awe as Elsa belts out a multi-lingual smorgasbord of Let It Go. It’s all moot. It’s one thing to deny yourself pleasure, or have it denied to you, but when it comes to your kids, you want to cram them with as much enjoyment the world has to offer.

It’s the same sentiment that keeps Roald Dahl on our bookshelves. I was obsessed with his books growing up, and by the time I learned about his prejudices, I’d already absorbed what goodness his work had to offer.

Although despite my best efforts, those books are getting very dusty. There’s so little unforced reading going on with our kids, I’d happily push The Protocols of the Elders of Zion if that’s what it took for them to show an interest.

Then, in the hour queue for the Dumbo ride, as my six-year-old daughter has a full meltdown because the park “isn’t as colourful” as she expected, it occurs to me — if only there was some way to utilise antisemitism as a force for good in parenting?

Perhaps, just perhaps, Walt Disney’s dodginess is a good thing, if it provided the perfect excuse to chuck everyone in the car and make our way back to the Eurotunnel. “Sorry kids, sometimes you have to take a stand against hatred.”

Imagine all the other parenting dilemmas you could solve. “No you can’t get TikTok, it’s antisemitic.” “I’m really sorry kids, but it’s been proven that PlayStations are antisemitic.” “Sweets are antisemitic.” And waking up your parents before 7am on weekends? Call the Board of Deputies.