The first Shabbat after the October 7 pogroms I was walking home from shul when I saw a man coming towards me. He wore a bandanna round his head, had an earring and looked as if he was on his way to an audition for Pirates Of the Caribbean. As he neared, he turned his head, smiled and bade me “Shalom”.

I assumed that he was non-Jewish as a Jewish person would surely have said “Shabbat Shalom”. I took his greeting to be a gesture of sympathy following the Hamas outrage. After all, strangers don’t usually hail each other in the street, at least in London, although the odd dog-walker on a Sunday morning in the park might wish you, “Good morning.”

A similar thing happened a few weeks ago, this time on the way to shul. I had entered a subway when a woman approached. She was either in late middle age or a young pensioner and had short hair, dyed pink. As she passed, she too offered a friendly “Shalom”.

Of course, it could just be coincidence but I don’t recall ever being shalommed before, except on one occasion some time back when again tensions were high in the Middle East. It was shouted from a passing car as I was returning from synagogue and I detected a hint of an accent which I interpreted as Israeli. So I believe that Mr Pirate and Ms Pink were both making an effort to be kindly in the wake of events in Israel and Gaza and their repercussions back home.

There is an irony in that diaspora Jews generally don’t go round wishing each other “Shalom”, except in its Shabbat version. True, there are parts of town when you might shake hands with a “Sholem Aleichem”. Otherwise, it’s an Israeli thing and others might think we do it too because of Israel.

But I wonder if my experience reflected the influence of the Channel Four comedy Friday Night Dinner, which features the most famous shalommer of them all, the hapless neighbour Jim, forever turning up on the doorstep hoping to be invited out of the lonely cold into the hearth of the Goodmans’ Jewish home. Apparently you can order online Jim-themed mugs and T-shirts bearing the legend, “Shalom”. Perhaps the socially awkward Jim has achieved unwitting success in normalising the practice of saying it.

But not all of us would be comfortable to be on the receiving end, it seems. I found an online discussion on the etiquette of “Shalom”, prompted by a query from a non-Jewish person whether it was appropriate for them to say it to someone Jewish. The reaction was mixed, falling broadly into three categories.

There were those who unambiguously welcomed it. “I always respond Shalom back and it always makes my day when people greet me this way,” said one.

Another commented, “It’s definitely better than a former co-worker of mine who would text me ‘Happy Jew Day” (on Friday).

Some accepted it was well-intentioned but nevertheless discouraged it as “awkward” or “weird”. But others rejected it altogether, saying they would feel “othered” or singled out for their religion or ethnicity.

One commented, “Most of us don’t want to be acknowledged by our Jewishness in such an obvious and literal way.” While I don’t share the sentiment, I can understand it. Collective memory has bred a wariness of the outside world.

When I first came to the big city, I was struck by seeing people wearing chai chains - a discreet signal of identity to co-religionists, while not advertising it to others. A Magen David is a more conspicuous and, in the current climate, a bolder symbol.

It occurred to me that if instead of greeting me, either of my passers-by had instead uttered an anti-Jewish jibe, I would probably have reported it to the CST, adding to the official tally of hate by which we measure the levels of hostility towards us. But there is no register to document friendly acts, an index of goodwill if you like.

Anecdotally, we may share experiences. The administrator of a regional synagogue, who has met his share of abuse, recently told me recently that he had received only messages of support from outside the community since October 7. In these troubling times especially, it is important to acknowledge that there are those who wish us well.