The last time I ate meat I was with a roomful of octogenarian Brits in Netanya, people for whom no festive table was complete without a roast chicken at the very least. I had officially gone pescatarian a month earlier. But it was Rosh Hashanah, and I was reluctant to impose on my grandparents and their chums, who were offering welcome respite from a sub-par gap year diet.

Sixteen years later, the thought of consuming meat revolts me. It’s almost as unpalatable as the idea of eating human flesh. I wonder whether I’d now feel the need to pretend. After years of being at best tolerated and often interrogated for cutting out meat, I am increasingly one of the herd.

It’s a taste of the future. According to a YouGov survey, 22 per cent of Britons are “experimenting with meatless or meat-light diets”, running the gamut between vegetarian and flexitarian (someone who eats meat only occasionally). A third is keen to eat less meat and dairy, with centennials and millennials over-represented.

Notwithstanding our dietary rules and our tendency to complain, British Jews are just like everyone else when it comes to food trends. We eventually took to avocados; now we’re well versed in how to make pomegranate seeds and tahini dressing sing. So while right now Jewish hospitality and carnivorousness are inextricably linked, it stands to reason that at your future Shabbat table, even with a rule of six, you’re likely to encounter at least one guest who is meat-free. Welcome, comrades.

Some are like me, picky. Others, in keeping with the Noachide Laws, want to avoid harm to animals. But many are motivated by sustainability.

This week, the IPCC issued a stark warning that time is running out to avoid devastating 1.5C global warming. In November, the UK hosts COP26, at which the aim is to focus global attention to the climate crisis.

Agriculture — and especially livestock — is widely recognised as a significant contributor to global emissions. Hence the Climate Change Committee’s recommendation for the sixth carbon budget last year calling for policies to “encourage a reduction in consumption of meat and dairy”.

The impact of the food system was echoed in Henry Dimbleby’s recent National Food Strategy, which set out that “one of the most effective ways to reduce carbon emissions and free up land for nature is to cut back on animal proteins”. The report stopped short of advocating a meat tax, but noted that plant-based proteins produce, on average, 70 times less greenhouse gas than an equivalent amount of beef.

This raises questions for caterers, kosher butchers and chopped liver devotees — but it’s a conversation that will only get louder. If as a community we are aware of the effects of our actions and want to leave a positive legacy, and if we do not want to alienate a socially-conscious younger generation, perhaps we too should be talking about eating less meat. Otherwise, we risk becoming outliers, out of step with the national mood.

Of course, it’s not just food. When it comes to sustainability, it’s swapping disposables for reusables at kiddush; walking to shul even when we’d happily drive. Allegra Stratton was mocked for urging us not to rinse our plates before putting them in the dishwasher, but the sentiment — that we should make small changes to lower emissions — was not misguided. Yes, we need much bigger international action but we won’t get to net zero without shifting individual behaviours in every part of life. Nor will we leave the planet in a better state, which seems to me an essentially Jewish aspiration.

This is part of a broader discussion about how the Jewish community changes to conserve; how we move with the times while protecting our essence. It extends to social issues like more egalitarian services and how we address intermarriage. In both social and environmental matters, there will likely come a time when the way things once were will seem astonishing.

While I don’t miss meat, I’m not suggesting it’s time to swap chicken for tofu at every meal. Not yet. But in another generation, it’s not outlandish to assume a large minority will be meat-free or have swapped out dairy. And that’s probably a necessary direction of travel.

We may have an ancient religion but if we want to keep Jewish life vibrant, we need to be open to change. And that starts, but doesn’t end, with what’s on our plates.