West Wing fans will be familiar with the refrain: what’s next? With a White House staff hungry for change, the focus is always on what the future holds.

It’s a question Britain will soon be grappling with, as the debate shifts from when and under what terms we leave the EU to what Brexit will mean. Assuming we do, at some juncture, actually exit, any future government will have much to consider. From trading partners to regulation or environmental protection; what’s next?

Just as the political conversation has been dominated by Brexit, there’s one subject that has been at the forefront of the minds of most British Jews since 2015. In that time, I’ve scarcely sat at a Shabbat table without the subject arising of what a Corbyn-led government would mean, including among people who generally have little time for politics.

Initial disbelief — “he could never win”— has morphed into serious and not always hyperbolic discussion about where we’d go in a worst-case scenario and whether our fears are justified. At times, it has felt we are facing an existential threat.

Some day, we will be out the other side. Maybe we are at the tipping point, with TIG’s formation representing the moment at which supporting Labour becomes untenable for many centrist voters. Alternatively, there could be a Labour government first. But history is invariably cyclical; at some point, things will boil over. After that, what’s next for Anglo-Jewry?

There’s an opportunity to decide, and for us to turn a negative discussion into a positive one about the future. For some time now, we have been defined largely not by what we are — a vibrant, diverse community, at home in any party and as multifaceted as the wider country — but by our anxieties and our detractors. When we make the news, it’s not because of what we do, but because of what’s being done to us.

One strange consequence of the Labour saga has been that some who once felt ambivalent about it have found solace in their Jewish identity; Margaret Hodge, say, or Rachel Riley. And as a community, where we once tried not to make waves, being singled out has made many of us more vocal about our contribution, more determined to fight back.

We should celebrate that, but our community must be about more than a reaction to a negative. As with our political parties, the challenge after the dust settles will be to rediscover what we are for, not what we are against. What will encourage people to connect to Jewish life in ten years, or 20?

Without the glue of an existential threat, what will excite the next generation so they grow up passionate about sustaining diaspora life, or make our students proud to speak up as Jews on campus? What will our communal leaders champion, if it’s not about standing firm against the haters?

Equally, there may and probably must be difficult conversations ahead.

Just as historic party allegiances have crumbled over Brexit, there have been times recently when the disparate strands of the Jewish community have been unusually united. And in the same way Brexit has seen political leaders push hard decisions into the long-grass, as a community we’ve been understandably distracted and consequentially avoided confronting some more challenging issues. But these have not gone anywhere.

Things like the Orthodox attitude towards same-sex relationships or the role of women in those communities; the extremism that leaves our most religious members ill-educated; our response to intermarriage; our antiquated divorce practices — some will surely come to a head, if not simply because centennials demand more of their institutions than their parents or grandparents did.

For our community to thrive, rabbis and leaders will need to come off the fence on everything from how much religious practice can be modernised to how publicly they are willing to comment on Israeli politics.

So what will unite — and divide — us tomorrow? I know where I stand – for a community that is inclusive and tolerant, that builds as many bridges with other faiths as it does within and takes a modern, sensitive approach on equality issues. A community that tells its specific diaspora story while remaining proud of its Zionism, one that is unafraid to air differences and be self-critical. A community that engages people not because they feel safer belonging but because they actively want to belong. And, insofar as possible. I want us to think about what we want to become, instead of being bogged down by our fears about a Labour government.

This has been an unpleasant chapter, and it’s not yet finished. But instead of spending every Shabbat talking about antisemitism, let’s at least start the conversation about what’s next.