I operate as a Jew in disguise

I came out six years ago. It was roughly one o'clock in the morning and it happened without forward planning. My throat was tight and mouth desert dry as the words fell clumsily out.

"I am... a Jew." And there it was. My faith out there. Live on the radio.

Before that point, my religion had never been relevant in my job. I was a correspondent at the Telegraph, covering media and technology, and there had never been any requirement to show my religious hand. Nor did I wish to, as to me faith is an intensely personal thing and quite frankly, I couldn't be bothered with any annoying pigeon-holing or wrongheaded assumptions.

But all of a sudden, I needed to. Presenting radio, especially phone-ins as I then was on LBC, is all about putting the real you out there. Listeners won't call if you don't share. And so it was on my very first shift, I came out publicly for the first time, during what became a heated early morning debate on ritual circumcision.

The reason I raise this, in my first Jewish Chronicle column, is because inadvertently, I operate as a Jew in disguise, undercover if you like, and boy do I have some stories.

Flouting Hitler's visual stereotype has benefits

Blonde-haired, snub-nosed with blue eyes - I confused people and continue to do so. And I have been in some pretty eye-opening situations, during which - usually highly educated -individuals hit me with their unvarnished take on our multi-faceted tribe.

There are, of course, some comedy moments. Like the time I was ushered into a class at a London Liberal synagogue, instead of the Shabbat service. After 10 minutes or so, surrounded by a bevvy of fellow blondes cosying up to their men, I was finding the lesson basic so started idly chucking some zingers at the rabbi to spice things up. "We aren't ready for that yet," he replied patiently.

Suddenly it dawned on me. I was in a conversion class. Stifling girly giggles, I made a speedy exit.

But then came the darker times. Like the occasion a former colleague whispered that a co-worker of ours he knew to be Jewish "didn't think the same as us because she's a North London Yiddishe girl". He felt sure he was confiding his baffling bigotry to a Christian English rose. I nodded, numb with stupefied silence.

A few years later - older, wiser and more confident - I was at a friend's non-denominational wedding when a portly well-spoken barrister informed the table he was attending some "very Jewish nuptials" the following week. My intrigue piqued, I politely asked if it was in a synagogue.

"God, no! It's in the Dorchester hotel. I mean it's going to be a very lavish affair. You know, a chance to show off how much money they have," he roared, chortling to himself.

I persisted and asked, as calmly as possible, what this couple's wealth had to do with their religion.

An awkward silence descended as my husband looked for a trap door. Or a gun. Anything. Slowly, someone else at the table ventured: "You're Jewish aren't you?"

"I am."

Conversation over. Shame induced. And hopefully a side-helping of introspection for the dinner party antisemite.

And so, flouting Hitler's visual stereotype has its benefits. Being an incognito Jew lands me in conversations I ordinarily wouldn't be privy to and gives me the chance, should I be in the mood, to confront stereotypes head on. And potentially make a difference, as Disney as that sounds. Or at least make somebody consider that Jews can, shock horror, differ from how their oppressors define them.

Of course, conforming to a visual stereotype can also lead to illuminating moments. I'll leave you with this gem: a few years ago, my husband and I were driving home late at night in London after a flight from Israel. After he took a big roundabout a little sloppily, the police pulled him over.

As he got out of the car the officer asked him he'd had a drink. My stunned husband replied he hadn't.

The copper snorted and said the following, before breathalysing him: "Oh really? You wouldn't believe how many young Muslim men like you lie to us about their drinking habits."

The test was negative and my very tanned, stubbly and Jewish husband was returned to our car - having experienced his first brush of Islamophobia.

Two Jews drove off into the night, one now cast as Muslim, the other often as Christian. Both of us speechless.

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