I was heartened to see Rabbi Laura Janner-Klausner say that abuse over political differences threatens to put our community on a path to “self-destruction”. As someone on the receiving end of much of this abuse, I could not agree more.
In the last week alone, I have been accused of attending (or even organising) the controversial Kaddish for Gaza, told I should not be allowed within a hundred miles of Jewish children, labelled a bully and a fraud, a "vociferous critic of Israel" and someone who "attacks Jews".
I've had strangers trawl my family’s social media to “prove” I’m not Jewish, been repeatedly likened to Rachel Dolezal and been sent thousands of messages including many so abusive that I have had to get the police involved.
This harassment campaign has led people to maliciously contact my employer, my synagogue, the Movement for Reform Judaism, the Jewish press, and the Labour Party, culminating in a piece published in the national press admonishing me for the ‘chutzpah’ of speaking about antisemitism on the left as a relatively recent convert to Judaism.
My experience illustrates the outrageous double standards Jews-by-choice are held to.
One of the big points of contention is that I did not disclose my convert status in a previous piece for the JC about the Jewdas seder, or that I describe myself as ‘Jewish’ without qualifying it in any way, as though this were some great deception.
Previously, my status was informal. I have identified as Jewish and been an active part of my local synagogue community, both in the US and in the UK for a number of years. When I left the mikvah,it was made formal.
I am Jewish. That is a statement of fact.
The conversion process is a gruelling one, and the idea that anyone undertakes it for reasons other than a sincere love of Judaism is as offensive as it is patronising.
It ignores all that is involved in conversion- taking on Jewish practice, changing your diet, learning a new language and festival calendar, intensive learning on aspects of Jewish theology, law and custom. It means trying to navigate your way to something that feels comfortable and authentic, all the while risking your personal and familial relationships, and knowing that whatever you do, you’ll never be a "good enough" Jew for some in the community.
Politically, it’s brought me far greater grief than benefit (as a cursory glance at the replies on any tweet criticising Ken Livingstone, for example, should make clear).
For people who lack the integrity to say outright that converts are lesser Jews, there has been this odd notion that there is some sort of nebulous time-limit during which time Jews-by-choice should defer to them.
There is no universal Jewish experience, nor any individual or group who can claim to speak with authority on behalf of a community so diverse in its beliefs, practices and opinions. I have never claimed an experience that isn’t mine by talking about a Jewish family I don’t have, or a Jewish childhood that I didn’t experience. But I have every right to speak my own Jewish truth.
I’ve spent over a decade on the Labour left, holding local, regional and national positions in the party. When I first began to speak openly about my conversion with friends and comrades, there was a fairly mixed reaction but I’ve been able to bring them with me through sharing it.
It’s not a particularly wild idea that I might have something worth contributing to the debate about how to tackle left antisemitism.
Debate and disagreement is a fundamental part of living in a democracy. Seeing my faith attacked to delegitimise my beliefs and demonstrably-untrue statements being bandied around is vile. It seems intended to stamp out any dissent by self-appointed community gatekeepers.
Imagine how boring it would be if we all agreed about everything all the time. It’s also, dare I say, pretty un-Jewish: the Talmud wouldn’t exist, for starters, if disagreement was something out-of-bounds.
We can all be guilty of lashing out sometimes but that cannot be the starting point for a serious conversation. What makes the rich tapestry of the Jewish community so beautiful is as much about what makes us different as what makes us the same. It’s time we started celebrating that, instead of trying to shut it down.
