Labour’s religious attachment won’t unravel

For every card-carrying Momentum cheerleader there will have been a hapless party veteran dreaming of the now halcyon era of Ed, worrying about what an election could mean, and whispering about potential pretenders to Jezza’s throne.

For Labour’s staunchest critics — including opposition supporters — it’d be quite convenient if that latter group didn’t exist. So much easier to dismiss the party as unelectable, broken beyond recognition. So much easier to say to those worried about a Corbyn government — Jews, but not only Jews — that it’s a binary choice, that there is only one safe vote.

But they do exist, the Jess Philips’ and Wes Streetings, the Sadiq Khans, the Emily Benns and of course the (falling) number of grassroots Jewish Labour activists and members, many of whom have endured horrendous abuse online both for remaining loyal and for daring to criticise the regime.

So why don’t they leave? Walk out the door, as the song goes? Even if Corbyn is toppled, the hard left’s grip appears unlikely to waver. The party of Tony and Gordon, even Neil, is no more. Why don’t they set up anew, make like Macron and seize the centre? Why don’t they do something instead of looking sadly from the sidelines?

I wish they would. As an erstwhile Labour voter (though never a member) I wish there was a pro-Remain, liberal-minded party for me to vote for. One committed to social justice and willing to tell the truth about immigration’s value; that supports workers’ rights and promotes business. A party genuinely opposed to all forms or racism, which takes a balanced approach to international politics (I know the Lib Dems exist: don’t write in).

But I also understand why they don’t leave. Why they believe it’s worth staying to fight.

As a “member” of Orthodox Judaism (lifelong subscription, fees paid in guilt and smoked salmon), I understand being part of something that often leaves you cold; feeling allegiance to something you frequently disagree with. For example, I wouldn’t countenance gender segregation in any walk of life for modesty reasons, yet I sit behind a curtain at shul. The restrictions around driving on Shabbat drive me up the wall; there’s the glacial progress on equality, the prayers in a language I can only just read, hardly understand, and rarely connect with.

Yet I’m not about to run off to Masorti or Reform. Not because there’s anything wrong with either but because Orthodoxy is the club I’ve always been part of — and there are good bits too. It’s not that I follow it blindly but that, on balance, it still feels like the community I want to belong to.

Labour’s issues are clearly entirely different to my personal troubles with Orthodox Judaism but such ties run deep. Leaving your community isn’t easy, even if it no longer fits. As social creatures, the groupings we belong to give our lives meaning.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Labour has — to misquote Lyndon Johnson — most likely lost Britain’s Jews for a generation. Those who stay and fight probably won’t be sufficient compensation for what has transpired over the last few years.

Nevertheless, I understand why they remain, why calls for a new party go unanswered. For many members this is their religion. It provides community, structure, a purpose for life. The leader’s conference speech is as much a milestone in their year as the Kol Nidre address is ours.

I have my religion. For better or worse, Labour’s faithful have theirs.