I had a thoughtful conversation with Jon about Judaism in Britain, antisemitism, and Zionism. There are at least 269,000 Jews in the UK, making it the fifth largest Jewish population in the world, out of an estimated 15–17 million globally. More than two-thirds live in London—especially in Barnet, North West London—and South Hertfordshire. Until the creation of Israel, Jews were stateless. They had no country to call their own. The UK played a role in addressing this. In November 1917, during World War I, the British Government issued the Balfour Declaration—a public statement supporting a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine, then under Ottoman control. The declaration was a letter from Foreign Secretary Arthur Balfour to Lord Rothschild, a leading British Jewish figure. Shared with the Zionist Federation, it marked a turning point in Jewish history. Though brief, it laid the foundation for international support for a Jewish state.
Jon told me that Zionism is the belief that Jews have the right to self-determination in their ancestral homeland, Israel. It arose in response to centuries of persecution and remains central to the identity and sense of safety of many Jews. Supporting Zionism doesn’t mean agreeing with every Israeli policy—it means supporting Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state. For many Jews, Israel is a place where they can live safely and freely, especially in light of historical persecution.
Antisemitism refers to hostility or discrimination directed at Jews. It includes hate speech, violence, and conspiracy theories. Criticism of Israel is not automatically antisemitic, but it becomes so when it denies Israel’s right to exist or blames all Jews for its actions. Propaganda about Jews and Jesus—such as the false claim, which started in the Middle Ages, that Jews were responsible for his death—has been a major source of antisemitism. In reality, Jesus was executed by the Romans, not by the Jewish people. Much of the hatred directed at Jews is irrational and has been passed down through generations. This includes hostility not only toward Jewish communities but also toward the state of Israel.
I mentioned Jesus to Jon because I wanted to hear his perspective. He explained that while Jews recognize Jesus as a significant historical figure and a respected teacher, they do not view him as divine or accept him as the Messiah. In Jewish belief, the Messiah has not yet come. Just as Jesus is central to Christianity and Muhammad to Islam, Moses is central to Judaism. Jews regard Moses as the greatest prophet—the one who delivered the Ten Commandments and, according to tradition, the only prophet who saw God ‘face to face,’ though not in a literal, physical sense. After Moses, Jews recognize Aaron as the first High Priest who established the priestly tradition, and then Samuel, who anointed Israel’s first kings—Saul and David. The Star of David has been a symbol of Judaism for centuries. Originally, it was seen as the shield of David, who is widely recognized as the greatest king Israel ever had. Jews believe the promised Messiah will come at the end of days and fulfil the traditional Jewish expectations, such as rebuilding the Temple, bringing universal peace, and gathering all Jews back to Israel. Jon said he fervently believes this, though he hasn’t thought much about how the Messiah will appear or who will confirm his authenticity. Smiling, he added that he’d leave that to the higher powers of the Jewish hierarchy to decide.
Jews in Britain, including members of Chatham Memorial Synagogue, are proud to have the freedom to practise their religion and traditions in safety. They are loyal to the monarchy and regularly pray for the King and Queen Camilla during every Shabbat and festival morning service. Jon shared that he feels comfortable entering other places of worship, believing that all people are children of one Creator and equally valued by God. At a Friday evening service I attended at the synagogue, Jon recited a poem from a handout entitled Shabbat HaMalka. The words spoke warmly of the Sabbath as a peaceful and holy presence, welcomed like a queen. The verse reminded us of the calm and joy that Shabbat brings, and the sense of community and rest that comes with it.
The sun on the tree-tops no longer is seen,
Come, gather to welcome the Sabbath, our Queen.
Behold her descending, the holy, the blest.
With angels—a cohort of peace and of rest.
Draw nigh, O Queen, and here abide
Draw nigh, draw nigh, O Sabbath bride.
Peace also to you, ye angels of peace!
Jewish cemeteries are rarely located close to synagogues. This is because graves are considered a source of ritual impurity, and some Jews prefer to avoid being near them. Synagogues, on the other hand, are seen as places of joy and celebration, so it is generally considered better to keep cemeteries at a distance. However, there is a cemetery behind Chatham Memorial Synagogue. It is raised a few feet above ground level and positioned slightly off-axis from the synagogue, symbolising a degree of separation. The cemetery is generally well maintained, although its backdrop is less ideal—it faces the rear of the old St Bartholomew’s Hospital, which is currently being converted into new flats.
As I walked through the cemetery, which contains three Commonwealth war graves from the First World War, I was reminded of the young boy who was buried there many years ago. I asked Jon if he knew where the grave was, but he said he didn’t. I later discovered that it remains unknown where the boy is buried. I’m referring to a story in Irina Fridman’s book Foreigners, Aliens, Citizens – Medway and its Jewish Community 1066–1939, published in 2021. In the eighteenth century, when there were few burial places for Jews in the south-east of England, the rabbi of Chatham Memorial Synagogue was surprised to receive a box in the post one morning containing the body of a dead boy. There was a note from his parents requesting that the boy be buried in the cemetery. Apart from that, nobody knows who the boy was, how he died, or why his grave has remained unmarked. I was moved by the sorrow of the story, especially the image of the boy arriving by post to be laid to rest in Chatham, miles away from his loved ones.
It’s difficult to discuss Judaism today without the conversation turning to the Israeli-Gaza war, which began in October 2023 after Hamas militants attacked Israel, killing 1,200 people and taking 250 hostages. In a discussion with Jon and other synagogue members, I asked whether the Israeli government has become so hardened by conflict that it has lost sight of the historical suffering of Jews, including the Holocaust. Children are starving in Gaza while food, water, and medical aid are withheld from over two million people still trapped there. I asked if this will become another moral burden for Israel to carry. Jon, while deeply committed to Israel as the Jewish homeland but has mixed views about the conduct of the current war. He believes in Israel’s right to exist and defend itself, and sees Hamas as a violent terrorist group. He strongly disagrees with how Prime Minister Netanyahu and his far-right government are handling the crisis. Jon emphasized that many Jews, both in Israel and globally, do not support some of the government’s actions and are deeply troubled that over 60,000 Palestinians have been killed, including 18,500 children. He said Jewish history should demand a high moral standard in wartime. In his personal view, the hard-line elements of the current leadership don’t reflect Jewish ethical values, and many Jews are speaking out against it. Prayers for peace are said at each service in the synagogue, including prayers for the safety of the citizens of Israel and the innocent civilians of Gaza. Here is a lovely prayer, entitled *Hashkiveinu, that was said during the service I attended:
Help us lie down, Lord our God, in peace, and rise, O our King, to life.
Spread over us Your canopy of peace.
Direct us with Your good counsel, and save us for the sake of Your name.
Shield us, and remove from us every enemy, plague, sword, famine, and sorrow.
Remove the adversary from before and behind us.
Shelter us in the shadow of Your wings, for You, God, are our Guardian and Deliverer.
Jon told me that he recently observed Tisha B’Av, which falls on the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av—typically in July or August. It is considered the saddest day in the Jewish calendar and commemorates several tragic events in Jewish history, including the destruction of both the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, as well as the expulsions of Jews from England in 1290 and Spain in 1492. Jon marked the day with prayer and fasting, reflecting on its historical and spiritual significance.
One thing I noticed during the Friday service was the speed at which Jon recited and sang the prayers. Compared to Christian services, there was little slowing down or emphasis placed on specific parts of the text. I struggled with the prayer book, which included English translations and had to be read from right to left, as is customary in Hebrew writing.Often, Jon had already finished the prayer by the time I found the correct page, and the cycle would repeat as I tried to locate the next one without a moment to spare. Eventually, I decided it was easier to just listen rather than try to follow along in the book. When I mentioned this to Jon, he didn’t agree that the prayers were said too quickly, though he did concede that some of the sung portions might feel faster.
I noticed a striking antique wall clock in the synagogue that no longer worked. Jon said it was already there when he joined over forty years ago. He couldn’t recall ever seeing it working or when it might have stopped. I asked if the committee had ever considered repairing it, but it seems the idea hasn’t come up. What caught my attention were the hands, frozen at 11:12. There was something quietly powerful about that—a clock that no longer tells time but which still held presence.
Fixing a broken clock might seem like a small act—especially in a world marked by conflict and disruption. But that’s exactly why it matters. In places like Israel and Gaza, where daily life is unstable and the future feels uncertain, time itself can feel suspended. Repairing the clock won’t solve the larger issues, but it can serve as a quiet reminder that repair is possible—even when everything else feels broken.
*Authorised Daily Prayer Book of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth (2007), Fourth Edition.
Photographs by Declan Henry.
