The 'Never Again' Failure

The ‘Never Again’ Failure

A young woman’s account of the relapse of antisemitism, both terrifying and toxic

Delphie Levy Jones

It is becoming increasingly apparent, particularly to Generation Z whose news intake is typically through social media, that anti-Jewish racism is once again, on the rise. Despite the lurking concern that mainstream media is persistently deaf – and voiceless – to our discrimination, it is first-hand experiences with hate crime, microaggressions and blatant antisemitism which also define young Jews’ existences. With personal accounts and global statistics displaying the festering nature of institutionalised antisemitism, it is from both a pessimistic and realist account that I believe we have failed. Society has failed. Failed in the education against racism. And it is terrifying. And if we have not failed, if society has been educated, it is an even more troubling threat that we are being ignored, again. This notion that we have failed is hard to hear, for novel Jewish activists to three thousand years’ worth of ancestral hardship; fighting for equality can often feel exhausting and futile after so long being the tenacious scapegoats of suffering.

Ben Freeman’s ‘Jewish Pride’ affirmed the pervasiveness of antisemitism is not a Jewish problem, but a non-Jewish problem, which impacts Jewish people. This resonated with me, scratching an irking itch I’d felt since witnessing the scarcity of support from non-Jews on January’s Holocaust Memorial Day. Much like the honour of hearing multiple stories from survivors, whether it be in Poland or over zoom, I can’t help but notice the uniformity of an all-Jewish audience. Through such transformative experiences, I’ve learnt means of comprehending that ‘6 million’, the extent to what is taught in schools, is not a numerical figure, but families, children, beating hearts and bloodlines. I’ve learnt that ‘mass genocide’ is too meager of a term to truly describe the horrific atrocities that occurred only 76 years ago.

But I am a Jew. Yes, I need to hear these stories, but am I the only one? If antisemitism is a non-Jewish problem, then there is an inherent issue with our systems of anti-racist education. The dearth of support is not only isolating, but discriminatory.

Feelings of isolation are too typically a mutual ordeal for young Jews, particularly those encompassed in a religiously diverse society. Identity is a predominant conflict of mine, with my political stance constantly compromised. Every end of the spectrum spews and preaches Jew-hatred. From the classic fascist “go back to where you came from” slander for being “not white enough”, or that in fact “6MWE” (6 million wasn’t enough merchandise seen at 2021 Capitol Riots), to the leftist ‘antizionist disguise’ that we are in fact the white nationalists (a sentiment so antisemitic to demand middle-eastern, government conflicts be any responsibility of international Jews). Xenophobia, bigotry, a losing battle with intolerance. Whatever your personal disputes with ‘politics’, it is the Jewish, British youth who become the victims of a vicious tug of war.

It is crucial to acknowledge that antisemitism – racism – cloaked as a political view, is not simply an opportunity to proclaim ones’ millennial ‘wokeness’. It is my life. It is my friends, family, community. It is our lived experiences and intergenerational trauma repetitively reignited. It is my apprehension as I go to collect my weekly Shabbat dinner, that we will be attacked, spat at, mocked. Hiding my Magen David necklace, having coins thrown at my head, having my shul and relatives’ tombstones vandalised. It is the constant reminder from death threats on Tiktok, torments from university lecturers, Jewish teenagers losing their lives, that I, my friends, family, and community are eternal witnesses, and eternal victims.

If the Jewish outcry is not enough to disrupt the peace, we must protect our allied minorities. China is committing a genocide. Uighur Muslims are being imprisoned, tortured and murdered.  ‘Never Again’ is falling silent. We must hold perpetrators accountable and cannot be complicit.

It’s a challenge of sorts, to discern where our anger should be projected. The passive inaction of unaffected communities, majorities, the immune and unoppressed, is unsurprisingly deafening. Yet, the mainstream media and education neglects to project the mass scale of the problem. This is racism. This is an undeniable fear that tomorrow will bring the evil persecutions, expulsions and executions of the past. Inadequacy of education and attention is detrimental, and has so far failed to protect its smaller communities’ intrinsic need to not be treated as inferior. Rachel Riley on virtual rally ‘Get Hate Off Campus’ stated these ideals “must be confronted and ostracised”.

Intergenerational and interpersonal trauma means it is difficult, it is draining, and it is painful for members of oppressed groups to become these aspired political and social activists. It is not weak for not wanting to protest, considering our past, it is understandable. Today’s social climate, seemingly at boiling point, already has a destructive impact on mental health, and it is complicated to decide whether pride or fear is the appropriate outlook.

It came to my attention that 2021’s Holocaust Memorial Day fell on the same day as Tu Bishvat, the Jewish festival of trees, harvest and natural life. I didn’t register the coincidental paradox until I saw the tweet, “The irony of this day also being Tu Bishvat. They tried to bury us, but we were seeds” (@ADavidGordon). Throughout the entirety of our being, we have survived. We are alive. We have risen from ashes and to me, that is powerful.

But, there is strength in solidarity. We demand safety and action. And we need allies, because we feel alone.