I felt that to go on the underground, as a religious Jew, was just too problematic.
Some Jews are hiding religious symbols like kippahs in public for the first time, citing fear of violence and antisemitic attacks on streets and public transport. Synagogues across the UK now operate with prison-like security including stab vests, barriers, and guards, fundamentally altering the experience of religious worship.
- Two Jewish men stabbed in Golders Green attack on Wednesday, declared a terrorist incident
- Essa Suleiman, 45, charged with attempted murder in connection with the attack
- Synagogues across UK now operate with stab vests, barriers, and professional security guards
- One family decided to emigrate to Israel following the attack
- Government announced increased police presence and investment in Jewish security services
British Jews are grappling with heightened anxiety following a stabbing attack in Golders Green, with some concealing religious symbols while others reaffirm commitment to their faith practices despite enhanced security measures.
Derek has never owned a baseball cap. He bought one this week, and now he wears it on the Underground to hide the kippah he has worn openly his entire life. The 45-year-old from Edgware in north London made this decision after Wednesday's attack in Golders Green, when two Jewish men were stabbed in what police declared a terrorist incident. For the first time, the ritual of preparing for Shabbat—the Jewish sabbath that begins each Friday evening—feels shadowed by something he cannot name except as a kind of surrender.
Every Friday night, Derek lights candles with his family, shares a meal, and on Saturday morning walks to synagogue to pray. This Shabbat will be no different in form. The candles will be lit. The synagogues will fill. But the texture of the experience has fractured. Derek's synagogue, he says, now feels like a prison. Security has intensified. Volunteers wear stab vests. The space that was meant to hold prayer and reflection now holds the weight of precaution.
Adam Wagner, a human rights lawyer, finds himself paralyzed by a choice that should be simple. He wants to buy challah, the braided bread, from a kosher bakery in Golders Green as he does most weeks before Shabbat. But the thought of standing in that queue fills him with a specific, vivid fear: being stabbed. His own child has asked him not to wear his kippah when walking to synagogue this week. Wagner has not yet decided whether he will comply. He knows that whatever he chooses, his Shabbat will unfold behind high walls, with volunteers in stab vests, car-ramming prevention barriers, and professional security guards—a scene replicated at every synagogue across the country.
Jonathan Romain, a former rabbi, now spends his Saturday mornings standing outside Maidenhead synagogue on guard duty. After decades leading services from inside, protected by others, he has taken on the role of protector himself. He worries about copycat attacks. He thinks about the two injured men. He wonders if random street violence against Jews will suddenly multiply.
For some families, the fear has become too large to contain. Ben, a lawyer from north London, stopped taking his baby to synagogue after an attack on Manchester's Heaton Park synagogue last year. He has experienced young people shouting "free Palestine" as he left services with his father. This week, on the day of the Golders Green stabbings, Ben and his wife made a decision: they are moving to Israel. The accumulation of threats, he says, finally pushed them over the edge.
But others refuse to be displaced. Judith Nemeth hid behind a fence as the attack unfolded on Golders Green Road. She was there. She saw it. She was not hurt. This Shabbat, she will walk down that same road to visit family and friends. "Nothing has changed," she says. "You will find across the community that we will carry on business as usual." Zoë Jacobs, a cantor at Finchley Reform Synagogue—itself targeted in recent arson attempts—will lead prayers for the healing of the two injured men and for wisdom among leaders of all faiths. Her message to the community is one of resilience.
The government has responded. Sir Keir Starmer, who observes Friday night dinners with his Jewish wife and father-in-law, announced measures including increased visible police presence, greater investment in Jewish security services, and stronger powers to shut down charities promoting antisemitic extremism. Lord Richard Hermer, the attorney general and one of the country's most senior Jewish politicians, acknowledged that "the fear in my community is palpable, and understandable." He will gather his family for Shabbat as always, though he suspects Jewish parents across the country will find themselves holding their children a little tighter.
Yet community leaders say the response is insufficient. Rabbi Romain points out that the threat comes from multiple directions at once—extreme right, extreme left, and Islamists. He calls for government regulation of anti-Jewish hate at protests and on social media. Adam Wagner has urged the government to treat this as an emergency and act with speed, but he argues the problem runs deeper than politics. "The whole of society needs to look inwardly," he says, "and understand why anti-Jewish hatred has been allowed to grow to such an extent that there are people trying to kill Jews on the streets." A group with suspected Iranian links claimed responsibility for the attack, though Iran's embassy categorically denies involvement. The questions of why, how, and what comes next remain suspended over this Shabbat and the ones that follow.
Citas Notables
I have never experienced the levels of hate, but the deafening silence of a community, of a country in the wake of such virulent antisemitism.— Derek, a Jewish resident of Edgware
In the back of my mind, I'm thinking how to keep myself from being stabbed in the queue.— Adam Wagner, human rights lawyer, on visiting a kosher bakery
The fear in my community is palpable, and understandable.— Lord Richard Hermer, Attorney General
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What made Derek buy that baseball cap? It seems like such a small thing, but it's not.
It's the opposite of small. He's saying that the cost of being visibly Jewish in public has become too high. The kippah is not decoration—it's a statement of identity. Hiding it means accepting that identity as a liability.
And yet he's still going to synagogue.
Yes. He's compartmentalizing. The synagogue is now a fortress, so it feels safer in a paradoxical way. But the journey there, the Underground, the street—those spaces have become hostile in his mind.
Adam Wagner's child asked him not to wear his kippah. That's a child making a safety calculation about their parent.
That's the real fracture. When children start advising parents on how to be less visibly Jewish, something fundamental has shifted. The next generation is learning that their religious identity is a target.
But Judith Nemeth was actually there during the attack. She hid behind a fence. And she's going back.
She's making a different choice. She's saying: I will not be driven from my community, my street, my life. It's an act of defiance, but it's also exhausting. She has to be brave in a way that shouldn't be required.
The government announced security measures. Does that help?
It acknowledges the problem exists. But it also normalizes the idea that Jews need fortress-like protection to pray. That's not reassurance—that's institutionalizing fear.
What does Shabbat mean if it has to happen behind stab vests and barriers?
It means the ritual survives, but something about its purpose—peace, reflection, family—gets hollowed out. You're still lighting candles, but you're also counting exits.