It's not what I want to do, it's what I have to do.
In Golders Green, a neighborhood that has sheltered Jewish life in London for generations, two men were stabbed outside a synagogue on a Wednesday morning — the second targeted attack on the community in five weeks. The suspect has been arrested, but the wound runs deeper than the physical: residents now openly weigh whether Jewish life in Britain remains tenable, invoking the shadow of 1930s Europe as they contemplate futures elsewhere. It is a moment that asks an old and terrible question anew — whether belonging, once felt, can be unmade by fear.
- Two Jewish men, aged 34 and 76, were stabbed outside a Golders Green synagogue in what police are treating as a targeted antisemitic attack — the second such incident in the area within five weeks.
- Residents who have called this neighborhood home for decades describe a creeping dread that has now tipped into open fear, with some drawing explicit comparisons to the warning signs that preceded persecution in 1930s Poland.
- The attack has exposed a dangerous conflation — between political anger directed at Israel and violence visited upon ordinary Jewish people who have no connection to those geopolitical tensions.
- Some community members are no longer debating whether to leave but quietly making arrangements to do so, as confidence in police and government protection continues to erode.
- Prime Minister Starmer and other political leaders visited Golders Green to express solidarity, but for many residents, gestures of horror feel insufficient against the weight of a community questioning its own future.
Golders Green, a northwest London neighborhood that has sheltered a thriving Jewish community for generations, is gripped by fear and fractured resolve following Wednesday's stabbing attack outside Hagers Shul Synagogue. Shloime Rand, 34, and Moshe Shine, 76, were attacked as they left morning prayers. Both are hospitalized in stable condition. The suspect, a 45-year-old British man, has been apprehended. What makes the assault particularly jarring is its context: it is the second targeted attack on the community in just five weeks, following an earlier assault on four Jewish charity ambulances nearby.
For longtime residents, the attack has cracked something that once felt solid. Edith Binstock, 80, whose parents were Holocaust survivors who fled to England seeking refuge, remembers a neighborhood where Jewish and non-Jewish neighbors lived peacefully alongside one another. That world, she says, has steadily eroded. The randomness of this latest violence — two men simply leaving synagogue — is what troubles her most. Her family members volunteer with Hatzola, a Jewish emergency medical service that helps anyone in need. Yet even that commitment to community cannot insulate them from what is now closing in.
For others, the calculus has shifted from fear to decision. David Baddiel has spent a year wrestling with whether to emigrate, and says he keeps arriving at the same answer. He reaches for historical language: this, he says, is how it began for Jews in 1930s Poland. The signs were visible then too. Leaving is not what he wants — his life, his family, his identity are rooted here — but he has concluded it may be what he must do.
Jenny Manson, a secular Jewish woman who does not attend synagogue, describes feeling afraid in Britain in a way she never has before. She points to a dangerous conflation that has built over years: the blurring of criticism of Israeli policy with antisemitism has led many to assume all Jews bear responsibility for Israeli actions, making any visibly Jewish person a potential target for that displaced anger. The men attacked outside the synagogue, she notes, almost certainly had no connection to the geopolitical tensions driving that fury.
As political leaders visited Golders Green to express their horror, the neighborhood stood divided between defiance and quiet departure. The question is no longer whether violence might return, but whether a community that has endured here for generations can hold together in a place where its members increasingly feel they cannot be safe.
Golders Green, a neighborhood in northwest London that has been home to a thriving Jewish community for generations, is gripped by a raw mixture of fear and resolve in the wake of Wednesday morning's stabbing attack. Two men—Shloime Rand, 34, and Moshe Shine, 76—were attacked outside Hagers Shul Synagogue. Both are hospitalized in stable condition. The suspect, identified as Essa Suleiman, a 45-year-old British man born in Somalia, was apprehended. What makes this assault particularly jarring is its timing: it marks the second targeted attack on the community in just five weeks, the previous one having struck four Jewish charity ambulances in the same area.
The shock reverberates through a neighborhood that many residents have called home for decades. Edith Binstock, 80, has lived in Golders Green for more than seven decades. Her parents were Holocaust survivors who fled to England seeking safety. She remembers a different era—one where Jewish and non-Jewish neighbors coexisted peacefully, where the neighborhood felt like what her mother had imagined: a refuge, a place of genuine belonging. "We all lived happily," she recalls. But that world has shifted. "Over the last years it's got worse and worse," she says. The randomness of the latest attack troubles her deeply. The two men were simply leaving synagogue, going about their ordinary lives. "Why do we have to live like this?" she asks. Her family members work in Hatzola, a volunteer emergency medical service, saving lives regardless of who needs help. Yet even that dedication to community service cannot shield them from the violence now shadowing the neighborhood.
For some residents, the calculus has become clear: it may be time to leave. David Baddiel, a local resident, has spent the past year wrestling with the decision to emigrate. He has concluded that there is no viable future for Jewish people in the United Kingdom. "Every time I come up with the same conclusion: 'Yes, get out,'" he told the BBC. He is not alone. Family members are making the same choice, and he believes others will follow as confidence in government and police protection erodes. The language he reaches for is historical and grave. "This is like the 1930s," he says. "This is how it started when Jews lived in Poland. The signs were there, the writing was on the wall." Yet leaving carries its own weight. He is British, not Israeli. His family, his community, his friends are here. "It's not what I want to do, it's what I have to do," he says.
Jenny Manson, co-chair of Jewish Voice for Liberation, describes herself as secular and does not attend synagogue. Yet she finds herself afraid in a way she never has been before in this country. The attack on two men whose only visible connection to broader geopolitical tensions was their Jewish identity troubles her profoundly. "They have no connection probably with what the anger at the moment is about, which is anger often with Israel," she observes. This disconnect—between legitimate political criticism and violence directed at ordinary people—reveals what she sees as a dangerous conflation. For years, she argues, government and media have blurred the line between criticism of Israeli policy and antisemitism. The consequence is that many people now assume all Jews support Israel, making any Jew a potential target for that anger. "I now think it's dangerous to be visibly a Jew," she says.
On the day that Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer and other political leaders visited Golders Green to express their horror at the attack, the neighborhood stands at a crossroads. Some residents speak of defiance, of refusing to be driven away. Others are quietly making arrangements to leave. The community that once felt like a haven now feels fragile, its future uncertain. The question hanging over Golders Green is no longer whether attacks might happen again, but whether a community that has endured for generations can sustain itself in a place where its members increasingly feel unsafe.
Citações Notáveis
Over the last years it's got worse and worse. Why do we have to live like this?— Edith Binstock, 80-year-old resident
This is like the 1930s. This is how it started when Jews lived in Poland. The signs were there, the writing was on the wall.— David Baddiel, local resident planning to leave
I now think it's dangerous to be visibly a Jew.— Jenny Manson, co-chair of Jewish Voice for Liberation
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does this attack in Golders Green feel different from other violent crimes in London?
Because it's the second time in five weeks that this specific community has been targeted. It's not random street violence—it's targeted. That changes how people experience their own neighborhood.
Edith Binstock talks about her parents being Holocaust survivors. Is she drawing a direct line between then and now?
Not exactly a direct line, but a pattern she recognizes. She's saying: my parents escaped one place where things got worse and worse, and now I'm watching the same deterioration happen here. That's a particular kind of fear.
David Baddiel mentions the 1930s and Poland specifically. Is he being hyperbolic?
He's using historical reference as a warning system. He's not saying the situations are identical, but he's saying the early signs—the targeting, the erosion of safety, the sense that authorities can't or won't protect you—those are the signs he recognizes from history.
Jenny Manson seems to be saying the violence isn't really about antisemitism in the traditional sense.
She's pointing at something more complicated: the conflation of criticism of Israel with antisemitism has created a situation where ordinary Jews become targets for political anger they may not even hold. The violence isn't rooted in old prejudice; it's rooted in a new confusion about who bears responsibility for geopolitical conflict.
If people leave, what happens to the community?
It fragments. The institutions, the networks, the cultural continuity—they all depend on critical mass. Once emigration becomes normalized, it accelerates. That's what Baddiel means when he says others will follow.
What would actually change the calculation for someone like Edith or David?
A genuine sense that the government and police are taking the threat seriously and can actually prevent attacks. Right now, they feel unprotected. Two attacks in five weeks suggests to them that protection isn't coming.