I was educated at a typical Jewish faith school. I sang Jewish prayers, learnt Hebrew and celebrated Jewish festivals. But what made it unique, and still does to this day, is that three quarters of the students are practicing Muslims.
Being a Jew in Birmingham can be a lonely affair. Less than 2,000 Brummies identify as such.
For this reason, King David Primary provides a dedicated space for young Jews to learn about their heritage. But the gradually shrinking community means the school relies on children of other faiths, primarily from the local Islamic community, to fill the remaining classroom spaces.
The reason I had so many Muslim classmates wasn’t just the school’s good academic reputation. Their parents loved the ethos, the kosher food (which is very similar to halal) and the opportunity it gave their children to understand other belief systems.
My fondest memories of school include discussions about what Islam and Judaism had in common – from simple things like comparing Arabic and Hebrew words that sounded alike to discussions about religion that were well beyond our years.
There was, and still is, a concerted effort by staff, parents and students to focus on similarities between the lives and practices of two faiths often pitted against each other.
It was only after these kindred foundations were laid that conversations about differences arose. When they did, we’d celebrate and learn about them together.
Outside the school gates, hate crimes are on the rise – they’ve doubled since 2013. The latest Home Office figures show that almost half of them are committed against Muslims. Anti-Semitism follows similar trends; 89 per cent of European Jews feel it has increased in the last five years.
When I have reflected on my time at King David in light of these figures, it saddens me that different minority groups often fight injustices separately.
This is partly because contemporary British politics is dominated by identity. This isn’t surprising either – marginalised communities facing identity-related discrimination will naturally fight for equality on that basis.
Those of us determined to build an inclusive society accept and celebrate differences in identity, and also understand that particular communities face specific types of injustice.
Yet I can’t help but think that the focus we place on celebrating difference can sometimes mean we lose sight of the common ground that exists between the diverse communities that make up the UK today.
They might not always be easy to see, but there’s similarities to celebrate everywhere
Celebrating similarities means different groups form real, vested interests in one another’s experiences. It also makes you question who you really consider to be part of your community.
My school completely blurred the lines for me. When you celebrate what you share, your concept of community changes – it becomes wider, not narrower.
And at secondary school, when I experienced anti-Semitism (ranging from people pointing out coins to me if they were dropped on the floor to Holocaust jokes) and witnessed Islamophobia (like hearing the P-word thrown around the playground) I used to call out both, because to me they always felt the same.
They were both attacks on members of groups that made up my community and shared my ideals, originating in ignorance forged by unhelpful media narratives and sheltered upbringings.
My school taught me that recognising what you have in common with other communities encourages people to take ownership of issues they otherwise wouldn’t.
When similarities are brought to the foreground, different groups can forge collective ideals and tackle prejudice in solidarity with one another.
I think this can be applied to other social issues. As an example, take the patriarchy. There are struggles women go through on a daily basis that men will never experience. Therefore, recognising this systematic oppression and celebrating women’s stories is vital.
But patriarchal societies are re-enforced by expectations that construct gender roles for both women and men. For men, the expectation to hide emotion, or ‘man up’, is damaging – I have no doubt that this links to high rates of suicide among males.
Making time to discuss how expectations can have negative effects on all genders, albeit in very different ways, and collectively celebrating instances where they’re successfully challenged, would reveal common goals.
They might not always be easy to see, but there’s similarities to celebrate everywhere.
I was lucky enough to grow up in a place where we talked about them. Building more of these spaces, and binding our different identities together, will make us all stronger.
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