The pernicious effects of ambient antisemitism

If this was an isolated case, perhaps it would go unnoticed. But it’s not. This and other similar acts have become part of the backdrop to Jewish life: Defaced, torn-down posters. Pro-Palestine stickers. But equally, thoughtless comments – or deafening silence – from colleagues, fellow students, and non-Jewish friends. Longstanding organisational partnerships or funding relationships broken or ‘unfortunately not possible’ this year. Media reporting that feels unbalanced, or too balanced, asserting moral equivalence where there is none. Political commentary that seems deaf to Jewish sensibilities. Well-meaning demonstrators who don’t chant antisemitic slogans but nonetheless help to swell the numbers of those who do.

None of this is technically antisemitic. Little, if any, of it would meet the IHRA working definition of antisemitism. In some instances, those acting in these ways would be upset to know that Jews had experienced their actions as hurtful. Yet it all contributes to an overarching atmosphere that feels uncomfortable, isolating, alienating, and even hostile. It is what I have called in our research ‘ambient antisemitism.’

Most of it will never make it into official antisemitism statistics. It’s too amorphous. Yet many of us sense it around us and feel its effects within us – in the pits of our stomachs, our midnight thoughts or when we’re simply out and about. It’s as if the world is closing in on us, not so tightly as to prevent us from continuing our lives, but tightly enough to make breathing a little less easy.

Nearly half of British Jews experienced ambient antisemitism following October 7th

In our summer 2024 survey of British Jews, we explored this notion of ambient antisemitism. As well as asking about any antisemitic incidents respondents may have experienced that were directed at them personally – clear cases of discrimination, harassment, vandalism or violence – we also asked about any experiences they’d had that were not directed at them but felt antisemitic and affected them emotionally. And we asked both about the period prior to the October 7th attacks and the period following it.

Just nine percent of British Jews said they had either ‘frequently’ or ‘regularly’ experienced ambient antisemitism in the nine months before October 7th. But that proportion rose to 45 percent afterwards, and only 17 percent – less than one in five – said they had not experienced it at all.

Its effects can also be seen in other data from that survey. 73% of us feel less safe in Britain since October 7th; only 1% feels more safe. 64% feel less confident sharing or displaying their Jewishness openly; only 5% feel more. We tend to feel closer to our Jewish friends and less close to our non-Jewish friends. In brief, many Jews feel more misunderstood, more cut off, more alone.

These are the effects of ambient antisemitism – those seemingly innocuous words or deeds commonly dismissed as ‘reasonable comment,’ ‘political activism,’ or ‘fair game.’ Maybe they are. But they hurt. As they become part of our day-to-day context, they turn Britain into a more uncomfortable place for Jews to live. Even more perniciously, as they become normalised, they start to provide cover for more heinous forms of antisemitism. And that’s what concerns us more than anything.