After the recent stabbing attack in England, something deeply unsettling emerged — not only the violence itself, but the reaction that followed.
Jewish voices began to say the same thing: They are taking off their kippahs, removing their Star of David necklaces, and hiding the visible signs of who they are.
This is not new. It is a reflex Jews have developed over centuries.
When danger rises, disappear.
But that instinct belongs to a different era.
For most of Jewish history, Jews had no power. No army. No ability to defend themselves beyond hoping that the societies around them would protect them. In that reality, survival often meant lowering your profile.
Today, that reality has changed, but the mindset has not.
In Israel, Jews live differently. There is a state. There is an army. There is a culture that understands that survival requires strength.
In the diaspora, especially in places like England, Jews do not have that same structure.
And that is exactly the problem.
If Jews abroad do not have a state protecting them directly, then communities themselves must become stronger, physically, mentally and socially.
“Jewish power” is not about violence. It is about readiness. It is about presence. It is about refusing to disappear.
During the events of October 2000 in Israel, I experienced firsthand what it feels like when a Jewish city effectively loses its freedom of movement.
I was a soldier at the time. On my way home from the base, the bus driver stopped in Migdal HaEmek, a city next to Nazareth Illit where I lived, and told me he would not continue any further.
My father had to take alternative routes, including dirt roads, to get me home.
There was no official declaration of a siege, but on the ground, it felt like one.
For several days, movement was restricted. A Jewish city inside Israel felt isolated. All the main roads leading into Nazareth Illit ran through surrounding Arab towns and the city of Nazareth, and during those days those routes were blocked, effectively cutting off access in and out of the city.
And then came Yom Kippur.
In Israel, that is the one day when the streets are completely open. No cars. People walk freely. Families, children and entire communities fill the roads.
That day, people came out. They walked. They gathered.
From across the city, people began moving toward one place, the mall.
Men, women, young people, older residents. Not organized by any authority, but drawn by something deeper, a shared understanding that we had to act.
Within a short time, thousands had gathered in the mall.
We marched into Nazareth, the largest Arab city, together, showing that we were not afraid, moving through the city with visible confidence and a clear sense of strength.
The entire city of Nazareth saw that we were not afraid, that we were united, no longer isolated. By the next day, the roads opened, the isolation was broken and it has not returned since.
That moment carries a lesson: Jews must come together and walk openly, confidently, and proudly, not only in familiar areas, but also in parts of their own cities where they once felt hesitant or unwelcome.
My recommendation to Jews in England is to organize.
Create local groups, even simple WhatsApp groups, that bring people together on a regular basis. Walk together, visibly and confidently, in your own neighborhoods and public spaces. Do not remain isolated individuals.
Wear visible Jewish symbols. Let it be clear, you are not alone and you are not ashamed of your Judaism.
Coordinate, when necessary, with local authorities. Let it be known that these are lawful, peaceful gatherings of a community that simply refuses to disappear.
Consistency matters. Do it regularly. Build routine. Build familiarity. Build strength through unity.
Because when people see individuals, they see vulnerability.
When they see a community, they see resilience.
That is how you change reality, and how you fight antisemitism.
Maoz Druskin writes about Israel, democracy and the challenges of national identity in modern societies.
