A Line In My Book Made Me Cry On The Tube
Photo by Dan Roizer on Unsplash
By Erin Deborah Waks
Last night a line in my book almost made me cry on the tube. I’m often prone to tears, plenty of things make me cry; speeches at weddings, heartwarming movies, anything written by Caleb Azumah Nelson. Any time I can’t get my words out.
I didn’t cry, though, because some writer’s musings on love and life were so profound I gave myself over to displays of emotion on the London Underground. I was sad because there is a heaviness in the world this week, and so many of us are carrying a weight around with us.
I don’t want to talk about politics. I don’t want to talk about religion. I don’t want to talk about race, ethnicity, history. This is not me sharing my political views, I’m not talking about war or Israel or Palestine. But I’m also a journalist, and my response to most of life’s machinations is to write. To write about my personal experience, my feelings, my thoughts. More importantly, I want to talk because I’m Jewish. Because there’s so much hatred present right now. And because I’m scared.
When conflict arises in Israel and Palestine, we see a huge increase in anti-Semitism and Islamophobia here in the UK. To fathom that there are people even here who hate my existence is to feel unsafe in a place I call my home.
I don’t usually feel scared walking in my city, but I spent this week with a constant sensation of apprehension. I left dinner plans early because I wanted to be safe at home. I asked my friends to meet me before a party because I didn’t want to travel alone. I ate lunch inside because I didn’t want to walk into armed police.
Two years ago, a protest in London turned ugly when chants of ‘f*** the Jews, rape their daughters’ broke out in the city centre. I was having lunch around the corner at the time, less than 200 metres from these vicious words. How am I supposed to not feel scared if we know there are people, people in London, who say things like this? How can I walk down the streets of the city in which I live, holding my head high? How can I get on with my day when the reality of what is happening right now is so viscerally real and present for me?
Words cannot describe the feeling of opening the day’s papers this week and seeing faces of people I know in the front pages. Little is more heartbreaking than hearing my best friend’s voice crack on the phone as she asked me if I thought things would be okay. Few things hurt as much as hearing about people I know living through hell. I know that how I’ve felt this week pales in comparison to what others are going through in the world right now. But the fundamental truth is this week has been difficult for myself and for many of my Jewish friends.
But this morning was my little cousin’s bar mitzvah. Amid all the terror and heartbreak, we celebrated life, family, love. I was anxious, biting my nails and praying with more fervour than I ever have before. But as I sat with my family in the synagogue, I felt immensely proud to be Jewish.
