Glasgow, Scotland — On a serene Thursday morning at Eusebi Deli, Professor Henry Lovat reflects on the challenges facing the Jewish community in Scotland today. The professor, who lectures on international law at Glasgow University, succinctly states, “It’s very difficult.”
Lovat recounts a troubling example that encapsulates the current sentiment among the Jewish population. Recently, a local newspaper reported on enhanced security for a Jewish-Catholic school, drawing an inflammatory comment on Facebook suggesting that students were being groomed for genocide. “That is normal, and that shouldn’t be normal,” he insists, underscoring an alarming trend of rising antisemitism in the country.
Scotland’s estimated 6,000 Jews are grappling with escalating hostility. Rabbi David Rose has faced harassment while walking in Edinburgh, often hearing shouts of “Free Palestine,” along with far more vitriolic remarks. Jewish students, too, have borne the brunt of bullying, with terrifying incidents forcing some to abandon their homes due to threats from their peers.
Heightened security at Jewish events in Scotland has become necessary following a series of violent incidents targeting Jewish communities, including a recent antisemitic attack in Manchester. Just last weekend, a Hanukkah celebration in Edinburgh was policed by officers carrying automatic weapons, reflecting the grim reality of ongoing threats to Jewish safety.
Lovat emphasizes that the fears within the community are not trivial. “It is not a low-grade fear; it’s a high-grade fear,” he explains, noting widespread concerns about the potential for violence. Community leaders and organizations are increasingly vocal about their apprehensions, pointing to a premonition that incidents similar to those seen in Manchester could happen locally.
Amid the global rise in antisemitism following the conflict in Gaza that began in October, Jewish individuals in Scotland feel they are unfairly associated with actions taken by the Israeli government. Many citizens lack comprehension of why local Jews bear the burden of accountability for international conflicts.
The feelings of hostility have been exacerbated by inflammatory political rhetoric. Rabbi Rose criticizes the Scottish government’s approach, stating, “The language is very inflammatory… It is so one-sided.” Furthermore, when the Scottish government decided to fly the Palestinian flag without consulting the Jewish community, it felt like a betrayal to many.
In Edinburgh’s Leith district, a recent protest briefly renamed a street in solidarity with Gaza, prompting local Jewish business owner Simon to voice his fears. He expresses that such movements contribute to an atmosphere of intimidation, where revealing one’s identity feels unsafe. “I should not be frightened to display who I am in Scotland,” he states.
Within the Jewish community, some families are contemplating their future in Scotland. New arrivals like Andrea Torres, originally from Texas, are discouraged by the growing hostility. Despite her critiques of the Israeli government, she remains unabashed about her Jewish identity, opting to wear her Star of David openly.
Back at Eusebi Deli, Lovat articulates a prevailing sense of uncertainty. Conversations among families often shift to delicate discussions about the possibility of leaving Scotland, a thought that brings him considerable distress. “This is my home,” he laments, offering a glimpse into the complexity of navigating identity in a landscape where safety feels increasingly compromised.