After surviving Auschwitz, my family found refuge and kindness in Britain. Now, with the toxic fallout from Oct 7 fuelling hatred of Jews once more, I fear they would not be so welcome today: ALEX BRUMMER

In the shadow of recent violent events in southern Israel, the echoes of history resonate sharply for many Jewish families in Britain. The brutal Hamas assault on October 7, which resulted in over 1,200 deaths and numerous abductions, has reignited concerns about the persistence of anti-Semitism both abroad and at home.

The attack, considered the deadliest on Jewish civilians since World War II, unfolded in places like Kibbutz Kfar Aza—the very community from which a British hostage, Emily Damari, was taken. Nearby, the Nova music festival, once a site of celebration, became a grim scene of massacre. The devastation remains vivid through memorials and the remnants of violence, underscoring the fragile safety that Jewish communities have long sought.

Britain’s Jewish population, with deep historical roots and significant contributions to cultural and civic life, now confronts renewed hostility. Political developments, including resolutions like the Green Party's declaration labeling Zionism as racism, contribute to an atmosphere of unease. Such stances overlook the complex demographic mosaic of Israel, which includes a substantial Arab minority integrated into various sectors, notably healthcare.

Simultaneously, influential political figures have adopted rhetoric that many within the Jewish community perceive as inflammatory. Accusations of ethnic cleansing directed at Israel during sensitive religious observances exacerbate tensions and fuel fears reminiscent of darker chapters in history.

This contemporary climate starkly contrasts with the experience of earlier generations who found refuge in Britain during and after the Holocaust. One such family, survivors of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, illustrates the profound transformation wrought by resilience and sanctuary. The last surviving sibling of this family, who passed away recently at 98, bore witness to the horrors endured under Nazi tyranny and remembered Britain as a haven of compassion.

Their journey began in a rural Hungarian town where, in 1944, Nazi collaborationist militias rounded up Jewish residents, consigning many to death camps. This family’s survival hinged on a series of harrowing ordeals, including deceptive age claims to avoid immediate execution and perilous escapes between camps in Estonia, Poland, and eventually Bergen-Belsen.

Liberation brought no immediate relief; emaciated and traumatized, the survivors were cared for by the Swedish Red Cross before making their way to Britain. There, the family was reunited and gradually rebuilt their lives, integrating into British society with gratitude and contributing to its cultural fabric.

This historical context accentuates the current sense of vulnerability felt by the Jewish community in Britain. The kindness once extended to survivors contrasts with present-day challenges, where political expediency and social currents threaten to erode the sanctuary that previous generations found.

The story of this family serves as a poignant reminder of the enduring importance of tolerance and the dangers of forgetting history’s lessons. As anti-Semitic incidents rise globally, and political rhetoric intensifies, the question remains whether modern Britain can uphold the values of refuge and respect that once defined its response to Jewish suffering.