Why Have Jews Migrated and Assimilated?

There are very different reasons why Jews have always migrated, and many have assimilated. When we feel insecure, some of us just sit the crisis out. Others just move on to more welcoming or financially more promising situations. The present is no different, but here are two examples from the past.

In 1985, I became the rabbi of the Western synagogue off the Finchley Road in Central London. I had previously been the Rabbi of Giffnock Synagogue in Glasgow and Principal of Carmel College. In 1984, I went with my family on a sabbatical to Israel. Much as I loved Israel, I could not fit into its political world, and so I joined the Western in 1985. Unlike most of the other synagogues in London, this one was independent.

The Western had a long and noble history of independence going all the way back to its initial establishment in 1761 as a private minyan started by Wolf Liepman. He had migrated during the eighteenth century and chose to live outside the main Jewish communities in the East End of London. Hence its name “The Western.”

As it grew, it acquired its own burial ground in Brompton Road. Over the years it continued to grow. I chose the Western synagogue because it was independent. I knew that I didn’t have to worry about the politics of the United Synagogue and the Chief Rabbinate. It was a very special, warm, and genteel community, with its own social and educational center. Although most of its members were not so Orthodox in practice, they were very attached to its traditions.

By the time I arrived, the Jews of the West End area were moving further north to where the major Jewish communities of London are today. And so, after a few years, we entered into negotiations with other declining communities in the West End, to get together. Eventually the Western relinquished its independence to merge with Marble Arch, which was part of the United Synagogue. And that was when, after seven very happy and rewarding years, I resigned rather than come under the United Synagogue.

As soon as I arrived at the Western, I had been asked to deal with a very delicate problem. Its Brompton Road Cemetery had been filled completely by the beginning of the 20th century. The synagogue had been approached by developers to sell its disused burial ground which would be turned into residential buildings and would have made a great deal of money for the community. Initially the Western approached the Chief Rabbinate of Israel who agreed, on the grounds that one could move graves if it was to holier ground (in Israel).

English law required that to do this would need to have the approval of relatives of all those buried in the cemetery. The Western had all the documentation and was able to track down the relatives of the 280 bodies buried there. To everybody’s surprise, they discovered that there was not one family buried in that cemetery with Jewish descendants. They had all married out.

We were ready to go ahead, when the Chief Rabbi and the Beth Din stepped in and asked us to stop. The Western had no obligation to accept their authority or opinion. But we chose to listen to their advice. They argued that there remained a significant number of other redundant and historical Jewish burial sites across the United Kingdom. If any one of them transferred bodies to Israel for real estate development, this might begin a wave of such transfers, which would look very bad in the eyes of what was and still is an atmosphere of  prejudice against Jews.

The idea of moving bodies for financial gain would be used by antisemites to prove how materialist the Jewish people were.

In contrast, my first job in the Rabbinate was in Glasgow in 1968. Giffnock was a growing, independent, dynamic, and warm community of a thousand souls. With strong religious and secular roots, Glasgow itself was a community of nearly 15,000 Jews with eight significant functioning synagogues and a few other smaller communities, built primarily by refugees from Lithuania. I enjoyed the community and life in Scotland immensely.

Since then, the Jewish population has dropped to around about 2,000. Under a pro-Palestinian Scottish government, life for Jews is not what it was. Some  have indeed married out. But many have simply moved on to enrich other communities and countries. Wherever you go in the Jewish world today from Canada, the US, Australia, and Israel, to name only the largest, you will find colonies of positively committed former Glaswegians.

October the 7th and its horrific aftermath  has had a huge impact. For some it confirmed their alienation from Jews and Judaism. But others realized that the Jewish people remain marked for prejudice and hatred — and that the only response is to strengthen their identity and commitment, to stand up and be counted as Jews.

We Jews have always moved on. This past year, some have moved to Israel, others have moved away. Communities rise and fall. Many have been destroyed. Who remembers that Otranto and Bari at the boot of Italy, a thousand years ago, were the most vibrant Jewish communities in Europe? Will the Diaspora now go like them, or will Israel ensure we thrive and do not disappear?

When these wars are over, I strongly believe that a new generation will do better than the past to restore our days of old. There is much to be optimistic about, despite the almost universal pathology of irrational hatred. But we are often our own worst enemies, and we must sort ourselves out first before we turn to the rest of the world. There are plenty of reasons for optimism this year.

The author is a writer and rabbi, currently based in New York.

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