The last time I saw Amichai Chikli, he was struggling to put on a suit jacket at the Israeli embassy in London. ‘Do I really have to wear one of these things just to make a speech?’ he muttered. He got it on by hoiking it over his shoulders like a rucksack.

That was last September, when the Israeli diaspora affairs minister visited London to mark Rosh Hashanah. Chikli had sparked controversy with comments about Tel Aviv’s gay pride parade (‘vulgar’), the Palestinian Authority (‘neo-Nazis’) and George Soros (‘his actions and investments are feeding the flames of anti-Semitism’). But the hotheaded minister finds it as easy to restrain his rhetoric as he does to put on a jacket.

We have to stop the blot of bigotry from creeping across our country under the guise of opposition to Israel

This week he waded once again into a highly-charged debate, branding London the most anti-Semitic city in the West during an interview with European journalists in Jerusalem. ‘Today in the UK, Jews are hiding their Jewishness, the mezuzah, the kippah,’ he said. ‘They know that if they speak Hebrew on the subway, they might get hit. And this is the reality for Jews in Europe… It seems what is happening now in Britain is that freedom of speech no longer exists.’

Although Chikli speaks in primary colours, he was right to draw attention to a growing problem. Many Jews, particularly observant ones, are frightened and are taking humiliating precautions as a result. On the Friday after 7 October, I gave a talk at a synagogue. The rabbi turned up without his kippah on. After the service we were released out of the rear entrance in groups of ten, under the watchful eyes of security guards.

Children have been covering up their uniforms on the way to Jewish schools. People have asked me whether I think they should remove their mezuzot from their doors. This is not the spirit amongst all Jews, of course. When I was recently interviewed by the Evening Standard, the subs gave it the headline ‘Jews are terrified’, something which I emphatically did not say and did not mean. But while it is not true of the whole community, it is certainly true of many.

Keeping things in perspective can be difficult when the heat is high. Overall, Britain is among the most tolerant environments that Jews have experienced in 2,000 years. As I tell my kids, if you are born a Jew, you need to develop a certain resilience to cope with inevitable anti-Semitism; but it has never been much better than this. Most Britons don’t harbour any animus towards Jews, and most Jews go about their daily business generally free from harassment.

On the other hand, there have been physical assaults, such as the poor woman who was kicked unconscious in Stamford Hill in December, and acts of vandalism, like the paint attack on a north London school. There have been regular acts of intimidation across the country, from examples on a personal scale to the projection of genocidal slogans onto Big Ben last month.

Messages projected onto Big Ben during a pro-Palestine rally last month (Credit: Getty images)

Universities are deeply hostile, as are many schools. Social media is a sewer. The most recent figures from the Community Security Trust, a charity responsible for keeping Jews safe in the UK, showed a fourfold increase in anti-Semitic incidents last year, with some of the biggest spikes on 7 and 8 October, before Israel had even fired a shot on Gaza. There have been no murders or terror attacks, thank God. But the rise in everyday hatred is disturbing.

For ordinary Jews, the challenge is to maintain a balance. It is important not to underestimate the seriousness of the threat, but it is equally vital not to panic. A spiritual degradation takes place when you hide your identity out of fear. Nobody else in Britain feels the need to disguise their religion or their race. Why should Jews be forced to do so?

Since 7 October, I have often thought of how in 2016 the Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis gave evidence to a select committee on anti-Semitism. When asked to assess the level of Jew-hate in Britain, he drew a large dot in the centre of a piece of paper and displayed it to the panel.

‘I shall… ask what you see,’ he said. ‘You will be thinking that that is a crazy question and that there is obviously a large dot on the paper. There is actually a much better answer, which is that it is a white sheet of paper, and on the white background there is a large dot.

‘The white area represents the situation of Jews in the UK today. It is great to be Jewish in Britain and we are proud to be British. This is a truly wonderful country. But, in that context, we’ve got a problem. It used to be smaller, but it has now got bigger, and it could get bigger and bigger unless we deal with it effectively.’

The Chief Rabbi’s metaphor has only become more relevant since. The march against anti-Semitism that took place in London in November, attracting 100,000 people, was remarkable for the number of non-Jews who attended. The British Friends of Israel campaign, started by the inspirational Laura Dodson, together with Allison Pearson, Toby Young, Jan MacVarish, Ian Rons and Francis Hoar, is a demonstration of middle Britain’s determination to show Jews that they are not alone.

Britain is a good place and Jews are proud to call it our home. My Jewish grandfather fought for the RAF at D-Day and this is typical of our community. If we are to continue to hold our heads high – if London is to shake off the unwelcome label of the most anti-Semitic city in the West – we need support from the decent majority that has no truck with antisemitism.

We have to stop the blot of bigotry from creeping across our country under the guise of opposition to Israel. That means both standing up against the rising threat and keeping in mind the tolerance of Britain. We must be unafraid but sensible, robust yet confident. It’s a very difficult balance, particularly when you’re under pressure. But the future of our society depends on it.