‘My family doesn’t feel Jewish any more’

than simple disinterest. I’ve encountered non-Jewish partners who harbour downright hostility towards our customs. During my son’s bris, when an aunt tried to comfort me by reassuring me the procedure carries life-long health benefits, a non-Jewish relative by marriage interrupted to poohpooh her, declaring loudly that scientific studies had debunked any perceived health advantages of circumcision. It was tactless at best, deliberately offensive at worst — and don’t even get me started on the subject of Israel.

So while I admire Glaser’s optimism — “If you throw your lot in with the Jews, you become Jewish by osmosis,” she wrote — forgive me for not sharing it. If anything, my heart breaks a little every time I hear of another Jewish friend or cousin or even celebrity marrying out. The rise of Corbynism only reinforced my despair, particularly in the run up to last year’s general election when Facebook was awash with non-Jewish relations singing the Labour leader’s praises. Attempts to explain the very real fear we felt for the future of British Jewry under a Corbyn-led government were met with disinterest and even derision.

That’s not to say I would ever cold-shoulder a non-Jewish spouse or partner, even though those I know are deeply averse to both Judaism and Israel. One of the reasons I am writing this anonymously is to avoid wounding family members and friends who are not Jewish or who have married out and whom I love dearly.

But it’s becoming increasingly hard to swallow the deep sense of sadness I feel whenever I think about the Jews who turn their backs on Judaism — sometimes even while standing beneath a chuppah — the moment they pledge their troth outside the tribe.

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