Why I won't wear the Star of David

As conversation openers go, at least it was a notch or two above “nice weather for the time of year”. Instead, the chap sitting next to me at a business awards lunch decided to break the ice by politely inquiring if there was any significance in the strange-looking shapes hanging from my neck.

My options were simple. I could somehow deflect the question or I could tell the truth. Emboldened by a large gin and tonic, I did the latter. “It says my name in Hebrew,” I replied, before forking up another mouthful of salmon and awaiting the inevitable response. Which I got. A knee-jerk bluster about how I didn`t “look Jewish”, before moving on to, well, the nice weather for the time of year.

Not that it`s the first time this has happened. It`s the red hair, gifted from my late grandfather`s Russian heritage. But it`s because I don't “look Jewish” that I often get this reaction. It gives me the option of holding back on my ethnicity in the company of strangers and bystanders.

Of course I have, on many occasions, written and spoken of my pride in being Jewish. But it's something I choose to do on my own terms. Meanwhile, to the idle onlooker, in the absence of any kind of obvious religious accessories, I can if I wish to pass under the radar. That's why, though profoundly proud of my Judaism, I would almost rather eat treife (non-kosher food) than wear a Star of David.

Instead, I wear my name in Hebrew around my neck. It's my little game of cultural peek-a-boo: it telegraphs to anyone Jewish that I'm “part of the club”.

But it shields me from the unreconstructed reactions and opinions that a Star of David can inevitably provoke. For proof, look no further than the case of Michael Douglas's teenage son Dylan who, it has been revealed, fell victim to anti-Semitism on a family holiday last year. The family was at a hotel swimming pool somewhere in Southern Europe when a fellow guest apparently rounded on the 14-year-old. Being the father of a teenager, Douglas asked if the boy had provoked the man's anger by misbehaving, only to be met with his son's tears. It was then that the Oscar winning actor spotted Dylan’s Star of David necklace.

He recalled this week: “I had an awful realisation of what might have caused the man's outrage...Afterward, I sat down with my son and said: ‘Dylan, you just had your first taste of anti-Semitism.’”

Like many others have done, Douglas has rightly pointed out that challenging economic times, demographics, and an irrational and misplaced fear of Israel have fuelled a resurgence in anti-Semitism. Indeed, in the UK in 2014, hate crimes of anti-Semitism exceeded 1,000 for the first time since the figures started being collated three decades ago.

Little wonder then that when it comes to accessorising an outfit, I`ve decided to give the Star of David a wide berth.

Many may baulk at my position. Especially since this emblem of two overlapping triangles became a widespread sign of Jewish solidarity when chosen for the flag of the First Zionist Congress in 1897 and later the State of Israel.

But we know only too well how this symbol was also viciously corrupted when Jews across Nazi-occupied Europe were forced to wear a yellow star. Now we have the freedom to choose and should be able to wear any religious symbol without challenge, discomfort or fear. Indeed, in 2013, in a controversial landmark case, I felt the European Court of Human Rights was quite right to rule that British Airways had breached employee Nadia Eweida’s human rights when it banned her from wearing a crucifix.

But in my own situation, and given the choice, I choose to refrain.

My sons, however, take a different approach. On April 16 my 19-year-old, Max, will join thousands of young Jews from around the world in Poland to march three kilometres from Auschwitz to Birkenau in an act of Holocaust remembrance.

The annual March of the Living will see the former concentration camp transformed with flags bearing the Star of David, as young men, their kippahs (skullcaps) on their heads, dance and sing in Hebrew to articulate the survival of our people. It is the ultimate sign of pride and rejuvenation, and not only do I welcome it but I also flinch at the very idea of smothering my children’s heritage.

But in today’s hostile climate I still feel we can remain proud of our identity while understanding there are times when it is better to lie low. Which brings me to the dispute I’ve been having with Aaron, my 16-year-old. Aaron likes wearing his kippah in public, but when he goes into town, to the cinema or a football match, I ask him to take it off. He is both at home in the secular world and confident in his Judaism, objecting, “you bring me up one way, yet tell me to behave in another”. Sometimes he wins, sometimes I convince him otherwise (he capitulated at Old Trafford). My older two sons, now at university, meanwhile wear their heads covered on campus.

If my reservations sound counterintuitive, consider that only the other week the Jewish journalist Jonathan Kalmus tested levels of prejudice in Britain by walking the streets of Manchester and Bradford wearing a skullcap. He was spat at, stalked by a man taking photographs, and called “Jew”. Salutary reading it was not.

There are some who consider donning a Star of David a declaration of pride and defiance.

American neuroscientist and actress Mayim Bailik of TV`s Big Bang Theory said that wearing her Star of David was like putting on armour. She even planned to go to the Emmys wearing a small Jewish star on the cuff of her dress, “even if it’s not noticeable to everyone all of the time”.

To those who choose to declare their religion by the trinkets they string around their neck or elsewhere, I salute you. I hope you always wear them in peace and harmony. As for me, well, apparently I don’t look Jewish. So really, who needs the headache?