The lad in the middle of the photo accompanying this article is me. The boy on the bicycle to my right is Moti. The boy on my left is Zami.
I last saw them when I was 11 years old after moving house from Stamford Hill in London, still home to a significant Jewish population. Though a brief friendship in the scheme of things, these Jewish boys played an important role in my formation, life and mission as a Christian. Seldom a day has passed since our first meeting that I have not thought of or prayed for Moti and Zami - and Asher, Joshua, Samuel, Yitzahk and many others whose names sadly now escape me.
On 24 February 2025, thousands of Ukrainians and their families and friends crowded into London’s Trafalgar Square for an evening of prayers and protest, speeches and music, marking three years since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
Particular excitement was caused by the appearance of the 'Iron General', the popular former commander of the Ukrainian Armed Forces Valery Zaluzhnyi, who took up a new post as ambassador to the United Kingdom last year. But the mood was inescapably sober, and reflected a new sentiment absent from previous gatherings: betrayal.
Black History Month originally sprang out of African American joint celebrations of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass’s February birthdays. 'Negro History Week' began in February 1926 to recognise African American contributions to society and raise awareness to the prejudices they had and continued to face.
This week for designated learning emphasis was well established by 1976, when the United States celebrated its bicentennial, and the week expanded to a month. To mark the inaugural Black History Month, President Gerald R. Ford said, 'We can seize the opportunity to honour the too-often neglected accomplishments of black Americans in every area of endeavour throughout our history. I urge my fellow citizens to join me in tribute to Black History Month and the message of courage and perseverance it brings to all of us.'
Antisemitism: Never again?
The lad in the middle of the photo accompanying this article is me. The boy on the bicycle to my right is Moti. The boy on my left is Zami.
I last saw them when I was 11 years old after moving house from Stamford Hill in London, still home to a significant Jewish population. Though a brief friendship in the scheme of things, these Jewish boys played an important role in my formation, life and mission as a Christian. Seldom a day has passed since our first meeting that I have not thought of or prayed for Moti and Zami - and Asher, Joshua, Samuel, Yitzahk and many others whose names sadly now escape me.