Yellow Ribbons and Scissors in Muswell Hill – A Morning that Left Me Angry, Sad, and Afraid

 

Muswell Hill had a lovely start to the Monday morning. Sunlight danced off the windows, the sky was a perfect blue, and the little park by my usual coffee shop was glowing with something that made me feel warm: rows of yellow ribbons fluttering in the wind.

Those ribbons are more than just decoration to me and a lot of other people. They are a subdued gesture of support for the 48 Israeli hostages who have not been found two years after their kidnapping. There are only twenty believed to be alive, which seems incredibly small yet incredibly hopeful.

In London, yellow ribbons are now uncommon. The majority of the protests, slogans, and flags that line the city’s streets are related to the Palestinian cause. However, words of sympathy for the lives of Israelis or the families of the hostages seem to disappear almost as quickly as they are spoken — literally.

And I witnessed it firsthand on Monday.

One by one, a young woman with scissors cut down the ribbons as she stood by the park railings. She was tearing them methodically, almost rehearsedly, rather than impulsively. Cut, cut, cut. She tucked each ribbon into her bag after it had fallen lifelessly to the ground.

Before I could change my mind, I confronted her.
“What are you doing?” With a sharper voice than I had anticipated, I demanded. Calm, composed, and defiant, she turned to face me.
“If you believe it to be unlawful, you can contact the police,” she said.

A man who happened to be walking by joined in, calling her actions repulsive. Even though her response was expected, it was still breathtaking: “I think committing genocide is disgusting.”

The inevitable accusation was there. Hostage remembrance had somehow been twisted into support for war crimes. I made an ineffective attempt to explain. There were a few of us standing by a bare fence with a hollow feeling in our chests when the woman left, scissors tucked away.

My rage eventually subsided over coffee, to be replaced by sadness and then fear. I noticed that I was looking over my shoulder. What if she returned? What if the next time, she wasn’t by herself?

I was not being paranoid, it turned out. Later, I found out that she had recruited a male friend who, during the incident, harassed another Jewish woman, causing her to cry.

Fear is not new to British Jews, but it feels particularly acute now. Anti-Semitic incidents have increased since October 7, 2023. In the UK, protests have frequently descended into open animosity. Some chant, “Globalise the intifada!” — which sounds very different from nonviolent protest.

Even daily existence seems different. Many of us no longer wear anything that identifies us as Jewish. To avoid conflict, some people have taken mezuzahs out of their doorways, and others, like me, have removed their last names from ride-sharing applications. It’s a silent, circumspect method of getting around.

Nevertheless, the yellow ribbons reappeared. That’s the most important part.

Locals, both Jewish and not, had returned to the park by the afternoon with new ribbons and resolute hearts. Brighter, bolder, and not to be intimidated, they tied them higher this time.

They vanished once more the following morning. However, by 11 a.m., a small group of people had reassembled, chatting, laughing, and tying fresh ribbons. Once more, the park was glowing gold, but this time it was with hope, something much more powerful than silk.

That’s what I cling to. The act of tying a ribbon still has significance, even in the face of fear, anger, and mounting tension. It serves as a reminder that even in the most polarized times, compassion can endure.

And even though it appears to be brittle, love will always find a way back, as the ribbons flutter in the autumn breeze once more.