ByJONATHAN LIEBERMAN

JULY 11, 2026 13:38

This week one figure caught my attention sharply. Orders for kosher meals in British hospitals have apparently dropped by half over two years.

That figure does not show that half of British Jews have left their beliefs behind. It points to something far worse. It shows that Jews, exactly when they are unwell, anxious, and reliant on others, now pause before marking a box that declares: I am Jewish.

A kosher meal in a hospital should be routine, a simple note on a dietary form absorbed into the broad system of clinical care. Yet it has turned into a challenge of courage.

I write this as someone inside medicine, not as an outsider. The UK National Health Service trained me. I have served in it, valued it, debated with it, and supported it for over four decades, and I continue to work in it today. At its finest, it stands as one of Britain great ethical accomplishments: treatment based on need, not income; the stranger cared for just like the local resident. That is exactly why this time feels so difficult.

The accounts continue to arrive. Jewish NHS workers isolated. Jewish patients sense risk. Patients reluctant to mark the kosher option. In Sydney, two nurses faced suspension after claims they would decline to treat Israeli patients and would cause them harm. In Britain, doctors faced probes over alleged antisemitic messages. These are no longer stray reports. They form a clear pattern.

The unease felt by Jewish patients

Let me stay balanced, because balance matters most. The great majority of doctors and nurses are fair, caring, and hardworking, and would care for any patient before them with skill and kindness. I know this deeply, because I have worked alongside them for many years.

Yet medicine depends on trust, and trust is fragile. A majority is not required to break it. Only a noticeable few, an official silence, a slogan accepted as free speech, a concern set aside, a regulator more focused on shielding an idea than on reassuring a patient.

The question Jewish patients ask quietly is not, Are all healthcare workers biased against Jews? They know the answer is no. The true question is more troubling: When I lie helpless in that bed, will the person with the needle, reviewing my scan, or easing my pain see a patient or a political sign? That question should trouble every doctor who hears it.

So why has anti-Israel feeling grown so strong in parts of the healthcare field? Part of the reason rests in the mindset of the caring professions themselves.

We are taught to move toward pain. We see a hurt child and feel shock. We see a harmed hospital and naturally support the team within. That response is a positive one. But positive responses are the simplest to misuse.

Kindness without depth turns into something harmful. The mind struggles to hold two facts together: that Palestinians in Gaza have endured great pain, and that Israel faces an enemy that deliberately mixes with civilians; that every innocent loss is a sorrow, and that Hamas made schools, homes and hospitals into arms sites; that questioning Israeli actions is fair, and that targeting Israel alone for blame among all nations is something different.

Kindness within medicine

The medical outlook is especially open to the oppressor-and-victim tale. We spend our days beside the weaker side. But world affairs are not a hospital round. A picture is not a diagnosis. A shared video is not a full medical record. If a doctor decided from one striking image, ignoring the background, check, and options, we would call it risky, careless practice. Yet that is precisely how a worrying number of clinicians now judge Israel.

There is also a sense of moral pride here. Because we heal bodies, we tell ourselves that our views must heal as well. We are the caring ones; therefore, whoever we label as the source of pain must be ethically flawed and merits what follows. Once that step is taken, the Israeli patient stops being Mr. Cohen in Bed 6. He becomes a stand-in for Gaza, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the IDF, colonialism, apartheid, genocide, and every sign shouted outside the hospital gates.

That is not medicine. That is bias in a white coat.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks explained that antisemitism changes form to last. In one era, Jews were disliked for their religion, in another for their background, and in our time, they are disliked through the words of anti-Zionism. The cover shifts; the old system keeps turning. The Jew is again made to account for the world pain.

A hospital is not a meeting hall. A ward is not a demonstration. The patient is not a sign. The white coat serves to hide politics, not to display them.

So are Jewish patients safe? Medically, in most cases, yes, because I know too many good people to claim otherwise. But in feeling and in system terms, something has gone badly wrong when a patient feels he must conceal who he is to feel secure. A patient too scared to request kosher food is not getting equal care, however perfect the operation.

The NHS was founded on one firm pledge. It never asks if you are wealthy or poor, religious or not, black or white, Muslim, Christian, Jew, or without faith. It asks only what is wrong and how it can assist. If Jews now feel they must lower their heads, hide their signs, avoid Hebrew, reject Israel, and quietly go without rather than request kosher food to feel secure on a British ward, then that pledge has been broken. Not bent. Broken.

So enough quiet concern. Healthcare leaders must state clearly, and openly, that political anger has no place at the bedside. Regulators must act quickly the moment a clinician moves from view to biased hostility, and be seen to act. Hospitals must shield Jewish patients and staff not with weak diversity phrases, but with firm rules, applied every time, without exception.

And we doctors must regain some modesty. Our role is not to show our goodness online. It is to treat the person before us, whoever he is, whatever flag someone else has placed on him.

A kosher meal should never demand bravery. A Star of David should never feel like a danger. A Jewish patient should never lie awake wondering whether the doctor at the foot of the bed sees a person first.

If that is now truly in question, then this has stopped being a Jewish issue. It is a medical crisis, and the profession should handle it as one.

The writer is a rabbi and physician. He writes and teaches on Jewish ethics, leadership, and resilience. His work appears on rabbidrjonathanlieberman.substack.com and youtube.com. @rabbidrjonathanlieberman.