If you walk into a synagogue in London’s Golders Green or the bustling markets of Hackney, you might miss them at first—a handful of faces, sometimes hesitant, sometimes unapologetically present. The very existence of Black Jewish people in the UK pulls at the boundaries of how we think about race, faith, and home. In the last decade, as conversations about identity have rippled through the country, Black Jews in the UK have begun telling their stories with a clarity that’s both brave and overdue.

It isn’t easy. It never was. But in truth, the question of “are there black Jewish people?” isn’t just about numbers. It’s about belonging in a community that, itself, is both within and apart from wider British society—forever translating between worlds, sometimes not quite at home in either. It’s about remixing an immigrant story, traversing the tightrope of Black Jewish identity in a landscape that tends to flatten, pigeonhole, or simply erase hybrid selves.

First Encounters: Black, Jewish, and Neither Category Fits

“My mum used to say, ‘there aren’t many people like us’,” recalls Miriam, born in Tottenham to a Nigerian father and Jewish mother from Leeds. “Mostly, people were puzzled. Was I adopted? Did I convert? Could I really be both?” Of course, she wasn’t alone—just invisible. Growing up Jewish Black in the UK is often a series of double-takes. Shopkeepers, teachers, even security at synagogues—everyone seems a little unsure of where you fit.

For many, the journey is dotted with microaggressions and outright challenges. “They asked how I became Jewish. When I said I was born that way, they laughed,” recalls David, a teenager with Ethiopian Jewish ancestry. The question isn’t just benign curiosity, either. It echoes a broader sense that blacks are Jews only through adoption or conversion, rarely by birthright.

A History Often Ignored: African Jews in Diaspora

To answer “Are there black Jewish people?” is to crack open a deeply layered history. There have been African Jews for thousands of years: from Ethiopia’s Beta Israel to the Abayudaya Jewish community in Uganda, to the Lemba in southern Africa, and Igbo Jews in Britain, reflecting Nigeria’s own diverse religious heritage. These communities challenge the narrow narratives most often told about Judaism—stories colored almost entirely by European Ashkenazi experience.

Black Jewish communities frequently hold stories of forced displacement, conversion amidst colonial turbulence, and centuries-long struggles for recognition. In the UK, Ethiopian Jews UK and Igbo Jews in Britain form diasporic nodes, carrying with them not only rituals but the yearning for acknowledgment as full members of Jewish diversity in the UK.

Ashkenormativity Explained: The Elephant in the Synagogue

If you’ve never heard the term, Ashkenormativity is the default assumption in Jewish communal life that Ashkenazi (Eastern European) norms are the yardstick for everything—food, prayer tunes, names, even physical appearance. It’s an invisible standard, and for Black Jews, it can feel like a wall.

Some rituals—singing Ladino melodies, cooking West African stews for Shabbat—are quietly practiced at home but rarely appear in the mainstream narrative. “Once, the rabbi told me I should ‘teach the children about Gefilte fish’,” jokes Binta, whose family has roots in both Sierra Leone and Jerusalem. “I’d rather show them jollof rice and doro wat instead.”

True Jewish diversity in the UK remains complicated by these expectations. “Ashkenormativity explained so much of why I felt I had to leave parts of myself at the doorstep,” shares Zaki El-Salahi, whose own journey straddles Sudanese, Arab, and Jewish bloodlines.

“Just Jewish” Isn’t Enough: The Pull and Push of Intersectionality

What does Black Jewish intersectionality feel like on the ground? It isn’t only about being “Jewish and something else.” It’s about the constant negotiation of how Blackness and Jewishness interact in the eyes of others, in community disputes, even in political spaces where antisemitism in Black communities and racism in Jewish ones can both go unaddressed.

Stephen Bush, in his racial inclusivity report for the Board of Deputies, didn’t mince words: the Jewish community needs to face the ways it excludes Jews of colour Britain-wide, and acknowledge the pain this causes. Too often, Black Jewish representation—on panels, in leadership, in classrooms—is an afterthought. Real inclusion, as many have pointed out, means actually shifting power, not just inviting diversity to the table.

Journeys to Judaism: Conversion, Choice, and the Weight of History

Some Black Jewish people came to Judaism by birth; others by choice. Jewish conversion in Africa is a story woven through colonial times and missionary encounters, but also through personal journeys—a Nigerian mother searching for meaning, a Ugandan musician drawn to the rhythms of Torah.

Those who choose often face scrutiny about their motives. “Why would a black person want to be Jewish?” strangers have asked. The question, whether whispered or shouted, exposes a discomfort with identities that don’t follow the script.

Yet, conversion itself is part of deep Jewish tradition. The Abayudaya Jewish community in Uganda, recognized by some movements but not all, navigates questions of authenticity and connection with quiet strength. In Britain, Mizrahi Jews UK and Jews of Colour UK create networks for those whose stories draw not only from Africa, but the Middle East, Central Asia, and everywhere in between.

Representation Matters: Who’s at the Front of the Room?

Walk into a mainstream Jewish event and count the number of black faces—not as visitors, but as leaders. It rarely takes long. “I’m always the only one. Or they want me to talk about ‘diversity,’ never about the Talmud or Jewish history,” sighs Joel, a synagogue trustee.

Black Jewish leadership UK is just starting to flower, but historical barriers run deep. “People can’t be what they can’t see,” says Sasha, who helped launch a network for young Jewish professionals of colour. When a sociologist or educator mentions Jewish black culture—fashion, foodways, humour—they’re often told it’s “not relevant” to the British context. And yet, for those living at this intersection, it’s their daily reality, their source of strength and resilience.

The Tug of Two Cultures: Commons and Contradictions

Living as Black Jews UK means carrying—sometimes blending, sometimes compartmentalizing—traditions from multiple worlds. Friday night prayers might echo with reggae beneath the usual melodies; Jews of Colour UK organize Shabbat dinners where challah and plantain share the same table. In many homes, the joy of Jewish festival lights is doubled by ancestry and family histories from Lagos, Addis Ababa, Kingston, or Accra.

But the challenges are palpable. There’s the pressure to “explain yourself” in both directions—having to justify Jewishness in Black spaces, and Blackness in Jewish ones. Friendly curiosity can bleed into skepticism or outright exclusion. The result? Many Black Jews nurture a cultural identity Black Jews craft for themselves, a lineage handed down in glances, laughter, and hard-won pride.

Grappling with Prejudices: Racism and Antisemitism

There’s undeniable friction where Jewish and Black communities meet in Britain. Stereotypes and ignorance persist on both sides. Antisemitism in Black communities is a topic many find uncomfortable to broach. And within Jewish spaces, racist attitudes—sometimes unintentional, sometimes not—leave scars that don’t easily heal.

These realities haven’t gone unchallenged. Writers, activists, and faith leaders from both backgrounds are now more openly having hard conversations about privilege, exclusion, and shared futures. Breaking down the binary of “either/or” is crucial. As British society reckons with its own divisions, the complicated but stubbornly hopeful existence of Black Jewish people points to more than pain: it promises possibility.

The Next Chapter: Voices Growing Louder

Elliott, who organizes workshops for Black Jewish teens, is unshakeable in his optimism. “We’re never going back to being invisible,” he asserts. “Every new conversation—about African Jews’ history, about Ethiopian Jews UK, about the Igbo Jews in Britain—shifts what’s possible for the next generation.”

Change is visible: the increasing presence of Black Jewish representation in media, panels that move beyond tokenism, and projects that explore Jewish and Black culture in ways both joyful and searching. New books, art, and music rooted in Black Jewish identity are slowly reshaping the cultural landscape.

Looking Forward: What Belonging Can Be

What will it take for the next chapter to look different? It starts with listening. With a commitment to reimagining Jewish diversity in the UK, not as a footnote but as the headline. With honest reckoning about Ashkenormativity’s quiet tyranny, and why leadership—at every level—must make room for all the colours and origins of Jewish life.

Above all, it requires us—whether inside or outside these communities—to see Black Jewish people not as curiosities or footnotes, but as whole and necessary. Their stories are as old as Judaism itself and as new as the faces filling up classrooms and youth groups each year.

If you’re searching for the answer to “are there black Jewish people” in Britain, you don’t need a statistic. You need to listen for the laughter behind closed doors, the determination of voices rising in song, the faith passed quietly through generations that refuse to fade away. That’s where the real story of Black British Jews begins—and where, perhaps, our shared sense of belonging finds its truest home.