The tale of a dogged Jew

The thing about British society is that what looks like a permanently locked door can sometimes be made to open. Unfortunately, it can take a hell of a lot knocking first. A lot of sheer bloody doggedness.

Still, at a time when England seems keener to close doors than open them, it’s encouraging to remember such moments. They might, after all, yet return.

For centuries, the English state was officially Protestant, at least with the brand of Protestantism represented by the Church of England. Protestants outside the Church of England, such as Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Baptists, Anabaptists, Quakers and so on, were excluded from any kind of political power.

The exclusion from power from which these so-called Dissenting Protestants suffered was, of course, even more severely applied to the great enemies of Protestantism as a whole, the Roman Catholics. 

However, in the nineteenth century things began to ease. For instance, Parliament would annually suspend the rules denying the right of Dissenters to sit in Parliament. Many began to ask whether it wasn’t ridiculous to have a rule that was repeatedly suspended. Why not just do away with it?

The resistance to such a move, from leaders of the Church of England and their allies in Parliament, was tough. However, the pressure for change was tougher still. Finally, a measure to emancipate Dissenters was forced through in 1828, so they were allowed into Parliament by right, rather than by suspension of rules.

The following year, there was a move for something even more devastating. It was time to let the Catholics in. That really got hackles raised. Why, a king – James II of England, James VII of Scotland – had been driven from his throne for being a ‘Papist’. And now they were to be allowed into Parliament?

The Home Secretary, the man shepherding the measure through Parliament, was Sir Robert Peel, a longstanding opponent of Catholic Emancipation. He’d changed his stance in the light of evolving public opinion. That cost this future leader of the Conservative Party and Prime Minister of the United Kingdom his seat in Parliament, since he represented the University of Oxford, the main training ground for Church of England clergy. He had to get himself re-elected in a hurry for somewhere else, to be back in Parliament in time to push the legislation through.

He pulled it off and from 1829, Catholics too could sit in the House of Commons, as the oath a member had to take on entering the House only proclaimed adherence to the Christian faith, rather than to any flavour of that faith. 

Both Dissenters and Catholics could now be MPs. 

A door had been pushed open a little. Ajar, as it were.

Then in 1847, a new challenge arose. 

At the general election that year, Lionel de Rothschild, head of the British branch of the famous banking family, was one of the four successful candidates for Parliament elected by the City of London (most constituencies elected two MPs, and some more, at that time). He was a practising Jew. He wasn’t going to swear fealty to the Christian faith.

Lionel de Rothschild in about 1840

One of his fellow MPs for the City of London happened to be Lord John Russell. That title ‘Lord’ was a courtesy, as he was a younger son of the Duke of Bedford, but he wasn’t a Peer himself, so he could sit in the Commons rather than the House of Lords. He was also leader of the Whig Party, increasingly known as the Liberal Party, and he had a reputation as a champion of liberal values.

Oh, by the way, he was also Prime Minister.

Russell presented a Jewish Disabilities Bill, designed to remove the ‘disabilities’ that prevented Jews becoming Members of Parliament. As usual, the Conservatives opposed the measure, with some exceptions, most notably that of the man who was increasingly leading them in the Commons, Benjamin Disraeli. Although a convert to Christianity, which allowed him to take a Commons seat himself, he was, as his name suggests, Jewish by birth. Indeed, that caused him to be viewed by many within his own party, as a touch ‘foreign’ not something that helped him advance his career (though he did eventually make it to Prime Minister). 

It's a tribute to Disraeli’s courage that he backed Russell’s bill, against the will of most of his party.

The Jewish Disabilities Bill was adopted by the Commons. But then the Lords threw it out. Twice. 

Rothschild couldn’t take his seat.

That’s when he started to show his tenacity. In 1849, he resigned the seat and stood again, in a by-election, which he won. In the House of Commons the following year, he asked to take his oath on a Jewish Bible, and this was agreed. But he refused to say, “upon the true faith of a Christian”, so once more he had to leave.

In 1851, another Jewish Disabilities Bill was passed by the Commons and defeated again in the Lords.

There was a general election in 1852. Rothschild stood and won. But the Lords again threw out the Bill passed by the Commons.

Doggedly, he ploughed on, winning a seat for the fourth time at the General Election of 1857. Now at last the two Houses of Parliament compromised, allowing each to set their own form of oath. The Commons chose a form Rothschild could accept so he took the oath, his head covered, and using the words “so help me, Jehovah”. 

At last, a practising Jew was able to take a seat in the House of Commons. A door pushed ajar for Dissenters and Catholics had been opened a little further.

Lionel de Rothschild introduced to the House of Commons in 1858
accompanied by two MPs, one of them Lord John Russell

This was clearly Rothschild’s aim. He would have a seat in the Commons for fifteen years but never addressed the House. The objective hadn’t been to become an active MP, it was to establish the principle that Jews too could sit in the Commons.

Now, let’s not overstate any of this. The door had a long way to go still. It would be decades before the first woman would take her seat in the House. Even among Jews, of the eighteen who became MPs between 1858 and 1887, nine would be bankers and seven lawyers. These were hardly typical members of the Jewish community. But then, non-Jewish MPs were also far from representative of the population of Britain as a whole: it would take a long time before the poor or working classes would find themselves represented in Parliament.

Still, Lionel de Rothschild was rather a special banker. When he was first elected, in 1847, Ireland was suffering a terrible famine, one that has come to be known as the ‘Great Famine’, with a million dead and over a million forced to emigrate from the country. Rothschild put together an Association to raise funds for the country. It ultimately came up with some £390,000 for relief. Rothschild was the biggest individual donor. 

By comparison, Queen Victoria pledged £2000. US President Polk pledged $50.

Lionel de Rothschild was a remarkable man. A dogged man. And a man who showed that when illiberal circles try to limit our rights, we need to push back hard and just keep on pushing.

Until we get our way.