Raised by a Welsh father and Israeli mother, London became my home, but St. Martin in the Fields was always central. Growing up amid violence in Israel, my gentle, anti-war father only seemed truly at home at the Crypt, indulging in recitals and pudding overflowing with custard (“Be a devil,” he’d say).
When I moved to the UK, the Crypt became my continuous axis, offering safety and protection. Discovering that Liberty was founded there deepened this bond, creating a still point in a turning world.
Five years after my father’s death, I returned to Israel-Palestine to work for +972 Magazine, advocating for human rights and nonviolence. London remains my moral sanctuary. Whenever I return, I visit St. Martin’s first – checking recitals, heading to the Crypt, and feeling closer to my father than anywhere else.
Happy 300th birthday, St. Martin in the Fields! I’ll have extra custard in your honor.
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