I have a make of clothes at home, in between my River Island and Monsoon collections, by Rabbi’s Daughters.

Not by my Rabbi nor his daughters, but someone somewhere, Rabbi or otherwise, who thought they’d cash in on the lucrative market of clothing with a Jewish – or more accurately Yiddish – twist.

I have two tops; one adorning the slogan "not just another shayne punim" on it and one saying "frankly my bubbeleh I don’t give a damn". You get the gist? "Shayne punim" means "pretty face" and "bubbeleh" – well it means something like "dear". They make all sorts, even underwear with the word "mensch" written across the "tuchus". That’s "good person" written across the bottom to you and me.

Yiddish is a language all of its own. By that I mean unlike French or German, or other languages commonly learned in formal education, very few words seem to have a literal translation and more often than not they are interjected in English sentences as if they were from the same dictionary.

But us Jews, we know what we mean when we raise our arms in the air and declare that the little boy is a lobus, his sister is meshuggeneh, his mother has a chutzpah, his father is a nebuch, the simcha was a haimishe affair albeit very frum, but I didn’t enjoy shlepping the present. Although I did shlepp plenty of nachas.

Yiddish was once used as everyday language. With Germanic roots the Jews of Central and Eastern Europe conversed in Yiddish as their first language for centuries, but the Holocaust destroyed communities across this region and people started using the language less and less.

But its use has seen a resurgence among the less religious and even non-Jewish sections of society; dispelling the idea that it is just a religious language. Even Ross from Friends, Crusty the Clown from the Simpsons and Grace from Will and Grace have been known to dabble in Yiddishe words. And this is a good thing I’ve no doubt.

But there’s one Yiddish word that I don’t like being widely used so much. And that’s Yid. Unlike most Yiddish words, Yid has a clear and direct meaning. It means Jew.

So when Spurs fans chant Yid Army it makes me feel uneasy. Aside from the fact that I am a Jew and have no interest in being associated with any Spurs army, it’s just misguided and quite offensive. I get that Tottenham adopted the phrase due to its high volume of Jewish fans but it’s not just (if at all) the Jews billowing Yiddo, Yiddo, from the tiers at White Hart Lane. And my frustration isn’t really because – probably without any conscious thought – most Spurs fans are labelling themselves Jewish. It isn’t even entirely because the word Yid has taken on some really negative connotations over the years.

My problem is that by making Spurs synonymous with Yid as if entirely acceptable it has opened the floodgates to other football fans to sing chants against the Jews. Well why not? After all, Jews = Yid and Yid = Spurs right?

There are numerous football songs with delightful lyrics. Examples include the one about still having a foreskin, the one about the stingy Yiddo who only buys himself a drink and the pièce de résistance – the hissing sound made by Arsenal fans to mimic the gas chambers of the concentration camps.

No it’s not all football fans, and no, not all Spurs fans are aware of the implications of the Yid Army label. But ignorance is no excuse. And one person doing this is one person too many.

The Kick Racism Out Of Football campaign was launched in 1993 and aims to do what it says on the tin. Except it’s missing a big problem here by allowing footballing scum to spout their anti-Semitic beliefs to 30,000 plus people at every clash with the Lilywhites. And it’s not as though the connotations are little known. Vendors outside White Hart Lane are selling Spurs shirts with a Star of David on them for less than £10.

So someone somewhere with some power over this overtly racist and unacceptable trend, do something. Be a mensch. Then you can wear this label with pride on your tuchus.