My three-year-old daughter, Sidonie, stared for a moment at the illustration in the storybook I was reading her at bedtime. “Can I wear a yellow star too please, Mummy?” she asked, her innocent question betraying her lack of understanding. I laughed, uncomfortably. To her, the identifying mark forced on European Jews by the Nazis was nothing more than a fashion choice. She wanted “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on her clothes because it looked pretty.

Like me, Sidonie is Jewish. The book I was reading her, an illustrated biography of Anne Frank for young children, forms part of a series titled Little People, Big Dreams, which introduces young children to notable women in history. She had already enjoyed similar books about Frida Kahlo and Maya Angelou and I bought her the one about Anne Frank because, of all the subjects profiled, it most resonated with me. As a child who loved writing, I identified with Anne Frank. And my grandmother – Sidonie’s great-grandmother – was, like Anne, a little girl in prewar Germany. Unlike Anne, she and my grandfather had the good fortune to escape to England, not to the soon-to-be-occupied Netherlands.

When I mentioned this bedtime story incident on Facebook, some of my friends argued that I shouldn’t be reading my daughter a book about Anne Frank, or the Holocaust, even if it is a censored version without any horror or violence. There is a nasty man with a moustache, a train to “the worst place on Earth” and a glossed-over exit for Anne. “Preserve her innocence,” they said. “She’s far too young to learn about antisemitism.”

Perhaps they’re right and it is too soon even for this gentle introduction. I certainly don’t want to frighten or traumatise my daughter. And yet, in the current climate, with accusations of antisemitism in the Labour party making headline news virtually every day, and a rise in antisemitism all over Europe, this is an issue that is pertinent to her life and to her future, not just a story in a book. Many Jews in the UK are feeling very unsettled. I even know Jews who are packing up and leaving for Israel in fear.

Antisemitism – and its generally more visible sibling, racism – are not like the monster under the bed. They do exist. If I don’t begin to prick Sidonie’s consciousness with the knowledge that the world is not always a good place for people like me and her, will I be doing her a disservice? But how and when do you tell your child that there are people in the world – not just a few, but many, and for millennia – who hate her and may even wish to do her harm, simply because she exists? How young is too young? How, as a parent, do you prepare your child for the realities of antisemitism or racism when they make no sense to you, when they are illogical and irrational? And how do you guard your child’s innocence, without wrapping them in cotton wool, turning them into a “snowflake”, leaving them vulnerable and defenceless?

To those who say that children should be shielded from these truths, I say this: being a child has never been any protection against antisemitism. Children were the first to be murdered by the Nazis because they couldn’t be used as slave labour. My middle name – Rachel – was given to me in memory of my grandma’s niece, Rachel Stern, who died in Auschwitz in 1944, aged just five, together with her parents. Had she survived, she would be 79 now and Sidonie might have met her; it really wasn’t all that long ago.

We tell children fairytales, replete with child-eating witches and wicked stepmothers, and they are meant to be scary. Child psychologists like Bruno Bettelheim have argued that the very point of such stories is that they are dark and frightening, because by reading them children learn to cope with their fears. The fact is that some monsters goose-step and wear swastikas, and it’s not always imaginary witches who burn children in ovens.

Hiding away from horrible truths doesn’t make them go away, and being screened from reality almost certainly does not create strong or happy children. That comes from being loved, from feeling secure. I believe that children absorb the information they need and process it at their own pace. They ask the questions they are ready to know the answers to. For now, Sidonie is content to see a yellow star as a fashion accessory, and I won’t tell her otherwise. In the future, she will understand what the symbol really means. Slowly learning about the evil in the world means that a child will grow up with the knowledge and resilience to cope with difficult situations and hostile people.

Like all tiny children, she is currently blind to the labels we adults ascribe to differences of race, religion, disability or colour. I am only too aware that in a few years time this won’t be the case, that she will see these differences, just as other children will see them in her. And some will hate her for them. She needs to be gently prepared.

• Hilary Freeman is an author and freelance journalist