Dr Anjuli Pandavar is a British writer and social critic who holds a PhD in political economy. She was born into a Muslim family in apartheid South Africa, where she left Islam in 1979. Anjuli is preparing to convert to Judaism. She is one of the staunchest defenders of Israel and a constructive critic of the Jewish state when she believes it is warranted. She owns and writes on Murtadd to Human, where she may be contacted.

For decades you worried about the Palestinian Arabs, spoke up for the Palestinian Arabs, marched for the Palestinian Arabs, you donated to the Palestinian Arabs, you even picked olives for the Palestinian Arabs. My goodness, you wore their t-shirts, waved their flags, even donned their keffiyahs, until one day, without letting you know so you could at least take an aspirin and lie down or something, they went on a butchering spree. Not just any old butchering spree, but the mother of all butchering sprees: they slashed, they burnt, they dismembered, er, people, you remember? They raped, they shot at point blank, they hacked living peoples’ heads off with shovels, they tossed babies into ovens while raping their mothers, yes, its all coming back now…

Your pure, innocent, oppressed Palestinian Arabs did all this and much more.

The horror, the horror.

And the crisis it set off in you. How? There can be no question, they were doing it right before your eyes in frenzied insanity. “Mum! I just killed ten Jews with me hands!! Dad! Hold your head high! Your son killed Jews!” “May Allah protect you, my son.” You heard all that. You saw the glee, the fulfilment of a lust that has no equal. How? You? How?

For decades. I did feel those feelings; they were real. There was no escaping it. I’d almost say I loved the Palestinian Arabs. How could I have messed up so catastrophically? I studied these things, I read, went to meetings—for decades! How could I not see? Do I even know myself?

Recognition. The pain. A chance for deliverance, a chance

Then came the Israeli bombing of that hospital, and you were stunned, silent, confused. Thereafter the IDF started committing genocide, killing women and children, starving babies, the genocide, the genocide, the genocide, the genocide, the genocide, genocide, genocide, genocide genocide genocide genocide

Genocidegenocidegenocidegenocidegenocide, scrambling your brain like eggs in a pan over a hot fire — you no longer knew up from down, back from front, left from right. All you knew with absolute certainty was that behind it all loomed the accursed warmonger, Netanyahu. In a world gone mad, this was the one thing you could be sure of. Your head got messed with again. You’ve been played, duped, conned, done over again, and by those same Palestinian Arabs, again.

On October 7 you discovered to your shattering horror that far from your self-assured superior judgment and your self-assured superior morality, you had no sense of judgment at all and you were morally bankrupt. You had tricked your own mind. And then, after a few weeks of pretty clearly-defined anguish, that anguish itself got thrown into turmoil. Genocide, starving the Gazans, shooting women and children, horrible.

So horrible that no evidence is needed. How could you possibly conceive of demanding evidence? To demand evidence of genocide is to be complicit in genocide. To even think about evidence is pure evil. You were guilty, but what of? You were responsible, but what for? You were deeply disturbed, but what about? Yes. You had reached a plateau. A place of great numbness. Everyone was guilty; no one was guilty. You no longer needed to think about—it.

On February 20th, 2025, before the world’s cameras, the well-fed multitudes jostled and shoved under rock-concert speakers, music reverberating through their victorious ruins. Just because you’re dead does not mean you cannot be paraded on a stage. The well-fed crowd jeered and whistled, a forest of phone cameras. Everyone wanted their private slice of the moment. I was there, as if in person. I saw with my own eyes when they carried those Jews’ coffins, not on their shoulders, level with their heads, like Muslims, but down, down, lower close to their feet.

The crowd went crazy. The children ran after the cortège in wild excitement, like it was a convoy of ice cream vans — and words like barbarism, barbarians, savages, and the like, seemingly forgotten shortly after October 7, were again heard from the lips of Western liberals.

Four dead Jews and nine million living ones, through the gross humiliation they suffered at this corpse parade, have given you a second chance. It is a second chance you do not deserve, because you failed yourself within weeks of your shake-up on October 7. Will you now, with your undeserved second chance, finally stop messing with your own soul and recognise the Palestinian Arabs for the monsters they are, and the Jews as the only hope of escape for the Middle East from the Hell in which it’s been trapped for 1400 years?

If so, you can start by showing some respect towards Israel. Maybe even sympathy. It would be a good start.