In September 2024, I stood in Jerusalem, a city my Egyptian family once vowed to conquer and “cleanse of Jews”. My great-uncle and uncles fought in the 1967 and 1973 wars. For decades, we were taught Israel was a rogue state – a lie etched into my childhood. Born in Cairo in 1990, I grew up in a Middle East where dissent meant prison, love was policed, and propaganda suffocated truth.
Even after moving to the UK in 2016, returning to the Middle East meant self-censorship: “Don’t discuss politics,” I would remind myself, and “think twice before holding hands with a loved one.” These were the unspoken rules of survival – until I visited Israel.
There, amid the chaos of its democracy during a seven-front war, I saw Muslims and Jews debating their government in cafés, journalists mocking leaders, and couples embracing freely. It was the Middle East I’d longed for – one my prayers never named.
Israel’s commitment to liberty and rule of law – cornerstones of Western civilisation – stands in stark contrast to the dictatorships and terror regimes surrounding it. As a convert to Judaism, my journey from Cairo to Jerusalem was both spiritual and intellectual, and it taught me that Israel’s survival isn’t just a Jewish cause but a defence against global jihad and authoritarianism.
As a national security researcher for 14 years, I’ve exposed the extremism, anti-Semitism, and disinformation poisoning the region. My work led to deporting radical Islamists from Britain, prosecuting terrorists in Europe, and shaping policies from Washington to London.
Yet Hamas’s October 7 atrocities laid bare the stakes: a regime using children as shields, diverting aid to tunnels, and vowing endless war. Israel, by contrast, debates military strategy openly, protects Arab citizens’ rights, and shares innovations like water tech with the world.
In Tel Aviv, I discussed foreign policy with senior Israeli officials – a surreal moment for a man whose family once cheered calls to “wipe Israel off the map”. Today, as Israelis face murder in Egypt, Israel extends trust to “the other”. Each time an Israeli embraced me upon hearing I was Egyptian, shame gripped me. I longed to welcome them in Cairo as they welcomed me in Jerusalem.
Now, that shame deepens. As a British citizen, I watch a government reward those vowing to ethnically cleanse Jews with statehood – months after the worst Jewish massacre since the Holocaust. The Palestinian leadership, from Hamas to the PA, has rejected peace for hatred; yet Labour now seeks to recognise a Palestinian state.
The Britain that prosecutes mothers for tweets eagerly shakes hands with those celebrating the Holocaust and October 7. To our rulers and judiciary, Lucy Connolly deserves years in prison over a tweet, but Palestinians who fund the murder of Jews, including British citizens, and parade the bodies of murdered Jewish babies are met with red carpets. This hypocrisy is grotesque. Our political class has lost its moral compass – if it ever had one.
This isn’t just misguided – it’s catastrophic. Abandoning Israel gifts Tehran, Moscow, and Beijing a victory, emboldening their war on the rules-based order. When Hezbollah targets Haifa, they attack not just Jews but the idea that free societies can thrive in the Middle East. Supporting Israel isn’t about endorsing every policy; it’s about defending sovereignty, pluralism, and human dignity – values Britain claims to champion.
Generations of my family saw Israel as the enemy; most still do. I, the sole member to visit, see it as the Middle East’s best hope – a nation embodying freedoms we claim to cherish. If Britain rewards its destroyers, we surrender not just the Jewish state but the free world’s future.
My path from Cairo to Judaism taught me identity is a choice – rooted in reason, not dogma. I chose a tradition of debate, justice, and hope. The West must choose: stand with the Middle East’s sole democracy, or let extremism prevail. The answer will define our civilisation’s survival.
In September 2024, I stood in Jerusalem, a city my Egyptian family once vowed to conquer and “cleanse of Jews”. My great-uncle and uncles fought in the 1967 and 1973 wars. For decades, we were taught Israel was a rogue state – a lie etched into my childhood. Born in Cairo in 1990, I grew up in a Middle East where dissent meant prison, love was policed, and propaganda suffocated truth.
Even after moving to the UK in 2016, returning to the Middle East meant self-censorship: “Don’t discuss politics,” I would remind myself, and “think twice before holding hands with a loved one.” These were the unspoken rules of survival – until I visited Israel.
There, amid the chaos of its democracy during a seven-front war, I saw Muslims and Jews debating their government in cafés, journalists mocking leaders, and couples embracing freely. It was the Middle East I’d longed for – one my prayers never named.
Israel’s commitment to liberty and rule of law – cornerstones of Western civilisation – stands in stark contrast to the dictatorships and terror regimes surrounding it. As a convert to Judaism, my journey from Cairo to Jerusalem was both spiritual and intellectual, and it taught me that Israel’s survival isn’t just a Jewish cause but a defence against global jihad and authoritarianism.
As a national security researcher for 14 years, I’ve exposed the extremism, anti-Semitism, and disinformation poisoning the region. My work led to deporting radical Islamists from Britain, prosecuting terrorists in Europe, and shaping policies from Washington to London.
Yet Hamas’s October 7 atrocities laid bare the stakes: a regime using children as shields, diverting aid to tunnels, and vowing endless war. Israel, by contrast, debates military strategy openly, protects Arab citizens’ rights, and shares innovations like water tech with the world.
In Tel Aviv, I discussed foreign policy with senior Israeli officials – a surreal moment for a man whose family once cheered calls to “wipe Israel off the map”. Today, as Israelis face murder in Egypt, Israel extends trust to “the other”. Each time an Israeli embraced me upon hearing I was Egyptian, shame gripped me. I longed to welcome them in Cairo as they welcomed me in Jerusalem.
Now, that shame deepens. As a British citizen, I watch a government reward those vowing to ethnically cleanse Jews with statehood – months after the worst Jewish massacre since the Holocaust. The Palestinian leadership, from Hamas to the PA, has rejected peace for hatred; yet Labour now seeks to recognise a Palestinian state.
The Britain that prosecutes mothers for tweets eagerly shakes hands with those celebrating the Holocaust and October 7. To our rulers and judiciary, Lucy Connolly deserves years in prison over a tweet, but Palestinians who fund the murder of Jews, including British citizens, and parade the bodies of murdered Jewish babies are met with red carpets. This hypocrisy is grotesque. Our political class has lost its moral compass – if it ever had one.
This isn’t just misguided – it’s catastrophic. Abandoning Israel gifts Tehran, Moscow, and Beijing a victory, emboldening their war on the rules-based order. When Hezbollah targets Haifa, they attack not just Jews but the idea that free societies can thrive in the Middle East. Supporting Israel isn’t about endorsing every policy; it’s about defending sovereignty, pluralism, and human dignity – values Britain claims to champion.
Generations of my family saw Israel as the enemy; most still do. I, the sole member to visit, see it as the Middle East’s best hope – a nation embodying freedoms we claim to cherish. If Britain rewards its destroyers, we surrender not just the Jewish state but the free world’s future.
My path from Cairo to Judaism taught me identity is a choice – rooted in reason, not dogma. I chose a tradition of debate, justice, and hope. The West must choose: stand with the Middle East’s sole democracy, or let extremism prevail. The answer will define our civilisation’s survival.