If you believe in free speech, here’s the bad news: it isn’t actually free. It costs $5 a month. That’s less than the latte you complain about, less than the Netflix shows you’ll never watch, and far cheaper than your last regrettable bar tab.
For that, you get three essays a week, open comments, and the satisfaction of knowing you’re funding uncensored writing in a world addicted to censorship. Everyone says, “It’s just a cup of coffee.” Fine. But here’s the pitch: give me your coffee money and I’ll hand you something stronger—essays with bite, arguments with teeth, and the freedom to say what others won’t.
Subscribe today. Because silence is free—and it’s worth exactly what you paid for it.
The catastrophe, the so-called Nakba, is sold to the world as if history began on May 15, 1948. Cue the violins, cue the endless grievance, cue the UN resolutions that calcified into catechism. But let’s be honest: the real catastrophe was not what the Jews did to the Arabs, but what the Arabs did to themselves, what they did to their own children, and what they tried and failed to do to the Jews. Sorry, fellas, the Jews simply refused to die. How rude of them.
The Arab expectation was grotesquely simple. Having watched newsreels of Auschwitz, having seen the bulldozers shoving naked corpses into pits, they assumed that this was the Jewish fate and always would be. They thought Israel would be another chapter of Jews herded, slaughtered, and disposed of. They thought the Arabs would be the ones pushing bodies into pits this time. Instead, the Jews fought back. Instead, the Jews won.
And for that, the Arab world still screams “Nakba,” when the real Nakba was the collapse of their genocidal fantasy. Sorry, fellas, history didn’t oblige.
And don’t tell me this is mythmaking. The record is brutally clear. Start in Baghdad, June 1–2, 1941: the Farhud pogrom. At least 150 Jews were murdered, hundreds were wounded, homes looted, women raped, synagogues torched, while the Iraqi state looked the other way. That is the on-ramp to the road of 1948: not Zionist cruelty, but Arab violence and the promise that more was coming. The Arabs chose war, not coexistence. The UN Partition Plan of 1947 offered two states. The Jews—ragged Holocaust survivors—accepted. The Arabs refused and sent five armies in. That was not “a catastrophe.” That was a choice. A stupid, bloody, disastrous choice.
And it wasn’t the first. Let’s rewind further. In 1937, the Peel Commission offered partition: Arabs would get the bulk of the land, Jews a sliver. The Arabs walked away. Later, the Morrison–Grady Plan (1946) and the Bevin–Beeley Plan (1947) presented additional concessions. Again, the Arabs refused. Sorry, fellas, you had a great deal. You could have left the poker table with a huge stack—more land, more autonomy, more control than you ever ended up with. But you got greedy. You thought you could wipe the Jews out, take the whole pot, sweep the table clean.
Instead, you walked away broke, humiliated, and still whining about the dealer seventy-five years later.
Meanwhile, Jews across the Arab world were being driven out in even greater numbers than Arabs fled Israel. Over 850,000 Jews were expelled or forced to flee from Iraq, Egypt, Yemen, Libya, Syria, Morocco, and Tunisia. Property seized, bank accounts frozen, families stripped of citizenship and shoved out the door. Operations Ezra and Nehemiah lifted 120,000 Iraqi Jews into the air—an entire civilisation emptied into the sky. Operation Magic Carpet flew out 49,000 Yemeni Jews in 1949–50. Egyptian Jews in 1956 were arrested, expelled, and robbed. Libyan Jews were finally shoved out under Gaddafi. Did anyone build them a special UN agency to preserve their grievance? No.
Did anyone anoint them as “permanent refugees” with a “right of return” to Cairo or Baghdad? No. They rebuilt. Mostly in Israel. Because they had no choice.
The Palestinians, meanwhile, were handed a bespoke UN agency—UNRWA—to enshrine their grievance in perpetuity. Refugee status was made hereditary, unique in history, so that each generation could be born into grievance like an inheritance.
The refugee camps became universities of hate, subsidised by the West. And that is the real Nakba: not dispossession but indoctrination, the permanent poisoning of children with the narcotic of Jew-hatred.
Teaching a twelve-year-old that his highest purpose is stabbing a Jew is not liberation, it’s child abuse.
In Canada, a twelve-year-old who declared his dream was to stab a classmate would meet police and psychiatrists. In Gaza, he meets applause and candy. That’s the real catastrophe, fellas. That’s the Nakba.
And let’s talk comparisons. In 1947, India and Pakistan were partitioned. Fourteen million people displaced. One to two million slaughtered in communal massacres. Trains arrived full of corpses. Yet somehow, we do not hear endless demands for a “right of return” to ancestral houses in Lahore or Amritsar. In the 1990s, the Balkans were engulfed in flames. Millions displaced, tens of thousands murdered. Some restitution occurred, but most people moved on. History is ugly. History is unfair. But only here—in the Palestinian case—has grievance been embalmed forever, kept alive like a rotting corpse on life support so that politicians can wave the bloodied sheets. The world moved on from Lahore and Sarajevo. The Palestinians were told never to move on because grievance pays.
And all the while, the refrain repeats: sorry, fellas, the Jews refused to die. In 1948, despite being outnumbered and outgunned, they still emerged victorious. In 1967, when Nasser and company promised annihilation, they won again. In 1973, they surprised the enemy on Yom Kippur, clawing back a victory. Perhaps, just perhaps, God did indeed preserve Israel. Perhaps the miracle of 1948 and beyond is precisely that these people, supposedly destined to perish, did not. Maybe He’s not on your side after all, fellas.
And today, the intellectual rot deepens. Surveys show that over 50% of millennials in the West say they sympathise more with Hamas than with Israel—a Nazi-spawned terrorist gang whose charter reads like Mein Kampf in Arabic. Around 11% even deny the Holocaust happened at all. Sorry, fellas, it did. I’ve walked in Auschwitz. I’ve walked Dachau. I’ve seen the photos, the pits, the stones cut with grooves to drain blood.
Don’t tell me it didn’t happen. It did.
Shut up with your denial, because the evidence is carved in the very earth. The catastrophe is not that Jews made it through; the catastrophe is that so many of you are stupid or vicious enough to think they should not have.
And yes, I speak with some personal stake. I was recently fired as a professor for calling Hamas Nazis—an historically accurate label—by a cabal of bureaucrats too cowardly to hear evidence, too sanctimonious to honour their own procedures. PhDs in veterinary science and ethics who could stitch up a goat but couldn’t manage a fair hearing.
My burden is nothing like the Jewish burden of exile and massacre; my fight is tiny; I am still truly blessed.
But perhaps even as a goy, I can steal a little of the Jewish spirit of 1948—the spirit that said “no more bulldozers, no more pits.” If Jews could fight tanks with Molotovs, I can fight bureaucrats with words. I may be a goy, but the Jews are my people too, and I stand with them.
So yes, fellas: sorry the Jews refused to die. Sorry, they did not live down to your expectations of naked corpses bulldozed into pits. Sorry, they survived Auschwitz only to survive you. Sorry, they thrived. Sorry, they made deserts bloom while your leaders made grievance a religion. Sorry, they built a state while you built refugee camps. Sorry they desalinate water at scale, invented medicines that save lives around the world, and contributed to the very components inside your cell phone. Sorry, history did not bend the way you demanded. Sorry, fellas—how rude of them.
And to those who still chant “Nakba,” know this: history will judge you harshly. Not because you lost, but because you bet everything on Jewish extinction and then cried foul when the Jews lived.
The catastrophe is yours. Own it. And when you look in the mirror, remember: the real Nakba is staring back at you.
Shine on, Jews. Shine on. Don’t let the bastards drag you down—a line from a song I loved by The Porters.
That is my closing benediction, from a goy, sputtering with rage, tears, gratitude, and reverence.
If you value this work, consider leaving a tip. It’s cheaper than therapy, less pious than public broadcasting, and the only censorship here is my bad taste. On second thought, it’s bad therapy.
Notes
Peel Commission (1937) – proposed partition of Mandatory Palestine: Arabs offered the larger portion, Jews a small coastal enclave plus the Negev desert.
Morrison–Grady Plan (1946) and Bevin–Beeley Plan (1947) – British proposals giving Arabs majority control or trusteeship autonomy.
UN Partition Plan (1947) – two states, accepted by Jews, rejected by Arabs, followed by the five Arab armies’ invasion.
Jewish expulsions: ~850,000–1,000,000 Jews forced from Arab/Muslim lands 1948–70s.
Operations Ezra and Nehemiah (Iraq, 1950–51) and Magic Carpet (Yemen, 1949–50) – mass airlifts of Jews.
India–Pakistan Partition (1947) – ~14–15 million displaced, ~1–2 million killed.
Holocaust denial surveys: ~11% of U.S. adults 18–29 deny the Holocaust, ~50% of millennials/Gen Z express pro-Palestinian over pro-Israeli sympathies.
Wow. And we stand with you. Thank you.
“In Canada, a twelve-year-old who declared his dream was to stab a classmate would meet police and psychiatrists. In Gaza, he meets applause and candy.”
Gaza is run by barbarians with modern Muslim terrorist-envy.