In his fevered dreams of a New Europe, Hitler envisioned a future steeped in a ‘bold policy of friendship toward Islam’ (Bormann 1945, 28). He clung to the belief that Germany’s Islam policy had merely scratched the surface of its potential, a tantalising possibility lost in the murk of missed opportunities and misguided allegiances.

In exploring the depths of historical accounts, a striking truth comes to light: Hitler harboured a paradoxical fascination for Islam, tempered by an unmistakable disdain. The allure of power and the embodiment of masculinity—the very essence of a ‘Totalitarian’ character—captivated him, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. This fervent cult, born from the arid sands of the desert, shimmered before him as the ideal ally in his grand ambitions.

To Hitler, Islam represented a formidable force, an unyielding strength that echoed his own aspirations for dominance. The teachings and fervour of the faith seemed to resonate with his vision of a world ruled by might and resolve.

As I pen this prologue, a dark pall lingers over the fate of hundreds of Israeli hostages ensnared by the machinations of Hamas, a harrowing aftermath of the Jihadi atrocity unleashed on 7 October 2023 (The Economist 2023).29 What began as a mere hypothesis now evolves into a compelling theory: Hamas stands as a sinister offshoot of Nazi ideology. On that fateful day, this terrorist entity, entwined in a lineage forged from the convergence of Nazis and Islamists, executed the most grotesque massacre of Jews since the Holocaust (The Guardian 2023).

The slaughter of innocents—men, women, children, and the elderly—was not simply a repetition of past horrors; it was, in many ways, the culmination of a Nazi crime stretching across nearly eight decades. The roots of this malevolence can be traced back to 1946 when the Muslim Brotherhood convened its inaugural conference in Gaza, a setting chosen for its proximity to the Samer Cinema (Filiu 2012, 56). This theatre, a modest emblem of secular Western culture, would soon fall silent as the Islamist movement tightened its grip on Gaza, seeking to obliterate what it deemed a decadent legacy.

In this atmosphere, the Brotherhood’s journey began, setting the stage for the emergence of what would ultimately be known as Hamas. Its expansion into Israel took shape a year earlier, in 1945, a time when its foreign benefactors—the Nazis—had surrendered, severing the financial lifeline that had propelled the Brotherhood from obscurity to prominence within the Egyptian political landscape (Abu-Amr 1994, 3). Without the backing of Nazi Germany’s military might, the Brotherhood faced a precarious future, isolated from British oversight and the Egyptian monarchy, both wary of the Islamist group’s ambitions. By 1948, Egypt would outlaw the Brotherhood, and a year later, Hassan al-Banna, its charismatic architect, would be gunned down in the streets of Cairo (Egyptian Chronicles 2008).

Al-Banna, who had harboured a fascination for Nazi methodologies, was noted in a British report for his meticulous study of fascist organisations. He sought to replicate their structure within the Brotherhood, forging a cadre of trusted men akin to the Brownshirts and Blackshirts (Abdel-Samad 2016, 27–32).

Despite profound ideological and ethnic disparities, the Nazis and the Brotherhood converged on a singular objective: the extermination of the Jews (Patterson 2010, 84,163; Hitchens 2007). A Nazi agent tasked with financing the Brotherhood chronicled their calls for Jihad in Israel (Patterson 2010, 131). At the helm........

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